Seduced

by Cari Quinn

  “From the first moment I saw that slim, perfect ponytail and crisp white blouse tucked into those tight black pants, I wanted you.”

  “Oh.” That quirky, expressive eyebrow climbed into her bangs. “You want me because I’m not a groupie-type.”

  He resumed his skirt removal plan. “No, I want you despite the fact that you’re not a groupie.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped and shut it again.

  Her skirt finally reached the top of her thighs. He glanced down to find serviceable black pantyhose over white panties. All he could do was stare.

  No garter.

  No sexy panties.

  Honest to God virgin white panties hugged her lean hips. She wasn’t a seductress, yet not an innocent either—somewhere in between but definitely not of his world.

  He dropped to his knees and she gasped, taking a step back. He curled his hands around the back of her thighs, up over her pert ass to hold her still. She stared down at him, every muscle pulled as tight as her bow.

  Nylon-slick skin buzzed under his fingertips. He skimmed under the crease where ass met leg and around to the front. He nuzzled into the vee between her thighs. She simply stood there with her hands at her sides. So still…too still. Too watchful. Instead of sliding into the moment, she was analyzing. Watching for her cue instead of reacting.

  He slicked his knuckle down the seam at the center of her thighs. He wanted her open, wanted her flavor on his tongue.

  Needed her flavor inside him.

  She gasped as he ripped the nylon pantyhose, then hooked his finger into the leg of her panties and bared her slit. Without thought, he gripped her ass and covered her with his mouth. The heat of her infused his taste buds, flooding his mouth with her taste.

  She staggered back, but instead of keeping her upright, he dumped her into the chair and hoisted one of her thighs over his shoulder. Already missing her taste, he stretched the elastic of her panties until he felt them give. He pushed the tattered ends up to her smooth stomach and tucked it into the elastic of her pantyhose.

  The crisp tails of her white blouse teased the backs of his hands as muscles fluttered under his palm. “There we are. All open for me.” Part of him wanted to tear her blouse open too, but he liked the angle. Her black skirt all scrunched up at her hips while her blouse barely had a single wrinkle.

  So much a part of Margo. The wild and the inhibited fought a war before his eyes. He hovered above the heat of her, following the slim line of hair that arrowed into her downy softness. The heady mix of flowers and the richness of his Violin Girl flooded his mouth. He slipped his tongue inside her folds, his nose brushing her clit. She arched up and he held her down for more.

  With the palm of his hand, he spanned the width of her, his thumb resting just above her slit. He traced slow circles until the tip of the thumb was slick with her excitement. When she undulated in time with him, he dragged the flat of his tongue over her until all he knew was Margo.

  Circling her clit, he closed his lips around it and sucked. She bucked under him, her fingernails digging into the arms of the chair. She actually tried to get away from him. Suddenly nervous that she honestly wanted him to stop, he looked up only to find her eyes raging with barely suppressed longing.

  He dragged her back down, jamming her hips into the back of the chair to still her flight response. Her breasts stretched the blouse until gaps showed enticing flashes of flesh. “Open another button, Violin Girl.”

  Margo’s hand went to her chest, gripping the straining material together instead of freeing herself.

  “Just one.” Simon curled his fingertips into the ultra-sensitive skin of her inner thighs. The runs in her stockings pulled apart under his touch. He met her gaze and slowly hooked her other leg over his shoulder. Instead of diving into her pussy again, he kissed her inner thigh. “Margo, let go.”

  She shook her head. “It’s too much.”

  “One button.”

  Frustrated, she worried her lower lip. “It’s not the blouse.”

  “Then undo the button,” he said patiently.

  She huffed, then released a button.

  The swell of her breasts over the pearl gray bra made him groan into her thigh. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

  “Please, Simon.” She reached down and sifted her fingers into his hair and tugged. “Just come up here and get inside me.”

  He groaned. God, she didn’t know how bad he wanted to bury his aching cock inside of her, but something told him to stay put. “I’m not finished here yet.”

