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

by Michelle Hazen

  Exactly the same way he fucks me.

  I force an uneven laugh. “I told you, I’m not into pain.”

  His lips stroke over my temple. “It doesn’t have to be about pain. It never is, for me.” His hand fists in my hair and he jerks my head back. The sting hits me straight between the thighs, and my hips curl automatically as I gasp up at him, my eyes going hazy. “Though it might be, for you,” he murmurs, drinking in my reaction. With his free hand, he pushes down the cup of my bra. “You like me to be almost vicious, right here.” He circles my areole with the calloused edge of his thumb, brilliant eyes darkening.

  I don’t care if I ever breathe again. I want him to shove me onto the bed and tease my inner thighs with the flick of that beautiful belt of his. I want his cock thrusting into me, so hard I have to scream to be able to take it.

  Christ.

  I slam my lids closed because his eyes tell me it would be safe to lose myself. To do anything he wants me to. In our case, that could get more than a little complicated.

  When I shift back, he doesn’t hold me in place, though we both know he could. He wound my hair so carefully around his fist that he didn’t break a single strand when he tugged. Now, he lets it sift away through his fingers, pleasure shivering all along my scalp.

  “You’re distracting me again.” I let out a little huff of a laugh as I open my eyes, lifting my chin before I drop my voice to a more seductive pitch. “Forget what you think I like, and tell me what you want to do to me.”

  Frustration ricochets across his face. “What makes you think those are two different things, Kate?”

  I shrug my bra back into place and reach up with a single finger to tap across his lips, leaning close. “You,” I whisper. “You told me you get lost in pleasing a woman and that’s exactly what you’ve been doing with me.”

  He drops his head. For all his talk about going out, the circles beneath his eyes are just as dark as my own. “I know I said that, but...”

  “But as soon as you get me wet, you forget about everything else?” I duck to catch his gaze, trying out a playful tone. “I may be setting new personal records for multiple orgasms, but that’s not why I’m sleeping with you, remember?”

  “No? Why are you sleeping with me, Kate?” When he lifts his chin, his face is as distant as it was that first day in the airport, when I was just one more unit in the milling crowd around him.

  Hurt pricks at me and I cover it with a gentle smile. “Because you’re my friend. And for whatever reason, you trusted me enough to admit there was something missing for you. That’s why.” I hook my fingers through his belt loops, my thumbs tracing the bare skin just above the waistband of his jeans as I wink. “Though I admit I don’t mind the extra perks of the exploration process.”

  He turns away, fisting his hair back away from his face. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, okay? It turns me on to know you want me and I have no idea how I can shut that off long enough to find out what my own kinks would be. Or if I even should.”

  “Hey...” I hesitate, and then lay a hand over the center of his tree tattoo. “I get it, you know, at least a little bit.” The words between us are quiet, the way they sometimes are in the very early hours of the morning when everyone else on the bus is asleep. “The more forceful a man gets with me in bed, the more I melt into it and the less I care if what he asks of me is something I wanted. It’s the dominance that matters, not whatever sexual acts come afterward. That’s why in the first few years, it took me a while to sort out what I was really into.”

  It’s also why I can’t face Danny when he has a whip in his hand, no matter how sensually gentle or deliciously harsh he promised to be. I can’t afford to submit completely, especially not to him. Not if I want to keep my career and the huge amount of independence it demands.

  Danny turns, his brow creasing as he catches my hand. “That could be really dangerous.”

  I know he’s talking about if I were with someone I couldn’t trust, someone who might push me too hard and actually injure me. There can be times when something feels too good to stop, but that doesn’t always mean it’s good for you. Physical submission can be almost as risky as emotional submission.

  “I know.” I don’t look away. “That’s part of why I quit.”

  His fingers jerk against mine. “What do you mean, you quit?”

  “You’re the first Dom I’ve been with in two years.”

