Collaboration (Backlash)

by Michelle Lynn

  “That’s the one,” I say, pulling her closer to me. “And you can wipe that shit-eating grin off your face.”

  She grimaces and says, “I’ve always hated that expression. Sounds disgusting.”

  “Yeah it does. Now quit avoiding the question,” I state and give her a brief kiss on her now extra-plump lips. For whatever reason, I just can’t seem to stop kissing her.

  “Hah, you’re one to talk,” she responds, arching her perfectly shaped brow at me. “But okay, I’ll bite, especially since I don’t have anything to hide. Not when it comes to Ryder anyway,” she quickly adds and it’s my turn to cock an eyebrow at her. She rushes on, “I’ve known Ryder since I arrived in LA. He’s one of the best there is…um, best guitarists there is. Any genre, you’d be hard-pressed to find better. There’s never been anything between us though except friendship and musical compatibility.”

  “Musical compatibility, huh?” I ask, not buying it—she’s definitely holding back on me.

  “Yeah, he’s actually a pretty good songwriter,” she explains. “He’s co-written a couple of my songs and he’s great for bouncing ideas off of.”

  “And it doesn’t hurt that he thinks you hang the moon,” I state.

  She sighs before saying, “He has indicated interest—more now than ever before. Not sure why but he has.”

  “Oh, I know exactly why,” I say, grabbing her picture perfect ass.

  “Hey!” she exclaims in mock offense. “That’s not it at all. I actually think it’s my mom trying to push us together. When things didn’t work out with Maverick, she must have got it in her head that—“

  “Wait, hold the fuckin’ phone,” I say, causing her to cringe. Shit, I’ve got to tone down the language in front of her. “Please tell me I heard you wrong. You were with Maverick?”

  “You think you’re the only one who dates?” she asks, obviously offended.

  “I don’t date, darlin’, I fuck. Big difference.”

  “Good to know where I stand. Thanks for the clarification, Trace,” she says, and I hate the way she emphasizes my name. Or my stage name. Or whatever the fuck it is.

  She pushes away from me and I know I’m about two seconds from getting my ass booted out of here. And even though I can’t believe she “dated” the biggest douchebag in the music business, I’m not ready to leave. Not when it could be for good. I grab a hold of her hands with each of mine, saying, “I’m sorry, Taryn. Being perfectly honest with you, babe, I have no idea why I’m harping like some fu—, uh, freakin’ jealous girlfriend,” I say. There’s that eyebrow again. I lean close and kiss it and the pissed-off expression on her face melts away. “My mistake. This is new territory for me. Usually I don’t care who’s banging who—“

  “Whoa, who said anything about me banging either of them?” she cuts me off and it’s obvious I’ve offended her again. Damn, you’re on a roll tonight, T.

  “Okay, whatever. Never ask a question you don’t want to know the answer to, right? I just want to know more about you, that’s all. And I already know you’ve got a Momma who makes the Devil seem like a saint…”

  There’s the smile I love. I take advantage of the fact that I’m temporarily back in her good graces, pulling her back to me again and kissing her delicious lips. She breaks the kiss after a minute or two, saying, “Well, maybe I want to know about you.” Yeah, I deserve that.

  “What’s there to tell, sweetheart? You know I lived in the one of the roughest ‘hoods in the US, Dre’s my cousin, I’ve got an uncle who might give your mom a run for her money, and I’m lucky as shit to have what I do when so many don’t.”

  “One,” she says, placing her index finger against my lips, “I don’t think it is luck. I’ve seen you work. You’ve earned what you have, Trace. And yeah, I think about it all the time how people work just as hard or harder and don’t even earn enough to put a proper roof over their head. But you know what? We’re in the position to help people and that’s what sets us apart from so many others. We don’t need all the money we make, and instead of buying another car we don’t need and that we’ll probably never drive or purchasing a bigger house that we only spend a few weeks of the year in, we can use what we have to make others’ lives better. I’d even go so far as to say we have a responsibility to do so, but I’d like to think we do it because we genuinely care and not for that reason.”

