Owned (Rockstar Romance) (Lost in Oblivion Book 5)

by Cari Quinn

  “I don’t need to. You were a little shaky on the first verse, but then it was all magic. I’ve done that song a dozen times with Gray and Jazz. Nothing like that. Even with me on the vocals. We were going to do the song for a charity album next year. You just got promoted to vocals.”

  “I—” Fire and shock threatened to disintegrate his lungs. The fire was the cold. Even in the city, the temperatures didn’t match this crap. “Could we go back in.”

  “Good plan.” Logan backed up and opened the door. “You should see your face. I know it’s been awhile since you parked your ass in a studio.”

  Simon followed him back inside and down the hallway. “Yeah. A long damn time.”

  “Whatever you’ve been doing with that voice coach, keep it up.”

  “How do you know about that?” Simon rolled down the sleeves of his shirt. The chill sat in his bones.

  “Who doesn’t know?”

  “Lovely.”

  “It’s nothing to be bummed about. Or embarrassed for that matter.” Logan rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve had to use a coach more than once myself. My third tour I strained a cord. I couldn’t stop the train. Not with that many ticket sales on the line. Especially since it was the first tour that really made any true money.”

  Simon shoved his hands in his pockets. Exactly what he’d done. Ruined all the momentum they’d had because he’d been too stupid to ask for help. Nope, he just kept straining his cords until they fucking snapped.

  “Stop it.”

  Logan’s voice snapped him out of it. They were both similar in height, even if the older man had an extra twenty pounds of muscle on him. Simon lifted his chin. “I fucked up.”

  “Not today you didn’t.”

  That remained to be seen—or heard, rather. He’d have to nut up and listen to the playback. He just hoped it didn’t suck as hard as he feared. “No, but I did on our tour.”

  “If I was on my first headlining tour, I’m not sure I would have been so smart to call in the cavalry either.” Logan pulled out two bottles of water and handed him one. “What you do now is what counts.”

  Simon downed half the bottle. His throat sticking with that fucking tickle. He drank more. “Do you have tea?”

  “Do I have tea? Please.” Logan reached above the stove and pulled down a tin with a dozen different kinds he’d never heard of. He pulled out a packet. “Try this one. It’s soothing and coats like you wouldn’t believe.” He reached for a tall carafe. “Izzy keeps water hot for me when I’m working.”

  “You need this too?”

  “Simon, if a singer says he doesn’t, he’s a lying sack of shit.” He dropped the bag into a mug and poured the water over it. “Drink. Go down and listen to it.” Gray and Jazz cleared out to take Dyl upstairs to play before bedtime.”

  “I can listen alone?”

  “You know your way around a play button, I assume?”

  Simon huffed out a laugh as he blew on the steaming tea. “Yeah.”

  “I’ll leave you to it. It’s bath time anyway. I enjoy my nightly hose down by my daughter.”

  Simon grinned. “All you.” He took a sip of the spice, lemons, and honey flavor. Logan headed for the stairs. “Logan?”

  He peeked back around the corner. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re the one that kicked ass. I just got to witness it. Welcome back Simon Kagan.”

  He swallowed down a lump. That had a nice ring to it. He sipped the tea and sucked up enough courage to put the mug in the sink and head back down into the studio. The strains of Margo’s violin floated up the stairs as soon as he opened the door.

  A sad song he hadn’t heard in a long time.

  A Margo original that never seemed to work into one of the various songs they’d crafted as a band. It had a helluva lot more soul than she should be able to pull out of an instrument made for orchestral glory.

  The things she could do with that instrument were unparalleled.

  He wasn’t surprised to see the borrowed violin at her chin. It resonated more than her Starfish, and she hadn’t had the room to bring both her Strat and electric on this trip.

  When he came down the last stair she pulled her bow up off the strings and set it down. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry. I just…” What? Lost it? Emo’d out like a bitch? Yeah, more like c—all of the above.