  She shifted under him. “I don’t let anyone do that.”

  “Don’t let anyone what?” He asked as he used the edge of his thumb to open her hood. Slick and tight, her clit was crying out for his tongue.

  “I don’t like oral.”

  At her unblinking gaze, he hid a smile. She was a helluva lot more buttoned up than he thought. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  He lapped at her lightly. “You taste so good though. So good I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.” The runs in her stockings widened under his palms. He followed them down the inside of her thigh, tasting each fraction of skin that was revealed until she slowly opened for him.

  With his cheek resting at her knee, he gave himself a moment to study her. “Let me in. I promise I’ll make it good for you.”

  Her hips shifted restlessly as her hand rose over her head to grasp the top of the chair.

  “That’s it, Margo.” He pulled her legs open wider. Her hip bones made a shallow bowl just above her pussy. He rested his hand there again and tucked his thumb along the top of her clit. He massaged her gently, watching for any reaction to his touch.

  He traced the shredded runs in her stockings with his lips, his other hand sliding along the cushion of the chair up between her legs. He pushed aside the torn bottoms of her panties and tucked them out of the way. He kept his massaging thumb as innocuous as possible. Soothing, sweet…nothing shocking.

  Her back arched and her breathing became shallow. She had no idea how close she was. In the shadow of her thighs while her attention was riveted to his thumb, he snuck inside, his knuckle brushing between her folds. She stiffened and he waited her out. Feeling her coat his hand with her slickness was the ultimate tease.

  She was so wet, so incredibly ready for him to be inside her. But he didn’t just want to lose himself in her heat. He wanted to make her mindless, to leave his mark. To make it good for her.

  His cock hammered in his jeans, reminding him how tenuous his own control was. If she ever let anyone else touch her like this, he wanted them to pale in comparison. He wanted to be legendary in her mind in this one small way.

  He slowly rocked his finger inside, adding another to stretch her for him. She moaned as he kept up the massage from the top. Her honeysuckle scent mixed with the more intimate flavor that urged him closer. His mouth watered with the need to dive in again. To suction around her and make her scream. To fuck her with his tongue and feel her shake around him.

  Her back arched and she tipped her chin in abandon, letting him know she was close. But he didn’t want her to shut down again. He wanted her open to the pleasure and satiated before he let loose on her.

  Tension gathered between his shoulder blades from too many days without an outlet. The music, the failure, the frustration and a ball of need he hadn’t realized had lived inside him so long—all of that coalesced as the first shudders fluttered down her thighs.

  He opened her wide, riding the mini-orgasm with her and blindsiding her with his sweeping tongue. She bucked under him, her brown eyes losing their distant civility as he demanded more, not just a flutter. Her fingers dug into his scalp, holding him tight to her with one hand and pushing him away with the other.

  Simon took all of it. The struggle, the release, the power and the perfection of her taste. He swallowed it down like the starving man he was. And when she finally screamed his name
, he thrust two fingers deep and ripped at his belt with his other hand.

  He fingerfucked her, dying a little inside as her walls squeezed his fingers when it should’ve been his cock. Her body was looking for more and he wanted to give it to her. Wanted that strength and exquisite scent wrapped around his shaft.

  The chair rocked with the force of his hand delving into her and he knew he’d never get inside her like this. He’d topple the chair for sure. He stood, looming over her. Her breasts spilled over the half cups and the tips matched the flushed pink of her pussy lips. Groaning, he pulled his hand away and her cry of displeasure matched his. The only thing he could do was gather her in. He wrapped his arms around her back and hauled her up.

  Instead of pulling away from him, she gained her footing and curled her arms around his shoulders. She was a little taller than average and fit him in all the right places. The sweet curve of her body against his dulled any thought process. He buried his face in her neck and bit down on her shoulder as her knee bumped his cock.

