Manipulated: a Rockstar Romantic Comedy (Hammered Book 3)

by Taryn Elliott

  I buried my face into her shoulder.

  I ignored the crushing need to proclaim her mine. Caveman tactics for sure. It was just that animal side. I was sure of it. It would die down.

  It had to. But it wouldn’t be doing that right now.

  I wrapped her tighter around me, or maybe it was her doing the clasping. Her legs, her pussy, her body, her arms—there was nothing but Calliope. I didn’t just come. It was raked out of me with teeth and claws. I heard her cries in the distance. The night faded around us, and the cool water-soaked air drifted away.

  Blood pounded and fuzzed in my brain as I came inside her. It was inconsequential that it was a condom that kept me from her. Her walls pulsed around me, or I pulsed inside her. There was no difference. There was only Callie and possibly the sweet release of death.

  Or at least that’s what the Parisians called it.

  Sweet bloody fuck, I was wrung out.

  My chest heaved and I forced myself to pull out and take care of things. When I turned back around, Callie was practically sliding off the hood of the car.

  I shook off the insidious need to drag her into the backseat and sleep for a week. Instead, I gathered her into my arms. She shuddered and muttered a few nonsense words.

  “What was that?”

  “I think you found my G-spot. Or else you made a new spot all your own.”

  I laughed and hauled her off the car. “Ready to go back?”

  “I’m not sure I have feet.”

  “Well, you are missing a pair of sneakers. Stay there.”

  I ran down the embankment and got them, then jogged back up. Now that my brain was working again, I was infused with energy.

  Damn, this was going to be fun.

  12

  Callie

  “So how are you doing on the tour bus of love?”

  I threw a furtive glance over my shoulder as if the guys could hear my sister on the other end of the phone. I’d finally had a spare moment to call her, and now I was feeling flushed and squirmy and all kinds of sensations befitting a newly sexualized—or re-sexualized in my case, though Owen sure made it all feel brand new—woman of, oh, seventeen.

  Too bad I had a decade plus on that.

  Was I going through a second childhood? Ick, no. Second womanhood? My girly parts were certainly all blooming and blossoming and coming all over the dang place.

  Yes, there was an image. I’d just go throw up my perfectly nice dinner of glazed ham and little baby carrots and peas along with a delicious portion of wild rice, made by Hunter.

  “It’s certainly not…that,” I said in a low voice.

  I reached for my glass of soda. Some of the guys were watching Friends. Keys and Quinn had gone off to their hotel room, and Hunter had gone off to the other bus where Wyatt tended to stay if Hunter’s wife wasn’t with him. We were in Lincoln for the next night or two, and then on to somewhere else.

  So many places. The days blurred in a wash of photos, and sex, and traveling, and secret hot looks between me and Owen, and laughing with the band, and photos, and more sex.

  Sex, sex, sex. I was becoming an addict, which probably explained why I was drawing a man humping a baby blue whale in the condensation from my glass on the table.

  Ugh. My doodling skills needed serious work.

  “Not for lack of hot dudes to bang. You have a veritable buffet of penis, right there for the stroking. A smorgasbord. All those pretty peens might as well be lined up in a—”

  “Stop. Please. The pictures forming in my head will keep me up all night as is.”

  Ava laughed. “You’re honestly not into any of them? Surely some of them are still single.”

  “Most are, actually. Hunter is the only male band member who is spoken for, unless you count Bats—”

  Ava made a sound not meant for human ears. Especially not mine. “That Sheer woman, God. How can he even go there? She’s so shameless.”

  “They’re pretty low-key.” I made sure my voice remained soft. “At least lately. Bats is scarce most of the time. Shows up for shows and band functions and then he splits. Gotta say he’s got a cool fascination.”

  “Oh yeah? And what’s that? Not minding the taste of shady ass—”

  “Bats!” I shouted, turning my head just as the three guys on the couch glanced my way. Yes, Owen, Zach and Wyatt were all sitting around watching an old TV show. Zach had his guitar in his lap and Wy kept scanning his phone. Owen seemed to be dividing his attention from the TV and me.