  I know I’m staring at her and I know my mouth has dropped open but I could care less. What Taryn just said resonates with how I feel, though I’ve never had the balls to articulate it. I kiss her hand, which is resting on my jaw line, before wrapping her in my arms. I then gently lay her head on my chest and she pouts, “But I didn’t even get to two….”

  I kiss her forehead, run my fingers through her hair, and close my eyes, hoping that morning will never come and we can just stay here like this forever.

  Chapter 13

  Taryn

  Trace shifts and I slowly stir awake. Just as I’m about to ease out of bed to make sure I don’t have raccoon eyes or rancid breath, my head jerks back and knocks into his strong bicep. My hair is caught under his arm and I need to release it without waking him so I can escape to the bathroom.

  Slowly and painfully, I pull the ensnared strands out without disturbing his peaceful sleep. There’s a small smirk across those impeccable lips, and if it wasn’t for my fear of him waking up and wondering ‘who the hell is this mess of a girl next to me,’ my lips would already be on his right now.

  Easing myself up, I take a minute to relish the fact that he’s in my bed and soak up what I see. A sheet—my sheet—covers up his nakedness, while one leg has snuck out from the tangled sheets during the night. One muscular arm rests behind his pillow, the other remains by his side where he had been holding me close. A ripped and toned stomach that I had imagined running my fingers across is now exposed for the taking. I slowly ease up out of bed, knowing that the sooner I fix myself up, the sooner I’ll be back in bed with him.

  A quick glance in the dresser mirror when I stop for a pair of clean underwear affirms my decision to sneak out of bed. Once I’m in my bathroom, I quickly brush through the tangles caused by an unbelievable night of rolling-in-the-sheets sex. Then I grab a washcloth to clear away the smeared makeup that should have been cleaned off last night. Any amount of blemishes the artists may have to cover up this week will be worth having Trace’s arms wrapped around me. Pulling the mouthwash out of the cabinet, I pour the minty liquid and swish it around my mouth. A good brushing would feel better, but the chance I might wake him with my loud electric toothbrush is too risky.

  I’m just about to spit it out when the door inches opens and Trace appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Damn the man looks good standing there in his gray boxers. With all the urgency of last night, I wasn’t able to truly savor the sight of him before.

  “Are you hiding?” he asks, walking straight toward me. The mouthwash starts to sting in my mouth, but I’m not about to do something as unattractive as spitting in front of him. He leans into the counter, caging me in, and my breath hitches and heartbeat accelerates with his close presence. Reaching over, he takes the mouthwash bottle from the counter and slowly unscrews the cap before pouring some into his mouth, never once breaking eye contact with me.

  Not being able to hold the burning liquid in any more, I casually, and as nonchalantly as possible, turn around and let it trickle out of my mouth. Trace follows my lead a minute later, spitting it out over my shoulder. The simplicity of doing something so normal in a shared space has a uniquely intimate feeling. When I turn around, Trace’s lips land on mine and his tongue invades my mouth, making me seriously grateful for minty mouthwash. After kissing for an indeterminable length of time, Trace finally pushes back. “I missed those sweet lips,” he says.

  “It’s only been…what, two hours since we finally went to sleep?” I joke, turning around to face the sink again. He quickly turns me back around with a firm hand on my waist.
>
  “I miss them the second they leave mine,” he tells me with his characteristic wink. I’m not sure why it happens at this very moment, but a sudden worry washes over me. I assume it’s the fact that we’re parting today to continue our tours. What will happen? What are we?

  “Hey…” He takes my chin in his hand, so that I can’t look anywhere but at his baby blues. “Where did you go?”

  As we stand there in our underwear in my bathroom, I can’t help but feel like a silly high school girl who wants to know if her crush wants more than just a one-night screw. This insecurity isn’t something I’m used to feeling, and I hate the thought of what it might mean—that I might be screwed. While the questions overwhelm my brain, Trace waits patiently for me with curious eyes.

  “Sorry, it’s nothing.” Of course I take the easy way out. Instead of asking what exactly it is that he wants from this, I remain quiet like some damn groupie who doesn’t expect anything.

