by Cari Quinn
She pulled back, bobbing over his head with her wicked tongue circling again and again. The teasing flutter along the underside was the last straw.
He drove his fingers into her hair and dragged her up against him. Her lips abused and so dark he couldn’t concentrate on anything else.
He lifted her, wrapping her legs around his hips. The stone pillar was textured and scraped the shit out of his palm, but she wasn’t going anywhere. He pinned her there with his hips and dug into his pocket for a condom.
“You want this? Here? Now.”
She nodded, her eyes gleaming in dark. “So much.”
“Hold onto me.”
Her heels dug into his ass as he adjusted his loosened jeans.
“Sweet fuck,” he muttered against her neck as he sank inside her neverending heat. She rolled her hips with each of his thrusts, her heels and nails digging into him with equal measure. The sounds, though…that was what drove him to the edge.
Her heartfelt moan was a memory and a revelation. She took him stride for stride, thrust for thrust until there wasn’t much left of him. His throat burned with the need to shout out his release, but he tamped it back.
This woman knew too much.
Saw too much.
Their lips fused as he took her cries and swallowed them down with his own. The night sounds disappeared, his pain faded away, and there was nothing left but her taking him so goddamn deep.
She tore her mouth away and pressed her cheek to his. He swiveled his hips as much as he could to get the friction she needed. She was there with him, but he could tell her release was just out of reach.
“Tell me.”
Her voice was barely a whisper wrapped in a whimper. She gripped his hair, his shoulder, his back—always moving and changing in her restless search for something else. “I can’t…”
He twisted with her in his arms and dropped to one of the huge stone blocks with the bronzed plaques. There was barely enough room to get her knees on either side of him, but it was what she needed.
“God, yes.”
“Margo,” he growled into her chest, nosing into her bra to suck on her breast as she slammed down on him. With her astride him, she took him even deeper. She arched back until he almost dropped her, but her hips never wavered. She never stopped slamming down against him.
He sucked harder, drilled deeper, held her closer. Watching her burn and sway above him held him at the peak. He couldn’t let go. Not now. Not if it meant he’d miss this woman coming all over him.
She sobbed out his name and he gripped her hips, holding her down around him as he came viciously. The orgasm yanked out of him from his spine and out the top of his head.
The shout that tore from him left fire in his throat but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but her shattering around him.
Thirteen
Margo lost the will to move or even to bring her brain cells to the party. After that, what was she supposed to do?
He was still deep inside of her, as if her body couldn’t bear the thought of letting him go.
She wanted an experience.
To finally have a moment of sexual awakening.
Simon had been more than willing. But somewhere in between the thrill of having Simon in her mouth as he teased pleasure out of her with words and the orgasm that blindsided her, she’d lost sight of her goal.
Just sex.
He was the ultimate fantasy. An outlet for pleasure with no strings. The perfect man for anything except a serious relationship.
All signs pointed to Simon. In theory. But if they kept this up, there would be a larger problem.
Because she felt the odd stirrings of infatuation. The need to watch him and figure him out to her advantage.
He wasn’t a score to puzzle out. There was no staff full of notes to learn. She wasn’t supposed to be making a playlist of Simon’s greatest orgasms. She was supposed to be worried about her own.
And the fun.
Tonight hadn’t been fun. It had been intense. It had been overwhelming.
It had been downright scary.
He shouldn’t know her body that well.
And he sure as hell shouldn’t have been able to lead her down that primrose path of destruction.
She didn’t even know how to climb off him yet. How to let go of the perfection of his cock and return to the emptiness she’d never known was living inside her.
His music, she understood. It had been a long time since any music had spoken to her on such a fundamental level, but it was still a commodity she understood.
Simon, the man…she didn’t understand him.
Didn’t want to.
She didn’t want these forays into his psyche through this connection that glowed so bright between them.
He slipped his hands under her skirt and around to her bottom. He soothed and massaged the muscles that still twitched from the aftermath. The tightness of the back of her thighs to the curve of her cheeks and in between.
Her heart stuttered when he lightly circled her rosette and she instinctively tensed. He didn’t speak, didn’t coerce, didn’t have to ask permission.
Her body seemed to know how to accept his touches, even there where she’d never thought to touch. He reached around to the unbearable wetness between them and used it to dampen the sensitive skin.
He groaned as she tightened around his half hard cock with each progressive circle. When the pad of his middle finger pressed in the tiniest bit, she made a restless sound.
“I want to fuck you here, too. I want to take my time and open you up and fill you ‘til you scream.”
She hissed out a breath as he went back to the gentle circles and then left her altogether to use his thumbs along her lower spine. Finally, he curved his hands around her waist and simply held her restless hips until she quieted.
Until the night sounds intruded and the crisp breeze drifted over the water with a taste of the fountain spray.
“We should probably get back before someone catches us.”
She nodded and scooted back a little, just enough until he withdrew from her, leaving her curiously numb inside.
