Fulcrum (Dark Tide Book 4)

by Max Henry

  “Neither am I.”

  “You don’t use people like I do.”

  “Don’t I?” She has no idea what we’ve done out of sheer desperation to maintain momentum in this industry.

  “I’m not what you need.” She borders on whining, shoulders down, and brows furrowed.

  “I think I should be the judge of that.” I’m within reach, so close I can smell her sweet scent. “Doesn’t it make you curious?” I test the waters, taking one of her hands in mine. “Why would mortal enemies feel this?” I link my fingers through hers, lifting our joined hands between us.

  She stares at the contact. “We share common interests.”

  “But it’s more.”

  “We’re both lonely in our career, desperate for interaction.” Her fingers tighten around mine. “You could find this with anyone. So could I.”

  “But we found each other. Why do you think that is?”

  Jeanie’s warm eyes lift to mine. “I don’t believe in fate.”

  “Neither do I.” I move close. Enough that my leg shifts to bridge over hers. “But I do believe in gut instinct.”

  “Yeah?” She tilts her head to look at me. “And what does yours tell you right now?”

  I study the curve of her full lips, lose myself in her heavily lined eyes. “That we need to kiss some more.”

  “Really?” She cocks an eyebrow before dropping her gaze to my mouth. “Why?”

  “To figure out if this is just a ‘mutual connection’ or if it’s something deeper.”

  Her chest brushes against mine. “What does your heart tell you it is?” I don’t think she realizes she’s moved.

  “Definitely something more.” I duck my head and connect my lips with hers.

  A gentle exhale—the slightest whimper in her throat. Jeanie tangles herself with me and deepens the kiss, her tongue seeking mine. I oblige, tasting the sweet tang of gum, or perhaps a mint she snuck when I wasn’t looking. Strawberry. Or maybe raspberry. Her palm finds purchase against my collarbone, breasts firm against my chest. I sweep my free arm around her back and pin the woman to me while I tease and explore her playful mouth.

  It’s definitely something more. And she goddamn knows it.

  “I don’t give a fuck if you think you’re bad for me,” I grumble, head against hers. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “I’ll hurt you.”

  “You already did.”

  She shudders a breath, clinging tighter. Her legs loop over mine, tucked behind me. I scoot her sexy ass as close as our bodies will physically allow and wrap her in my embrace. She thinks her career is all she is, but what she doesn’t see—what I see—is that her heart makes her unique in a cut-throat world. It’ll mean she misses opportunities, that she shies away when others will throw morals to the wind and go after what they want without a shred of remorse. But it will also mean she makes more profound connections with the people she does meet, that she earns respect. And above all else, that means she’ll stick around when the less honest will burn out and fade.

  She’s a goddamn diamond in a rough world. My fucking diamond.

  “I’m going to make this work,” I promise her, uttering the words into her hair. “You’re going to let go and let me love you. You hear?”

  She nods against my shoulder. Her tears wet the thin cotton of my T-shirt.

  “We’ll make it work.”

  FORTY

  Jeanie

  “Do Not Disturb” - Halestorm

  His passion runs deep. Once tapped, it’s a waterfall that threatens to drown me with the intensity. I cling to Toby, afraid that the moment will be lost if I move. I trust his words; I just don’t believe them. He’ll love me, and I’ll let him, but I can’t see this lasting a lifetime. God, I want it to. But reality has always been a cruel master, and once again, I’m sure it’ll take the lead.

  His lips graze my neck, creeping higher to tease the soft skin behind my ear. I shiver at the delicate touch, at the sensuous care that he takes with me when I feel least deserving of it. I argue, and I fight, but Toby Thomas is one determined motherfucker. And that’ll be my undoing.

  I can’t imagine anything more satisfying than giving my complete submission over to this man.

  “You feel so fucking good this close.” He runs a palm up my spine, stopping at the back of my neck to take firm hold. “I don’t want to let you go, but I need to.”

  “Why?” Can’t we stay this way a few moments more?