  “Peaches,” he sighs, enfolding me in his arms. My eyes search his for some sign of what he might say. The last thing I want is for him to throw some bullshit my way—I want him to be straight with me. Without being able to escape his intense stare any longer, I steel myself and ask, “What do you want, Trace?”

  A small chuckle escapes his mouth. “Well, that’s a pretty broad question. First a shower—with you, of course—then maybe some eggs if have any, and…let’s see, a couple repeats of last night sound pretty good,” he teases while his hands give my ass a firm squeeze.

  I jump slightly from his sudden grasp and Trace’s face immediately turns solemn. “Seriously though, Peaches. This isn’t some one-night thing for me. Is it for you?” His hands are now resting near my hips, where his gentle fingers graze my panty line.

  “No,” I truthfully answer, and a dazzling smile lights up his entire face. With that, I start to feel at peace with my startling emotions for Trace. Maybe he won’t break my heart…maybe.

  “So…no country boy, right?” Trace asks, cocking an eyebrow.

  “I already told you, there’s nothing going on with Ryder,” I say, enunciating his name. “What about you? Any girls I need to know about?”

  “There’s never been, baby,” he assures me. Before I can ask any more questions, his lips claim mine. He kisses me like he did all night but there’s something different about this one. The determined urgency has a sense of dominance, as though he’s telling me I’m his now. And God, am I ever.

  We don’t share any more words, allowing our mouths and hands to do the talking. He props me up on the counter and his large hands cup my breasts, his thumbs rub across my peaked nipples, making me moan into his mouth. My hands roam down his tight abs to his waistband. Placing my finger under the elastic, I tease him by brushing it back and forth.

  “Peaches, I need you to fucking touch me,” Trace says in my ear causing a shiver to shoot up my spine. Placing both hands on the sides of his boxers, I pull them over his considerable length, bringing my foot up to help drag them the rest of the way down. “Shit,” he murmurs as my hand wraps around his cock. When I massage my thumb over the tip and spread the drop of pre-cum around, Trace’s head falls onto my shoulder and bites gently. “You’re killin’ me,” he groans, causing me to increase my speed, loving the effect my touch has on him.

  The faster I move my hand, the harder his right hand squeezes my hip. With a sudden growl, he picks me up from the counter and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist with only my now very wet panties separating us. Continuing to devour me with his lips and tongue, he opens the glass shower door and reaches in, turning the water on. “Time to get you clean, Peaches.”

  After he releases me, my feet find the tile floor and then Trace backs up a few steps. “I want to see you take it off,” he instructs. His azure eyes roam my body like a tiger intently observing his prey and he stares hungrily when I hook my fingers on each side of my panties, shimmying them down my legs. His eyes continue to follow the panties until I step out of them and then they travel directly to the area now exposed. “Fuck,” he says and I giggle as he takes me in his arms and under the warm cascading water.

  My laughter dies abruptly when his index finger grazes my pebbled nipple before traveling down my stomach, my eyes closing in anticipation of its destination. Circling my clit and then exploring my folds, every nerve is now on high alert. Just when I’m about to reach down there myself, he thrusts two fingers inside of me, and I react by pushing up on my tiptoes, giving him better access. He doesn’t hesitate to push them further into me while his thumb rubs my clit. As his tongue lavishes attention on my neck and his fingers work me like no one ever has before, I can’t control the animalistic sounds I’m emitting. All I know is that I want this exquisite torture to end—or maybe I don’t. I can’t even think straight anymore.

  “Trace,” I moan, pulling him toward me, wanting to feel his skin against mine as he makes me come.

  “Let go, baby, I got you,” Trace assures me. With those words, I allow myself to finally let myself go in his arms. Keeping his fingers inside of me, he stills them before gently releasing them from my warm wetness. He continues to massage my folds and clit until I come down completely. Although I can add this one to the list of out-of-this-world orgasms Trace has given me, I need him inside of me. I grab his cock, pulling it close to where I want it to be, but he pulls back a little.

