Dirty Duet (Found in Oblivion Book 3)

by Cari Quinn

  Then the telltale contractions started deep inside her, and she didn’t know which of them moaned more loudly.

  “Fuck yes. Come on me. All over me.” He bit at her lips, and blood washed over her tongue. All his sweetness gone. But she didn’t need it now. She needed the rough drive of his hips into hers, pounding her into the mattress so the residual pain fuzzed into pleasure.

  Only pleasure. Originating so far inside her that she couldn’t do anything more than cling to him. He was the center of her storm, the only thing left for her to hold onto.

  “Fucking scream for me, Lo,” he said hoarsely, and his words were like a benediction.

  Permission she hadn’t realized she wanted.

  She tossed her head on the pillow, crying out again and again as she rolled her hips, rocking into him the same way he was plunging into her. Finally, she stopped fighting it. The last of her nerves, the pressure inside her, the need, all poured out of her, soaking his dick. Not that he stopped thrusting, even for a second. She couldn’t stop coming because he didn’t stop moving.

  He was going to literally fuck her to death.

  And she was going to die grateful. So grateful.

  She tried to lift her head, to see him powering between her legs, but her vision swam and she dropped back down to the pillows.

  “Goddamn, you’re beautiful. Feel so good. Can’t. Can’t. Can’t.” On the last one, he buried his face in her hair and shouted out his release, his wildly pistoning hips finally going still for an instant, barely, before they were on the move again. Slamming into her a way that would hurt so much when she tried to walk later but felt almost sinfully good now.

  She clutched at his hair and his back and wrapped her legs around him, rising up to give him everything he needed as he drained himself into the condom. Then pressing kisses to the side of his damp face, fumbling to find his mouth as if she was as weak and shaky as a newborn.

  Because she was.

  He kissed her back, the moment unwinding until their lips were barely still clinging together. It was as if someone had pulled out the cord and they were both left boneless, collapsed in a sweaty heap on the bed.

  “Gotta get off you,” he said against her neck, and she tried to nod in agreement.

  Then she gave up and halfheartedly patted his shoulder. He was so heavy, but she could probably sleep this way. Eventually, her crushed limbs had to stop aching, right?

  When he started to pull out of her, her eyes shot open wide. “Um, no. Don’t do that. I really think…don’t.”

  His forehead wrinkled. “I’m suffocating you. Too big.”

  “Yeah. That’s why…don’t move.” She grimaced as a hint of the pain started to creep through. Perhaps her inaugural sexfest had been a little too vigorous. “We’ll just stay like this, ‘kay? Just…not moving.”

  “Lo.” He began to laugh. “I can’t just stay inside you.” He shifted and grunted. “Though I’d really fucking like to.”

  “Okay.” She hissed out a breath through her teeth. “Just don’t think less of me if I cry like a baby, okay?”

  His frown grew. “Why would you?”

  “Um, you’re a very large man. And I think we tried to go for the intermediate or perhaps advanced level of intercourse and my parts were still on training wheels.”

  He glanced down between them, then ran his fingertip over her lips. “Say it with me. Your pussy.”

  Something trembled inside her, and she was almost certain that it wasn’t her rearranged internal organs. Her clit gave a weak little throb, and he must’ve felt something too, because he shifted and did that finger on her lips thing again, moving his mouth to her ear. “Your pussy, Lo. Your pussy is fucking strangling me right now, and I’m getting hard again, and I want nothing more than to just keep fucking you. I know you bled on these pristine white sheets, and fuck if that isn’t making me hard too.” His teeth grazed her earlobe and she quivered around him. Feeling more pinned at this instant that she had at any other. “Not because you’re hurting. Because now you’re mine. This piece of you, always mine first.”

  She couldn’t respond. All she could do was clutch at him inside so that his breath gusted hot against her cheek.

