The Sirens of SaSS Anthology

by Anthology

  Oh, my God, I couldn’t do this. “This was a mistake.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” He yanked me back to the bed when I tried to escape again, this time pinning me in place. “Talk to me, Avery.”

  My lips pressed tight. I wasn’t going to spell it out. Or maybe I was because I still wanted to fuck him. “I like control.”

  He laughed. “No shit.”

  “No, I mean I really like it. I … get off on telling you what to do.”

  He sat back on his heels. “All the time?”

  I shrugged. “In bed.”

  “And what do I get?”

  I flashed him a cocky smirk. “You get to fuck me.”

  “But on your terms.”

  “Yes.”

  “What if I don’t like that?”

  I shrugged again. “That’s the only way this can work.”

  “Why? Did something happen to you?”

  “No, nothing fucking happened to me. It’s just … how I am.” I huffed and looked away. “I can be nice, you know! It’s not like I’m going to strap on a leather skin suit, gag you and shove a ten-inch dildo up your ass.” Not without asking…

  “Oh, I know you’re not fucking doing that.”

  This was getting awkward. He was thinking and taking too long to make up his mind. The moment was rapidly dissolving and the longer he contemplated the situation the more I wanted to rewind and erase the whole night.

  “Forget it.” This time when I tried to get up, he shoved me back down—hard—and moved so fast my thread of authority snapped.

  His hands pinned mine to the pillows and his knees trapped my legs immobile. “Don’t move.”

  Trying to play it cool, I kept my tone dry. “I think you misunderstand the dynamic.”

  “I think you misunderstand me. You basically want me to do whatever you say. I’m not used to that. I need a second to think.”

  “Look, I get it if it’s not your thing. This is why I told you this wouldn’t work—” His hand closed over my mouth and my eyes bulged.

  Oh, he did not just shut me up! I bit him.

  “Ouch!” He jerked his hand back and examined his palm where teeth tracks left little divots. “Bitch.”

  “Give me my shirt.”

  “No.”

  “Noah.”

  “We’re not finished.”

  “I think we are.”

  He tipped his head back and glanced at the ceiling, mumbling something I couldn’t make out.

  “What?”

  “I said, I can’t believe I’m about to do this. Tell me what you want.”

  Was he serious? I didn’t expect him to actually agree. Figuring this was some sort of trick, I started small. “Kiss me.”

  He leaned down and I turned my face away.

  “Not there.”

  He paused, mouth a few inches from my cheek and scowled. “I’ll get to that—”

  “Start there.”

  “This is hot to you?” His frustration was palpable.

  “No. This is a waste of my time. Either put your face between my legs or get off of me so I can get dressed.”

  “You’re such a bitch.” He scooted lower.

  “Call me bitch one more time and I’ll redefine the word for you.”

  He dropped to his elbow, and I spread my thighs. “Do you want me to take your panties off? This is so fucking weird.”

  “That’s it.” I swung my legs over his shoulders and sat up. “I’m done.”

  “No!” He tackled me to the bed and had me stripped in one second flat. “I’ll do it. Just…” He scooted low again. “Open your legs.”

  My thighs parted and the room went utterly silent. “Fuck. That might be the prettiest view I’ve ever seen.”

  I pursed my lips and stared at the ceiling. This had gone on for far too long and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be coming again.

  A reluctant breath filled my lungs and gasped out as his fingers stabbed deep and his mouth closed over my clit.

  “Yes.” Maybe the night could be salvaged after all…

  He shoved his shoulders under my knees, using the bulk of his arms to spread my thighs. Burying his tongue in my cunt, he fingered me and fucked me with his mouth. I didn’t even have to tell him what to do. It was like he knew every magical spot and I was suddenly careening into an ocean of ecstasy.

  “Yes, yes… Don’t stop.” My body trembled as a wave of pleasure crashed over me.

  Warm breath teased over my wet folds as he lifted his head. “Again?”

  Panting, I nodded. He fed his fingers into me, stuffing me full and pumping hard as his mouth nibbled and sucked. His other hand teased lower and the second his finger breached the tight tissue there I came hard against his tongue.

