Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Her passion matches mine and we devour each other. I lift her into my arms, losing myself in her softness, her warm vanilla scent invading my nostrils in a heady rush. “I want to fuck you.”

  “I want you to fuck me,” she breathes, clinging to me, as addicted to my kisses as I am to hers. I can’t get enough of her taste and smell, the feel of her body. “But you can’t.”

  I’m torturing both of us, needing to be inside of her so bad. I can’t make love to her, but I can have her another way. If she agrees. Combing my fingers through her hair, I caress the back of her head, trail my tongue down her throat. “I can have you.”

  She throws her head back, her nipples pressing against me. I swipe my tongue over one, remembering too late she doesn’t want to share her milk with me. “How?”

  “Trust me, Georgie.”

  “I still have stitches.”

  My tongue tangles with hers and she whimpers against my mouth. Fuck, I need her. I need inside of her. It’s been so long since we’ve been intimate. Longing merges with want, need, desire, all pent up and stored for her. I tear my mouth from hers and stare into her eyes, willing her to trust me. “I don’t mean sinking my dick in your cunt. I mean taking your ass. I’ll do it slowly so it won’t hurt. I’ll caress your clit until you come while I fuck your ass.”

  The crassness of my words cross my mind, but fuck, I never think clearly with Georgie.

  She stills in my arms.

  “I don’t…I don’t think I’ll like that. I mean, maybe later, when I’m all the way healed. And stuff,” she adds on a mumble when I scowl at her. Not because I’m angry that she’s denied me, but because I need the comfort of her body.

  “Are you mad at me?” she asks in a small voice.

  “No, sweetheart. I…you’re right. I shouldn’t have asked you to do anal.” As if she’s a random groupie who’ll service me any way I demand.

  Delicate facial bones contour her features. She looks like a little nymph, a goddess of the earth who became my essence from the day we met. Her giving birth to my daughter has me even more in awe of her.

  She squirms past me and heads to the shower. I imagined we’d linger, drive each other insane beneath the heat of the water. We don’t.

  Back in the bedroom, I search the suitcase Zelda packed for me and delivered when she arrived with Bryn.

  Once I’m dressed, I watch Georgie going through her things. She keeps looking toward the door and I know she wants Bryn. Sighing, I squeeze the bridge of my nose.

  “We have to talk,” I tell her.

  “Give me five minutes.” She quickly settles on something to wear, but blushes, grabs a couple of items from her bag and heads to the bathroom.

  I don’t want to return to the bedroom and hear what Sloane has to say, not believing it’ll be anything good. He sounded so grim when he announced we have to talk. My imagination runs wild, but always returns to my denial of him fucking me in the ass.

  Crowell threatened to do the same thing to me. He made it sound cruel and debasing. Sloane just seemed determined to have me any way possible

  Running my fingers over my braid, I sigh, wondering what we are to each other. What I am to him. What he is to me.

  He loves me and I love him. We’re married. All of it is more than I ever dreamed of. On the other hand, at the heart of the matter is the fact that I don’t expect him not to leave me.

  That’s what I’m here for.

  To be left or locked away.

  Maybe, I should let him take me as he wants. And I would if I had any desire for sex in any way. I’m self-conscious about my body and don’t feel particularly sexy. And I’m just not in the mood to do anything more than I did when I sucked his cock.

  I stare at my hand, in particular my left finger, where my engagement ring and wedding band are. He could’ve just gotten me something simple, instead of an entire set. I love it, but I wonder if he’s now done with giving me attention and will lump me into the same box as Grandma and my parents. Spoil me rotten, but keep me out of the way.

  “Georgiana!” His tone impatient startles me. I’ve already disappointed him once tonight, so I don’t tarry another moment. In the bedroom, he sits on the edge of the bed, arms folded, handsome face twisted in a scowl.

  “Hey.”

  “It’s almost time for you to nurse the baby, right?”

  “Yes.” I glance at Abby’s wall clock and a surprised giggle escapes me. Big red numbers are piled in one corner of the yellow face, nowhere near either of the black hands. What the fuck is engraved in dark letters, arched above the hands. “I want that clock.”

