by Cari Quinn
“You’re getting wet for me,” he breathed.
She pulled back long enough to roll her tongue over the pearly drop of fluid she’d earned on the head of his cock. “So wet. I’m going to have to change my shorts before we get there.”
“Christ. I’m going to make a fucking mess if you keep talking like that.”
“That’s what my mouth is for.”
Lightly, he drummed his fist on the wheel. “Fuck. I can’t focus on the road.”
“Yes, you can. And stop swearing or I stop blowing your mind.” At his low curse, she drew him back inside, taking him in until the quick burn of tears blurred her eyes. She pushed on, relaxing her throat, hollowing her cheeks. Caressing his balls with one hand, she hummed softly, unintentionally picking up the beat to “Sugar Kiss.” His hips rolled up to meet her, taking her past her comfort zone to where there was only him. He slammed on the brakes, swore, and she didn’t move. Just kept sucking for all she was worth.
He would never let her be hurt. Never risk her or the baby for a moment. And right now she was about to prove her appreciation.
She squeezed her hand around the base of his shaft, adding the scrape of nails that always shoved him close to the point of oblivion. Then she pulled him to the side again away from the wheel and drew her head up, letting the trails of his desire cling to her lips before she smoothed them back down his cock. Slowly engulfing him again and again while he swelled and throbbed in her mouth.
“I have to come,” he rasped, and she couldn’t nod fast enough. She wanted him on her tongue, in her throat.
When she faced her past, she wanted to taste him everywhere and know she was his.
His erection jerked in her hand and she closed her fingers like a vise, making his thighs bunch and flex under her upper body. “Goddamn, baby.” He hit the gas again and she had the sensation of speed and the breeze wafting through the crack in the window before the car zagged left and hot fluid pumped into her mouth.
She took down every drop, swallowing over and over while her hand prolonged the rhythm on his pulsing flesh. And then when she was done, she pulled back long enough to suck in a breath before going back down to lick him clean. It was only then that she realized he was panting like he’d run a race and his knee was jittering like he couldn’t keep it still.
“You okay?” she asked, lifting his T-shirt to nibble along his sexy happy trail. God, his body was a damn feast to behold. She could lose herself on this particular playground for years.
A lifetime.
He didn’t answer for so long that she shifted to look up at him. He was grinning, his gaze centered on the road. His thumb circled at her temple before sliding down her cheek to rub over her swollen lips. “You’re a fucking goddess. Freaking,” he amended when she started to correct him.
“Finally, the man is learning.” She shifted back onto her seat and rolled her neck like a prizefighter who’d just emerged victorious after a title bout. “So…chicken?”
He laughed and turned on his signal to get off at the next exit.
She snapped on her seatbelt and grinned. No matter the odds, she never gave up.
That meant she wouldn’t give up on her little sister either. Maybe Oprah wouldn’t be hiding behind the drapes with a camera crew just yet, but she could still make this into a happy ending. She refused to settle for anything less.
Gray stood in the outside hallway of the restaurant, phone in hand, while Jazz bobbed her head to the country music coming through the speakers and pulled off crispy pieces of breading. She popped them into her mouth and licked her fingers, making him fight a grin. How the hell could she be so adorable not thirty minutes after swallowing his come like a damn porn star?
Better than a porn star. Not that he’d watched that much porn, all things considered, but no woman could be hotter than Jazz. The fact that she’d crawled all over their car on her hands and knees while carrying their baby in her belly…yeah.
He shifted and gripped the phone tighter. He was getting hard again, just from watching her eat chicken. Fuck.
“This is Father Freeley. My secretary said you have a rush job.”
Gray sent up a quick apology for the timing of this phone call. He was a lapsed Catholic in all ways, but this was pushing it even for him. “Yes, I do. I was referred to you from—well, it’s kind of a long story, but you used to work at Holy Family in Vista View. You were one of the priests who baptized me.”
“Was I now? How long ago was that?”
“More than twenty years ago.”
“And now you’re getting married.”
“Yes, well, I hope to. I didn’t really plan anything ahead of time.”
“Well, then. I hope you’re not treating your marriage the same way. I’m all for spur-of-the-moment, but if you haven’t gone through the suggested pre-marital counseling—”
“We’ve been in love for close to a decade. I’m not backing out.”
Father Freeley let out a long breath. “You’re still young, son. What’s the rush? Why not take the time to give your bride—and you—the wedding of your dreams?”
Gray looked through the glass door where Jazz was now tapping her fingers on the tabletop while she sipped on her iced tea. He smiled. She did that whenever she was bored. Drummer’s curse. In a minute, she’d probably come out here to look for him. The bathroom excuse only worked for so long.
“I’m hoping I can pull that off in about twenty-four hours. We’re not high-maintenance people. We don’t really care about the ceremony, we just want to be married. Need to be.”
“She’s pregnant, isn’t she?”
Gray coughed. “Uh—”
Father Freeley laughed. “Son, you’re not the first nor will you be the last to call me in a panic about a rush ceremony. Is she about to give birth?”
