Rock Addiction

"Her gut-wrenching disappointment when Fox wasn't there offered an agonizing preview of exactly how much it would hurt if she never saw him again."
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"What would she do when he left?"
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"She'd bleed the day Fox walked out of her life."

No way was he leaving thi

No way was he leaving this party without her, the raw need to possess her a violent craving in his gut.

“You’re Molly.”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind giving me a ride?”
“Don’t you have a driver?”
“I gave him the night off.”
“A taxi?”
“I don’t know the address I’m going to.”
“If you don’t know the address, how do you plan on getting there?”
“That’s why I need a ride, Molly, I don’t know where you live.”

“Are you a virgin?” Fox didn’t do virgins; he didn’t have the patience for it… but he’d make an exception for Molly. Fuck, he’d make every exception for Molly.
She nodded. “Sorry.”
“Baby, you don’t ever have to be sorry in bed with me.” Kissing her hard and deep and long, he squeezed her nape. “I won’t hurt you.” He wanted Molly with him all the way, and he suddenly realized he goddamn liked the idea of initiating her into sex.

This had been meant to be her one wild night, something to carry with her as she walked into a safe, calm, happily dull future, except it had felt like more than sex, more than a single moment of madness in a life lived by the rules.
It had felt like a branding.
“I might just fuck you forever, Molly.”

“Molly. She’s mine.”

“I worry.”
Fox brushed strands of hair off her face. “About what, baby?”
Heart aching at the tenderness she hadn’t foreseen, she said, “Of who I’ll become if I give in.”
Fox didn’t break eye contact at the uninvited emotional intimacy, though theirs was meant to be a strictly physical relationship. She was the one who lowered her lashes. “Addiction runs in my family.” Gambling, alcohol, women, love. It was the last, most dangerous addiction of all that had destroyed her mother.

He knew exactly what was wrong, knew that in some part of her she’d begun to realize what he already understood. That this, what they were doing, it wasn’t just sex, wasn’t just an affair—people who simply wanted to fuck didn’t talk about hidden hurts, didn’t treat each other with tenderness.

“H…how do we do this?” Her fingers curled against his back. “Will you fly down to spend time with me after your tour is complete?”
“No half measures, not ever,” was his unbending response. “You come with me.”
Again, he’d hit her with the unexpected. “I can’t.” Breathless words, her pulse in her mouth. “My life, my friends, everything is here.”
“I’m not.”
It was a simple, absolute fact. Shaken, she gripped at him to keep herself upright. “If I choose to stay here?”
“I told you, no half measures.” His expression was brutal, all the niceties stripped away to reveal the strong, determined man at the core of him. “If you don’t come with me, what’ll we have? A few weeks a year?”
“We could make it work,” she argued, so overwhelmed by the careening speed of this that her mind scrabbled to find steady ground.
“No.” A flat rejection. “I want to take you out to dinner. I want to walk with you down the street. I want to pretend not to be bored while you shop. I want to kiss you before I go onstage. I want you in my bed every damn night.”