  Sloane spares it a glance, before turning his attention back to me. “Can you focus on me for a minute?”

  The man has a split personality. Sometimes, he’s sweeter than honey. Other times, he’s a fucking jerk. “I’m listening.”

  He rubs a hand over his face. “We’ll be in LA for a few weeks to work on another album.”

  “Have fun.” I married him without securing his promise of fidelity. It’s too late to ask for it now. Not commenting further, I sit next to him. Ten minutes left before I have to nurse Bryn. I won’t spend my wedding night arguing over his roaming dick. Other things need settling. “We’ll be fine here with Abby.”

  “You’re not staying here. You’re going to the house in Denver, along with Zelda and Abby. Bullard, the band’s pilot,” he reminds me, although I haven’t forgotten the man’s name, “will be here in a day to collect the three of you. After he drops us off in LA.”

  ”So you’re taking my suggestion that we lead separate lives after all?”

  “Not really. You’ll be in Denver, setting up our house.”

  “The house is already set up.”

  “According to my designer’s tastes. You may have your own ideas.”

  As if I care about throwing a bunch of money away to redo his house. It’s gorgeous. “You were so adamant about us not separating I thought I was traveling with you.”

  “You need a security detail of your own. I was too busy planning your wedding. There wasn’t enough time. Besides, it may be a good idea to keep a low profile until your eighteenth birthday.”

  Dejected, I sit on my hands so I won’t touch his tattoos, and change the subject. “I need doctors for Bryn and I…I’ll soon need my six-week checkup and so will she. I’ve also settled on the birth control I want, so—”

  “I don’t want you on birth control,” he interrupts.

  Sure I’ve misheard, I stare at him. “What?”

  “You heard me. No birth control.”

  Yes, his words are loud and clear this time. They were the first time, too. I just hadn’t believed he’d actually said them. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “That’s another fucking thing—” he warns through gritted teeth.

  I roll my eyes. “Language,” I cut in. He’s so fucking anal about my cussing. I huff out a breath. “You aren’t serious about the birth control, right? I mean, why in the world wouldn’t I protect myself against another pregnancy?”

  “I don’t want only one child and it’s best if the kids are born close together.”

  “Well, dickhead, when you figure out how to carry those babies yourself, we’ll have more.” Of all the bullshit that Sloane’s ever demanded, this is by far, the cheekiest and most ludicrous.

  “How long are you going to breastfeed Bryn?”

  “For sure six weeks.” I haven’t decided what I’ll do beyond that. The decisions facing me are a little overwhelming. But I want what’s best for her. “Once I talk to our doctors, I’ll make a final decision.” That’s the best answer I can give to him.

  “Hire a nanny,” he tells me as if my words fly right over his head. “Some of the burdens of caring for Bryn will be taken from you. I want you pregnant again as soon as possible.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  “As long as you’re breastfeeding or pregnant, you’ll stay away from alcohol and drugs,”
he continues without missing a beat.

  Too stunned to respond, I blink. But he doesn’t require my input. He goes on.

  “I’m not asking if I can make you pregnant again. I’m telling you I will.”

  “Asshole,” I yell, livid at his high-handed, fucked-up, chauvinistic order. “This is my body. I happen to not want to use it as a house for one of your spawns. At least for another two or three years.”

  “Spawn? Here I thought Bryn was our child.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Your body is designed to bear children.”

  Desperation creeps into me. “But not one after the other. I-I mean…I-I’m scared. I don’t know what to do with Bryn all of the time. I’m not ready for another baby. I swear I won’t touch drugs. Bryn’s everything to me. I’d never do anything to—”

  “You’ll have full support. Zelda will help out. Each baby will have a nanny. Abby will be in and out.”

  I can’t believe he’s putting me in this position. Doesn’t he understand? Isn’t he listening to me?

