Plucked (Classical Badboys Duet Book 1)

by MV Ellis

  My tongue invaded her mouth, seeking out hers and staking my claim. Quincy didn’t hold out. She opened herself up to me, there for the taking. I loved the way she tasted, smelled and felt. Every inch of her was beautiful, and I wanted it all to be mine.

  As I felt her nipples harden against my chest, I moved my other hand up to stroke, then tweak, each in turn, loving the way her body jerked at my touch, as though electrified with one thousand volts. You and me both, baby.

  My desire for her increased exponentially, and I tried my best to keep myself in check, resisting the urge to unleash my inner Neanderthal and screw her until I was the only man she could ever recall being with, and ever wanted to be with for the rest of her life.

  Instead, I brought both hands down to her butt, and lifted her gently off her feet. Following my lead, she immediately bent her knees, wrapping her legs around me, as I carried her across to the bed at the far end of the large room.

  “I need to fuck the memory of Rome out of you.”

  “What?”

  Shit. I hadn’t even realized I’d spoken aloud.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long, I don’t even know how or why I’ve waited.”

  I placed her gently on the bed, then flipped our positions—so that I was under her—then I lay back. “Get naked, I want to watch you ride me.”

  She was almost as good as naked already. The flimsy silk cami-and-shorts pajamas she was wearing left almost nothing to the imagination, though I appreciated the way the delicate fabric skimmed back and forth, emphasizing the swell of her tits, and the way her nipples stood at attention, announcing her arousal.

  Quincy wasn’t the only one. I was hard as a rock, straining against my jogging pants—the sole item of clothing I was wearing. I was so desperate to be with her that after my post-gig shower, I’d left my room a fired-up man on a mission, without even shoes on.

  She looked at me, eyes heavy-lidded with desire, but I sensed some lingering hesitance, as though she was carefully considering her options. Without shifting my focus from her, I reached inside my pants and grabbed my dick. I squeezed hard and brought it out from under the soft gray fabric.

  My body bucked with arousal, which seemed to snap Quincy out of her trance. She dropped her gaze down to my dick—swollen and angry in my hand, straining for more action—and a small, wry smile graced her lips. She tugged at the hem of her cami top, dragging it off over her head, then reared back to pull off her shorts.

  Holy. Fuck.

  I’d seen her naked before, that day at the club, but I had a feeling that no matter how many times I did, it would never get old. Besides, this time, unlike the last, I could concentrate on nothing but her and how hot she made me, rather than being eaten up by jealousy with Rome in the mix. It was irrational. He didn’t want to be with Quincy—or anyone for that matter. As with everything in life, he was in it for a good time, not a long time, and he’d already had that with her.

  Quincy met my gaze again, smiling a little wider this time, before reaching down and grabbing my dick.

  I swear to God, I saw stars.

  Chapter 27

  Rome

  * * *

  Whoever said alcohol didn’t solve problems was a fool, or never drank vodka, because maybe that shit didn’t fix things, but if I drank enough I sure as hell forgot whatever the fuck was bothering me.

  When we finished the first concert, I walked off stage without looking left or right, or even stopping to congratulate the other two on what was a fucking-phenomenal show. We slayed it, then brought it back to life so we could kill it again. The crowd ate it up. They couldn’t get enough, and the vibe everywhere—on and off stage—was electric.

  And that was the problem. When Quincy dropped into my lap like that at the end of Thunder, I was seconds away from ripping her clothes off and fucking her, right there on top of that piano, in front of thousands of fans and the world’s media. I really gave zero fucks who saw, all except one person. King. The only thing that had stopped me was the fact that it would crush him.

  So, although I knew Quincy was aware of my erection—she was more than aware: as she kissed King, she’d pressed her heat down onto it, rotating against it so subtly that I was the only one who’d known—I’d restrained myself, and not made a move. Putting King’s feelings first was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do—which was saying something, given the shit I’d done to survive—but I owed it to him to do exactly that.

  I couldn’t bear to be in the same space, breathing the same air, as the two of them after that, so I grabbed a full bottle of vodka from the backstage rider and put it straight to my lips. I’d downed most of it before I’d made it out of the labyrinth of tunnels and halls in the concert venue, and out into the waiting car.

  “Take me to the nearest club.”

  I wanted to get fucked up, and I wanted pussy—and lots of it. Other than that, I didn’t give a damn what the place looked like, or even what the pussy looked like, for that matter. I just wanted to drink, fuck, and be merry. And repeat.

  Paris didn’t disappoint—not that it ever had. The driver was obviously well-versed in the city’s nightlife, and, within minutes, had dropped me at a decent club that was open around the clock. Perfect.

  Although I went in incognito and settled in a dark booth at the back of the room—content to watch the action go on around me as long as the vodka kept flowing—it wasn’t long before someone recognized me, and after that, I was never short of company for the night.

  It was a good thing I’d thought to shove a bunch of condoms into my pocket before leaving the gig venue. There was no way I’d go bareback under those circumstances, like I had with Quincy in the hot tub.

  I woke up with a start, to my face being slapped and someone calling my name. It was a few seconds before I realized where I was and what the hell was going on. Kind of, anyway.