  “You don’t need to explain.” She put her hand on his chest. “This is all new and the song was—”

  He placed his finger over her lips. “I was a pussy.”

  She grabbed his wrist. “No, this is just new. You’ll get used to it.”

  “It’s not new.” He looked down at his scuffed Docs. “I’m sorry if I fucked up your song.”

  “Are you crazy? It was just what it needed. Logan’s voice is deeper. His range is on the lower registers. What you just did?” She pushed her hair out of her face. “That was amazing. More than the song has ever been.”

  “Keep on stroking, babe.”

  “Ass.”

  He curled his fingers over hers on his chest. “Listen with me?”

  She blinked fast, but not quite fast enough that he couldn’t see the quick wash of tears. It had been a damn long time since they’d been able to talk about music. He was scared down to his bones, but he wanted her to listen with him. If it was the suck, then it was just her that knew about it.

  He’d find a way to erase the recording if necessary.

  She slid her hand up to his neck. “Of course. Wait until you hear it though. We all listened to it a half dozen times while you were upstairs.”

  So much for only him and her listening.

  In the moment with the flood of endorphins and high of the song, any of them could have thought it was kickass. It only counted on the playback. That digital track that could be forever.

  He leaned in and touched his lips to hers. They watched each other, maybe both of them were afraid to close their eyes. That this was all a dream. He’d find himself slumped in the front seat of the Jeep sleeping off the sunshine heat that had been pouring in on the ride up the cliffs to Logan and Izzy’s house.

  She lifted her hands to his face and cupped it, her thumbs tracing over the rasping scruff of his cheeks. “It’s amazing. I promise you.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers. “Then what are we waiting for?”

  “Actually,” she licked her lips, “I was kind of enjoying whatever you just drank.”

  He kissed her again. A hint of tongue along the seam of her mouth this time around. “Some sort of spiced ginger tea.”

  She crossed her arms at the back of his neck. “We’ll have to get some.”

  “Good plan.” He leaned in for more. Obviously he was procrastinating, but damn she tasted good. Felt even better. That zing from the music was still under his skin. There was a layer of fire ants on top making him insane, but under all that was a volatile mix of joy and trepidation with a chaser of hope.

  Her fingers sifted into his hair and her magnificent breasts flattened against his chest. It felt like forever since he’d touched her. It hadn’t been that long. The night before their first day in the studio maybe?

  Fuck. That was over a week now. He groaned into her mouth. The spark of the room and the change of venue, the chance to start over—all of it coalesced until he was aching for her. He tore his mouth away. “Are there cameras in here?”

  She laughed. “We’re not finding out, perv.”

  “Dammit.”

  She dragged her hands down his chest, molding his pecs then down to the ridge of his abs. She liked touching him anyway, but she seemed to be quite happy with the new status of his muscles.

  He was more than willing to use that to his advantage. As a matter of fact, crowding her into the wall had merit.

  She ducked out from under his arm. “No way.”

  He flattened his hand on the padded wall. “We’re alone.”

  She crossed to the
board and sat down. “Get over here.”

  He tipped his head back. “It can wait.” The click of her fingers on the buttons heightened the buzz again. Piano and strings filled the room. He fisted his hands at his sides. His vocals were coming up. The intro was slightly indulgent. More so because it had taken him too long to open his damn mouth.

  The wobble of his voice made him wince. “Turn it off.”

  “No.”

  He headed for the stairs as the verse ended. He made it up two steps before the bridge opened. He paused with his hand on the carpeted wall. The bridge that he’d reworked resonated. The words were him, fit the song, hit the right tone.

  He gripped the banister and backed up. He couldn’t quite go to the huge engineering station. The wall was just fine. The corner of Logan’s framed platinum album dug into his shoulder blade.

  Too bad it didn’t much matter. The screen over the levers and buttons was big enough to show him the dips and crests of his voice. Jazz’s piano evened out and the guitar violin combo echoed in the room.

