Say Yes: Ian: Say Yes Series Book One

by Amelia Mae

  I have a text from Ian.

  Ian: Come over after your shift.

  Cora: It’ll be really late.

  Ian: I’ll be up.

  I smirk to myself. I have no doubt about that.

  Cora: Maybe.

  Ian: It wasn’t really a question.

  Cora: Demanding, aren’t we?

  Ian: Are you going to be the pot or the kettle?

  Cora: Hey! I said please.

  Ian: Several times if I remember correctly.

  Cora: Have you been doing a lot of “remembering?”

  Ian: Fuck yes. I’ve “remembered” last night at least twice today.

  Cora: It’s going to be pretty late. Close to 3am. I’m going to fall asleep immediately.

  Ian: So sleep here. My place is closer.

  Cora: I’d need to borrow some pajamas this time.

  Ian: Don’t have any.

  Cora: Then what do you sleep in?

  Ian: Come over and find out.

  My shift finally ends. I change clothes and get ready to call a Lyft when I hear a familiar deep voice call my name. I turn to see Ian, leaning against the building. He’s wearing his usual jeans and boots, a white tee shirt and leather jacket, and tonight, he’s sporting a slight five o’clock shadow.

  Do I kiss him? Is that what we’re doing now?

  I mean, we had that incredible night together, but that certainly doesn’t mean that we’re… people who kiss hello.

  Before I can overanalyze greeting him, Ian’s lips are on mine.

  Just a peck, but it still gives me chills.

  “How are you up at this horrible hour?” I ask.

  “I don’t sleep much,” he answers. “Long story.”

  “Jasmine mentioned something. An accident,” I tell him, “I don’t want to pry, but…”

  “I’ll tell you,” he gets somber, “Not now, though. I don’t want anything to bring us down tonight.”

  We start walking and he puts an arm around me. I nestle my head against him. I can’t help it, it feels too good. He kisses my hair.

  “Let’s get home first.”

  12

  Ian

  As soon as I close the door to my apartment behind Cora, I’ve got her pressed against it, her hips pinned by mine, and I kiss her hard and deep, the way I’ve been dying to since she walked out of the club.

  She moans into my mouth and I take her roughly, my fingers tangle in her hair. Her nails dig into my chest.

  When the kiss breaks, we’re both breathing heavily.

  “Ian,” she pants, “I want to do this, but I’m gross and sweaty and smell like the club.”

  She smells fine to me.

  Fuck, I think I like her better with a little stink on her.

  But, I have an idea.

  “Shower?” I ask.

  She nods. “Please.”

  I gesture down the hall to the bathroom.

  “You want some company?” I ask.

  I lead her into the bathroom, stripping off my clothes along the way, thinking about nothing but getting Cora naked and wet. I turn on the water and adjust the temperature as she sheds her jeans and sweater and steps under the spray. She makes a show of leaning back to wet her hair, letting the water pour over her body.

  For a minute, I just stand there, naked and hard, staring at her. Like it’s the first time I’ve ever seen a naked woman.

  It’s almost too much.

  She pulls me under the water with her and kisses me softly. She runs her fingertips over my chest, down my stomach and towards my hip to trace my V-lines, very, very slowly. Her light touch makes my eyes flutter closed.

  When her fingers graze the tip of my cock, I can’t help but shudder.

  “Open your eyes,” she commands, “Look at me.”

  I obey, fighting back a groan, as she strokes me from root to tip.

  “You get this hard for me?” she asks, her voice getting breathy.

  I gasp. This feels so fucking good. Too good. I’m falling apart embarrassingly fast.

  Come on, boy, hang in there.

  “God, yes. All for you. You feel what you do to me?” I manage to husk out.

  She doesn’t break eye contact with me as she slinks down to her knees. The grin on her face is pure evil.

  “Christ,” I cry out as she drags her tongue up the underside of my cock. She moans against me, the vibrations driving me insane.

