Beg (God of Rock Book 2)

by Eden Butler

  “Guide me,” she said, shaking harder, clamping against me, her movements erratic, but so, so good.

  “Se siente rico, mi amor. My sweet florecita. You’re so beautiful, and te amo. I want this, you and me and this magic right here.”

  “Jamie!” she cried, nails digging into my shoulders. I loved the sharp pain, but nothing compared to the image of her riding me, her hair in a tumble around her face, her beautiful body bouncing against me, her warm, sweet pussy clamping around me as she came.

  Iris was beautiful, my forever girl, and I’d never get tired of seeing that expression on her face, seeing the light crossing her eyes when she fell apart. It was sensual and seductive, and twisted something deep inside me, made me reach for her, pull her close as I lifted up into her over and over, until I followed her over the edge.

  She fell against me, spent, her breath calm now, her hair nearly dry, and I held her, wondering how long it would take before I woke from this dream. I decided right there, with Iris still wrapped around me, that if I was dreaming, I never wanted to wake up.

  Epilogue

  “Tell us, Wills, about how different your life is compared to two years ago, when you first discovered you needed a transplant.”

  “Oh, very, I’d say. For starters, I had no relationship with my son, did I? And my career was in shambles. I was ready to walk right out on my brothers, the band I had loved for half my life.”

  “Why is that?”

  Wills shrugged, seeming to take a minute to consider his answer. The reporter sitting across from him waited as my father shifted his gaze to the right, smile instant as he looked to me and Iris. “I suppose I was scared. I reckon I didn’t want to seem weak, and until I took the time to think on the bad decisions I’d made, I supposed I got a little desperate.”

  “But that changed?”

  “Aye, it did, in fact. It changed when I saw my son struggle with his own decisions.” Wills looked smug then, and I shook my head, laughing under my breath. “O’course, I knew then I had to go in and rescue him, sort him to rights.”

  “Gringo, you’re full of mierda.”

  The reporter turned, smiling when Wills laughed at my answer. “Let’s take a break guys,” he told his crew, looking back at my father. “I’d like to work up to the new album in the next segment. That okay?” Wills nodded then the reporter called over his assistant, showing the woman something written on his notepad. “This afternoon let’s get some footage of the studio, maybe shoot Wills in the sound booth.” He looked over at me, nodding. “That okay with you, Mr. Justice?”

  “Whatever you need.”

  “It’s your label, lad. Your business,” Wills called over the reporter’s head. My father looked good, smooth, in all black with his white hair pulled away from his face. The paleness of his complexion was gone, and if you didn’t know he’d been sick not that long ago, you’d think he was just an old man with a twinkle in his eye.

  “And you invested, gringo. Do whatever you want.” I stood then, Iris yelping as I picked her up. “If you’ll excuse me, we’re still honeymooning. I’m going to take my wife away from this mierda before she abandons me for her beloved job writing about rock stars she’s not married to.”

  The laughter behind trailed away, and I carried Iris through the building and up to the second story apartment we still used when Wills was in town recording. It had been a while since we stayed in Hector’s revamped apartment, but the documentary crew’s appearance called for all hands on deck. No way would I let my old man handle the interviews on his own. Well, unless I could steal an hour away with my wife.

  “Honeymooning,” Iris said through a laugh, slapping my hand away when I tried divesting her of her shirt. Seemed I took too long, and she chucked off her clothing in three fast swipes before she pushed me onto the bed. “Think we’ll ever stop honeymooning?”

  “Coño, I hope not.” I grabbed her waist, pulling her on top of me once I was stripped down to my shorts. “Fuck mami, I like this,” I said, tugging at the red thong she wore. Iris moaned when I brushed my hands over her smooth skin, fingering the black lace around the cup of her bra. Then I jerked to a sitting position, kissing up her neck and down her chest, pulling that pretty bra away from where I wanted to be. “But, it’ll look better on the floor.”

  Iris shook in my arms, limbs trembling when I spread her wide, slipping inside her, showing her how good that lingerie looked on the floor.

  “Ay carajo, this is good. To be raw with you, to feel everything.”