“No. Not even close. She’s barely showing yet, and besides, that’s not why I want to do it now. We’re going on tour soon and with the album coming out, it’s just going to be too hard to find time to get away.”
“Album, hmm? This is starting not to sound like the usual couple I assist in these times.”
“We’re in a band.”
“I figured that. Don’t suppose you’re in the Christian music field?”
“No.” Gray thought of Oblivion’s current hit “Sugar Kiss”—aka an ode to oral sex, specifically oral sex with his soon-to-be wife—and winced. “Not exactly.”
“Head-banging music?”
Gray laughed. “At times, yes. Look, San Francisco’s special to us. I’d like to get married there now and then we can do another ceremony later if she wants to. Whatever she wants.”
“Are you hoping to use the church?”
“No. Do you happen to have some grounds nearby maybe? I want to make it easy on you, but I realize holding it in the house of the Lord might be a bit much for…reasons.” Gray took another quick glance inside the restaurant and noticed Jazz had toed off her flip flops and had curled her bare legs under herself on the seat. “Plus, I’m pretty sure she’s going to want to be barefoot. It’s her thing.”
Father Freeley chuckled. “I can do you one better than the church itself. We’re right next door to a park with numerous hills. On a clear day, and from the right vantage spot, you can see the bridge in the distance.”
“The Golden Gate?”
“Is there any other?”
“No. Not really.” Gray grinned. “Does this mean you’re saying you’ll do it? You’ll marry us? Please. I promise, after this one lapse of premarital sex we’ll be good Catholics from here on out.” One lapse plus about ten thousand. But his fingers of his free hand were crossed in his pocket, so the fib didn’t count.
“Twist my robe, why don’t you? Of course I will. I would never stand in the path of true love. But one request.” He lowered his voice to a near-whisper. “Can you sign a T-shirt for me? I have a teenage niece who would love some memorabilia from a head-banging band.”
“Sure thing. Thank
you so much.”
They finalized a few details then Gray hung up and hurriedly called Lila. “Tell me you’re coming tomorrow.”
“Well, hello to you too,” she said drily. “Yes, I’m coming. Though next time, I’d appreciate some notice to do damage control. You do realize the paparazzi will probably get their hands on this info? Thanks to you, I have no time to work my spin.”
“The spin is I want to marry my girl, hopefully quickly and privately enough that no one with a telephoto lens will find out.”
“Dream on, rockstar.”
“You’re the second person to say that to me today.” Shaking it off, he waved to Jazz through the glass and held up his finger to indicate one more minute when she frowned. Time was running out. “Look, I need a favor.”
“A favor other than interrupting my work in the middle of the week to drive up to San Francisco?”
“You’re not driving. You’re taking your husband’s private jet and bringing the band with you.”
“How did you know?”
“Lucky guess. Plus I couldn’t imagine you sitting in a smog-filled car for five hours.” He grinned. “I need a T-shirt.”
“Then how are you affording a wedding?”
He had to laugh. “We’re doing it pretty low-key. Though, shit, she needs a dress. Can you find one for her?” He relayed a few more details about the church and the park next door, waiting while she wrote down the address. “Oh, and make sure Harper comes. No matter what, Harper needs to be there.”
“Anything else? My personal assistant will just be so bored if you don’t keep giving me tasks to pass on to her.”
“About the T-shirt.” He explained about Father Freeley, then blew out a breath. He hadn’t talked as much in the last month as he had in the last ten minutes. “Do we have anything left merch-wise?”
“We’re in the process of coordinating new merchandise for the album and tour. The numerous delays on said album led to the merchandise being delayed also. We’re expecting a shipment next week.”
“Next week is too late. C’mon, one damn shirt?”
“The only thing we have left in house is the shirts for Simon’s Skanks.”
He chuckled. “Simon’s Sirens? That’ll do.”
“No, I’d swear it says skanks.”
Knowing Lila’s sense of humor could be sarcastic on the best day, he just went with it. “Okay, fine. Bring one, please.”
“Surely there’s more. Do you need flowers for her hair?”
“Fuck. I didn’t even think of flowers. Are they necessary?”
“In a wedding? Of course not. Neither are the wedding bands—” At his groan, she sighed. “Seriously, Grayson, have you not done one thing in preparation?”
“At least we have our marriage license. We got it as soon as I got back from rehab in case we carved out time for the wedding before the tour.”
“One thing taken care of. I’m so proud.”
“There’s one more. I also rented the penthouse suite at the Palatial in San Fran. They bled me dry for two nights. And I think they gave me a discount when I told them my name.”
“Right, of course you’d get the place for the honeymoon squared away. Because that benefits you. All you men are the same.” It sounded like Lila thumped something in the background. “Where is the love? Where is the romance?”
“Can you bring some of that too? I have the love part down, I think.” He smiled at her disgusted huff. “Cool your jets. I have the wedding bands taken care of. I just, uh, haven’t picked them up from the jeweler yet.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Alas, no. Can you grab those too on the way here?” Before she could say no, he rattled off the jeweler’s name and address.