  I won’t be able to hold on for much longer.

  She keeps teasing me. Licking up and down. Sucking lightly, then harder on the head. Massaging my balls with her hand.

  “Cora…”

  She stops teasing. She wraps her lips around me, taking me as deeply as she can and sucks.

  Hard.

  “Fucking hell, Cora,” I growl, my teeth gritted, as I brace my hands on the tile for balance.

  Her lips slide over me, taking more and more with every bob of her head.

  She grips the base in a tight fist, moving it in rhythm with her mouth.

  She takes me as deep as she can. I feel my cock ramming the back of her throat. For a split-second, I wonder if it’s more than she can take, but she moans again and grips me harder.

  I’m officially undone.

  “I’m gonna come,” I hiss, warning her.

  I’ll come wherever she’ll let me. On her pouty lips. On her taut stomach. Across her perfect tits.

  But she doesn’t let go. She’s gonna let me come in her mouth.

  She takes one final, long, hard suck before my vision goes black.

  I come like a fucking geyser down her throat, moaning and spewing out nonsense words like a damn imbecile as I do. She holds me in her mouth until I’m completely spent.

  Then she swallows and God, if that isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

  Cora gets back on her feet and looks up at me, proud of herself. She turns and grabs the shampoo as though nothing happened.

  I must look like a pathetic heap of a man right now, the wind knocked out of me, heavy against the tile wall. But there’s no way in hell I’m letting her go without a proper thank you.

  “You’re not getting away that easy,” I tell her, still breathing hard.

  “There’s no way you can possibly get hard again so fast,” she teases me as she shampoos her hair.

  I turn her so her back is to me and take over shampooing. I get right in under her ear and kiss her neck, sucking on her tender skin.

  I whisper, “I’ll think of something, baby.”

  After we finish showering, Cora and I get into my bed, damp, but finally clean and, thankfully, still naked. I lie on my back and she nestles into my arms, her head against my chest. I pull the covers over us.

  I feel relaxed. A ease.

  Fuck, I feel good for the first time in a long time.

  Like I’m finally allowed to feel good.

  But she looks contemplative.

  “What’s on your mind?” I ask.

  “I keep thinking about the accident,” she admits, “People keep mentioning it and then stopping themselves from saying too much. I know it’s none of my business…”

  “You really want to talk about that right now?”

  She looks up at me. “I know it’s early to say something like this, but I want to know about you, Ian. I know all the fame and rock star shit. But I want to know the real you. Maybe that sounds too clingy, but I’m experiencing a nasty bout of post-orgasm honesty, so sue me,” she jokes.

  No one’s ever said something like that before. Knowing the Ian Brooks behind the celebrity. And admitting it without hesitation.

  Apparently, she’s no better at playing-it-cool than I am.

  And it makes me like her more. I hold her closer.

  “If you don’t want to tell me, I understand,” she says more seriously.

  That’s not it. I do want to tell her. And that kind of terrifying.

  I take a deep breath. “I guess it’s kind of a cliche, you know, the band started making some
waves. Our first album sold pretty well, but Blindfold, our second album, was selling like crazy. And four stupid boys who didn't know any better got a taste of stardom. We were going out all the time, drinking like crazy…”

  “Drugs?” she asked.

  “Not for me. Jack liked his cocaine for awhile. But he overdosed once and it scared him straight, though.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Yeah. For me, it was booze. And women.”

  She looks at me, concerned.

  “I’m clean,” I assure her. “I got tested recently if you want to see.”

  “I trust you,” she says.

  I kiss her temple. Those are some big words and I can tell she means them.

  “One night, me and Dylan were pretty wasted and then this girl I was hooking up with called and invited us over. And being the idiot I was, I decided to drive.”

  Cora’s eyes widen, like she can tell where this is going.

  God, she has no idea.

  “Long story short, I kind of passed out at the wheel. I don’t know what took over Dylan, but he grabbed the wheel and swerved just in the nick of time to avoid a head-on collision.”