  Pain shimmered up and into his brain like an aftershock. He whirled her around, and pressed his knee into the back of hers until she collapsed into the chair, her ass raised. Exactly what he wanted. He yanked down her stockings and tattered panties before sinking three fingers into her soaking wet pussy.

  She gripped the back of the chair and he pressed his cheek to hers. “I need to fuck you and it’s going to be hard.” He tucked his cheek into the crook of her neck and tried to stuff down the aggressive need firing his blood. “Margo, I need to know if I can fuck you like I need to.”

  Margo shook her hair down her back. The chocolate strands twisted down the pristine white of her blouse. “I can take whatever you can dish out, Rockstar.” Her head dropped forward and the tails of her blouse fell around her hips as she shrugged out of the white cotton. She left behind a scrap of lace that showed just how perfect she was under her symphony uniform.

  She braced her hands on the top of the chair and grinned over her shoulder. “What are you waiting for?”

  The clink of his buckle and the snap of latex were a mere afterthought under the thunderous bass of Deacon’s solo. The song crashed around them. As he slid into her, the lyrics had never been more ominous.

  I own your soul, the night has just begun.

  The becoming claims with a whisper and ends in a scream.

  He groaned as her walls stretched for him, accepting every inch. She let out a hissing sigh. He peeled out of his own shirt, his nerve endings alive now that he’d unleashed the monster that had grown larger and meaner with every moment of patience it had taken to bring Margo around.

  Guitars wailed and Margo moaned at the way he pounded into her. The chair legs scored the carpet as the strain of his muscles and the piston of his hips drove her and the chair across the room until they had nowhere left to go. The speakers pulsed with their song. The chase for pleasure and release felt like a marathon instead of a sprint. Making him work for it.

  Just out of reach, teasing the edges of his consciousness was the need to come. He blocked it out. Instead he cupped her breasts. The silk of her bra cup filled his palms and the tips of her stiff nipples peeked over the top, burning into his flesh. He pulled her back against him, one hand spearing down between her legs.

  He felt the stiffness of her muscles and the panic in her breath as he rubbed over her clit. He needed her to come again, needed that bracing scream. Why she resisted her pleasure was a mystery, but he needed to get her past it. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did.

  She reached back, grasping a handful of his hair and dragging him in until they were flush in every way. Until he was buried inside her so deeply that there was no Simon and Margo, there was only mindless pleasure, sweat and honeysuckle spice. Only this moment with this woman and the song that would change his world.

  And when the orgasm slammed into him, it took everything.

  She took everything.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nick: Unsteady Beat

  Ask me to leave and I’ll beg you to let me stay

  demand that I remain and I’ll just walk away.

  An hour until sunrise, and where was he? Standing outside the studio and wondering what the hell he was doing. Only crazy people got up before the sun.

  He should be home in bed. Not that he’d be able to sleep. It had been a couple days since he’d done more than toss and turn. And smoke. He kept quitting in fits and starts, but last night’s after-work cig break had been it for real. He’d finished his last pack and hadn’t bought another. The stink on his clothes made him remember his weakness too damn much.

  Juggling his guitar, he dug out the pack of gum he’d stuck in his back pocket next to the lucky lighter he didn’t need anymore. He folded a piece into his mouth.

  Oral fixation? Nah. Not him.

  He’d had enough oral to last him for a while, actually, both given and received. At least with one certain woman who came with a full suite of baggage.

  Before Jazz hijacked his brain yet again, he jogged inside and took a quick trip to the john. He washed his hands in cold water in the futile hope it would wake him up. No go.

  He stared at his image in the mirror. Crimson spiderwebs fanned out from his brown eyes. Pretty soon the whites would be red completely and he’d look like the loser he knew he was. Others knew it too. His reputation preceded him.

  Or at least it had. He was tired of being that guy with a shitty past and not much better future.

  The time had come to wipe the slate clean. In every possible way.