  Throat dry, I swallowed huge gulps of air as my entire body thrummed. My mind was spinning. Either I hadn’t had sex in so long I’d forgotten how good foreplay was, or he was extremely gifted at this.

  “Again,” he growled. He didn’t hesitate, nor did he wait for permission to sink his fingers back inside of me.

  His touch filled me every possible way, his tongue twisting as his teeth scraped over-sensitized flesh. My body was a red-hot ember that never had a chance to cool. The more he pleasured me the less effort it took to orgasm.

  “Fuck!” My legs trembled as I came almost violently, but he didn’t relent. On and on, he penetrated every opening, tasted every exposed inch of secret flesh. One release blurred into the next until I was sure I was losing my mind.

  “Enough.” I panted. “No more.”

  “Bullshit. One more. Give it to me, Avery. Give me one more good one.” His fingers rubbed over my swollen clit and I couldn’t take it.

  My hand grabbed for his, but he was faster, pinning my wrist to the bed.

  “It’s too much!”

  “You can take it.”

  “Noah, I can’t!”

  He pressed a finger deep and I wriggled back, but there was no escaping him. He was everywhere, using his larger body to trap me beneath him, gripping my limbs with his heavier ones.

  “Let go, Avery. I’ve got you.”

  Something was happening. It was too overwhelming, too intense. I was scared. I wanted it, yet I didn’t. The sheer vacillation of my thoughts was terrifying. “No, stop!”

  “You’re there. Just let go.”

  I was there, but the drop seemed too far, deadly and life-altering. I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t reckless like him. Something inside of me, something insecure and vulnerable whimpered at the unknown. And then it was too late.

  All pretexts that separated my many façades shattered, obliterating my thoughts. My grip on reality slipped through my fingers as my voice echoed around the room as if shouting from someone else. I was hot and cold. Sweating and shivering. My mouth was parched and my vision unclear.

  I fell into a dark place where there was no pain. There was fear, but I was too far away for it to reach me, yet I was aware of its presence.

  Floating. Buzzing. I was high as a fucking kite on endorphins, as hot-blooded and hungry as an injected addict, too gone to do more than let numbing pleasure swallow me whole.

  What the fuck did he do to me? Pressure welled behind my eyes as something painful bloomed in my chest. I couldn’t stop shaking, even as he wrapped me in his arms and pulled me to his lap. I went without a struggle, curling into the shelter of his strength like a scared little girl unsure of who to trust.

  “Shh… I have you.” His lips pressed against my hair, as his fingers curled around the back of my neck and held me close.

  His heart beat steadily beneath my ear, warm moisture seeping from my eyes. Was I crying? I wiped my face, mortified and confused by my tears.

  “It’s okay. You were beautiful.”

  Then it hit me. He’d tricked me. He acted like I was in charge, made me believe I had his devoted surrender, but he held the upper hand all along. He stole the authority right out from under me and now I was the fool crying in his lap. />
  We hadn’t even had sex, yet he absconded a part of my soul and hid it someplace no one would ever find it again. Gone forever and more valuable than a hundred virgins’ innocence. Whatever he took, he stole it. It was my Cosmo all over again, but so much more.

  I shoved at his chest.

  “Don’t. You’re going to let me hold you.”

  My jaw locked as I blinked against my infuriating tears. “You tricked me.”

  “I worshipped you.”

  I was angry and confused and relieved in a way I didn’t understand. It was too much. Too intimate. Too open. Too … real.

  No matter how many times I tried to break the hold he had over me, both emotionally and physically, he wouldn’t let go. And somehow I knew there was no going back to the way things were.

  “I hate you.”

  He sighed and pressed his lips to the top of my head, keeping them there as he whispered, “No, you don’t.”

  Didn’t I? I liked him too much. I trusted him. I believed him when he said he’d try it my way. But that was all a lie.

  I didn’t hate him for lying. I hated him for tricking me into something I didn’t want to feel. He made me vulnerable. He made me weak.

  Maybe I didn’t hate him, but I was certain I couldn’t trust him.