  “Two years? I mean, you said you didn’t do Doms, but I didn’t actually think you...” Lines of strain appear around his eyes. “Kate, why would—”

  I glance away. “You know what? It’s not something I really want to talk about. We’re both tired, let’s just relax for a while, okay?” I spy his bass guitar case by the sitting room door and go over to open it.

  “Kate.” His whisper scrapes at something deep inside me, and as I crouch over the case, I feel exposed for the first time since he took off my shirt. When I stand and shake my hair back, I take the bass and offer it to him.

  “Come on, Rock Star. Play me something pretty.” I keep my smile light even as his worried eyes flicker over my face.

  “Why now, after two years? Why me?”

  I rest the bass guitar by our feet, toying with the neck as I remember when I asked him the same question and he responded by touching a finger beside my eyes. I didn’t totally get it at the time, but now that I know him better, I think my answer would be the same as his. But I’m not ready for him to know that, so I reach out and tap the fly of his jeans.

  “Big dick.” I smirk. “I’m a woman of complex and sophisticated tastes.”

  The corner of his mouth twists into a half smile, but his eyes are still dark when they flick away from me. He reaches for the bass, pulling the strap over his head. “You know, true connoisseurs of the bass all agree on one thing.”

  “Five strings not four?” Relief trickles through my chest when I realize he’s not going to push the topic. Danny’s not the type to make someone talk when they don’t want to.

  “Nope. You listen to guitar, but you feel bass. And we all know the best way to do that.” His hands disappear behind his instrument.

  When I hear his zipper peeling down, I grin. “Nice, O’Neil. Very smooth.”

  He kicks out of his jeans, leaving behind boxers printed with assorted tools. I can’t help my fond smile at the sight of them, but then my gaze lifts and my mouth goes dry as I take in the classic curve of a Fender bass guitar below abs that flex with wicked tattoos.

  His fingers move to the strings, and the waiting music from Jeopardy begins to play.

  I burst out laughing. “Okay, okay, I can take a hint.” I unzip my own jeans and strip them down, leaving me in semi-transparent black bikini panties and a matching bra.

  Jeopardy is replaced by the Jaws theme as Danny takes a menacing step toward me. Automatically, I step back, giggling as he narrows his eyes. When he pounces, I turn and run, squeaking. But he’s too fast, thrusting the bass up over our heads to protect it, even as he hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me into him. He laughs as we fall back onto the little couch next to the bed.

  It’s all warm, bare skin and laughter as he tickles and jostles me into place between his legs, his worn boxers teasing my hips even as my hair swings silkily between my back and his chest. I curl back into him, a funny little contented feeling settling into my belly. He brushes his lips over the top of my head and then loops the bass strap over my shoulder, placing the instrument on my lap.

  “Aren’t I going to be in the way of you playing?” I shift, trying to figure out how he’s going to be able to reach the lower frets.

  “I play all the time. It’s your turn. Besides...” He kisses my palm, and then wraps my hand around the neck of his bass. “It’s sexy as hell watching tiny girl fingers on the frets. I’ll be hard by the second chord.” He curls his hips against my bottom in invitation.

  I shake my hair back, laughing. “That sounds like a game I defin
itely want to play. Problem is, I’m not even sure I remember any chords. I flunked out of every kind of music lesson that exists, but that was back in high school.”

  “So? I never took lessons, not on the bass, anyway. Just mess around, do whatever sounds good. That’s how I started out.”

  “Um, yeah, as long as you want to listen to a garbled mess.” I pluck a string, rolling my eyes.

  Danny settles back into the couch, nudging me until I recline along with him, my body lifting and falling slowly with his exhale. The bass is flat against my bare belly and when I pluck another string, it resonates back through my chest all the way to my spine. Trying to remember how he places his hands, I change my hold on the frets, then pluck at the strings. The sound is even deeper this time, more complex, and I release a sigh.

  Something in the air shifts like Danny is smiling, but I don’t glance back to see if I’m right. I know him well enough to be sure he was telling the truth. He really won’t care how badly I play.