  He picked up his Taylor and strode down the hall to the studio he’d seen Simon in the night before. The place was deserted except for the cleaning crew hustling down the hall with mops in hand. They must’ve not made it in here yet, because the place looked destroyed.

  The big leather chair from studio B was sitting in the center of the room like someone had gotten up suddenly and taken off. A box of tissues lay on its side on the floor and a flask Nick suspected was Simon’s sat on the desk. He leaned closer and took an experimental sniff.

  Vodka? Yep, nailed it in one.

  Nick set aside his guitar and bent to pick up the item peeking out from under the wheel of the chair. A woman’s hair clip. Jazz’s, maybe? He examined the subtle brown pattern. Tortoise-something-or-other. Jazz would never go for that kind of thing. If it didn’t have glitter and sparkles, she wasn’t interested.

  So what the hell was she doing with him and Gray? They were some pair.

  Bitter and Pill reporting for duty, sir.

  Though she wouldn’t be with him, not after today. Whether or not she chose to work out her shit with Gray was her decision. He was bowing out.

  Even assholes could do the right thing. What difference did it make that he was doing it for self-preservation as much as to be honorable? It all added up to the same result.

  Him alone.

  He set aside the clip and reached for his guitar. Well, not totally alone. He had his music. And his fucking band, such as it was. Looking back was a waste of time. Snake was gone and might stay that way. In the meantime, he’d focus on what he had now.

  His stiff fingers crept over the opening chords to the song that had come out of him yesterday. He’d written it during the long hours of studio time they hadn’t needed him. Between Gray the virtuoso, Demon Deacon, Jazz the genius and the orchestra, what’d they need him for? Not much. So he’d played for himself. And then that dude Blitz had been all over him when Gray had started getting sloppy.

  Forget flavor of the month. It was flavor of the minute in this joint. He really had no desire to be licked and spit out on the sidewalk.

  Eventually his fingers limbered up and he closed his eyes, losing himself in the melody. It was slower than his usual stuff, caught between a ballad and a full-out rocker, combining elements of both. Hey, he’d loved Poison and Cinderella and all the hair metal bands of the eighties for good reason. The song was instrumental at this point be
cause he didn’t have any words yet. Except the title.

  He’d just be keeping that to himself.

  Heavy footsteps clunked on the floor and jarred him out of the music. He glanced up to see Simon dragging a hand through his hair and yawning wide enough to show off his tonsils. The Taylor he’d gotten at the same time Nick had bought his was slung across his chest like a badge of honor. Didn’t matter if he never got to touch the strings in the studio, Simon never put down his guitar security blanket.

  The day they’d bought those matching Taylors seemed like yesterday in his mind. Shuffling into the guitar shop near the Delta apartments, clutching the money they’d saved through a few summers of washing cars and mowing lawns. Simon had been limping after that morning’s go-round with his dad, and Nick had stunk of weed from his sister smoking up in the room across the hall. Their apartment reeked so badly from pot that someone could get blitzed just from passing the front door.

  No wonder his mom had found another guy. Even less of a wonder she liked her new family better and only called Nick on holidays.

  But that day, none of that had mattered. They’d emptied out their meager saving accounts to buy their guitars then sat on the curb outside the projects, smoking and strumming.

  Back then, the dream had been like a light inside him, one he shared with his best friend. He wouldn’t let that light go out.

  “Mornin’,” Simon said as if it wasn’t the least bit strange that Nick had arrived before him.

  Yeah, no big deal, except he hated mornings. Hated sitting around for his turn. Hated playing second string to a guy who seemed destined to get everything he wanted. So why not show up at the buttcrack of dawn to get ready for all that fun?

  Sometimes—all the time—Nick wished he could be as easygoing as Simon. He hadn’t even been that laidback when he’d been saying “goo goo gaa gaa” and hitting Ricki in the head with his rattle.

  “Hey,” Nick replied, sliding back into his song. “Rough night?”

  “What makes you say that?” Mr. Sleepy’s voice was way too sharp.