  “Just for you, baby,” she said, squeezing against my cock. “All this is yours.”

  And with my wife moving against me, clamping tight, I took what was mine and gave her everything I had.

  Later, when we were spent, Iris curled around me, my fingers moving up and down her arm, I kissed the top of her head, closing my eyes to take in the smell of her skin and the sweetness of her hair, reveling in my mami, my florecita, resting against me where she belonged.

  “You were mine that night, at the first Hawthorne concert back in Indy.” Iris rubbed her cheek against my chest, moving her fingers into the small patch of hair that trailed over my chest. “I was fifteen, and I figured out you were my Know.”

  “Your Know?” I asked, stilling my fingers.

  “The one person that was made for me. The person I couldn’t be without.” She leaned up, resting on her elbow to look down at me. “When did you know?”

  “That you were made for me?” She nodded and pushed back the hair from her face. The answer came quick because I didn’t have to think about it. “Mami, I knew the second I saw you.”

  “How?”

  I shrugged, pulling my mouth into a slow smile. “Same way you know how to get home after you’ve been away a long time. Your head guides you; your heart recognizes it.”

  “You knew then? Even after everything, you knew that first time?”

  I nodded, pulling her back down onto my chest. “You’ve always been my home.”

  Iris purred against my chest when I rubbed her back, and I felt the slow spread of her smile when I started humming her song.

  “I love it when you sing to me,” she said, nestling even closer.

  “Well then, florecita, I promise I’ll never stop.”

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  Funny how an idea pops into your head and takes hold. The roots for the God of Rock book were planted decades ago when I was a goofy kid who’d never really listened to rock music. Back then, my mother was southern Baptist, very devoted, and the only music played in our home was either Elvis, outlaw country music, or gospel. It wasn’t until third grade, sitting next to my new best friend in her mother’s living room that my sheltered little world got rocked. Rumors was on the turntable and the second I heard Stevie Nick’s raspy voice, my life changed. That’s where I like to think Wills Lager came from and, by extension, so did Dash Justice.

  My world got rocked well and good again at eleven when I first discovered Prince and I haven’t been the same sense, but Stevie and Fleetwood Mac and Mrs. Eve, my best friend’s cool mama were my first rock tutors. I’m grateful for the lessons they taught me.

  Thanks to the amazing Kiezha with Librum Artis Editorial Services for the fantastic edit and to that one girl I can’t quite remember who told me about the “read aloud” function in Word. What a godsend. Huge thanks to Judy Lovely and Rose Holub for the copy edit. Also to Anna Crosswell of Cover Couture for another glorious cover and my girl Vania Stoyanova and models Aaron Dominguez and Hilda Santiago for supplying us with such stunning cover art.

  Thanks so much to my reader group, Saints & Sinners for your encouragement, your support and willingness to let me bounce ideas, pass along nerdy jokes and fangirl about the books I’m reading and the authors we discover together. You guys mean far more than I think you realize. This book and Jamie’s redemption is all for you!

  Thank you to Chelle Bliss, my ride-or-die, my sweet friend and the constant su
pport and encouragement. I’m so happy we got to see each other again and can’t wait for what we’ll have waiting for us in the coming year. Your friendship is such a blessing to me.

  Thanks to Kele Moon, Lila Felix and Trisha Leger for the pep talks, brain storming and constant support and thanks so much to Sarah Hershman, my agent (first time I’m writing that), for working hard to get KNEEL and, hopefully BEG to a broader audience.

  To my Corporate Hell sisters—Barbara Blakes, Marie Anderson-Simmons, Kalpana Singh, Sarah Cooper, Sherry Jackson and Karen Chapman, you never stop encouraging me and I am humbled by your belief in me. I love you all!

