by Cari Quinn
Turning her toward the couch, he hustled her away from the hallway. He glanced at the stairs, but walking up those stairs seemed like it would take too much time.
Right now, there was nothing but the endgame. Nothing but getting inside of her.
He dipped his fingers between her lips again and swore. She was so ready for him. “You’re soaked.”
“Quit talking about it and show me what you’re going to do about it.” She reached for the back of the couch, pushing pillows out of her way. He looked down at the huge sectional couch. Stretch her out or fuck her from behind?
She made the decision for him by kneeling on the wide cushion. “Deacon.” She trapped his hand inside her shorts as she looked over her shoulder.
“Are you sure?”
“Hard,” she said with a nod.
He pulled his hand out of her cargos and flicked the button open, dragging them over her ass and down her legs. He crouched behind her. The scent of her arousal knocked him back on his heels.
“Fuck. Baby, your thighs are soaked.”
She swayed at his words. He cupped her hips, using his thumbs to spread her wide open.
Her pussy contracted and his cock throbbed against his zipper. He wanted to take his time and taste her from behind. To let all those juices coat his chin and throat, but the black abyss was way too close.
He couldn’t trust that he’d take care of her. Not when the only thing he could think of was getting inside of her. Of slamming inside of her until he could breathe again.
He stood and pressed his cheek to her back. “I just need a minute.”
“No.” She reached back, cupping his cock. “I want you like this. I want this, Deacon. I need you like this. Don’t hold back.”
“I—” He growled when she palmed his shaft, curling her fingers around his balls through his jeans. The denim rubbed against him, a lick of pain permeating the pleasure until he couldn’t find his way around either one.
He ripped at his zipper and lifted her until her back arched and her ass was angled up to take him. He gripped the back of her neck, pushing her into the back of the couch. He moved her hands until she wrapped them around the ledge that remained now that the pillows were gone. “Do not let go.”
She growled his name and fuzzed his brain. He guided the head of his cock along her swollen lips. She coated his head, luring him deeper. And the part of him that held the reins of control was swallowed by the inky blackness.
He surged inside of her, kicking her legs further apart as he held her still. He drove into her until the adrenaline from the show and the riot of emotions she brought out in him was satisfied with her more than willing body.
Separate from his body, he heard her cries and prayed they were of pleasure because nothing made sense except the clasp of her drenched pussy. He held onto her hips, watching his cock disappear into her perfect body.
Sweat coated her, slicked off of him in waves and still he couldn’t stop. He angled her ass so he could power into her. His thighs screamed at the effort, his ass muscles cramping with each thrust.
He reached around her and slid his fingers through her dripping curls until he found her engorged clit and circled it ruthlessly. He felt her flex and heard her answering cries as she came hard around him. And still it wasn’t enough.
He needed more.
He switched hands and brought his coated fingers to the puckered flesh just above where his cock hammered inside of her. He rimmed the tip of his thumb around the tight opening.
She arched and hissed.
“Harper,” he said on a bass tone that didn’t sound like his voice. Knowing he was even closer to the edge than ever before, he gentled his touch but she wiggled back into the pressure of his thumb then her thighs shook.
Her head went up and she cried out his name. He looked up and saw where her head was pointed. A huge mirror framed them from across the living room. Harper’s breasts bounced with each thrust, her eyes were dilated and wide, her teeth sawing through her full lower lip.
And that’s all it took to break the trance. Finally, his body and his mind seemed to reconnect, and it felt like acid raced down his spine and pooled at the base. Burning, straining, needing her so fucking bad that the entire room faded until it was only Harper.
Just Harper.
His Harper.
His.
He drove into her welcoming body. Until he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving. Lust and unspeakable satisfaction rolled over him, tucking him under into the peace he only found with her.
And as she clamped around him, he held her as close to him as possible, finally coming inside of her. His fingers shook at her hips as he surrounded her. His cock wrung dry, his brain utterly empty. He gathered her into him, unwilling to pull out of her.
She collapsed in on herself, hugging her knees as she pressed her forehead into the couch cushion.
Words seemed irrelevant at that moment. With effort, he pulled out of her warm body. Already, his mind screamed to get back inside of her warmth and to regain that solace, but the practical side of him saw how crumpled she was.
He’d fucked her blind on the couch in the middle of the living area.
Christ.
He scooped her up in his arms, stepping over their clothes to the stairs. She looped an arm around his neck and turned her face into his neck. When he got to the top of the stairs he stopped. “Harper?”
“Hmm?” She sighed into his throat.
“I didn’t hurt you, right?”
She palmed the back of his head and dragged him down to her face. “I love when you’re like that. I love all the different sides of you, Deacon.”
He smiled into her mouth. She’d said it again without prompting. Fuck, he loved this woman.
She pressed her forehead to his. “I don’t know how I managed to fall in love with such a maddening man, but I did.”
He crushed his mouth to hers. “Best fucking day ever.”
Twenty-Nine
September 20, 10:16 PM - Truce
Deacon opened the door for Harper. “I can get used to you playing chauffeur.”
