Playing the Pauses (Sex, Love, and Rock & Roll Book 2)

by Michelle Hazen

  He pulls back, his hand finding mine in the dark and squeezing softly before he lets go, taking the condom with him. I try to stand, my hands scrabbling blindly in front of me until I latch onto something flat like a shelf. Danny tears my jeans off, my shoes catching in the legs as he grasps me around the waist and lifts me out of them.

  A zipper rips. His hand finds me, surprisingly gentle on my thigh as he lifts one leg and props my foot on a lower shelf I can’t see. His touch is pure dominance as he invades me, spreading the heat of my response everywhere so he can slip and play; his fingers and cock all over me like there’s nothing off limits. In the darkness, I can’t name a single movement, can only groan against the tension of being right on the edge of release, every twinge of pain and roll of pleasure torturing me without letting me any closer.

  A button pings off the wall, and then my shirt and bra are gone too. I’m bare and twisting, arching my body back against his and then pressing my breasts forward into his palms, lightheaded from my inadequate huffs of air.

  “Kate,” he gasps, his cheek warm against my shoulder. Down below, I feel the head of his dick, huge and viciously hard like he’s been locked into a cock ring for weeks. He thrusts inside, and everything is so exquisitely tight from all those days without him. His hand moves between us. I gasp as he rims the place where he enters me, fingers sliding across my flesh and his as if there’s no difference, as if he can feel everything I do.

  “Danny,” I choke out. He nuzzles his face under my hair, a hot kiss searing the base of my neck while his fingers band his own cock, teasing my deliciously stretched entrance.

  And then his hand vanishes and he drives deep, my muscles clenching to keep him inside. His thrusts are bone-shatteringly hard and the space between them achingly long as he pulls out until just his tip is inside of me. Each return leaves me a breath away from orgasm, my nails scraping against the paint of the shelves.

  Danny pulls out. I wobble on my toes before his arms are there just like they were in the bunk this morning, solid around my waist as if they know the shape of me. He turns and then lifts me, and for a second I feel the brush of panic that I’ll fall. Except then he’s sliding inside again, his forearms flexing against my back and supporting my shoulders. My legs lock around his hips even as they snap forward, his thighs flexing in a beautiful rhythm that he shouldn’t be able to manage while he’s holding both of us up. Insanely, he never falters, just groans and fucks me deeper.

  “Shelves,” he grunts. “Hold onto the shelves.”

  My arms flail backward, catching hold even as my shoulders find the edge. Danny steps us away, palm solid beneath my lower back as my bare breasts arch into the darkness between us—my body a bridge between the ruthless pump of his cock and the shelves I’m clutching.

  One of his hands presses against the plane of my lower belly, his thumb drawing the hood of my clit back. I choke back a sob at the jolt of sensation, this angle trapping his erection against my sensitive front wall and raking it more firmly with every thrust.

  I bolt into orgasm, the pleasure so intoxicating it almost tastes like pain. I let go of the shelves but he doesn’t let me fall. Instead his arms tighten to bring me closer, and my muscles throttle his cock as he buries his face in my neck, some sound between a grunt and a groan rumbling from his chest while his hips jerk helplessly into me.

  One last push slams into my clit, and bright spots form behind my eyes. Danny sags a little, panting into the sudden stillness of the closet. I don’t even realize how hard I’m holding onto him until his hand comes up, thumb rubbing along my trembling tricep muscle.

  “Hey, I’ve got you,” he murmurs. I drop my head against his shoulder, nodding blearily as I try to remember how to unlock my arms.

  He pulls out but doesn’t let go of me as he brings us to the ground, his back propped against a wall. A snap of latex tells me he’s tied off the condom. I curl bonelessly into his lap, the corner of some box poking me in the shoulder blade while his warm hands stroke over my naked body, checking me over and settling me against his chest.

  I cough to clear my throat, my skin still humming as I sigh, “God. I really needed that. Too much time on the bus.”

  Danny chuckles, his fingers expertly combing the tangles out of my hair. He seems more comfortable now that he’s out of the too-flashy clothes the label’s wardrobe consultant insists on for every concert.