  Thank you to my wonderful Sweet Team and personal supporters: Renita McKinney (my sister from another mister), Trinity Tate, Veronica Varela Rigby, Lisa Bennett, Jessica D. Hollyfield, Amy Bernstein-Feldman, Kayla Jagneaux, Heather McCorkle, Joy Jagneaux, Jennifer Jagneaux, Tina Jaworski, Naarah Scheiffler, Laura Agra, Betsy Gehring, Allyson Lavigne Wilson, Allison Coburn, Chanpreet Singh, Emily Lamphear, Sammy Jo Lle, Michelle Horstman, Jazmine Ayala, (especially for the Spanish clarifications!), Melanie Brunsch, Christopher Ledbetter, Lori Westhaver, Judy Lovely, Carla Castro, Heather Weston-Confer, Jennifer Holt, Trish Finely Leger, Karin Enders and Joanna Holland for their amazing support.

  Thanks to my family, Chris, Trinity, Faith, Grace and Jax for their patience and understanding as I continue to ignore and neglect them. I promise, one day I will walk away from my laptop. I love you all.

  Excerpt from Fall

  Bend & Break

  Lightning filled my stomach. It rent apart my insides, reminded me of what I’d had to ingest. There were bits of home—things that both warmed and filled me, but also hurt to remember. Like the grains of sand that moved between my toes and stuck to the tops of my feet. Or the waves slicking the surface of my skin, coating my ankles like paint I’d never get dry from my feet. There were slices of fruit and berries, the fragrant, rich taste of raw pineapple on my tongue, reminding me of the island and the life, the family that made me laugh. The memories all congregated, collided with the hours of lectures, the years of filing and fussing and freeing myself from the island girl I was, to the student I became, to the associate trying harder, working longer to prove herself. But it also freed me from the laughter that never went silent in the ocean’s current.

  There was also warmth in the pit of my stomach; the memories I didn’t mind reliving. Like the sensation of my mother’s touch, the warm, sweet scent of her perfume and the faint kiss she left on my forehead every night. There was my brother too, and the baby he and Ellen brought home, that pink bundle with no worry yet—a beautiful girl with eyes bright and gray like my mother’s and the same wide nose my brother swore wasn’t all that big.

  And another piece, this one nearly as precious—a laugh I heard when he didn’t know I listened. It was like a song, something sweet, something I wanted to hear always and those thick, full lips I’d always wanted to taste.

  That storm coalesced, went deep inside me. It lived there—the island, my heart, and the rush of memory and regret I’d left behind me years ago.

  There it stayed, like a hum, whispering low; my quiet song reminding me I could go home.

  Reminding me it had not all disappeared.

  Not just yet.

  Thanksgiving 2002

  There were rainbows on the wind. It was what Lily Campbell’s mother always called the night sky in Kaimuki when the sunset drew waves of light in all hues across the ocean. “A riot of rainbows,” she’d say. “Too many colors to count.” It struck Lily, just then, despite the noise of the crowd and the lingering humidity which made her skin damp and her brown hair frizz, that no matter how long she lived on the mainland, the sunset at home and the ocean breeze that cooled her skin as it moved, would always hold a riot of rainbows.

  She’d missed her mom since the cancer had taken her. Lily had only been sixteen then, a sophomore in high school, but her memory, the sweet things her mom spoke about their island had frozen in her mind. Lily determined nothing of her mother would leave her thoughts. Looking over that sunset and all those colors, Lily realized she’d missed the island almost as much as she missed her mom.

  “What about him?” Kiki’s voice was high, loud, and pulled Lily from her thoughts, right into the hustle of the crowd as Kiki shouted over it. She moved on her tiptoes and bounced when she spoke, something that reminded Lily of some sort of dwarf dance right out of a Lord of the Rings film. Kiki’s voice boomed, contrasting her short legs and squat frame.

  The bar was too crowded, the band’s speakers keyed up with too much reverb, but Kiki still tried, insisted for the third time in two hours that Lily keep their undergrad bet going. Kiki had never lost and claimed that Lily’s inability to embarrass herself bordered on the pathetic.

  “No. Not him,” Lily told her dorm mate, hoping that the slow shake of her head and the bustle of particularly easy marks in the crowd would distract Kiki.

  “Why not?” No such luck.

  Lily pulled a long swig on her lukewarm beer, wishing the group of mainlanders would clear away from the bar. She wanted a fresh bottle but not bad enough that she’d fight a bunch of eighteen-year-olds who looked for all the world like they’d just broken from their leashes.