  “You okay, love?” he asked mildly.

  I waved him off. “Fine. Go back to your pivoting.”

  In truth, the “Pivot” episode was one of my favorites. I loved Ross. But the couch was only so big, and to make room for me, Owen would probably pull me into his lap. Which I should be against, since that would be openly affectionate and we didn’t want people to know we were forking like bunnies every time we bumped into each other in a darkened hallway.

  It wasn’t that bad, but close enough.

  Actually, I didn’t think he’d care if everyone and their cousin knew. I was the one who had all the hangups. One of them just happened to be a concern about my job—and losing it. I’d reminded him of the issues with professionalism if we were caught, and he’d nodded and proceeded to feel me up outside the bus bathroom when Zach had been sawing them off not five feet away.

  I should mind such things. I should be telling him no. I shouldn’t be squealing through the climaxes he doled out like pineapple fruit snacks.

  Glancing down, I sighed and pitched the wrapper beside my elbow into the trash. I was stress-eating those suckers by the boatload.

  Going with the flow wasn’t really me anymore. But here I was, flowing. Going for crazy sex on car hoods—even sort of initiating it in that location—and enjoying flirting with Owen and even getting my wild side on by taking risks. Not only just climbing up on railings and leaning over precipitously to get the best shot. Now I was getting naked outdoors with a man who always came prepared…to come.

  Ava sighed and reminded me I was still on the phone. I’d nearly forgotten. “I do know his name. Sorry. I didn’t mean to nag you. You’re on your own timetable, and I’d never try to push you into something you aren’t ready for.”

  Somehow I smiled. “Yes, you would. How did I end up at that Halloween party?”

  “Sheer brilliant luck,” Owen murmured beside my ear, making me jump and bobble the phone.

  “Who was that?” Ava demanded. “Callie? Are you still there?”

  Owen smirked at me and neatly plucked my cell out of my boneless fingers. “Well, hello there. Is this the lovely Ava Templeton? Yes. Mmm-hmm. Yes, your sister is right here.” Idly, he stroked the ends of my hair while I tried to see if the other guys were looking without seeming as if I was doing so.

  Owen’s sharp tug brought my gaze back front and center, and I stuck my tongue out at him. He only chuckled.

  “She’s doing very well on the tour. Blends right in. Meshes especially well with some of us. Oh, and who am I? Tell me, Ava T, you aren’t familiar with the Irish bassist of Hammered?”

  The twinkle in his eyes was irresistible. That was the only reason I wasn’t shutting him down. Not because I had a feeling he could handle Ava and dish back everything she shoveled out.

  “No, I’m not hammered myself, but thank you for asking. Your sister? She had to step into the loo. She’s been hitting the cups hard. Happy hour, you know.”

  I shoved his arm and he swallowed a laugh.

  “Here, you should speak to her. It looks like she’s finished throwing up now. Keep her on the phone so she doesn’t go back for more hair from the dog who bit her.” He handed me the phone and trailed his fingers along the side of my neck, leaving a wake of sparks that tingled right down my spine.

  Wicked, sexy as hell man.

  “Sorry about that,” I said to Ava.

  “You’re sleeping with him!” she burst out. “I can tell. He’s overly familiar with yo
u, which means he’s been smashing you like an Idaho potato.”

  I sputtered. “What does that even mean?”

  It sounded painful. And insulting.

  Smashed? Me? Owen wasn’t even all that rough. He pulled my hair now and then when I asked him to.

  Okay, maybe I’d screamed it this morning. Same difference.

  “It means you lied to your own sister. You denied getting any sexual action from those hotties, and you’re getting naked with one of them. Irish to boot. You may even be naked right now.”

  “Um no.” I glanced down at my babydoll top and flared leg black pants. “That’s an absolute no.”

  “Are you denying you’re shagging him?”