  I was in a club. It was late—or early, depending on how you looked at it—and I’d seemingly passed out in my booth, mid-blow-job. At least, that would be the best explanation for the fact that there was a chick sucking my dick as King shook me back and forth, yelling at me.

  Fuzzy though my head was, I marveled at the fact that I could apparently maintain a hard-on, even if I couldn’t maintain consciousness. I laughed maniacally at the thought. If the murderous expressions of the multiple versions of King I was seeing were anything to go by, it was the wrong reaction. I guessed I needed to take the situation a little more seriously before he lost his shit.

  I made to sit up, nudging the girl who was still eagerly blowing me by the shoulder.

  “Umm… thanks… it’s been… great, but you can stop now.” I had no idea if she even spoke English, or how long she’d been down there, but it was clear that she was just as sideways as I was. She gave me a wonky grin, looking at me with unfocused eyes, before wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. She slowly got to her feet, then wobbled away unsteadily.

  King towered over me, rage seeping from every pore as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

  “Man, I swear to God. You need to pull your shit together, or—”

  “Or what?“ I interjected loudly. “And by the way, if you ever slap me like that again, I don’t care why, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

  “That so?” He glared at me.

  “Goddamned straight.” I stood up—only slightly steadier on my feet than the chick who’d been sucking me off—and squared up to him. It had been years since we’d had a physical fight—back when we were testosterone-fueled hotheads at the Con—but even in my booze-addled state, I was in the mood to destroy him.

  “Jesus, Rome. You fucking reek. Seriously what the hell are you doing? We were worried about you.”

  “I’d say it was pretty obvious what I was doing. Receiving an unconscious BJ. And ’we’ were worried. We who?”

  “Quin and I.”

  “Quin...?”

  “Quincy. You know who I mean.”

 
“Yeah, I do.”

  “When we got down to lobby call and realized you weren’t there, we tried your room a bunch of times, then called your phone, but it went straight to voicemail. In the end, the tour manager contacted the car company and found out where the driver had dropped you, and here we are.”

  “Well ‘we’ don’t need to worry your pretty little heads. I’m a big boy, and I can take care of myself. You know that better than anyone.”

  “You say that, but we were all supposed to be at the airport an hour ago, so ‘we’ had every right to be concerned.”

  “No you didn’t. That’s the tour manager’s job.”

  “You know what? You’re right. I should have just left you here to rot, and enjoyed my extra time in bed with Quincy.”

  “Fuck you. Both.”

  “Ditto.” He turned on his heel and walked away, the steady, even pace belying the anger I knew he felt. He wasn’t alone. It was all I could do to resist tearing the place apart with my bare hands.

  Chapter 28

  Quincy

  Six weeks later

  * * *

  “I can’t do this.” I had to rise onto tiptoes and place my mouth right by King’s ear to make myself heard over the din of the pounding music in the club.

  “It’s still early. Are you okay? Is it a headache, or something you ate? Do you want to go back to the hotel?” King yelled right back; it was the only way to converse amid the pumping techno music.

  “No. I don’t mean the club.” Although I really didn’t want to be there. “I meant us, the tour—all of it.”

  “What? What the fuck, Quin? Where’s this coming from?”

  I shrugged.

  “You can’t just drop a bombshell like that, then shrug it off like it’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing, it’s just I…” It’s just that I couldn’t trust myself to speak without crying, and I really didn’t want to fucking cry.

  “Jesus. Don’t cry. Come here.” He motioned for my hand, and when I took it, he pulled me to his body, using the thumb of the other hand to wipe the errant tears from my cheeks. “Let’s go. Clearly we need to talk.”

  We did. Still, I was rapidly beginning to wish I’d waited until a more suitable time than in the middle of an event being thrown by the record label to celebrate the success of the tour. It had been sold out worldwide, and audiences and critics alike were eating it up, which was also translating to song downloads. In short, we’d achieved the seemingly impossible and made a success of the project we’d all thought was dead in the water from day one. More than that, we’d nailed it. Big time.

  The label guys had decided to show their appreciation by flying us from mainland Spain—along with a whole bunch of industry “names”—to celebrate at a club in Ibiza, a few days before the Barcelona gigs which marked the end of the European leg of the tour. It was ironic what a difference a few months made.

  We’d gone from the thinly veiled ultimatum that had brought us together, and demonstrated that the labels really didn’t care much about either act, to the proverbial red carpet being laid out, and the PR machine going into overdrive to capitalize on our popularity.

  If there was one thing that was true of our industry, it was that money talked. Now that Thoroughly Plucked was taking off, we suddenly had a voice with the label. While the record execs couldn’t be happier, for us: the success was bittersweet. While, to the outside eye, on stage the three of us were a sizzling hotbed of sexual chemistry, the reality of being on the road with King and Rome wasn’t the all-day orgy I was sure most people imagined it to be.

  In fact, off stage, while King and I were growing closer each day, we barely saw Rome; when we did, he was either drunk, high, hungover, or an unpleasant combination of all three. He was monosyllabic at best, and a belligerent troublemaker at worst. The only time he seemed “happy” was when he had a bottle of vodka in one hand, and a random woman in the other.