  “Wow,” she says. “You were lucky.”

  “We were. But at the time, I saw it as… I don’t know… like a sign that we were immortal or something.”

  “That’s pretty arrogant.”

  “Yeah,” I start, I take a deep breath. “The next morning, I got a call. My mom and my Aunt Mary were in a car crash. Hit by a drunk driver. The driver lived. He’s in jail now. But Mom and Aunt Mary…” my voice trails off.

  “Oh my God, Ian. I’m so sorry”

  “Me too. My mom was a fucking saint. I mean, between my drumming and Nikki… She must’ve had a headache for years.”

  “What about Nikki? She seems so together.”

  “She is now,” I explain, “But she got in with a rough crowd in high school. Started partying. Stopped going to classes. My mom sent her to boarding school to get away from her shitty friends. Nikki wasn’t too happy about it. Neither was my mom.”

  “What about your Dad?” she asks.

  “He’s not in the picture. Left without a trace after Nikki was born. He’s dead to me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Mine’s not around either. I know what that’s like.”

  I give her a squeeze.

  “It should have been me who died that night. I did something stupid. Knowingly. And I deserved to pay the price for it. Instead, I lost two of the most important people in my life.”

  “But you didn’t…” she starts.

  I interrupt her. "I know it was a coincidence. I know that I didn’t kill them. But I felt like… I don’t know… like it it was the worst kind of karmic revenge. The world was telling me that if I acted like I was above consequence, I’d get proven wrong. On some level, I know all of that. But it doesn’t bring them back.”

  “I know,” she says ruefully, “I’m sorry.”

  I take a deep breath and continue. “I stopped going out. I stopped talking to people. I was still touring and playing shows and recording, but everything felt hollow. The audience meant nothing to me. Nikki said I was living like a monk. I just couldn’t stop punishing myself.”

  “Pretty weird for a rock star.”

  “Yeah. It’s just… for the longest time, I’ve felt like I’ll never deserve to be happy again,” I finally admit. “Wow. That’s the first time I’ve ever said that last part out loud.”

  “What changed?” she asked.

  “Honestly?”

  Cora nods.

  “You,” I admit.

  “Me?” She looks at me in disbelief.

  “Your picture was in the stack of head shots and as soon as I heard your name it was like I… I finally woke up.” I lean back into the pillow. I stroke Cora’s hair. I love having her here, but’s easier to say this when I’m not looking at her. “And when Nikki called to say that you were working at that club, it was like… It was like someone put the one thing I couldn’t resist in front of me and said, ‘If you’re not going to surface from this depression and live for her, you’re not going to live ever again.’”

  Cora look at me, unsure of what to say. I see the tears welling in the corners of her eyes and I want to kiss them away.

  I pull the covers tighter around us.

  “It’s late. We should sleep,” I whisper to Cora, untangling my fingers from her hair.

  She nestles into me and murmurs something as her eyes close.

  “Huh?” I ask.

  “You’ve suffered enough, Ian,” she whispers, “You deserve to be happy.”

  People have been telling me that for months, trying to get me to start living again. But it sounds different when Cora says it.

  When she says it, I actually believe it.

  With some of that weight off my chest and this beautiful girl in my arms, I drift off into the most peaceful night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time.

  13

  Ian

  With a four-week tour coming up, we’re in daily rehearsal making sure our setlist flows well and practicing our shit to the point where we could play the whole show on autopilot.

  We’re about halfway through rehearsal at a warehouse space downtown that Christian scrounged up for us. We finish Her Name in Stars, and move on to Come Closer.

  It’s a dream of mine to write a song, but I’m not much with words. I operate on instinct.

  What feels right.

  Like right now. This feels right. Me behind the drum kit, Dylan at the mic, Shawn on bass and Jack tearing up lead guitar. Nikki perched on the couch, hanging around band practice.