She took his hand. “You just like to critique my driving.”
“This is true.” He leaned down and kissed her softly. “You are going to make me fend off many a male tonight.” Her hair was a sleek curtain of gold down her back. She wore a purple button down top in some sort of slinky material that drew the eye to her curves. Black jeans and little flats kept her from looking like she was going out to a club. But the effect was no less gut punching.
She laughed and curled her arm around his back. “I think that’s my problem, pal. Everywhere we go some woman is trying to climb over me to get to you.”
Deacon snorted. “We’ve only been out of the house once in the last week.” Okay, so their outing to the grocery store earlier in the week had been a little hairy. Thank God for the valet service at the penthouse.
“I’m never going to get that chunk of hair back.”
“She wasn’t that—” He shut up at her look. Okay, so the fan had been a little zealous. Ever since they’d played two of the major venues in L.A., things had been a bit crazier for them. Simon came home with scratches and numbers stuffed in every available pocket every time he went out. Nick had started wearing disguises.
Jazz had even taken to leaving the house without her usual colorful hair and clothes, just to get a reprieve. And Gray had disappeared altogether. Deacon had no idea where he was most of the time.
He hustled them both across the street to “The Den.” A line of people curled around the edge of the building. On the small marquis, Johnny Cage’s name was in bold, black letters. He flashed the red tickets to the guy at the door and the bouncer opened the door.
“What the hell, man?”
Deacon glanced over at the belligerent fan and watched the guy’s mouth drop open. “Dude, you’re Deacon McCoy. I thought you and Johnny hated each other.”
“Don’t believe the tab
loids,” Deacon said.
Five hours ago, he would have thought the same thing. But when the courier service had shown up with tickets for Johnny’s gig he’d been too curious not to check out the show.
“I didn’t know Johnny did solo shows.”
Deacon looked down at Harper. “I knew he did acoustic shows sometimes, but never alone as far as I knew.”
He’d been a fan long before Oblivion had opened for Rebel Rage. And he was a big fan of their acoustic music. In fact, he couldn’t figure out why they didn’t play a longer acoustic set for their show. There was no end to the magic that happened between the men in Johnny’s band when they stripped out the bombastic sound and simply played.
“I still can’t believe he sent you tickets.”
“Me neither, Lawless.”
A woman in unrelieved black met them at the large entry way. “May I see your tickets?”
Deacon handed her the red tickets.
“You can take your pick of seats along the balcony. There’s a stairwell just over there.” She pointed to the side of the stage.
“Thanks.” They climbed the stairs to the small balcony with a row of tables. “Here okay?”
Harper nodded and they sat down. A waitress met them and took their drink order. He looked down at the small stage with three different Gibson acoustics set beside a leather stool. No other adornments, not even a banner behind where he would sit. It was as stripped down as he’d ever seen outside of open mic nights.
Harper leaned into him, curling her arm through his. “Am I the only one that feels weird?”
He laughed and brushed his cheek against hers. “Nope. I don’t know what to think.”
The room started filling up with people and a few more VIP’s were seated around them in the balcony. The waitress came back with their drinks and an envelope and set them on the table. “Mr. Cage sent this over with the drinks. He said everything is on him tonight.”
“Wow. Thanks.”
She smiled. “If there’s anything else you need, just flag me down.”
“Thanks.”
Harper took a sip from her glass of wine. “Officially weirded out.”
“Yeah.” He flipped open the envelope and pulled out two plastic passes and a handwritten note. “He wants us to come backstage after the show.”
“Is that all it says?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not like he’d invite you here to pound the crap out of you, right?”
Deacon gave her a sideways glance. “I did the pounding.”
She grinned. “Yeah, you did. I meant a rematch, of course.”
“Uh huh.”
Harper laughed and leaned into him as the lights went down. The murmur from the crowd settled as the stage was lit by a soft spotlight. Johnny came out; his usual concert attire of leather and rude t-shirts was missing. Instead, he wore a button down white dress shirt and jeans.
“Thanks for coming. And thank you to The Den for letting me do this show.”
The crowd clapped and a few catcalls came from females in the back. Johnny smiled, but it lacked his usual cocky bravado. He was quieter, almost unsure of himself as he started strumming.
The lyrics were almost brittle with sorrow. The music was soulful and honest. Throughout the set he bared himself to the crowd. Song after song was a gritty portrayal of love and loss, disillusionment and a tiny slice of hope.
When he finally stopped playing, the entire room clapped and cheered. He came back for an encore and played a few of the Rebel Rage songs acoustically, getting the crowd to laugh and sing along to close the show.
As he finished up, Johnny looked up and caught his eye. He gave him a little salute, then took his bows and ducked backstage.
“Holy crap.”
Deacon laughed and sat back in chair. “Holy crap is right. That was awesome.”
“I think YouTube is going to blow up with that one.”
He laughed. “If he’s smart, it will.”
“I spotted a guy recording it in the back.”