  “No. I don’t want to spoil your night. I’m going to go back to the room, though. I think I’m just exhausted.”

  “That’s not how it works. If you’re upset for whatever reason, my night’s already ruined. I’m not just going to party into the small hours, knowing that the last time I saw you, you were in tears. If something’s wrong, I want to know what. Let’s go, so we can talk about it without yelling.”

  God, he was a sweetheart. I really should have waited before saying something, but the thoughts had been circulating in my mind as we danced, and somehow I just couldn’t hold them in. I’d been doing that for the past few weeks, and it had been eating me up inside. It was totally King’s nature to want to fix whatever it was, so now I’d spoiled his evening, as well as my own.

  Back at the hotel room, I paced the floor, trying to find the words I needed. King sat on the bed waiting patiently, his body relaxed, but his face the picture of concern.

  “Whatever it is, just tell me, and we can fix it. Together.” Ugh. He was perfect.

  I let out a long, low deep breath, and leveled my gaze to his. “It’s… this whole thing—you me, the tour—it’s just getting to me. I don’t think I can handle another few months of this. I don’t even know where we stand.”

  “What do you mean, where we stand?”

  “I mean…” I stared at the floor. I couldn’t handle seeing the look on his face when I said what I was about to. “I think I’m falling in love with you, and I don’t know if I’m making a giant fool of myself, and for you this is just a tour fling—something to pass the time while are on the road. Sometimes I wonder if the whole thing between us is in my head, and you think I’m a crazy person.”

  He was on his feet and in front of me before I could blink.

  “That’s what this is all about?” He was grinning, and as beautiful as that sight was, I wanted to slap that sexy smile right off his face.

  “Yeah, what’s so funny?”

  “You are. I wish you’d said something before, if this is all it is.” Now I felt like a stupid kid making a fuss over nothing.

  Clearly this wasn’t a serious thing for him. It was a tour fling, just like I’d said. “Yeah, sorry. I’m being silly. Forget I ever said anything. We’re having fun. Let’s enjoy it while it lasts; then at the end of the tour, it can be one of those ‘what goes on tour, stays on tour’ situations.”

  “What are you talking about? That’s not what I meant at all.” His face was the picture of confusion.

  “Oh. So…”

  “So, what I meant is that I feel bad that you’ve been wondering where I stand on what’s going on between us, because I’m really fucking clear that I’m past the falling stage. I’ve fallen. I mean, I’m in love with you. I’ve known for a while now. I guess I just got the sense that you weren’t ready to hear it yet. I didn’t want to scare you off, so I was hanging back, following your lead. I guess I screwed that up.” The look in his eyes as he spoke just about killed me.

  Even without the words, his feelings for me were obvious in his body language, and I felt stupid not to have recognized it before. If that wasn’t the look of a man in love, I didn’t know what the hell was.

  “No, you didn’t. You’re right; I wasn’t ready at first, but now I am, one hundred percent. I’m just relieved you feel the same.”

  “I do. I’m there one thousand percent. More, even. Now that’s enough talking. There’s a reason they say actions speak louder than words.”

  He reached out for me, slipping his hand behind my neck. When his lips met mine, it felt like we’d pressed ‘reset’ and were starting over, only, this time, it was beyond simple chemistry. The emotion flowing between us ran deep, sending a nervous flutter of anticipation to the pit of my stomach.

  Chapter 29

  King

  * * *

  My heart lurched as I drew my head back and looked into Quincy’s eyes, and I silently kicked myself for holding back for as long as I had. The truth was, I was in totally uncharted territory. As much as what I’d told Quincy wa
s true—and I’d been waiting to tell her my feelings because she seemed a little skittish, or uncertain—there was another part of me that had held back because I’d wanted her to give me some kind of definitive sign that we were headed in the same direction.

  Today she had given me that sign, but I now realized that in leaving it so long before making my true feelings known, I’d also risked losing her altogether. It wasn’t a risk I ever wanted to take again.

  When I kissed her it felt like a new beginning. The beginning of us. The thought had my dick stiffer than it had ever been. I wanted Quincy so badly, I could almost taste it, and not just physically. I mean, that shit was real—I wanted her like I wanted air to fill my lungs, but now I needed the emotional connection just as much as I craved the physical gratification.

  “I can’t believe you questioned whether I was into this, or us. It sounds weird, but I’ve wanted you since you yelled at Rome in the parking lot, and not just because you were—and still are—the hottest thing on two legs. You just had this confidence thing going on that I found so fucking sexy. You weren’t about to take any crap from anyone, and I loved that.”

  “Ha! You mean I was rude.”

  “Yeah, but I guess I love ‘em rude. I had the strongest urge to fuck you right there on that boardroom table.”

  “You did not.” She swatted at me playfully.

  “Why would I lie? I’m sure I’m not the first guy to want you on sight, and I doubt I’ll be the last. Anyway, enough chat; I have an idea.”

  I moved forward, so Quincy instinctively began walking backward further into the middle of the room. I directed her toward the marble dining table in the living area of the suite.