  Kiki’s elbow slipped easily into Lily’s side, but she was able to keep from flinching. Kaimuki was her hometown. There were eyes on her, desperate gossips waiting to see what New Haven had done to her. All of them, Lily guessed, wanted to know if she’d forgotten where she’d come from. She stretched one long leg, leaning against the bar, and Lily moved a shoulder, a slow, small gesture that told Kiki to be patient.

  “Invalid. I wouldn’t stand a chance,” she finally answered, holding the bottle a little in front of her mouth, guarding her words in case any of those gossips had super-sensitive hearing. “These local boys know me. They’d never believe the shit I’d have to say to win.”

  “You’ve been away for four years. The mainland is a long way away.” Kiki came close, preventing herself from the exhausting need to yell. Her referring to Connecticut as the mainland seemed odd, out of place with Kiki’s Tennessee accent. “Maybe Yale has changed you.”

  “No amount of courses in Modern Apocalyptic Narratives and The History of Political Theory would change me that much.”

  “You sure?”

  The boy in question nodded at Lily, throwing out a “howzit, Lils?” before he charged in the center of those eighteen-year-olds still angling for drinks from the flustered bartender.

  “Told you.”

  Liam, her brother, had made the day before an epic return. Barbeque, music, and too much liquor. He’d welcomed Lily and Kiki to the island with as much fanfare as he could muster and nearly half the boys in the bar tonight had made an appearance. It had felt as though he wanted to remind her that his house—the house that had been her home since their mother’s death— was still waiting for her.

  Lily moved around, catching the eye of a Kai, the bartender. She’d done grade school and pee-wee volleyball with him. Now he manned Tiki Tommy’s bar. The place was small, not like those Honolulu tourist traps. Lily had outgrown it by the time she was eighteen, but the beer was cold and cheap and Tommy’s was right on the beach, the windows opened, the patio expansive enough that the ocean breeze flew around the crowd. It offered a small reprieve to the humid air and the crowded club. Lily could almost taste the salt water on her tongue between quick sips she took from the now half-empty bottle.

  Besides, it was comfortable and the only real place in Kaimuki her and her friends could drink for free. Like most people in their small town, when Lily was home, she went to Tommy’s.

  Kai smiled at Lily, flashing his perfect white teeth and deep-set dimples, moving up his eyebrows as if to ask a silent question.

  Lily tilted her warm beer at him, then threw up two fingers.

  Kiki sighed, looking a little annoyed—the small tilt of her head as she scanned the crowd and the slight dip of h
er mouth told Lily she was getting bored. She’d spent her entire undergrad career at Yale with her dorm mate. Lily knew when Kiki’s mind wandered because she’d gone too long without stirring up drama.

  “You keep looking, though,” she told Kiki, putting her cash into her back pocket when Kai scooted two cold bottles of Blue Moon toward her then waved off her money. He hazarded a long look at Kiki, which she completely missed, and Lily smiled behind her bottle. Kai was beautiful—dark skin, big brown eyes, and a trim frame. He wasn’t big, but he was cut, and that was exactly the kind of guy that always caught Kiki’s attention. Usually.

  Lily took another sip of her beer. Moisture was dripping on the orange slices and small flecks of ice floated inside the bottle. “I’m not going to back out.”

  The tiny dip pulling down the corners of Kiki’s mouth deepened, and two faint lines creased against her lips in a show of obvious disbelief. “You said that last week when we drove into New York.” She took the Blue Moon when Lily handed it to her, not missing a beat between drinking and bitching. “Didn’t stop you from chickening out of the bet at The Rum House. That guy was a big dumb football player. You could have won that fifty easy.”

  “He smelled like a frat house.”

  “Then you called him a little man boy overcompensating for obvious short comings.”

  “He got handsy.” Lily shrugged, nostrils flaring as she recalled the guy. Maybe the insult had been a little over the top. Lily had always been too quick with her insults, too little with her thoughts. Her loose, thoughtless words had gotten her into trouble more than once. But the little man boy been sloppy drunk and not nearly as cute up close as he had been twenty feet across the bar. “Besides, you know I’m not into jocks.”