  “I can’t kiss you like this.” He relaxes his hold on my neck to allow me to fall away. Just far enough that he can seal those full lips across mine. I savor the feel, the connection, arching my back to press as close as I can once more.

  Toby sets a palm to my stomach and gently pushes me away. I lay back, legs still encasing his hips, and arch over his lower legs. “I can’t explore this when you’re that close, either.” He pushes his flat palm beneath my sweatshirt and skims a line to the swell of my breasts. I went for comfort today, opting for a sports halter. He has no complaints as his fingertips push beneath the tight elastic and explores first left, then right, to tease the sensitive buds of my nipples.

  The whole time, his gaze never leaves mine. He doesn’t seek permission; he doesn’t look for signs of distress. He focuses on my reaction, adjusting his touch when it calms and repeating the motion when I show signs of ecstasy in the moment.

  He plays me like an instrument. If I had any doubts this guy was a natural musician, he eradicated them.

  “Take this off.” He tugs at the hem of the sweatshirt with his free hand.

  I reach down, weight on my shoulders, and lift the warm fabric up my body. Arms crossed over my head, I’m trapped for a second while I negotiate getting the sweatshirt under my shoulders without losing balance.

  It’s all the time he needs.

  I suck in a sharp breath, taken by surprise, when he pushes the sports bra over my breasts and pulls a nipple into his heated mouth. I’m instantly wet. Fuck this guy and fuck my lack of sex life. He kneads my other breast with his large palm, savoring the taste of my flesh while I wrestle the clothing over my head. I want to see him. I need to see this.

  I might have written off any chance I had at staying in control. The sight of Toby Thomas, the man, the mystery, bent double while he worships my body… I’m done.

  A pathetic whimper slips from my mouth as I dive both hands into his blond hair. I scrape my nails across his scalp, pull at the locks, and grip his head out of the sheer need to prove to myself this is not a dream.

  “I plan to do it all, Jeanie.” His hungry gaze finds mine. “Don’t trick yourself into thinking this is just a tease.”

  He needs to do it now—fuck. “No complaints.” I reach across and tug at his T-shirt.

  He obliges by sitting up and tearing the fabric over his head. The man is sheer bliss, every second and every minute of his craft detailed in the striations of his muscular body. His job is a physically intensive one, and it shows.

  I don’t know where we’ll go after today. He believes in us with such conviction, and I want to as well. But regardless of the train wreck I’m convinced will ensue, I can’t deny what I feel.

  Toby stands, offering me his hand. I slide my palm across his and allow him to pull me to my feet. He tugs me snugly against his front and, for a split-second, it’s as though we slow dance, our bodies swaying against each other. His iceberg eyes hold mine; cool and calm on the surface, danger hidden underneath.

  “How long has it been?” he asks, nuzzling his nose against mine.

  “Since what?” I attempt to steal a kiss, but he jerks his head back.

  “Since somebody treated you like the goddess you are.”

  “Goddess?” I smile.

  He cinches his arm around my waist tight, the evidence of his arousal crushed between us. “Why not?” He lavishes me with a playful smile. “You’ve performed fucking miracles on me.”

  “You’re sex drunk,” I say with a nervous
laugh. “I’m not that special.”

  His touch slides away, and Toby steps back with his arms wide. “Should I stop?”

  He’s fucking perfection, his body on fine display in my living room. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” His jeans hang low on his hips, the dip of his muscles toward his belt enough to make my mouth water.

  “If you don’t think you’re worth the attention…” He shrugs, a shit-stirring grin curling his wicked mouth.

  I take two steps toward the tease and launch myself at him. As our bodies collide, Toby chuckles, taking a step back to regain his balance while he wraps both arms around my waist. I wrap my legs around his.

  “You know where the bedroom is.”

  The look of utter satisfaction on his handsome face turns my insides to jelly. “What’s wrong with right here?” We spin around, and he crosses the small space to set my ass down on the end of the kitchen counter.

  I welcome his kiss, starved for the taste.