  Power.

  Range.

  Heat and passion.

  It was better than it had felt when he’d let the song in. The proof of the magic rolled over him and dragged him off the wall and to the board. He slapped his hand on the blinking playback button.

  Palms flat to the arm rest he allowed the scent of his woman filter in as a hint of his future permeated the wall he’d had up for years. So different than the vocalist he’d been. The boy still lived behind that wall. But the man that had suffered through surgeries and silence came through the speakers with a clarity the boy had never quite mastered.

  Margo stood beside him, her cheek resting against his arm. “It’s so good.”

  He hooked his arm around her neck and hauled her into his chest. “Yours, ours.” He didn’t know how to articulate it. Emotions bubbled up and out of his mouth. “I didn’t know.”

  She peeked up at him. “I did.”

  “Yeah well you’ve always been smarter than me.”

  “Finally, he admits it!”

  “You can’t prove it.”

  “Dammit, I forgot to hit that record button.”

  He caged her tight against him and kissed her through the strings of the song. The callback to a simpler time couldn’t be denied. When they’d been in a studio and kissed around a song.

  “We should have a velvet chair,” he mumbled against her mouth.

  She laughed into his mouth. He lifted her, delighted when her legs went around him. “Hurry.”

  “I can do that.” His cock was certainly all right with that way of thinking.

  She pushed at his shirt. Her mouth hot on his throat.

  “Stupid buttons,” he muttered and fell onto the couch behind them.

  She straddled him and opened the buttons with shaking fingers. She raked her nails through the light hair on his chest. A month of breaks and now the studio, he hadn’t needed to do the crazy manscaping that had taken over his life the last year.

  “I missed this.” She scraped her teeth over his nipple ring, tugging none too gently.

  He hissed. Luckily the rockstar edge he’d cultivated hadn’t required he take out the nipple rings, but he’d put in thicker gage ones for the first time in a damn long time. They were sensitive and each tug made him hiss.

  “Two can play at this game you know.”

  She flipped her sweater over her head. “Yeah?”

  He pushed at the padded cups of her bra. No one knew about them but him. Vicky Secret kept all those little bits of his wi—woman—away from anyone but him. He dragged his thumb across her rose gold nipple bar. The jeweled ends were diamonds and a swag of sapphires hugged along the underside of her eternally tight tips.

  Margo with her staid upbringing and orchestra background had the most gorgeous pierced nipples hiding under her clothes.

  Just for him.

  He wrapped his teeth around the bars and tugged just how she liked. A little forcefully until the pink flesh tightened up even more. He laved it with his tongue and then sucked.

  She bowed back, her nails digging into his shoulders. He didn’t stop.

  Never stopped.

  She loved it. And she wanted it quick, so he played her body as masterfully as the strings that came out of the damn speakers. She undulated over him, her wool slacks rubbing against his jean-clad cock.

  Not enough friction though.

  He needed her naked.

  Needed to spread her out and tug on her clit with just the same amount of force.

  No piercing needed there.

  Just the suction and flick of his tongue was enough right now.

  He knew her cues.

  Knew that the lightest touch would be all she needed. But he also knew that a little bit rough, a little bit wild was even better.

  He slid his fingers into the little gap at the back of her pants.

  She got the hint. Her fingers trembled between them as she undid the series of buttons that kept the high waisted material flat against her mouth-watering belly. She rose off of him as he helped from the back and she wiggled them down.

  He pushed her back before she could stand up and take them off.

  The wool and silk of her panties strained across her thighs. She bowed back and gripped the club chair near her head, dragging it over.

  Smart girl.

  He slid his thumbs along her slit. “You want my mouth here?” He lowered his mouth to the soft skin with its little strip of dark hair. He gripped her waist as she rolled up for more. “Say it, Violin Girl.”

  She gripped the back of the chair she was propped on. “You know I do.”