  And today, Cora’s next to her, wearing a soft sundress, her hair in a braid over her shoulder. I look over and wink at her. She blushes. It makes me smile.

  I want to write something for her.

  I like imagining her sitting in her car or at work or just alone in her room, hearing a song on the radio and knowing that it’s about her. That I was thinking about her. I want to play a giant stadium show full of people, but have my words go out directly to her.

  Christian calls the band into the other room for a meeting. For a manager, he’s incredibly good at his job. But, as a person, he’s pretty sleazy.

  “Right now, guys, it’s about image,” he says. “Your stars are on the rise, no pun intended.” The video for Her Name in Stars debuted two days ago and it’s playing everywhere.

  We nod. We get it. Cute.

  “And we need to get a little more attention on you, the guys, not just your music. There’s no such thing as bad publicity.”

  “So you want us to trash a few hotel rooms or sleep with some models or some shit?” Jack asks. “Models are fine and all, but my mom used to clean hotel rooms, so I’m not trashing them.”

  “Actually, I was thinking about the video girl. What’s her name? Corey?”

  “Cora,” I volunteer.

  “She’s perfect. Hot, but not crazy. Exotic, but approachable.”

  I feel my fists clench under the table. “Don’t talk about her that way,” I say, as cooly as I can. I know she hates the term “exotic.”

  “What?” Christian asks condescendingly, “It’s not like I called her Sugar Tits.”

  Sometimes Christian says that kind of shit just because he can.

  Dylan decides to diffuse the tension and changes the subject. “What about her?”

  “Well, you guys test well with the alternative crowd, but with the new album and the bigger tour next summer, I want to see you reach a broader audience,” Christian says.

  “You mean go pop?” Jack asks.

  “No,” Christian says. “I mean garner more… mass appeal.”

  “So, go pop,” Jack says again with a big eye-roll.

  “What does this have to do with Cora?” I ask.

  “Well, a sweet model with a perky ass might be the perfect way to balance out the image of a bad boy musician,” Christian explains. “Soften his e
dges. People go crazy for a good love story. And Cora is someone we can sell.”

  “You want her to play my girlfriend?” I ask. Strange, but not unheard of in this industry. Sure it’s not official, but Cora and I have undeniable chemistry. Plus, I’d do anything to get more time with her. Even something this ridiculous.

  “No. Actually I was thinking she’d play Dylan’s girlfriend,” Christian goes on, “They had great chemistry in the video together.”

  “Why can’t she play my girlfriend?” I ask. I mean, we wouldn’t be acting all that much.

  “Yeah,” Shawn chimes in, “They’re good together.”

  “Dylan’s the face of the band. People don’t pay too much attention to who the drummer is dating,” Christian explains, “Seeing the philandering rock star all nice and settled with a good-girl type would do his image a hell of a lot of good. Especially after that stunt with those reality show girls last month.”

  “Not totally my fault,” Dylan protests without apologizing.

  I think it over.

  “I don’t like it,” I tell Christian. “Stringing her along and asking her to lie just seems wrong.” Plus, jealousy is practically pouring out my ears.

  “Let me sell it to you this way,” Christian says, “She couldn’t pay for publicity like this. She’d make all public appearances with Dylan. When the camera’s on, she’s glued to his side.”

  Christian must notice the concern on my face.

  “The calls will come pouring in. It’ll be no time before teenage boys are stealing Victoria’s Secret catalogues and jacking off to her,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s trying to convince me or piss me off.

  “She’s an actress, though,” I remind him, “Like Shakespeare and that hard shit.”

  Christian’s eyebrows hit the ceiling. “Yeah, okay,” he scoffs.

  I’m about ready to clock him.

  “Well, it’s certainly not going to get all to be or not to be, but she can make some actual money and act the role of Dylan’s girlfriend,” Christian says. “Tell her it’s method.”

  God, it’s like he has no idea how not to be an asshole.

  “When would all this start?” Dylan asks.