  My hands crave connection, wandering across the hard planes of his upper body. He grabs hold of the sides of my bra and tugs. It’s challenging and not at all sexy, but the agency in his actions makes it easy to forget my underwear isn’t the kind for entertaining.

  I’m naked within seconds. His jeans follow shortly after. Make that jeans and boxers. Holy shit—there isn’t anything I could dream up that would top this. Ever.

  “I know I said I’d do it all,” he grumbles, placing kisses to my flesh between words. “But that was before I saw you like this.”

  “You’d have to be crazy to drag this out,” I pant.

  He nods as though to agree, his mouth busy at work on my stiffened nipples. “There’s always next time.”

  Next time. I damn near melt off the counter at the admission. “Make it hurt.”

  Toby rears back, brow furrowed. “Why?” His arms cage me in; palms braced either side of my hips.

  I take his face in my hands and kiss away his confusion. “So that I don’t forget this is too good to be real.”

  Desire commands every thrust of his tongue against mine, the urgency that means his teeth clash against my lip. I swear that I taste blood.

  “It’s real.” He breathes words, fingers finding my center.

  When he pushes inside, I moan, hands scrambling to find purchase at the back of his neck. He races me with one arm curled around my side, the other thrusting mercilessly to bring me to the edge of climax. It’s raw, desperate, and disgustingly perfect. I come apart, gasping for air when he ducks down to taste the evidence.

  “Fuck. Yes.” He laps like a man starved and then rises before me again.

  I taste myself on his lips, his tongue. Toby sets both palms to my ass and jerks my hips forward. I lean back, teetering on the edge of the counter, but the height is perfect for what he has in mind.

  I cry out as he enters, and I come again when his palm wraps around my throat. He’s in total control, manipulating my body like a master puppeteer.

  And I don’t mind one fucking bit.

  “You’ve fucking done it now,” he rasps, hips bruising my inner thigh. “You’ve fucking gone and made me want to keep you for myself.”

  I swear to God, I never knew I could come this many times in one session. I have no words. Legit—I can’t form a coherent thing; my mind refuses to keep up with the utter ecstasy wreaking havoc with my body.

  Toby leans over, his chest brushing against me when he reaches his high. “Fucking. Mine.”

  The scary part is, I don’t doubt he means it.

  I’m fucked. In every way imaginable.

  FORTY-ONE

  Toby

  “No Sale” – Middle Class Rut

  "The fact that it was this hard to get you four together should be proof enough of what a shitshow it is to manage your privileged asses." Wallace stands at the head of the room, hands to his waist while he slowly paces. "I understand your need for creative time out, but you can't fuck off overseas without letting anyone know where you are." He stares at Kris. "Or fall off the goddamn wagon and end up in the hospital." He glares at Emery."

  "For the last fucking time, that wasn't my fault." Our bassist pushes away from the meeting table, rocking onto the back legs of his chair.

  "Was I done?" Wallace roars. "Did I say you could interrupt me?"

  The room falls quiet. The guy is a grade-A asshole, a fucking tyrant that belongs leading an army through invasion, not managing a rock band. But he gets the job done. We've been at it for the better part of an hour, fine-tuning the details of our contracts and what's expected of us going forward.

  "Respect is a key ingredient to success. You need to respect the rules we set on you and respect the people who enforce them. But most of all, you need to respect one another." He looks at each of us in turn. "The last six months, I've seen little evidence of that."

  Rey sits to my left, closer to Wallace. He slumps in his seat, arms folded, and chin lowered to them, a scowl ripping at his features. Kris leans on the table opposite him, hands tucked behind his head, so he effectively shields himself with his arms. I glance to Emery, whose head slings back so he can glower at the ceiling. None of these fuckers want to hear what Wallace has to say, and unfortunately, I'm on our label boss' side.

  We haven't shown much respect for each other. We bicker, we fight, and we hold grudges. We go through our shit alone, only seeking help when it gets too much to handle. There's little unity left in what used to be four motherfuckers against the world.