  He moved back up to her nipple, circling the tip. “What if I want to stay up here?”

  Her breath stalled. “That’s good too.”

  Simon rolled his hips in time with hers. He knew her body, knew her sounds, knew everything about this woman. She was the other half of him in every way.

  Every way but one.

  “Simon?”

  He shook off that thought. It kept coming up more and more, but there was too much going on in their life right now for him to put this on her too. “Tell me.” His voice went even darker as he tugged harder on her ring.

  The little frown between her brows disappeared and her eyes closed. “Your mouth. I need your mouth on me.”

  “It is on you, babe.” He sucked her nipple in, the scrape of the jewels on his tongue heightened his own careening needs.

  “Lower.”

  He let her nipple go with a pop. “Here?” He sipped at the salty skin between her ribs. The way her chest shuddered with each breath ratcheted up his impatience, but he held onto the tatters.

  Wanting to watch the destruction flow over her and make her voice break around his name overruled whatever needs he had. It had been a long damn time since he’d heard that particular melody from her.

  “No.”

  There it was. Just the edges of it. Not quite there.

  She bowed up off the club chair, but he held her down. He scraped his teeth over her ribs and down to her waist, heading for her hip. “Where. Here?” He painted little circles over her curves and the muscles under her honeysuckle skin.

  He twisted her until he could get the side of her perfect ass cheek. He sunk his teeth into her soft flesh. The temptation to roll her over and taste her sweet slit and spread her open for him was fierce. To taste every inch of her.

  Scraping his short nails over her skin and between the cleft of her ass would have to do for now. Fuck. Her pussy was so wet it dripped back to that sweet pucker. He could almost take whichever hole he wanted when she was like this.

  Right now she couldn’t move. Her pants just low enough that she had no leverage to get them off without help. And he so wasn’t fucking helping. He liked her this way. At his mercy.

  Margo did too.

  He knew it as surely as his own name. As the guttural growl building in her chest as she released one hand f
rom the chair back and gripped his hair. “Between my legs. I need you there.”

  “Here?” The silky expanse of her midriff trembled under his tongue with each catch of her breath. He wanted her to say it. Years of manners were replaced with this beautiful, wicked version of Margo that he loved.

  Margo who he loved to distraction.

  He dragged his chin across the fragile skin just above her slit. “Tell me, Margo.”

  “My cunt.”

  “Sweet fuck.” He hauled her up off the chair and peeled her pants off the rest of the way. He struggled with one of her boots. All he needed was one one foot. Just to get her free. Her pants dangled from her other leg.

  He didn’t care.

  “Say it again.” He loved to hear those dirty words on her lips. To suck them off her tongue and gather them inside him. Only for him.

  Huge, dark eyes, pupils blown, stared back at him. The word stuck in her throat.

  He rolled his hips until his cock stroked over her sensitive skin.

  “My cunt.”

  He looked down between them. She left a mark on his jeans. He’d smell her on him for days. The way it should be. The way he wanted it to remain.

  She was his entire reason for being. Equally important as his music, and he’d been ignoring both for far too long.

  He finally stretched her back out along the chair and hooked her knee over his shoulder. “My cunt.” Was that his voice? All guttural and low? It sounded more like an animal’s growl.

  He dragged his fingers over her swollen pussy and opened her. So tight—her little clit was as hard as his cock. Just a flick.

  She pushed up on her elbows and her gaze locked with his.

  Fuck, he loved when she watched.

  He breathed over her. He traced his tongue around where she wanted him most. Her taste exploded on his tongue, but he managed to stop himself from pushing her over.

  He dragged the flat of his tongue over her entire slit. She shuddered, but didn’t look away. “My pussy,” he said and covered her, sucking hard on her clit until she bowed up and gripped his hair with one hand.

  She screamed and he held on, curling his fingers under her ass to grip her tight as she rode his face. Wet from her, covered in her, he managed to ignore his cock.