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And when he cupped her between her legs, his palm pressing where she felt like she needed it, blood rushed to his groin.
God, she was warm. Hot. She let out a sigh against his mouth. He moved his hand, using the heel of his palm against her, his mouth moving against hers with the same, needy rhythm.
Her thighs tightened around his hand. Her breath coming in short bursts. Like little punches. She was clinging onto him like he was the rock and the storm.
And all he could think about was making her come. He was so hard it hurt, but he didn’t press himself against her. He needed this to be about her.
Needed her pleasure.
Needed the release of it so he could fucking think straight again.
Her back arched against the brick wall, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he took her to the edge. She let out a soft cry, his mouth swallowing it as he kissed her, her whole body stiffening with pleasure as he took her to the peak.
She was shaking, her thighs so tight he could barely move his hand, her head slumping against his shoulder as she orgasmed against his palm.
“Oh my God. Presley...”
Her eyes were shining, her cheeks pink. Her lips looked like they’d been stung. He’d never seen anything more beautiful.
Or felt so wrong.
What was up with him? Why did he keep doing this? It was like the worst kind of addiction.
He opened his mouth to say sorry, but it would have been a lie. He wasn’t anywhere near sorry. He would have done it again.
Would have done anything to feel her come against him.
“Pres?”
The two of them jumped at Alex’s voice. Cassie looked at him, her eyes wide.
“You okay?” he asked her. Because they had about five seconds before Alex walked around the corner. She touched her hair, as though checking that it wasn’t a complete mess.
“I’m fine.” She didn’t sound it.
He took a step back, taking a deep breath. “We’re here,” he called out.
Alex rounded the corner, his brow lifting when he saw them. “Your drinks are on the stage. We got you a beer, Cassie.”
“Thank you,” she said, but her eyes were still on Presley’s. Like she wasn’t sure what had just happened, but she liked it.
And fuck if he hadn’t liked it too.
They hadn’t been alone again. And maybe that was a good thing because she had no damn idea what just happened.
You came on Presley Hartson’s hand.
Her cheeks flamed. Because that was the truth. The man barely had to touch and kiss her before she’d imploded with pleasure. Yes, some of it was the adrenaline from the gig, but most of it was him.
The man knew how to touch her to bring her pleasure. Understood that she’d needed pressure, movement.
Him.
Oh God, she needed to stop thinking about this and concentrate on singing.
Despite her turmoil, the second half of the gig went just as well as the first. The applause and stomping of feet had gone on until they’d come on for one final song, then the crowd had slowly drifted away as they packed up their instruments and the guys had started carrying them to the van.
She’d tried to help but they’d all waved her off. So she’d watched as they easily hefted the heavy cases. Okay, she’d mostly watched Presley.