  Laughter spilled out of me and I propped my fist against my mouth. “Av, no one says that anymore. I have to edit some photos. Can we talk later?”

  “Hello avoiding the question. Fine, fine. You enjoy yourself while I finish my blog about the benefits of kelp masks over oatmeal. It’s hard being an expert on nearly everything.” She gave a dramatic sigh. “Later. Love you.”

  “Bye. Love you.” I clicked off and tucked my phone on the chair beside me.

  I reached for my laptop and pulled it closer. The table on the bus was serving as my de facto work station while Patrick and the guys rigged me one in a U-Haul attachment that could hook right onto one of the trucks traveling with us. It would be ready soon, but until then, have laptop, will work anywhere—including where your-so-not-a-boyfriend was leaning over your shoulder to read your screen.

  “Don’t you have a TV show to watch?” I asked, pulling up Photoshop.

  “Episode ended.”

  I glanced over my shoulder and the couch was empty. Whew. Hard to imagine I hadn’t heard the other guys clomping off the bus, but Wy and Zach could be quiet. Occasionally.

  Bats, on the other hand, was a different story. Of course he rarely spent much time with the others lately if he didn’t have to. TV time definitely wasn’t on his agenda.

  “They went to the other bus to play Call of Duty.” Owen sat in the chair beside mine at the table and reached out to pull me into his lap. I didn’t go right away, but I didn’t exactly protest either.

  Yes, I had work, but I’d been staying up on my photo processing, and I had automated the basics a lot. Photoshop was so intuitive and allowed an artist to—

  “What are you doing?” I gasped as Owen pulled down one strap of my top and sucked on a particularly sensitive spot between my neck and shoulder.

  Who was I kidding? My body was one big erogenous zone when it came to this man.

  “Typically this is called foreplay. However, in our case, I’d almost call it ongoing play, as I can’t seem to keep my hands off you. Or my mouth.”

  I clasped my hands behind his neck. “How long will they be gone?”

  “Time enough for me to lay you out on this table and finish the job properly.”

  My blood sizzled and roared in my ears. Naturally, this prompted me to say something entirely inappropriate.

  “My ex and I had sex on a table once. But it wasn’t good. We ended up breaking the table in an argument afterward, because that was the day I found out he’d bled our account dry. He shoved it against the wall when I questioned him and broke one of the legs. He gambled and played the stock market.” I fell silent at the gleam in Owen’s eyes.

  It was feral, for sure, but it wasn’t filled with only longing anymore. Something colder and meaner sheened over the top.

  “Your ex bled your account dry and then broke your table. Oh, and there’s no we broke the table. He shoved it, so he broke it.”

  “I was asking too many—” I stopped and took a breath. “Sorry. So sorry. Not your problem and I wish I’d just learn to hush up.”

  “I don’t. I love that you tell me things. I wish you’d tell me more.”

  I exhaled. “I don’t want to change the boundaries we have. They’re good ones, right?” I studied his tense jaw until finally, it began to relax. Slightly.

  “If they’re good for you, they’re good for me.” He reached up to brush my hair away from my forehead. “What say you we go take a shower while we have some privacy? I have the sudden need to wash away your memories of him, and you’ll indulge me if I turn to a bit of fancy there, I hope.”

  My eyes smarted and I turned my cheek against the side of his head before he could see me cry. I didn’t let anyone do that. Not anymore.

  I’d cried rivers in front of my ex-husband, and it had only brought me more pain and shame when he’d taunted me for being weak. So I’d stiffened my backbone and built up a crusty shell where no one could ever hurt me—or touch me, even in a good way. I’d insulated myself against both kinds of feelings and tried to convince myself it was for the best.

  Until Owen had broken right through those flimsy blockades. And thank God for that.

  “You Irish tend toward the fancy, don’t you?” I stroked my fingers through his silky dark hair. “So romantic and poetic.”

  “Aye.” He drew me back to look at him and pulled my strap back into place. “I’m happy to show you just how romantic I can be by fucking that slick little pussy until you’re blind from wanting to come.”

