Fight the Spark: Sons of Sinners Part 1 (A Rock Star Romance)

by Grace James

  Derren snorted a laugh. “Remember when he walked out of the last SAT?”

  “Oh yeah!” Hayley exclaimed.

  “And he’s yelling Screw you guys! I’m going home! as loud as he can –”

  “– and Principal McCruder ended up chasing him across the quad screaming about how he’s gonna get him arrested for ‘disturbing the peace’ or something stupid –”

  Derren guffawed. “– and Con just drops his pants and goes Arrest this!”

  “He didn’t?!” Mel gasped through her giggles.

  “Yeah, he did!” Hayley laughed as she wiped away a tear. “It was all anyone could talk about at Prom.”

  Kane was chuckling a little by then too – all of them were, apart from me and Blake. I looked across at him and saw him staring back at me. I saw his mask slip a little and glimpsed the storm underneath. Then he shoved through the group and disappeared through the crowd towards the back of the house.

  A moment later I followed him.

  132

  I pushed my way through the throng of people in the kitchen, who were tucking into the buffet food laid out on the table, and shoved through the back door.

  I emerged onto a wooden deck with steps leading down to the yard. Before I had time to even look around, a loud cracking noise came from my right. My eyes jerked towards the sound and I saw Blake, still clutching the bottle of bourbon in his left hand, his right fist balled up against the wooden garage wall.

  As I watched, he pushed himself backwards and drew his fist back. Realizing what he was about to do, I shouted across the yard, “Blake, DON’T!”

  Too late.

  His fist pounded into the wall again with a sickening crack and I saw the blood dropping from his knuckles as he pulled his fist back. I ran across the yard and grabbed his forearm with both of my hands, simultaneously slipping myself between him and the wall.

  If he was going to land another punch, it would be in my face.

  His breathing was ragged and he was staring at the wall, not looking at me, even though I was holding onto him tightly, practically pressed against him.

  “Move,” he commanded, his voice gravelly.

  “No,” I said as calmly as I could, even though I felt like I was about two seconds away from bursting into tears.

  “Move,” he repeated.

  “No. I’m not going to watch you hurt yourself.”

  Abruptly he pulled out of my grasp and turned away, storming across the yard and releasing a yell of frustrated fury to the sky. He started pacing, like a caged animal, seemingly unaware of the blood dripping to the floor from his hand.

  Then he started to rant. “I can’t do it. I can’t stand in there and talk about all the fucking funny shit he did once upon a time. I can’t fucking listen to that shit! It’s bullshit! All of it!” He was shouting now, his face contorted in rage and pain. “He was a fucking selfish little prick who thought he was invincible.” He whirled towards me and roared, “HE HAD A FUCKING CHOICE!” His eyes were blazing, imploring me, like a drowning man reaching for a life raft. “He didn’t have to die!”

  I knew that all his anger at Connor was coming from a place of untold pain. Despite their differences, they had loved each other fiercely. I had never felt more helpless as I tried to soothe him. “They’re just trying to remember the good –”

  He stopped a few feet away from me, shaking his head. “NO! No…you can’t just do that! You can’t just choose what to remember! I can’t choose what to remember. I can’t forget what he looked like on that table…I can’t forget…” His jaw clenched and his throat worked to swallow the sobs that threatened to break free.

  I started towards him, he was about to break and I couldn’t just stand by and watch.

  But before I reached him, I heard a vaguely familiar voice come from the direction of the house. “Son? You okay?”

  Blake and I turned as one to see his father descending the steps to the yard. He strode purposefully towards Blake and pulled him into a strong embrace, murmuring something into his ear.

  I stepped back, trying to give them space. But as almost as soon as it had begun, the hug was over. Blake pushed Nate backwards with a feral snarl; his dad stumbled slightly, then came to a halt, staring at his son with a mixture of frustration and sadness.