  I experiment, trying different combinations until the bass starts to sound like something I recognize. I have to admit, it feels nice to have music just be something to enjoy, not a job or a skill I can’t quite master. Closing my eyes, I let each chord fade before I strike a new one, the silence between as sweet as the sound.

  It’s almost dizzying not to have a place I need to be, twenty things and four people vying for my attention. My shoulders grow heavy against Danny’s chest, his fingers slowly tracing the lines of the tattoo on my hip.

  His fingers warm my skin, the vibration of the bass filling me as I drink in the thought of hours yet before I have to leave him, to put on my professional face instead of smiling at the pictures on his boxers. Before I have to hide the way air jumps in my chest when his eyes connect to mine.

  We’re most of the way through the tour now. It’s just a week before we go back to Portland for what would have been the last show before I changed the schedule. Instead, we’ll take a week off that I’ll probably have to use to check on my mom, and head out for ten busy days in Europe.

  It’s not long enough to sort out whatever’s still holding Danny back, and I hate the thought that he might go home with the same worries he had before. I search for a chord that sounds dark and thick like that thought, but then I picture another girl beneath him and my fingers jerk against the strings. He’s so quiet, his presence so steady that it would be terrifyingly easy for someone to hurt him without ever knowing it.

  Maybe I could stay over for a few days after the tour. It’d be just like one of our shared days off: a laughing whirl of hot sex and naps at all times of the morning and evening. He’s the best sort of company: absolutely effortless and sparkling with chemistry. Hanging with Danny would be the perfect way to decompress from the insanity of the tour.

  Because the tour itself is going to be over before I even have a chance to catch my breath.

  I shift my head until the comforting thump of his heartbeat presses against my cheek. His breathing is starting to slow like he’s falling asleep. I let my fingers sift over the guitar, but nothing sounds right, now that I have a calendar nagging behind my eyes.

  “Danny?”

  He skims his knuckles down the line of my arm. “Hmm?”

  “What would you think about...” I take a breath. “I mean, what if we—”

  A hammering sounds at Danny’s door, pausing for a split second before a fist slams down again even more frantically.

  Chapter 14: Girl Talk

  We both jump at the commotion coming from the door. I leap up from Danny’s lap, pulling off the bass guitar and setting it against the couch.

  He snatches up his pants as he heads out of the bedroom. “Just let me see who it is. Maybe it’s nothing.”

  “I don’t know, it sounds more like the FBI than Housekeeping.” I follow him into the front room as the pounding starts again.

  Danny skins on his jeans and flicks his hair out of his eyes as he leans to the peephole. “It’s Jera.”

  I whirl and hurry back into the bedroom for my clothes.

  “She’s crying. Shit. I’m sorry, Kate, I’ve got to let her in.”

  “Okay, right.” I yank my pants on, the legs twisting in my rush. “Just give me one second to get back to my room and—” The front door opens with a whoosh of thick carpet and I swallow a curse, diving for the bedroom door and swinging it shut as quietly as I can.

  Jera explodes into the outer room with a flurry of sound. “You know what? I don’t care anymore. You do it however you want to.” Her voice goes muffled for a second as if she’s pulling something over her head. “Put it wherever you damn well please.”

  I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I can’t focus on that right now because my shirt is not in here. My stomach sinks as I realize Danny took it off in the living room, which means it is still in the living room, right in the middle of the floor where Jera can’t miss it. Not only that, she’s going to know exactly who it belongs to, because she complimented me on it this morning.

  “Jera, what the— What are you doing?”

  I blink at the closed door that divides me from their conversation. I’ve never heard Danny sound so rattled.

  “What? This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Her voice wavers on the edge of hysteria. “You’ve been after me to do it for years.”

  A zipper rips and my eyes widen. She isn’t... Or is she?

  “Jimi, I don’t know what the hell you’re doing, but stop it. No bullshit, stop it right now.” There’s fear in his voice now, and it twists my gut. I grip the doorknob, biting my lip as I debate if I should walk into the middle of this or not.