  I didn’t expect to laugh. Shiver, yes. That reaction he caused in me effortlessly. But smiles and laughter were so much harder to come by. At least they had been before this tour, and this bus, and this life that I was beginning to claim for my own, one day at a time.

  “We’ll have to be quick in case the guys come back or Bats shows up,” I warned him, hopping off his lap.

  He grabbed my hand and kissed my knuckles. “Wrong turn. Try again. There’s a lock on that door for a reason.” He rose and breathed against the shell of my ear, “So I can lick every drop of water off you until you’re dry…and then start all over on the task of making you wet again.”

  I shut my eyes and sucked in desperately needed air. “Okay. Lock it is. Let’s go.”

  His laughter followed me into the bathroom.

  13

  Owen

  “Look, I don’t want to leave you in the lurch as you so delicately put it, but I need a little time.” She sighed and waved me into her little makeshift lab we’d created out of a U-Haul we’d bought on the cheap. It was small as hell, but Callie seemed to like it well enough. And it hitched on the back of the trucks that followed us around.

  A few days into the tour, after we found her crammed under a table in the dressing room, we decided she needed a private area away from everyone. We were only on the fourth show, and still getting used to the constant documentation. Callie tried not to be invasive, and we tried not to give her strange looks when she asked for certain poses.

  I was getting used to her quirks. Like last night when she’d hopped out of my bunk and spent an hour taking pictures of guitar pedals that Zach had left out. They were old as shit, and he wouldn’t throw the damn things out even though they needed fixing after every show. Of course, Zach was the only one that could get them working once again.

  The fact that she did all that picture taking in a pair of my boxers and a stolen T-shirt didn’t hurt. I could watch her for hours. Good thing, because I was learning that I had to wait her out.

  There was no luring Callie out of her camera-zone. I just had to be patient until she saw me as a person again. She seemed to see the world through a slightly skewed lens. I was fascinated by her layers of complexities.

  I understood musicians. Any one of us could spend six weeks—or six minutes—writing a song. It was done when the song was done. Period.

  So, most of us gave her wide berth when she went into that mode.

  I dropped onto the only other chair in her mini space and slouched down to wait. She had three large monitors in a U-shaped setup and photos from the Dallas show were scattered across the left and right screens, with her photo editing program in the center.

  “Thanks. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Not that long.” Her voice was strained and sh
e was turned away from me.

  My gut twisted. I didn’t like talking about end dates. I didn’t like even thinking about them. We’d spent almost the entire week together. She was hilarious and the sex was phenomenal. I’d convinced her to have sex on the bus once—while trying not to scream, never mind breathe too loudly—but we seemed to like more unconventional places.

  Like the back of the arena in Austin, and there’s even been a hot make-out session on the catwalk in Dallas. Now, we’d landed in Nowheresville, Colorado. The bus had blown an axle and we had a three-hour holdover before we got back on the road.

  Finally, she put the phone back down. “Is it time to leave?”

  I shook my head. “Three hours.”

  She sagged in her chair. “Well, I have enough work to do for three hours, I guess.”

  “Or…” I set down the iPad beside her keyboard.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s an iPad.”

  She blew a stray hair out of her face. “Funny guy.”

  I grinned at her. “There’s just enough time for a movie.”

  She spun her chair to face me. “What kind of movie?”

  “You’ll just have to come see.”

  “Come where?”

  I smiled wider. “Loaded question.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Is that all you think about?”

  I drummed my fingers on the table for a sec, then nodded. “Yep.”

  “Handy, that’s all I think about too.”

  “Damn right, woman.” I hauled her chair closer and took her mouth. She made a little humming sound that instantly made me hard. When oxygen became an issue, I let her go. “So, you want to ditch with me?”

  Her eyes were big and dreamy, but were starting to clear. Couldn’t have that. “I really should work.”

  “You’d normally be on the bus anyway.”

  She nibbled on her lip. “That’s true.”