  “Condoms aren’t meant for twice. It’s going to spill. I have to pull out, babe. I’ll be careful.” He pressed a kiss to her jaw. “Then I’m going to clean you up with a warm washcloth before I run you a bath. There’s a tub in there. It’ll feel better.”

  Nodding, she tried to stay silent. Not to poke the bull. But she couldn’t help it. “You’re not…you’re not going to fuck me again?”

  “Oh, hell yes I am. You think you can give me one taste and that’s enough? I’m going to feast on you,” he said, voice raw, and she had to shut her eyes at the blast of heat that rolled through her system. “I feel you squeezing me. You hot little cock-tease. Later. We’re not even close to done yet.”

  Without warning, he pulled out of her, as neatly as ripping off a Band-Aid. And the pain only reached whimper-level rather than shriek.

  “All right?” he asked tenderly, and she nodded, strangely embarrassed now.

  So maybe all her modesty around him hadn’t gone after all. Just most.

  Especially when he glanced down at her puffy folds, separating them with careful fingers. “So red,” he murmured, and she wasn’t sure if he was concerned or aroused.

  Since he was male, probably both. She couldn’t even really blame him. Something about being invaded by him, just opened up and commanded, made her feel flushed and trembly. The same way that being so gently inspected did now.

  He pulled off the condom and she couldn’t help noticing how full it was. That too made her feel too hot all over. He tied it off and disposed of it in a nearby trash can, promising he’d be right back.

  Swallowing deeply, she lifted her shoulders from the bed and decided she’d be fine just to stay in that one place. Possibly forever.

  He returned with a warm, wet washcloth and sat beside her to clean her between her legs. She started to protest and gave it up as a lost cause. His attention felt too good on her sore, stretched flesh.

  “Just a little blood,” he said, and she knew her cheeks were flushed for sure. She hadn’t even thought to put down a towel.

  “I’m sorry about the sheets. I’ll pay if there’s a charge—”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing. Ever.” He bent to kiss her knee and she reached out to stroke his hair. He turned his head, nailing her with the full power of his gaze. “Thank you. Thank you for sharing yourself with me.”

  “You’re welcome. I mean, thank you too. Thank you for…” She trailed off, realizing he might’ve fucked her clear into her brain because she seemed to have lost her ability to string sentences together. “For impaling me,” she said finally, not sure why he started to laugh.

  She hadn’t even mentioned intercourse again. Yet.

  “Impaled, huh?” He cupped the washcloth against her mound as he leaned over to take her mouth, so sweetly that she sighed.

  He finally eased back and licked his lips as if he were savoring her taste. “How sore are you?”

  “Right now? Manageable.” She shifted and grimaced. “When I walk, I might need a cane.” She waited a beat then grinned. “Hallmark of a great afternoon, right?”

  His momentarily worried expression disappeared with the quirk of his lips. “It sure was for me.” He brushed her damp hair away from her cheek. “Let’s get you into that bath, so I can dirty you up all over again.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Just where do you think my kit is going to fit, Frank?” Mal’s voice thundered from the postage stamp sized stage.

  The Rickshaw Stop was empty save for a few people wandering around. Most of them were part of their crew. Frank—their crew manager—was soothing Mal’s ruffled feathers. If it wasn’t Mal, it was usually Molly pitching a fit.

  Honestly, West was done with both of them this week. Tonight was a fan club trip.
They didn’t have to work for this one. Theoretically it would be full of actual fans. They’d been playing opening act for so long it felt like the band was forever seducing the audience.

  And normally he didn’t mind it. Seduction was the name of the game in this business. But every one of them should be enjoying this historic spot. The stage was small, but the acoustics were crazy and the rafters were full of old school bulbs on strings with a fucking disco ball strapped to the center.

  Insanity.

  The cool factor was above and beyond. The videos alone were going to be epic.

  What was his band doing?

  Bitching.

  Jesus.

  He climbed up onto a pair of couches stacked on a dais along the side of the room. The small venue had two different modes. Coffee house with seats of all different flavors dotting the space, and completely cleared out. He’d seen Brandon Flowers at this venue and it had been packed from wall to wall.