  No. Not anymore. He once did, but circumstances backed him into a corner. If my trust has been demolished, his has always been non-existent. Our lives have never belonged to us. He’s lived with the threat—the fear—of his father falsely accusing him of his sister’s murder for eleven years.

  He couldn’t save her, so he tried to save me. Instead, it backfired in the worst way.

  I know him. I know that he’s a man who thrives on control because, in reality, he has so little of it. Rand Mason pulls his strings, as well as Kiln’s and Jaeger’s. Meanwhile, Grandma is my puppet master.

  Now, he thinks he’s hit upon a way to keep me from using. Yes, I believe he wants our kids close-in-age, but he also has to find a way to keep me on the straight and narrow.

  All he’s ever done is worry about me. At least, when we’re ‘together.’ I’d prefer not to know how he feels about me when he’s away. Or if I cross his mind at all.

  For him, another pregnancy will keep me sober and afford him peace of mind.

  It’s hard to imagine willingly agreeing to go through labor and delivery again in the next year. “How many more do you want?”

  “Let’s agree to one more right now.”

  “One more? When you say right now…? You’ll be away for a while.”

  “As soon as you’re healed, I’ll either fly to Denver or fly you to LA if you aren’t already there with me.”

  The urge to cry hits me, but I suck my tears back. I have no clue why I want to cry. Maybe, the reason is I’m not going to deny Sloane this request as much as I want to. Agreeing to have another baby for him will…what? Show me how I’m ignoring what I know is best for me so he can be happy? Allay my fears that he’ll lose himself in music and groupies and forget about me? If he has to get me pregnant, he’ll have to come back to me.

  But then what?

  “Will you at least be there for the delivery?” I ask, threading acceptance into my voice.

  “Yes. I’ll be there for more than the delivery.”

  I don’t respond.

  “So, we agree?” he presses. “No birth control.”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  He smiles, then kisses me. “You’ll see, sweetheart. Everything will work out.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  A line of half-dressed blondes parade onto the stage and I gaze at them through heavy-lidded eyes, shifting in my seat. A couple of seats from me, Jaeger whispers to Kiln and Quint. I’m between Adam and Maitland, not interested in conversation with anyone. Thoughts of my wife plague me.

  Three weeks have gone by since my wedding to Georgie. I’ve been flying from Denver to LA every couple of days to keep her happy. It also allows me to make sure she’s settling into her role as the lady of the house. She has to hire whatever staff she needs. Still, her desire to be with me keeps her unhappy, though Denver is safest for her.

  Tonight, we’re having a party at a record exec’s home. I already know Silver will be there. She’s a porn star I’ve hooked up with on several occasions. A tall blonde with gray eyes, huge tits, a willing mouth, and a hot cunt. And she’s bringing her friends, which are similar in looks and attitude. By tomorrow, it will be leaked everywhere. As will this audition for dancers to take with us on a new tour still in the planning stages.

  Women are all around me. Everywhere I look, I see my specialty, big tittied blondes.

  As I stand to direct the second group of girls through the moves they’ll be performing with me onstage should they be chosen to tour with us, my dick throbs. We’ve started recording, but now, our main focus is rehearsals for our performance at the music fest. It almost feels as if we’re preparing for our very first concert, and I can’t deny how excited I am. I’ve had casual sex for so many years, my growth is stunted for a real relationship. My previous affair with Georgie was easy. My goal was to save her from herself and make sure she had the mental capacity to survive with or without me. She followed whatever I told her. Last year, in Denver, it was just us, with no outside influences and without the world watching. I considered myself committed to her and knew she adored me. We, as a couple, were uncomplicated and simple.

  Now, life has intruded before we’ve had a chance to honeymoon. This is the test of our relationship. We’ll either end up stronger and more committed, or irreparably separated, the last thing I want. I know I’ve hurt her countless times, but I need her to believe in me just a fraction of what she did before. Or, at least, overlook the women surrounding me without her pouting and making me feel lower than fucking shit. Though sympathetic, I resent her demand for my accountability.