  “I kinda like the bus,” he says. “But I could use about a solid month of you in a hotel room after every show.” His thumb brushes my throat, over the tingling places where he bit me. “Did I hurt you? I was...rough.”

  I huff out a laugh, all low and relaxed. “Lucky for you, that’s just my speed. But you better tell me it wasn’t all for my benefit, or I’m going to be really pissed.”

  “Nah, that was as selfish as it comes. Though I have been meaning to give you a round of relaxation sex soon.”

  My head settles more heavily onto his shoulder. I swear I can still smell the heat of the stage lights on his skin. I wonder what his version of relaxation sex consists of and decide I definitely need some. In bulk.

  His chin tucks down on top of my head, hugging me in closer. “You want to tell me what’s been up with you this week? You’ve been a little stressed around the eyes, not just happily tapping away on your phone, playing with spreadsheets and schedules and all your other favorite toys.”

  Anxiety nibbles at the edges of my afterglow. “It’s my job to be stressed so you don’t have to be,” I remind him.

  He grunts. “Don’t give me that soothe-the-high-strung-musician crap. Is the promoter for the new date in Florida giving you trouble?”

  “What do you know about the promoter in Florida?” I raise my eyebrow in the muffling darkness. “You zone out after the first two syllables of any discussion of business or logistics.”

  “I pay attention to what’s important,” he says. “And you roll your eyes every time you answer that guy's calls. So what, is he already trying to shrink our split? Didn’t rent the right gadget you wanted? Or is he generally just a douche?”

  There’s a heavy tug behind my ribs. I’m pretty sure he didn’t know what a promoter even did before last week. “It’s not the guy in Florida. It’s just...” I trail off, because this is not a problem I should be laying on Danny.

  “Jax?”

  I flinch, and then exhale. “Yeah, a little bit.”

  His hand strokes down my spine, his legs flexing as he sits up straighter. “Jax is worse on this tour,” he admits. “And he can be a real dick when he’s deep into the blow. Or is it the girls that are bothering you? Jera gets mad about that, says it’s sexist. I could ask him to stop bringing them on the bus.”

  I make a dismissive noise. “Jax treats them better than most performers do. Trust me, I’ve heard enough faked orgasms from bus bunks to tell the difference by now.” Danny chuckles and I enjoy the rumble of it beneath my cheek. “Besides, I don't know if you can call it sexist when divas do it, too. Everybody’s just trying to take home a little of the magic of the show. I’ve watched it happen for years.”

  “It’s not anything special—the girls just want to tell their friends they slept with a famous musician.”

  I wriggle until my back is to Danny, and I pick up his hand so I can toy with his ring as I talk.

  “It’s more than that, though,” I say. “The fans want you because you’re ten feet tall on that stage and unrealistically gorgeous, but you’re singing like you know every secret doubt they have about themselves. And yet when the set is over, you step off the stage and back into your own skin and suddenly it’s just a little too small. You want to hold onto that moment when someone believed in a bigger, better you. The groupies want to hold onto the idea that they’re something special, that out of the whole crowd, you chose them.”

  “I get that,” Danny says after a moment. “And it’s not like I’m innocent, or immune. Our first run out here, I took a few fans home. They were wild; absol
utely willing, but...” His palm rubs down my arm, gentle and troubled. “I’m not what they need. They’re looking for something to fill them up, but the empty never leaves their eyes.” His free hand settles on my belly, his shoulders warm as they curl around me. “Jax is like that. He drinks in all the attention but he’s never full.”

  Something shivers deep in my belly, and even though I know we should be getting up, I find myself snuggling deeper into Danny’s arms. Nothing about a post-show quickie in a closet should have led to him holding me, worrying about me. Besides, I have no business biting my nails over his bandmate. I know better than to begin to care about the bad decisions of the performers I work for. Drugs have always gone along with music and I don’t judge because some of the best albums ever made came from that. If musicians were stable, they wouldn’t be so brilliant.