“Your thin ice is about to cave in, pal.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it more than I can say.” Noticing that Jazz was getting restless—her plate of food was empty, and that was one of the few things that could hold her attention for long these days—he reached for the door handle. “I’ll sign anything you want and do two extended solos at every show on the first leg of the tour.”
“And an extended solo in the encore. And maybe a book signing.”
“For what book?”
“We’ll talk later. Ciao.” Lila clicked off.
Clearly, he’d just signed his soul away to the devil. Except this one hid her horns beneath layers of perfect blond hair.
“Who was that?” Jazz asked.
“Lila.” He pocketed his phone but kept his crossed fingers firmly tucked in his pocket. More lies were coming, and they were basically against the tenets he’d agreed to in rehab. Lies for a good reason were still lies, and he didn’t want to start down that path again if he didn’t have to.
Unfortunately, right now he had no choice.
“Why did you call her?”
“She needs me back in the studio again.”
“What? Why? Your parts were all set. I heard them. They were incredible. Jimmy Page couldn’t have done better.”
He slid into the booth and leaned across the table to cup her cheeks in his hands. “Keep talking like that and we’ll never get to San Jose.”
“Sure, we will. They have rest stops. Besides, I thought ahead for easier access.” She slipped something red out of her pocket and pressed it into his hand, right above her plate of demolished chicken. Seriously, he wasn’t even sure she’d left the bones.
Then he refocused on what she’d handed him. Lacy. Tiny. Damp.
“Holy fu—nballs.”
She only smirked. “When he’s born, you can go back to using the word every five minutes. I may even let you have an extended session saying the word in my ear while you demonstrate a live action sequence.”
“You may let me?” He tucked the pair of panties into his pocket, barely resisting the urge to sniff them. Hell, if there hadn’t been grandparents with some young kids in the next booth, he would’ve buried his face in them.
“There is no may, Yoda. There is only do.”
“Someone’s mood has improved.” He picked up one discarded breast from her plate. “That chicken tasted good going down, huh?”
“Not all that tasted good going down.” She smacked her lips and slid out of the booth to slip back into her shoes, mischief dancing in her eyes.
He chuckled. “You’re a dirty bird.”
“Duh.” She dumped out her tray in the garbage and returned to tug him out of the booth. “Well, c’mon then. If we have to get right back so you can head into the studio, we have to get to Molly’s in a hurry. No more sidetrips.”
“Tell your belly that,” he said, following her out to the parking lot. Watching her ass sway unabashedly the whole time.
“Your son is offended by that comment.” She got into the passenger side of the car and turned on the radio as soon as he started the ignition. An Oblivion song was playing—their first big hit, “The Becoming.” The song that he’d written with Deacon that had led to him and Jazz being invited to join the band.
He smiled at her across the small space that separated them. Even that felt like too much. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”
“Yeah.” Her smile was wistful. “It hasn’t been all that long since we joined the band, but God, everything has changed.”
“Not quite a year yet. One hell of an anniversary.” He brushed her hair out of her face and rubbed his thumb over her full lower lip. “Dylan Edward Duffy.”
She blinked. “What?”
“The kid’s name. What do you think?”
“I—I don’t know. We haven’t even begun to think of names. I’m only on the Bs in my baby name book.”
He reversed then drove to the exit. “Let it sit. See what you think.”
“Edward for a middle name?”
“Unless you want to make it Edwards.”
“That sounds so stuffy. Like he should be in Parliament or something.”
“Wrong country, but President would be cool.�
� He shot her a grin as he headed toward the entrance to the freeway. “Better than a rock star.”
“What’s so bad about being a rock star? It lets me bang lots of dudes.” Pursing her lips, she slid him a glance. “So, um, about those Raiders.”
It felt so good to laugh as he reached out to toy with her hair. Someday he might not need to touch her every minute, but that day wasn’t coming anytime soon. “The only dude you’re banging for the rest of your life is me. Deal with it, Duffy.”
It took her a second to realize what he’d said, but when she did, a slow smile dawned across her face. “I like the sound of that.”
He did too, a hell of a lot. And hopefully by this time tomorrow, it would be official.
If he didn’t colossally fuck up the biggest day of his life.
Five
The address on the piece of paper turned out to be in a crappy neighborhood filled with crammed together row houses and cans of overflowing garbage serving as curb appeal. Jazz had even seen a toilet in front of one house, sitting in the middle of the lawn and filled with blooming flowers as if it were some kind of urn.
“Nice digs your sister has,” Gray said, peering through the windshield as they crept along the street, searching for the right house number.
“Is there a college around here? These look like frat houses. See that dude sitting on the hood of his car over there? He has a keg next to the tire.”
“Guys in frats aren’t the only ones who drink from kegs.”
“I know that. I’m just saying. It has a young vibe.”
“Not the only kind of vibe it has,” he muttered. “What’s the number again?”
She read it to him while trying not to smear the ink on the page from her damp fingers. The nerves were back, and this time they’d brought their friends goose bumps and slight nausea. She seriously hoped the morning sickness had not decided to make another reappearance now. It was heading toward night, for one thing, and for another, throwing up upon meeting someone wasn’t exactly the way to make a killer first impression.