  "We head into this album with Rey fresh out of rehab." Wallace moves to the head of the table, resting one loose fist on the surface. "Normal pressures of recording aside, thanks to Toby, we have a goddamn court case pending. Stress will be inevitable. You'll need to work together if any of you give a damn about this guy." He points to my sullen brother.

  "The band doesn't revolve around me," Rey retorts, gaze fixed on the table before him. "They've got their shit to deal with without you making mine theirs as well."

  Our employer leans down, face inches from Rey's. "If I thought you had it in you to manage your fucking mood swings on your own, I'd leave you to it. I would have thought that fucking clinic taught you that it's okay to have help."

  "They did." Rey twists his head to stare at Wallace. "I'm asking you to offer the rest of these guys the same help."

  Rick clears his throat where he leans on the wall behind Rey and me, pushing off to enter the conversation. "I think what my father tries to get at is that you all need to work together to ensure the future of your band."

  "You don't think we know that?" Emery scowls at the two of them. "It was the pressure your label put us under on the last tour that broke us."

  "Bullshit," Wallace snaps. "It was Rey's fragile fucking heart," he mocks. "Your inability to deal with your demons unless off your fucking face." He finds center at the head of the room and folds his massive arms. "Separate your goddamn emotion from the business. If you don't how to do that, learn. I'm not having the whole fucking thing falling apart every time one of you precious snowflakes get your feelings hurt." The guy sighs, shifting his hands back to his waist. "When you need something, you ask for it. We're here to help you as much as we're here to make sure you meet commitments."

  "Like fuck you are." Rey lifts his head. "I needed help that last month, and what did you do? Told us we'd lose our contract if we bailed on the final shows. Your interests are in your fucking back pocket, not our wellbeing."

  I'm fucking proud of him for voicing his thoughts. It's not that long ago that he would have buried them down deep to fester, turning the frustration into rage and ultimately despair. Hearing Rey stick up for himself shows how far he's come with only a month of help. Imagine what a year off could do for him?

  "You needed help long before you reached that point." As always, Wallace manages to bring it down to earth. "By the time you reached out, you needed a fucking intervention." He's right—as always. I admire the guy's ability to cut through the bul
lshit and call it what it is. "From here on, I want you to check in with me weekly when on tour." He leans down in front of Rey again, but without the menace this time. "We'll take it one stage at a time—pun intended. If I have enough notice, I can delay performances, give you more time between dates. But when you want me to reschedule a concert that's due to happen the next day…" He shakes his head as he straightens. "I'm sorry, son, but you ask the impossible." Wallace lifts his phone from his pocket. "I need to carry on, but I'll leave you with Rick." He points to his son. "Detail what you have, content-wise, and send it through to me so that I know where we start from."

  "Sure." Rick nods and changes place with his father.

  I use the pause in the conversation to check my phone as well. I left Jeanie yesterday a little uneasy at the residual gloominess in her eyes. The last thing I want to believe is that she put on a fake smile to keep me quiet, but after how hard I pushed her to get past this hiccup, maybe she did?

  My screen is void of anything related to her.

  "Let's start from the bottom up," Rick announces as the door clicks behind his old man. "Toby? What have you got to build on?"

  ***

  "If I'd known he wanted to fucking prattle on for that long, I would have had two before we started." Rey sticks a cigarette between his lips and pockets the packet. "If he gets us to say one more word about what we've written to date, he's going to kill my vibe."

  "I know." I jump up to sit on top of a green power transformer opposite the studio's rear door.

  Kris leans against the wall, hood pulled over his face to shield the wind while he lights a smoke, one foot braced on the brick. I glance around and find Emery didn't follow us out as I thought.

  "Where's Em?"

  Rey exhales a large cloud and narrows his gaze as he does the same, searching the fenced-in area. "Fuck knows."

  "Probably on the phone again," Kris mutters from his spot at least eight feet away.

  "Why do you have to stand so far away from us?" I tease. "Do we stink?"