  “This all started because I didn’t want a tattoo, and now all these people think I won’t do it because I don’t trust you?” Jera’s voice begins to break. “That I don’t love you? Fuck that. You can cover every inch of me with ink. I want you to, because then no matter what they say about me, about Jacob...” Her words crack heart-wrenchingly on his name. “At least we will know the truth.”

  Screw it, we’re already busted. I might as well help if I can. I open the door, sweeping up my shirt and dropping it on over my head as I move to where Danny is frozen in the small foyer.

  Jera’s wearing one sock, a bright pink pair of panties, and a purple bra with electric blue zebra stripes. Mascara streaks down her tear-swollen face as she hurls her jeans past Danny. “Pick a spot and draw whatever the fuck you want on me. I’m through with this shit.”

  He reaches to hold her, and then hesitates. He throws me a half-panicked, half-apologetic look that makes me falter between one step and the next. Is he asking my permission? I’m saved from sorting that out when her head falls forward on a sob, and he gives in and takes her into his arms.

  The branches of the tree on his back ripple as he squeezes her tight, his hand cupping the back of her head while she quivers with the force of the sobs that are coming faster now. She doesn’t even seem to have heard me come out of the bedroom.

  “I don’t know how to let them hate me,” Jera whispers, her tears painting the ink-swirled skin of his bare shoulder. “A group of girls booed when I went out on stage last night, and today, #Jeraisabitch is trending on Twitter. Trending.”

  “What does that even mean?” he growls.

  Her head sags against him. “It means thousands of people took the time to post about how much they despise me and want me and Jacob to break up. Tens of thousands.” She sucks in a wavering breath. “I just want to go home, D.”

  Danny hugs her, his whole body folding in tight around hers and his chin hooked protectively over the top of her head. My heartbeat hitches at the sight. I know how it feels to be held by him that way, like the world gets a little quieter, a little slower for a single sweet moment.

  Her breaths are gradually starting to smooth, the quivering of her small back giving way to limpness as she lets him hold up her weight. I hug my arms around myself, guilt thick in my chest.

  The gossip
has been fierce, but she and Jacob were laughing about it last week when he visited, and I hoped she was starting to get better at ignoring the rumors. Then again, she might just be out of energy to cope today. Eighteen shows in a row is brutal, and I’ve been wrapped up with Danny in every spare moment when I should have been watching the rest of the band, making sure they’re okay.

  “Please,” I say. “Let me fix this.”

  Jera’s eyes fly open. “Kate!” She pulls back, wiping mascara-streaked tears off her face. “I didn’t realize you were in here.” She glances down at herself and her shoulders sag. “Fuck.” She snatches up her shirt and pulls it on. “I know how this looks,” she says to me, “but I was just freaking out. I just... Fuck.” She blows out a breath.

  “Stripping and screaming seems like a perfectly rational response to a bunch of strangers telling you how to live your life.” I pause, considering. “Though I might have wanted to break something, too.”

  A bitter laugh catches in Jera’s throat as she sticks a leg back into her jeans. “Right. Maybe that’s next.”

  “Fuck them,” Danny says suddenly. When I glance up at him, his hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides, his eyes nearly black and roiling with emotion. “Let’s cancel the rest of the tour and go home. I’m not playing for people who talk about you like that.”

  Oh shit.

  Not only would it be a publicity nightmare, but cancelling now would leave them a few hundred grand in the hole on un-recoupable expenses. Not to mention making enemies of some of the biggest promoters on the European circuit.

  “Danny.” I lay my hand on his shoulder, his skin volcanically hot. “I can fix this.” He finally turns away from Jera, and the look on his face is so close to pleading I have to swallow once before I can continue. “Go have a beer with Jax. Give us a chance to talk, okay?” He searches my face for a long moment, and I can tell how much he wants to believe I can make the problem just go away. I don’t budge, holding his gaze.