  “You’ve gotta be sore, are you sure?” He looks at me warily but I nod my head. “What about protection, Peaches?”

  Although I’m glad he remembered, my head is clear enough to know what I want. “I’ve got it covered and I’m clean. You?”

  “Well, I obviously won’t have it covered,” he jokes, “but yeah, girl, I’m clean. Using condoms religiously will do that for ya. But again, are you sure?”

  In answer, I raise my leg and with my hand still holding his cock, I position his tip at my entrance, continuing to stare into his baby blues.

  Never in my life have I felt pure ecstasy from one thrust of a man. “Shit, Peaches, oh shit—you feel so fucking good,” he says with a grunt. “I can’t get enough of your pretty pussy.” Feeling him deep inside me and hearing those words have me on the brink already. “You are so fucking tight.”

  I’m practically bouncing off of his dick, his hands on my ass. Not having anywhere to put my hands, I wrap them around his neck. “And these tits…fuck, Taryn.” A growl comes from deep within him and he takes my nipple into his mouth, flexing into me one last time before he stills. Just as he comes inside of me, I find myself releasing the second orgasm he’s given me in only a few minutes.

  Holding me steady against him, his full, wet lips travel from my shoulder to my neck, up my chin and then land on my lips. The gentle and steady kiss he gives me makes me feeling like I’m floating above cloud nine.

  “You’ve wrecked me, you know that?” he asks, leaning his forehead against mine. Since it doesn’t seem like he’s expecting an answer and I’m not sure I can speak right now, I remain silent as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me firmly against him. We linger under the water for what seems like hours, not talking but just listening to the sound of the water and our breathing. I’ve never experienced anything like it with anyone ever before.

  After a few minutes, Trace grabs the shampoo and massages the suds into my long hair. We take turns washing each other’s bodies before finally emerging from the safe confines of the shower. Wrapping one another in towels, we walk back to my bedroom.

  “It’s time for me to make you some breakfast,” I tell him while I put on some yoga pants and a tank top.

  “I don’t know about that—breakfast is my meal.” He can make me whatever he wants, I think, while attempting to burn the image of his naked body into my mind before it’s all covered up. After he dresses, Trace struts over to me with his classic smirk and my stomach fills with those familiar butterflies I get anytime he approaches me.

  I take his hand and lead him down to my kitchen, where he ma
kes a beeline for the fridge.

  “Let’s see…” he mumbles, “You don’t have much, Peaches.”

  “I’m not here very often,” I inform him.

  “I guess eggs will do,” he says, pulling out the plastic container. “Organic, huh? I shouldn’t have expected anything less. But fucking free range?” he asks with a smile, shaking his head.

  “Hey, it’s healthier.”

  “So they say. Ain’t nothing wrong with what our Mommas gave us,” he says, digging through my cabinets for the frying pans.

  “Maybe your mom. My mom’s version of eggs was taking me to the diner for an omelet.” I laugh but he turns around, smiling at me sympathetically. I don’t want him to feel sorry for me.

  “I guess our moms were different.” The sadness in his eyes overwhelms me. For the first time, I realize that he’s never spoken about his parents—not to me anyway. I do remember him mentioning them in his acceptance speech at the Grammys and I vaguely recall an uncle being mentioned one time.

  “Trace, can I ask you a question?” Based on the way his back muscles tighten and his hand pauses in mid-stir, he already knows what I’m going to ask. An uncomfortable tension fills the room for a few pin-pricking minutes before he sighs and says without emotion, “They’re dead.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, immediately regretting that I asked—maybe we’re not ready for this. He places the spatula down and turns around to face me.

  “It’s okay, it was a while ago,” he assures me but his eyes clearly state that it’s not okay. He’s so young to have lost both his parents, so I’m imagining that something traumatic must have happened. “Where’s your nine-grain, organic, gluten-free bread?” he jokes, obviously trying to put an end to this discussion. Not wanting to ruin our brief time together, I decide to go with it. “No bread, all those carbs,” I respond, shrugging my shoulders. I walk over and grab some tortillas out of the fridge before tossing them on the counter.