  For a moment, none of us moved…

  I know it sounds selfish, but it was too much for me. The months of sadness and loneliness, then finding out about Connor, the funeral, the memories it had awakened – all of it overwhelmed me. And seeing Blake like that pushed me over the edge. I didn’t know what to do for him and I couldn’t stand seeing him in that much pain.

  I burst into fresh sobs.

  I put my hands over my mouth to catch them, to try to muffle the sound, and I clamped my eyes shut, but my tears cascaded down my face regardless.

  Seconds later, I felt strong arms around me, pulling me close, holding me tight against a strong chest. “Shhh, I got you,” Blake whispered into my ear. “I got you, Princess.”

  That tenderness only made me cry harder. I should have been comforting him, not the other way around. I wrapped my arms around his waist and buried my face against him. After a minute, he spoke again. “I’m getting you out of here, c’mon.”

  I pulled my face back to look up at him. “We can’t leave.”

  He brushed his thumb across my cheek, catching some of my tears. “We can. We are. I’m taking you home.”

  “You can’t drive like that, son,” Nate broke in. “I’ll drive you, I brought the Honda.”

  “No –”

  “You’re three sheets to the wind and you’ve messed up your hand, you want to crash and hurt that girl?”

  That seemed to get through to him; Blake’s jaw clenched and he closed his eyes briefly, before addressing his father. “Are you sober?”

  For a beat, Nate didn’t respond. When he did, he couldn’t disguise the hurt in his voice. “Yes, of course. I wouldn’t have offered to drive you otherwise.”

  Blake glanced at him and nodded curtly. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  We walked around the side of the house, past the garage and through the side gate. Blake kept me tucked under his shoulder the whole time, his arm tight around me. When we got to his dad’s car, we both climbed in back, like we were in a cab.

  During the drive, Nate only broke the silence to ask for directions. Blake told him where to go as he held me and stroked my hair as my sobs faded, leaving me hiccupping and sniffling like a two year old.

  When we pulled up outside my apartment, Blake climbed out quickly, muttering a gruff word of thanks to his dad and then offering me his hand, the one that wasn’t injured. I didn’t take it right away. I looked at Nate in the rear view mirror; I couldn’t help feeling bad for him right then.

  “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Maxwell – Nate, I mean.”

  He smiled sadly at me. “You’re welcome, Amy. Take care of him, okay? Make him ice that hand. If it swells too much, he might’ve broken something and he should to go to the emergency room.”

  “Okay, I will,” I offered him a small smile in return as I reached out and took Blake’s hand.

  133

  When we entered the apartment, I headed straight for the kitchen, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer and digging out the first aid kit that we had stashed in one of the cupboards. When I had rummaged through it and found what I was looking for, I looked up to see Blake leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, watching me.

  “Come here,” I said softly, moving past him and out into the living room. “We need to clean you up.”

  Wordlessly, he followed me and sat on the couch where I indicated, offering his hand to me as I perched on the coffee table in front of him. I put my own hand under his, palm to palm, as I examined the damage.

  The first three knuckles were split and bleeding, although the blood flow had pretty much stopped by then, and the whole back of his hand was starting to bruise and swell. I didn’t know a whole lo
t about first aid, but I asked him to make a fist and wiggle his fingers anyway. He followed my instructions silently.

  “In my entirely useless medical opinion, I don’t think anything’s broken,” I said wryly. “But this next part might sting.” I started to clean up one of the cuts, glancing up into his face as I did so to gauge his reaction.

  He wasn’t even looking at his hand; his eyes were fixed on me. His face was impassive, but his eyes held that look, the one that made me feel like I was all he could see in the world.

  Feeling the heat rise in my cheeks, I looked back down at his hand, working to clear away all of the blood that had started to dry there. “I think these look pretty clean, but I should probably bandage you up,” I said, as I unwrapped a dressing and pressed it gently over his knuckles. I secured it with a bandage before taping down the end. I laid the ice pack over the back of his hand and held it there, sandwiching his big hand between my smaller ones. “How does it feel?” I asked, after a minute of silence.