Deacon frowned. Just what was Johnny up to? The room cleared out fairly quickly and he downed the last of his beer. “I think it’s time we find out just why we’re invited to this shindig.”
“I’m damn curious.”
He flagged down the waitress. “I’ve got a few passes to go backstage. Which way should we go?”
“If you go back down the stairs, you’ll see a door by the bar.”
Deacon smiled and laid a pair of twenties on the table.
She waved it off. “Mr. Cage—”
“You deserve it.”
The waitress blushed. “Thanks.”
Harper hooked her arm through his. “You just gotta make all the girls fall in love with you, don’t you?”
“I only care about one.”
“Such a smooth talker.”
He brushed his mouth over hers. Every day he’d been given with her was a blessing, but each day, he also wondered just when she was going to get the call to leave. He couldn’t stop himself from deepening the kiss, and she made a tiny groan as she curled into his arms.
“What was that for?” she asked when he finally let her go.
“Just had a need to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.”
“Laying it on thick there, Big Guy.” She bumped his arm. “All right, put the dimples away now.”
He laughed and led her to the stairs. There was a small line of people at the door when they got to the bar, but they were quickly waved past when Deacon waved the black laminated passes.
They made their way down the scuffed cement hallway to the small room. Refreshments were on the table along the far wall, and a few people were talking quietly in groups.
“Hey McCoy, thanks for coming.”
He turned to Johnny’s voice. His arms were flexed thanks to bunched fists. This was not the cocky front man that had owned the stage for twelve years.
Deacon stiffened, and Harper gripped his belt loop at the small of his back.
A muscle flexed in Johnny’s jaw until he finally uncurled his fingers and his shoulders relaxed. “I’m not going to pound on you again.” His eyebrow rose at Deacon’s silence. “Or let you pound on me again,” he said with a twist of lips.
Deacon rocked back on his heels. “I didn’t know what to think when I got the invite.”
Johnny shrugged. “I’ve been hearing some shit and wanted to talk to you before you signed your deal.”
Deacon’s shoulders went tight. “Why?”
Johnny sighed. “I just wanted to tell you to be careful. No one was around to tell me to be careful when I first signed my deal with Trident.”
Deacon crossed his arms. He did not need another dose of bitter Johnny.
“You think you know everything, and you’re riding that high. Let me just get my shit down on disk and out there for everyone to hear. That’s all that really matters.”
Deacon lifted his chin and let him go on.
“It does matter. Don’t let them own you. That’s all they want. And once they own your music, they might as well own your soul. Just remember that before you sign on the dotted line.”
Deacon frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You know what that means.”
“It’s not like there are a million labels knocking down our door.”
Johnny laughed. “Oh, they will, kid. Believe me, they will.”
Deacon rubbed his left triceps. “I saw someone scouting you a few weeks ago.”
The older man nodded. “Ripper Records. Probably too good to be true, but I guess we’ll find out.”
“Why?”
“Trident is dumping us. They’re cleaning house, looking for fresh blood.”
“What? Why the hell would they let you guys go? That’s asinine.”
Johnny laughed. “We’re one of the lucky ones. At least we didn’t get put on a shelf for the next five years to rot.” He shook his head. “I know you don’t get it. You just want
that brass.” He barked out a harsh laugh. “I didn’t fucking listen to anyone when I was your age, but do me a favor. Attempt to grow a brain cell or two.”
Deacon rocked back on his heels. “I’m not an idiot.”
“I know. Of that entire crew you run with, you’re probably the only one that isn’t.”
Deacon decided answering that one was asking for trouble. He’d take the compliment. He shrugged. “We’re getting a lawyer to look over the contract.”
“Good. Spend the money on one. Don’t just get the first shithead out of law school. And please don’t fucking use one that Miller sends your way.”
Deacon lifted a shoulder. “As I said, I’ve got a few brain cells to call my own.”
Johnny laughed, and this time there was a trace of amusement it. He came forward with his arm outstretched. “I’m sorry shit went down the way it did. You just reminded me every day what it felt like to be hungry again. And I sure the fuck hated it.”
Deacon shook the man’s hand, surprised to find callouses on his wide palm. He’d thought Johnny had been living the high life for the last decade. What on earth would put a working man’s skin on his pampered hands?
“Thanks for the advice.”
Johnny sighed. “You probably won’t take it.”
Deacon tapped his temple. “Brain cells remember?”
“You’re all right, kid. Helluva right hook, too.”
Deacon laughed. “You know right where the kidneys are.”
“Once a brawler, always a brawler.” Johnny glanced down at Harper. “Guess you’re not completely immune to all of us musician types, huh?”
Harper lifted her chin. “I’ve got a few of those brain cells, too.”
Both men laughed.
“She’s feisty. You keep the feisty ones, son.”
“I intend to.” He winced when Harper pinched his side. “This was a great set. I’m glad I got to come out and see you like this. If Ripper Records is smart, they’ll snap you up.”
“I’m testing out some of the new songs. The guys were stuck in New York with personal shit.”