She stepped off of him with a silent groan filling up her head. He took care of the condom, and she handed him a tissue from her pocket. They both buttoned up and walked silently across the bridge into the park.
At the first trash bin, Simon got rid of the condom, but there didn’t seem to be words between them. They’d used them all up within the stone pillars.
It wasn’t a loud silence, but not quite a companionable one, either. As usual, it was on the fine line of in-between where she wasn’t quite sure how to act.
They followed the path around the park to Broadway. The shops were closed and the streetlights reminded her of gaslights in old paintings.
It was a quaint town full of one-of-a-kind shops and eateries. It was the perfect street for browsing tourists there for the races or the casino nightlife nearby.
“Where are you staying tonight?”
She glanced over at him. “With Lila at The Inn.” She nodded up the street. “Probably why I made it to the park a little faster than you.”
“Classy and elegant. I wouldn’t expect any less for Lila.”
Out of Nick’s mouth that statement would have an acerbic edge, but with Simon, it was just a lazy drawl of fact.
“How did you get here?”
“Stole a golf cart and stashed it over near the Ben & Jerry’s down that street.”
She grinned and he stopped. “What?”
“I don’t see you smile all that often, Violin Girl.”
She brought her hand up to her mouth to cover the bigger laugh trying to bubble up. “I’m just picturing you in all black, curled over the wheel and zipping down the paths of SPAC.”
“I’ll have you know I’m a very good golf cart driver. Fastest on the block.”
She curled her arm across her middle to hold in the giggle she felt building. “Simon Kagan, golf ca
rt thief, tops off his night with a little stolen sex.”
“Worth it.”
Her laughter caved in on itself and she put it in the little drawer where she hid her few pleasures. “I’d have to agree.”
“Good.” He nodded across the street. “We need to cross.”
“No, that’s okay. You have to go down that way, don’t you?”
“Know where your ice cream is, huh?”
“A Ben & Jerry’s shop? Of course.”
“Need I ask?”
She licked her top lip. “Ask what?”
“What’s your flavor, Violin Girl?”
“Oh. Well…”
“If you tell me vanilla, I’m taking away that rockstar cello and not returning it. I will find a way to learn how to play it.”
She laughed. “Hazed and Confused.”
“I don’t think I know that one.”
“All sorts of hazelnut and caramel goodness.”
He stepped closer to her. “So you like salty and sweet?”
Her heartbeat filled her head and pulsed between her thighs. She’d been studiously ignoring the fact that her inner thighs were still slick from before and she was deathly afraid a freak wind would blow her skirt up so her bare butt would be on display. But now with that question hanging between them, she was acutely aware of her body again.
It was a constant struggle around Simon. And now she wanted to go on tour with him? With them? In close quarters.
Masochist.
She stepped back. The way his eyes faded from intent and flirtatious back to indifferent sliced at her. Emotions didn’t belong in their equation.
He moved to her side again, his hand hovering at the small of her back. “I’ll walk you to the door.”
“I’ll be fine. The street’s lit up like a Christmas tree.”
“Don’t want to be seen with me, Violin Girl?” With his distinct brow line, she couldn’t read his eyes. They were hidden in shadow, but his mouth seemed hard. The usual smirk gone.
She cleared her throat and shook her hair back. “Lila figured us out from the start, but there’s no need to throw it in her face.”
“And when we tour?”
“I haven’t been accepted yet.”
“You will. Nick still has his back up like a pissed off cat, but he’s already settling down.”
She tipped her head to the side. “How do you know?”
“Besides the fact that I’ve known him since we were kids, I know his tells.”
“Enlighten me.”
“He came back after he walked off his mad. If he was really against it, he wouldn’t have returned.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
Simon nodded. “He came back and he played. He came back because he knew how good it was at the release parties. He might play it off like he doesn’t pay attention to the ins and outs of the business, but he watches and analyzes everything.” He swiped his hand down his face. “He and Deacon started discussing arrangements long before you came to rehearsals. He was already looking for ways to layer in the guitars to mimic your violin.”
Her belly jittered. God, could it be true? She didn’t even want to voice how much she wanted this.
She stepped into the street and turned to him. “I guess we’ll be figuring that out tomorrow.”
He dipped his hands into his pockets. “I guess we will.”
Simon dunked his head under the tap in the bathroom of the venue. Cold water sluiced around his neck to his jaw and dripped down his chin.
It was ass hot today and his fucking throat was on fire.
Allergies? Worse?
He didn’t know and was afraid to know.
He’d brought down his voice a few octaves during rehearsals to the easier mid-registers and it helped. He had to save his voice for the real stage, in spite of Nick’s perfectionist nature that normally required them to rehearse six, seven, eleven times for each song. His best friend would’ve bitched out loud except they’d actually gotten somewhere. The songs were tighter, and Margo’s violin and cello were becoming part of their sound.
Her face as each song came together was enough to keep his dick hard all damn day.
It was the only thing that kept the panic out of his belly about his voice. No one seemed to notice. He usually tried to modulate it for rehearsals, anyway.