  One of the best experiences of his damn life. One of the reasons he’d pushed to add this place to their roster of small gigs. Back to basics. Warning Sign needed that. To remember why they liked playing together in the first place.

  Ryan had been distant, Molly had been growing ever more diva-like, and Mal had dropped all pretense of civility these days. Michael was wrapped up in family. With good reason of course, but good goddamn, it felt like most of them were on separate planes. Jules and Elle were the only ones he didn’t have to worry about.

  Jules loved the stage more than breath.

  Elle came alive the moment her guitar was in her hands.

  That was what this was supposed to be about.

  He loved turning a crowd in their favor. Whether it was him doing something insane on stage or Molly’s siren voice, or when it was truly perfect and they were all in synch. Those were the moments he lived for.

  He glanced toward the front of the venue. And now he had a new problem. He’d been worried about getting too attached to this strange and wonderful woman who’d crashed into his life sans shirt. And now Lo was in the middle of his fans with a huge smile and questions bubbling out of her lush mouth.

  The same mouth that had been stretched around his cock an hour ago. He stretched his arms over his head and cracked his neck. He felt fucking phenomenal. Water number three and he almost felt human. He was fairly sure he’d dumped out a good gallon of it with Lauren.

  A fuck had never become such an pivotal moment in his life. He was still trying to process it. Hell, he wasn’t sure he’d ever truly be able to piece together what happened. She’d blown every bit of knowledge he had about taking care of a woman and made him question how he could ever manage to top it.

  She matched him in every way.

  From pure exuberance to the fun factor he couldn’t quite get over. Again, she’d twisted every past experience into a mere soundcheck versus the real deal. She was the big show that would forever change him. Not just the sunshine and gut wringing orgasms, but her curiosity and overwhelming need to try just about every damn thing.

  They’d run out of condoms before the room service guy had enough time to get upstairs. It was probably the only reason he’d managed to make it to the venue at all. They’d only had time to scarf down some food before it was time to leave.

  “There you are.”

  West blinked in and focused on Michael standing below him. “Hey, was I late?”

  “Nah, you just skipped out on the event. I can’t imagine what you were doing.”

  He grinned and hopped down off the dais. “The bus isn’t exactly private.”

  “I know that all too well.” Michael’s cheeks burned.

  “Speaking of. How’s Chloe doing?”

  “Miserable. Pissy. Beautiful.”

  West grinned. “Sap.”

  “I don’t believe you’re too far away from that status, my friend.”

  He was afraid his best friend was correct. And that was too scary to contemplate right now. Especially when his skin still carried her scent. “Why are we here so early? Is there some sort of signing or picture thing?”

  “You know how Lila is.”

  “You step-mother is insane.” And it explained why Mal was so testy. Whenever Lila was around, he went from asshole to all around prick.

  Michael shrugged as he swung his guitar around his back before he dug out a setlist from his back pocket. “I just wanted to give you a head’s up on what we were looking at tonight. Looks like we get a full hundred minutes. It gives us a full set, room for some bs, and a few covers.”

  West opened the list. “Cool. Any clue which covers?”

  “I think Moll is looking at ‘Suicide Blonde’ if you’re up for it.”

  He grinned. “My lips are a little tired, but I think I can manage the harmonica.”

  Michael groaned. “Man, don’t talk to me about sex. I forgot what it’s like.”

  He waggled his brows and they both headed for the stage. Michael turned into the right hand stairs and West headed for the left. “Finally,” he muttered as Jack rolled out his upright. He dragged his fingertips down the cover. “Hello baby.”

  “Nice to see you too, buddy.”

  West clapped Jack on the shoulder. “Thought you forgot me.”

  “More like this thing is so far back on the truck I have to dig for gold to get it.”

  “My baby needs protecting.”

  “Asshole. You know nothing gets broken on my trucks.”