  It’s why these days, I’m not as sorry that I’m not one of them. It’s no bullshit, making something out of all the shit rattling around inside of all of us. If you’re not bleeding, no one is listening.

  But my loyalty has to be with the music—it lasts, even when the performers don’t.

  “We should go,” I say brusquely. “People will be looking for us, and I need to cut the promoter a check for his share of the merch sales.” I get my feet under me, but before I can rise Danny catches my hand, his fingers wrapping solidly around mine.

  “You can’t fix everyone, Kate. Sometimes, you just have to keep yourself steady and let that be enough.”

  I freeze. If I hadn’t figured that out years ago, I’d still be back in San Fran, waiting tables and using all my tip money to pay for my mom’s prescriptions. But it’s not something I expected from Danny, with his low-key way of watching out for everyone close to him.

  “I know.” I push to my feet, reaching for my purse and the stash of baby wipes in the side pocket. Together, we get dressed. Danny’s eyes dance with amusement at my tiny flashlight and the safety pin I use to stand in for my missing button, but through it all I can’t stop wondering who he had to give up on. His sister? Jax? A girlfriend, maybe?

  We rejoin the others, and I hug Jax, telling him he just played one of the best shows I’ve ever seen. His blue eyes light up, and I ignore the itch between my shoulder blades as I lavish praise on him, hoping it’s enough. Telling myself the whole time that it’s not my business, that they’re not my band.

  Telling myself I don't care if Danny’s watching me with his friend, a smile tugging at the corners of his ever-solemn mouth, and his scent comfortable on my skin beneath my clothes.

  Chapter 13: Playing

  A few weeks later, I’m yawning my way through unpacking my hotel room when there’s a single knuckle tap on the door next to the TV. I kick off my shoes as I go to flip the deadbolt that will open my small room into the adjoining suite complex. “Impatient much?” I laugh. “I think you made it a whole two minutes and ten seconds before coming over.”

  “This is our first night off in eighteen days. You’re going to be lucky if I last two minutes.” Danny lounges against the doorframe that opens to his suite, a half-smile warming his eyes, dressed casually in a beanie and tee shirt instead of stage clothes. Charcoal smudges his fingers from when he was sketching during the bus ride, and heat spirals through my belly at the sight. It’s possible that art might be my newest kink.

  I toss a smile over my shoulder as I head back toward my suitcase. “And you’re going to be lucky if I don’t fall asleep halfway through unfastening my bra.”

  He catches my hand and spins me back into his chest. “Not an option. You have to go dancing with me.” His hips start to move with mine: dark, liquid rhythm that reminds me of his music, and suddenly the grainy burn behind my eyes doesn’t seem to matter so much.

  “Mmm, how can you make that sound so good right now?” I haven’t slept since yesterday morning, and that was with my cheek on my tablet in the front lounge of the bus.

  Danny turns me away from him, his shoulders shimmying mine to a silent beat as his long fingers trace sensual lines down my arms, our fingers twining and then sliding away as we dance.

  “Maybe because we’re in Austin, and there’s no possible way we can stay in tonight. We have to bar hop and listen to music until we find somebody who can play a decent blues guitar. After that, it’s on to the clubs until you’ve got me too hard to make it through the cab ride home without your hand down my pants.”

  I laugh, letting my head fall back against his shoulder. “Like we haven’t scarred enough cab drivers on this tour.”

  “Hey, I need a media coach to accompany me to my interviews,” he protests. “Everybody knows I suck at them.”

  My belly tenses shiveringly as I think of some of the stolen touches in the backseats of taxis. It’s been weeks of the most incredible sex of my life, despite the utter lack of privacy thanks to constant traveling. Even the thought of a closet gets me hot now. We’ve had to make do with hideaways under the stage framework, in the cab of a delivery truck, and a couple of times in the woods outside outdoor venues. God, I miss hotels.

  “And how do you think you’re going to go dancing without being recognized, now that you’re the broken-hearted bad boy of rock and roll?”

  Danny groans. “So fucking stupid. Because I’ve got a little ink and I punched one puny douchebag, I’m some kind of rebel heartthrob?” He pivots behind me. The move cracks pain through my bad shoulder and I wince and try to hide my reaction. “I’m ready to claim I’m playing for the other team just to save Jera all the bullshit,” Danny says.