But fuck, he was struggling. He leaned against the tiled wall and sank to a crouch. With a shaking hand, he drew his phone out of his pocket and pulled up a search page.
The first search was for changing voice and that was way too broad. Voice cracking went into a terrifying territory that made him shut his phone off.
Vocal hemorrhage.
Nodes.
Polyps.
Cysts.
Fuck.
He swiped a hand down his face. He downed the water that was always next to him these days. With a grunt, he rose off the floor and tucked his phone away.
He just needed that fucking ginger shit that Margo mentioned. And to keep his goddamn mouth shut the rest of the time he wasn’t singing.
Vocal rest.
All the interviews he had to do didn’t help matters. That at least he could manage.
They had their first show in four days. He had to be ready. He slipped out of the bathroom and headed back to the kitchen that Harper had set up for the week.
“Harp?”
She looked up, her sunny blond hair in its typical braid. Was it him or did her hair seem even longer? Damn prenatal vitamins. He’d stolen Jazz’s gummy ones for a while until his hair had grown out to his shoulders in two months. He didn’t have time for that shit.
“Hi, Simon. Can I get you something?”
He looked at his feet, then jammed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “It’s kind of a weird request.”
“I’m the queen of weird.”
“Yeah you are. You married Deak.”
“Har-har.” She leaned against the counter and swiped at her brow with the back of her hand.
Jesus.
Simon’s gaze crashed into her belly. She was due in two months, but it looked more like two days. Gigantor baby in there.
She looked down and rubbed the top of her belly. “I know. It’s finally to the point that I couldn’t hide it even with a satellite view.”
He laughed. “Sure you don’t need to sit down?”
“I’m fine. Moving around is good for my circulation.”
“Right.”
“Weird request?”
“Yeah. Nick’s killing my throat with all this extra rehearsal. Margo mentioned steeping ginger in some hot water might help?”
“Huh. I wouldn’t have thought of that. I use root ginger so that’s no problem.”
“You do?”
“I sneak in the healthy stuff when you guys aren’t looking.” She shrugged. “I’ll do some research to see if I can make it taste a little better than just straight ginger. Because wow, awful.”
“Your ginger chicken tastes awesome.”
She smiled. “Well, thanks. But that’s a lot of brown sugar in there, pal.”
“Oh. Well, I’d appreciate it.” He rubbed his triceps. He’d overdone it on the workout that morning, trying to get his head in the game. Stupid resistance bands didn’t feel like they did much.
“Done.” She tipped her head. “Is it just voice strain?”
“Yeah. I can jam it up for hours with the guys, but that’s like once a week. Two days of five hours of singing—yeah, I’m just not used to it.”
“Okay. I’ll fix you right up.”
“Thanks, Harper.”
She flipped her braid over her shoulder and hefted a bowl. “Now shoo and tell everyone it’s time for lunch.”
“Want me to carry that?”
“I’m pregnant, not an invalid. Shoo.”
“Will do.”
He headed to the hallway that went up to the stage, but he didn’t need to inform anyone. The scent of Harper’s
barbecue had brought everyone around.
Band and crew were clustered around the warming trays on the two buffet tables from Harper’s truck. A cute little redhead was fussing with all the cutlery.
Well, shit. “Annie.”
She looked up. “Hey, Simon.” Her lips split into a wide, knowing grin.
He’d hooked up with her last tour. A few times. He winced when Margo stood in front of her and looked between them.
“Chicken, please.”
Annie turned to her. “Sure. Just one?”
“Yes.”
Simon pointed to the end of the line. “I’ll just go get at the back of the horde.”
“You’re already here.” Margo pulled him toward the table and handed him a plate.
“Right.” The thought of the spicy pork that he so loved was enough to push him toward the milder chicken. He wondered if it was a bad idea to beg for ice cream.
Probably. Milk products never boded well for his voice. But man, it would probably feel good.
“Simon? No spicy pork? Are you all right?”
He laughed and wished the tickle would go the hell away. “Used too much Rooster on my eggs this morning.”
Annie shrugged and put two pieces of chicken on his plate. He moved down the line behind Margo, but didn’t say a word.
Vocal rest—thank you.
He sat with Nick and Margo moved on to sit with Lila. Before he could even pick up his fork, Nicky launched into his thoughts on “Lit” and making a bridge between “Ricochet” and “Monster” to make it one epic song.
Guess he didn’t have to worry about not talking.
Especially when Deacon sat next to Nick and they started squabbling over which guitar to use where. All Simon could focus on was that “Ricochet” and “Monster” were both lower register songs.
“They’d be perfect in the second hour.”
Nick pulled out the notebook that wasn’t ever far from his hand and scribbled in a note. The page had scratch outs and some sort of shorthand that only Nick understood. “Yeah. Good point. Some headbanging to revive the crowd in the middle.” Deacon and Nick put their heads together over the notebook.
Simon finished enough of his chicken to fill the hole in his gut to get through the rest of the day and tossed the rest.