  “Damn right.” West glanced around the space on the stage. “You can use my mic stand with the extra hooks instead of my cabinet tonight. Should keep Mal from killing you in your sleep.”

  “Fucking high hats by the damn dozen,” Jack muttered.

  Mal’s kit was impressive, even if it was ever expanding to fit his huge frame.

  A sudden murmur and a few shrieks dragged everyone’s attention away from the stage set up. Molly swept through the front door, her hair and skirts floating around her as she took quick pictures with the crowd of fans waiting to fill the venue.

  “She is aware that she’s not Beyoncé, right?” Jules asked.

  Ryan sat down on the edge of the stage and dropped onto his back. “I don’t believe she got the memo.”

  They were due for some meet and greet band pictures with twenty-five people who had won an advanced soundcheck, but the Molly show had begun again. The fan club loved her to pieces. And there was no doubt that she knew just how to play the frontwoman to their group. The problem was, she sometimes forgot the group part. She was part of a unit.

  And they weren’t her fucking backup dancers.

  “Come on, let’s get the arrangements down for ‘Suicide Blonde’.” Elle pulled her acoustic out of its case and started the famous opening.

  Ryan held up his hand and West dragged him off the floor. It took three tries to get through the song without swearing. Twenty minutes later, Molly came up the stairs.

  “That sounded like shit.” Molly pushed her hair over her shoulder. “Mal’s beat was off and Ryan, do you actually play the sax? It doesn’t have the right vi—”

  Mal beat on his skins to drown out her voice. Elle played louder and Jules thumped out her bass line until Molly threw up her hands and flipped them off.

  None of them were up for Queen Molly today.

  Ryan walked over to her with his sax and West followed with his harmonica to do that one part over again. Michael played electric guitar and Elle kept her acoustic plugged in.

  Finally, Molly fell into line. She started from the middle of the song and killed it of course. Singing was effortless for her. Getting an arrangement to work for the rest of the band was usually the hard part.

  Instead of letting Molly railroad them with her perfectionist nature, they distracted her with soundcheck on the new songs. The fan club seemed to be cool with the mini show.

  Cameras were out and West knew there’d be a half dozen videos up before the show even started. Instead of being pissed about it, they played harde
r. The song was louder, smoother, and more cohesive by the time they finished another two versions of it.

  Lauren had slipped away from the corded off fan club members and sat in a purple velvet chair at the back of the room. She glanced up a few times, but for the most part she was alternately scribbling in a notebook and typing on her phone.

  West was happy she was finding ways to keep herself occupied. It made it easier for him to concentrate. Their setlist was twenty songs deep, though they only had to rehearse a handful to figure out the sound in the room.

  Not to mention it would sound much different when the room filled anyway. He wandered over to her once they broke off to start the wining and dining portion of the evening.

  “What are you scribbling so furiously over here?”

  She blinked up at him, her eyes unfocused. “I spoke to a few of your fan club members. Did you know a few them have seen you guys over twenty-eight times?”

  “We play a lot of clubs in and around California. Not terribly hard to find us.”

  “It’s textbook stalking. And considering my history with your band, it seems the python may have more people to worry about than me.”

  “Python?”

  “Sorry. That’s rude. I didn’t mean to say that part out loud.”

  West shrugged. “We call her Dragon Lady sometimes. Twenty-eight shows you say?”

  She nodded. “Jody Walters. She’s really nice, and man did I get an education about your background. She’s better than Wikipedia.”

  “Yeah the band has quite the past.”

  “No, you.”

  “Oh.” He was a little worried about that subject. He wasn’t exactly an innocent—not nearly as legendary as purported, but he definitely had his share of fun.

  “I think my favorite rumor was that you were with Jamie DuCaine.” She tipped her head, her phone clutched in her hand. “Any truth there?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  “Evidently, there’s been a few photo sessions with the bands on this tour and there’s a lot of speculation that you and Jamie had something of a tryst.”