  Tonight wasn’t supposed to change anything, yet after he stole the control it changed everything. “I want to go home.”

  “We’re staying.”

  Yeah. I hated him.

  THE END

  If you enjoyed Lydia Michaels’

  Sugar

  Don’t miss the second part of Avery’s story in

  Spice

  And find the conclusion to her journey in

  Everything Nice

  www.LydiaMichaelsBooks.com

  Books by Lydia Michaels

  Falling In

  Breaking Out

  Coming Home

  Sacrifice of the Pawn

  Queen of the Knight

  Breaking Perfect

  Simple Man

  La Vie en Rose: Life in Pink

  Calamity Rayne: Gets a Life

  Calamity Rayne II: Back Again

  Blind

  Forfeit

  Lost Together

  Atonement

  First Comes Love

  If I Fall

  Protégé

  The McCullough Mountain Series

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LydiaMichaels

  Twitter: @Lydia_Michaels | https://twitter.com/Lydia_Michaels

  BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/lydia-michaels

  Lydia Michaels Website: http://www.LydiaMichaelsBooks.com

  Amazon: http://amzn.to/2qfpxql

  Newsletter: http://www.LydiaMichaelsBooks.com/Newsletter

  REMEMBER WITH ME

  A novella by M.E. Montgomery

  Chapter One

  "Ms. Harrington?"

  Damn it! Why did I answer my phone? Obviously, this was someone who didn't know me. I was a very informal person, preferring to be called by my first name. Further, anyone who really knew me understood not to disturb me past nine o’clock in the evening outside of an emergency. I was an early riser; early as in long before the sun came up. It was the only way to capture a sunrise and early morning light, perfect for landscape pictures. Plus, I liked the solitude of that time; it was soothing to my soul, so even on mornings I didn’t have a photoshoot, the habit had stuck.

  Under normal circumstances, I would've never answered a call without looking at the caller i.d., but I'd been so focused on the images on my computer that I'd recently taken that I'd been reluctant to look away. So much so, I hadn’t realized how late it was.

  "Yes,” I answered, not bothering to disguise my irritation at the interruption.

  "This is Doctor Craig Harper. We found your name listed as a --"

  My front door was flung open, and the ensuing whirlwind, also known as my sister Rose, blew papers and photos every which way as she rushed into my living room. I’d put them there to take to an editor for a travel magazine tomorrow.

  "Emma! Oh, my God! Have you heard the news?"

  I sighed and rubbed my throbbing temples. I turned and glared at my sister, wondering not for the first time why I'd given her a key to my house. Her enthusiasm for anything sometimes made it hard to remember she was the older sister, or maybe my more bitter outlook made me appear older.

  I rolled my eyes and pointed to the phone. She bit her lip and rolled her hand in a 'wrap it up' gesture so she could talk to me.

  "I'm sorry, I was interrupted," I said to the mystery person on the phone. "Could you please repeat what you were saying?"

  "I’m calling from Massachusetts General Hospital. Your name is listed as an emergency contact for Andrew Davisson. I'm sorry to let you know that he was in an accident..."

  I nearly forgot how to breathe. I barely absorbed the rest of what he was saying. Something about Drew and a bus crash and in serious condition.

  Drew. My former boyfriend, the one I thought was my forever. The one who got away, or at least, the one I let go and ran as far away as I could.

  "Ms. Harrington, are you hearing me? You’re geographically the closest contact he has listed. Since you don't live too far away, we thought you might be able to come to the hospital. You'll need to have proof of your identity when you arrive."

  "I, uh, yes, of course. I'll be there as soon as possible." Somehow, I ended the call, but my hand remained frozen, along with my heart. The same heart that once thought each pulse beat to that name to the name of Drew Davisson.

  "Emma?" Rose sank to her knees in front of me and gripped my hands.

  "It's...it's Drew. He was in an accident. It sounded bad." I stared at her with shocked eyes, willing her to make sense of all this for me.

  "I know. I was trying to get here before you found out some other way." Her eyes were full of compassion as she squeezed my hands. "It's the entire band, sweetie. Their tour bus was in an accident. It's bad. It's all over the news. There were a lot of injuries, and at least one person died, but they haven't said who."