  “Hey, it’s helping the band’s visibility. For every person who thinks she’s a tease, there are two more printing Dera OTP shirts and planning your wedding on Pinterest.”

  “OTP?” Danny asks warily.

  “One true pairing.”

  Danny snorts. “Whatever.”

  He steps in front of me, and this time when he nestles me into his chest and begins to sway, we’re more junior prom than dance club. His fingers find the knot inside my shoulder blade and gently start to knead it away.

  It’s last season’s injury from slipping in a puddle of beer while carrying an amp. It never healed right because the bus was overloaded, and I had to sleep on the floor that whole tour. It’s an embarrassing story, and I’d hate that Danny always notices my stiffness, except he’s so meltingly good at getting it to loosen back up.

  “I warned you that if you mentioned the D-word again, I’d puke in your purse,” he says.

  I snicker, dropping a kiss beneath his jaw. “There’s no room in my purse for puke. It’d just bounce off all the paperwork. Also, you should realize if you take me dancing tonight, we’re going to have our own celebrity mash-up name. And believe me, Kanny isn’t anything anybody wants to see on a tee shirt.”

  I squeeze his arm in silent thanks as he finishes with my shoulder, and then I cross the room to dig in my carry-on. He probably hasn’t eaten since this morning.

  “Wouldn’t it just be Date?” Danny grimaces. “Tell me again why people can’t be bothered to say two whole names instead of a single fucked up one?”

  I pull out a package of trail mix, but instead of offering him any, I tear it open and pop a peanut in my mouth. “Erg. Good point on the Date vs Dera. Talk about a perfect headline for a love triangle and media feeding frenzy.”

  He swipes the trail mix from me and tosses a handful into his mouth. I manage to hide my smug smile before he glances back at me. “Screw ‘em. Clubs are dark and I want to take you out.”

  “Dancing does sound kind of amazing...” I smother a yawn that tries to come out in the middle of the words.

  Danny chuckles. “Okay, maybe a nap first.” He drops the trail mix on the dresser and takes my hand, leading me into his room and closing the door behind us.

  “The mattresses are the same in every room, silly.” I pinch his taut ass just so I can watch him jump and throw me a warning flare of his eyes.

  He pauses and faces me, skimming my shirt up o
ver my head. I shiver as the heat of his lips smoothes down the curve of my shoulder. “People are always knocking on your door, wanting shit,” he murmurs. “We’ll never get to sleep.”

  His beanie stretches as I pull it off and rake my nails through his soft, shaggy hair. He hums a rumbly, pleased sound and tips his head down toward me.

  I scoff. “You think I’m going to let you sleep?” His shirt becomes my casualty, left on the floor as I hook a finger in his worn leather belt, towing him past the TV and toward his bedroom door. “This is the first time we’ve had the chance for more than a stand-up quickie, and I want to play...”

  His chuckle trickles down over my skin, teasing like a feather over silk. “Mmm, do you?” I stop by the bed and unbuckle his belt while he brushes his knuckles gently over my throat. “And what do you want to play?”

  My brain flashes a series of vivid, dirty images. As if he saw them, his fingers clamp over mine, and he yanks the belt out of the loops with a hiss of fabric. I freeze in place as heat melts between my legs, my pulse slamming all the fatigue out of my system.

  Danny runs the supple leather between his fingers, watching me with heavy-lidded eyes. I can barely keep myself from panting, but I bite my lip, trying to look uncertain because that’s a boundary I can’t let him cross.

  He drops the belt, his palm coming up to cup my jaw as he rests his cheek against my temple. “Give me half an hour in this town and I can be back with a riding crop that’ll give you the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had in your life,” he murmurs.

  My nipples harden as if they’ve already felt the sharp snap of leather, and my muscles squeeze hollowly. I can imagine the way he’d wield a whip. Confident, almost lazy, every stroke precisely as hard as he meant it to be and no more, every pause leaving me begging for more.