  When he didn’t answer, I pulled my eyes away from his hand and looked up at his face again. The intensity in his eyes took my breath away, captured me completely and held me there. The white-hot blue of his irises seemed to burn with emotion. We stared at each other, the air between us seeming to crackle with an invisible connection that neither of us could manage to break.

  There was so much left unsaid between us. So much I needed to say to him…

  But in that instant, none of it mattered.

  When he reached out and hooked his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me towards him, I met his kiss willingly.

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  His mouth crashed into mine with feverish urgency. He shook his injured hand free of mine, the ice pack dropping to the floor, as he curled his arm around my waist and lifted me up with him as he stood. Instantly, I wrapped my legs around his hips tightly, locking myself against him as I threw my arms around his neck.

  I was consumed by the kiss, by the feel of his skilled tongue tangling with mine, tasting of bourbon and Blake and home. His mouth seared over mine; drinking me in like he’d been starving without me. I kissed him back just as desperately, needing to feel everything he had to give. More than anything, I wanted to chase away the pain that surrounded us. I wanted to push back at the darkness, keep it at bay for just a little while, just long enough to see a sliver of light.

  When he set me down again, it took me a second to realize that we were no longer in the living room. He had walked us through to my bedroom without me even registering that we were moving. I was so lost in him I hadn’t even noticed.

  He broke the kiss, leaning his forehead on mine; our eyes immediately locking as our heavy breathing filled the air. Neither of us spoke, like we were afraid to break the fragile spell that surrounded us. Our eyes communicated what our words couldn’t, like a silent communion. Longing. Guilt. Anger. Love. Hurt. Fear. Need.

  Reaching up, I threaded my hands in his hair and pulled him down towards me again, mashing my lips to his in a bruising kiss.

  It was all the encouragement he needed.

  His hand went to the nape of my neck, tangling in my hair, bunching it in his fist and pulling my head back as his hot mouth dropped to my neck, sucking and biting my tender skin. His other hand tugged at my dress, roughly pulling at the zipper and then, before it was fully undone, jerking it off my shoulders and down to bunch around my waist. Then he was grasping at my breasts, hard, kneading them roughly and pinching my nipples through the fabric of my bra, keeping me in place the whole time with the hand that had captured my hair. I gasped in pain and desire as he clamped his finger and thumb together around my right nipple and tugged at the same instant as he sucked my neck punishingly, drawing the skin into his mouth for seconds on end, marking me.

  I don’t think I’d ever been so wet in my life. Months of dreaming about him, about this, had me on a knife edge. Everything he did sent pulses of aching need to my center. I was ready for him in seconds, desperate to have him inside me.

  I grappled with his belt and the zipper of his slacks, loosening them before pulling at the waistband of his boxer briefs and reaching inside. I curled my fingers greedily around his already rock hard heat. Just the feel of him in my hand again, after wanting him for so long, made me moan. He growled against my neck as I pumped him once, twice, three times, before swirling my thumb around his thick head, using the dampness I found there to massage him.

  Suddenly, his hands were under my arms and he was throwing me backwards onto the bed. I bounced with the impact, gasping at his roughness as another surge of wetness gathered between my thighs.

  Then he was on his knees on the bed, looming over me. He reached down and tugged my dress the rest of the way down my body. Seeing his eyes drop to my breasts, I reached around and unclasped my bra before he could rip it from me – he hooked his fingers though the front and yanked it away, like it offended him. I was left in only my panties, but not for long, he literally tore them from my body, grasping them in both strong hands and ripping the fabric apart before discarding them. If his actions pained his injured hand, he showed no sign.

  My hands were at the buttons of his shirt, fumbling, trying to undo them as quickly as I could. I had never felt more desperate for anything in my life. I needed him naked, inside me, now.