  I choked down the bile that rose in my throat. I lurched from my chair. Files, magazines, and discarded snack wrappers scattered everywhere as I searched for the television remote on my coffee table.

  "Emma?"

  The screen flickered to life. I ran through the channels until I found one showing breaking news, and sure enough, there was the truth of her words in a live shot by a local news station.

  "Shit. Turn it off. You know the media coverage always makes it look more dramatic than it is."

  Her warning was in vain; my eyes were glued to the carnage on my set. First responders and their emergency equipment were everywhere, but they couldn't shield me from the image of a smoke-blackened giant coach bus with the front end almost completely crushed on one side as if it were nothing more than a soda can. It was tipped sideways where it rested in a ravine.

  If I weren't already sitting, I'd have fallen to the floor. Crawling to the large screen, I searched frantically for any signs of life. Rose had mentioned a death, but looking at the wreckage, I couldn't imagine how there wouldn't be more. And that meant someone I knew. Large letters at the bottom of the scene posted, ‘Southern Pleasure’s tour bus involved in deadly accident.' I frantically tapped the volume button to hear the details.

  "...survivors have been taken to a nearby hospital, but no word has been released regarding the condition of the victims. A spokesperson from the band's record label has released a general statement saying that, 'They are devastated to learn of this horrific accident, and their thoughts and prayers are with the band members, the crew, and their families.' While no word has been made about the concert that was to take place tomorrow, I can't imagine the show will go on. Savannah, back to you."

  The station switched back to the studio where Savannah picked back up. "Thank you, Sean. The Grammy-winning band Southern Pleasure was concluding their second national tour for
"Emerge," their recent best-selling album. Several of their songs, including the hits "Believe," "Simply Complicated," and "Never," hit number one on Billboard charts. The band is composed of lead vocalist Drew Davis, bassist Andy Cauffman, drummer Rick Houk, and guitarist Ryan Fitz..."

  I tuned out the rest of what she was saying as images of the band's players flashed on the screen, as well as snippets of their concerts. I knew more details about the band and its members than she would ever know. Fans knew how Andy hated lima beans and that he always carried a pack of wintergreen mints in his pocket. Most assumed it was for fresh breath, especially useful when he flirted with women. But I knew it was because they reminded him of his now deceased grandmother who always carried them in her purse and handed them out like candy when he was a little boy. The same woman who scrimped together the money for his guitar lessons when his parents refused to support his dream of becoming a musician.

  I knew big, bad, tattooed Rick was really a math genius and was the only reason his friends passed their math classes. I'd lay odds that he still carried a small, ratty teddy bear in his suitcase every time he traveled. It had been given to him by his baby brother, younger by twelve years, on their first tour so that 'he wouldn't be lonely.' Rick came from a huge family and was the only member of the band who was married. God, if I was freaking out, his wife must be a wreck.

  And I knew Ryan wasn't the drummer's real name. It was Reginald Joseph Oliver Fitzroy, the third. There was some connection to an ancient dukedom back in England, but his father was something of a rebel and a wanna-be musician who took his inheritance and moved to California where he worked his way up in the recording industry. He found out he was a father when a woman showed up with a baby produced from a one-night stand. She hadn't even given him a name. Reggie never questioned what he should do. He took the baby in, shared his given name with him on the birth certificate, then one day decided to change both of their names legally to Joseph and Ryan Fitz.

  But the member I knew most intimately was Andrew James Davisson, or Drew, as he was better known. I knew how he chewed on a pencil, the only way he wrote music, as he crafted lyrics for songs. I knew that he was superstitious about those pencils, and he never threw the nubs out but kept them in a cigar box that he kept in his closet. I also knew how he was ticklish on his inner thigh, how he loved to clasp my hands as his body sank into mine, and how he loved to hold eye contact but closed them just as his orgasm hit. I knew how he loved to play with my hair while we cuddled after sex. And unlike all the women who thought their song 'Mercedes' was about a lost French lover that he wrote using a car as a metaphor, I knew it was about me.