  Another upside to meaningless flings. No understanding is required. It’s all about fucking. Where Georgie is concerned, it’s never only been physical. Not even the night I first met her, when I believed I’d never see her again.

  I flew in yesterday. This time I’m in LA for a month. Knowing I’ll be too busy to fly back and forth is killing me. As distasteful as her demand is that I explain my every move, I miss her. It concerns me that she may be secluding herself. I’m also more than ready to fuck, have sex, make love, eat her pussy, and have my dick sucked by her.

  “Are you going up or what?” Kiln calls, quirking his brow.

  Without a word, I go to the stage. Immediately, I’m eyed with speculation and offered more than one come-fuck-me look. One girl slides her tongue along her lips before making a little lapping motion.

  This is the longest I’ve gone without a dick suck in months. When I was in rehab, it was about three weeks before I found a couple of staff workers willing to blow me.

  “All right, ladies. We’re going to start off with hip-roll, hip-roll, slide, and twist.”

  I situate myself in the middle of the girls. The lead choreographer we’ve hired is located in the front row of the auditorium we’ve rented. The girl who sent the silent dick-suck invitation has secured one of the spots next to me.

  Her tits are nearly bursting out of her tank top. I think about inviting her to my dressing room to lick her pussy while she sucks me. Maybe, I’ll bring her back to the hotel with me and fuck her for the entire afternoon.

  After me and the ten hopefuls go through the routine several times, we come to the part of the audition where I have to take each girl and dance with her one-on-one. I’m looking for the one I have the most chemistry with, so the audience will believe I have real feelings for her as I hold her, grind upon her and serenade her.

  My headset is handed to me. Once I put it on, I get my acoustic guitar and stand at the spot marked with an ‘X’. I sing the first verse and the blonde I’ve considered fucking struts up to me. She has a body to kill for. We share smiles and I indicate the spot next to me. My fingers strum the strings a moment before she starts to move, her hair brushing over my arm as I play, her lips skimming my back, her breasts pressing against me.

  She has excellent rhythm and sex appeal. Her hand slides down my forearm. I do an up-t
empo and she shakes her ass accordingly, auditioning not only to be one of the dancers but my lover, too.

  As we close out the routine, she stops and glances at me through her lashes, then offers me another fuck-me-into-oblivion smile. Just the kind of grin I like. My dick loves it. Pre-cum drips from me.

  But…

  She’s too tall and she doesn’t have black hair or purple eyes. She isn’t a gorgeous little waif who’s afraid to completely trust me because no one has ever shown themselves truly trustworthy.

  The girl in front of me would open her pussy right here if I demanded it of her. But as damaged and suspicious as Georgie is, she still tries to believe in me.

  “Uh, Sloane?” Adam calls, because I still haven’t moved. He nods at the women who haven’t even made it to the stage yet. “The others are becoming restless as they await their turn.”

  “What’s your name?” I ask the girl who wants me in her cunt. She has talent and we have chemistry. We’ll be good together on stage.

  “My name is whatever you’d like it to be,” she retorts.

  Removing my headset, I narrow my eyes at her.

  “Rhea,” she huffs and comes a little closer to me. “I want to suck your dick.”

  Despite the dancing and the sheen of sweat on her, I smell her perfume. The scent is good, but it isn’t vanilla and it isn’t Georgie.

  I blow out an irritated breath. “See that guy?” I point to Maitland.

  She nods.

  “Give him your information and we’ll call you as soon as the other two dancers are chosen.”

  She squeals and bounces up and down, hugging me, her body closer to mine than necessary. “Thank you. Whatever you need from me, I’ll be happy to give it to you.”

  “I’m sure,” I say dryly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You bet,” she coos and sashays off the stage.

  “Hey, kiddo.” At the sound of Abby’s voice, I turn in the stool I’m sitting in at the breakfast bar in Sloane’s mansion. Bryn is asleep in a little baby bouncer and Zelda has me searching through cookbooks…yes, physical books. I wanted to use my iPad. She scoffed and pointed to a cabinet that revealed all sorts of cookbooks when I opened the door.