  He shrugged off his suit jacket and then pulled away from me, reaching back and pulling his partly-unbuttoned shirt over his head, revealing his upper body in all its muscled, tattooed glory. Then he shoved himself to his feet and pushed his slacks and boxers all the way down, peeling off his socks and shucking off his shoes quickly. His eyes barely left mine as he worked; the frenzied heat in them made my clit buzz in anticipation and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning again.

  He was on me again in seconds. His hand was back in my hair, grasping roughly, almost painfully as he positioned my head where he wanted it and dove in for another punishing kiss. He shoved my thighs apart with his knees as he leant over me and, with only a brief stroke to test my readiness, he plunged two fingers inside of me.

  I cried out as my back bowed off the bed and my core clenched around him. His large thumb massaged my clit as he simultaneously pumped his fingers back and forth, curling them upwards, stroking my sweet spot. He stopped kissing me as my breathing became erratic, and I didn’t need him to command me to open my eyes, I just knew what he wanted. A look of triumph flashed across his face as our eyes met, and his pupils dilated as I gasped and moaned in response to his talented hand.

  My orgasm started to build; I fought the urge to let my eyes roll back in my head, needing to give him what he wanted, needing to stay connected to him through my release. My inner muscles contracted violently around his fingers as I screamed incoherently, waves of aching pleasure taking me over.

  Watching me, his face contorted, like he was in delicious pain, his teeth clenching against an animal growl. The knowledge that I was creating that reaction in him ratcheted up my own pleasure and prolonged my powerful orgasm.

  When my contractions started to fade, I reached for him, but he grabbed my hands, raising them above my head and lacing his fingers through mine. I felt his strong fingers close around my hands as he pushed them into the bed, holding me completely at his mercy. The thick head of his cock stroked against me, our slick skin sliding together as he lined himself up at my entrance.

  Then he stopped moving. He was completely still, searching my eyes as he hovered above me, a silent question hanging between us. There was nothing between us…

  But I trusted him. Even after everything, I still trusted him about this.

  I wrapped my legs around him, urging him to give me what we both wanted. A millisecond later, I was gasping as he shoved his huge cock inside me in one fluid stroke, filling me to the brim, stretching me to my limit. He moaned as he bottomed out inside of me and then stilled again for a moment, allowing me to adjust to his size.

  Our gaze never faltered as we made love almost silently. T
his time there was no talking, no begging, no commands, no endearments – everything was spoken through our gaze. It was the most intimate experience of my life, even as he started to slam into me, taking me roughly and furiously. I held to him, my legs wrapped tightly around him, raising my pelvis to meet him stroke for stroke.

  It was like we were one being, our breathing quickening simultaneously, our moans overlapping, my gasps interlacing with his groans.

  As my core started to contract around him, he lowered his forehead to mine, the intensity in his eyes multiplying, commanding me without words to stay with him, to ride out my release without breaking our connection. We came together, my whole body tensing and vibrating against him as I finally whimpered his name. His pleasure culminated in a guttural groan which punctuated the wild pulsing I felt inside me.

  We kissed sweetly and tenderly as our gasping breaths slowed. I felt like I was drunk, everything seemed hazy and unreal, but Blake was constant.

  He was everything I needed in that moment.

  I knew that there were a million things we needed to say to each other, a million hurts to heal, but I wasn’t about to ruin the moment for anything.

  All of that could wait.

  We still didn’t speak a word as Blake shifted off of me, lying on his back and pulling me to him. I rested my head on his chest, my left arm and leg thrown across his body as I snuggled into his warmth. He clutched me to him possessively, stroking my hair as he dropped lazy kisses onto the top of my head.

  The last thing I remember, before sleep took me, is closing my eyes and breathing in deeply; luxuriating in his scent, the feel of his skin against mine, and his steady heart beating against my ear.

  135

  When I woke up, hours later, the moonlight was filtering through the drapes at my window. The space next to me was empty, the sheets cold. My heart lurched in my chest at the thought that I had dreamed it all.