4 Play

by Quinn, Cari

Absolute privacy.

  He couldn’t wait.

  They were actually home. Well, a little outside of home, but worth the drive in to actually see their place. To get off this fucking bus.

  They were going to meet with Jackson and see about their contract at the penthouse. And with one night between the last two shows, he was looking forward to all of it.

  The five and a half weeks had gone by in a blink. They’d exceeded the expectations of Trident, and he had every confidence that they’d be offered a contract. They’d paid their dues for years, and it was high time something good happened for them.

  Harper’s phone chirped. The familiar soaring seagull cries and crash of ocean was their morning wake up call. She turned into him, brushing her cheek against his chest with a moan.

  “It can’t be time.”

  “You can always go on my morning run with me.”

  She snorted. “I’d rather clean pots after Mitchell’s chili.”

  “Wow.”

  Hooking a thigh over his hips, she maneuvered him over until she was splayed across him. Damn, she had strong thighs. He slid his hand up the smooth, tanned skin, feeling the flex of muscle.

  He could wake to that every damn morning of his life.

  She leaned over him, her sunny blonde hair curtaining around them as she brushed her lips over his jaw, nipping his chin then swiping over his lower lip with the tip of her tongue.

  He could feel the smile before he lost himself inside of it. The kiss was light and sweet and filled with an easiness he’d never thought he would find. Not here, not now when things were still so uncertain with his future.

  He knew what he wanted. Knew that this woman was everything he’d ever needed. He banded his arms around her back, drawing her into a deeper kiss. Instead, she pulled away with a teasing flick of tongue and nip of teeth.

  She waggled her eyebrows and nuzzled his neck, moving down to his collar bone. Her silky hair slid down his skin in her wake. She shimmied down his chest to his abs and he couldn’t stop the groan.

  “Lawless,” he hissed.

  She tugged at his boxers, freeing his morning hard on with an exaggerated purr. He laughed until she hummed around the tip of his cock and took as much of him as she could.

  His hand hovered over her head. Part of him wanted to push her hair out of the way so he could see her lush mouth around him, and part of him wanted to grip the strands and guide himself deeper into her mouth.

  Warring with the need to take, he dropped his hand to the mattress and twisted his fingers into the sheets instead. His hips flexed up and he swallowed a strangled groan as she took him deeper.

  “Har—fuck.”

  She made that distracting purr of a hum around him again and gripped the base of his cock. He slapped the mattress and finally couldn’t stop himself. He buried his fingers into her hair, and her hum intensified into a groan. The slick heat and wetness of her mouth and steady grip left spots behind his eyelids as he arched for her.

  He heard her gasp, and he tried to untangle his fingers. She slapped her hand over his and took him even deeper. Need took over, and the white-hot burn of release soared down his spine.

  He fucked her mouth, staring down at her as she took every stroke. Finally, she flipped her hair back with her hand, and their gaze locked before his vision swam. Her lashes were starred with tears and her mouth was swollen, but he couldn’t stop himself.

  Pumping him with one hand, she tore the orgasm out of him. Blackness crawled into his periphery, but he never broke the intense gaze between them. Her throat worked and his cock jerked as he emptied himself.

  Twin tears slid down from the corners of her eyes and into her hair. Finally, she drew him out of her mouth and took a greedy gulp of air. He dragged her up and into the hollow of his throat.

  “I…” At a loss, he simply held her. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  She kissed his neck and snickered. “No. It’s just a physical response to a mouth full of Deacon.”

  “Jesus, Lawless.”

  She giggled. “Ever my careful guy.” She propped herself on his chest. “I like when you get all aggressive.”

  He frowned at her. “I didn’t mean to be so rough.” He’d been enjoying the nice glide of morning sex, or in this case a morning oratory. But then it had gone south. Fast.

  Harper rolled her eyes and took his hand, dragging it down to her sleep shorts. She was drenched.

  Immediately, he curled into her slick slit. “Fuck.”

  “I liked it,” she said against his neck. Her low groan was punctuated by another blast of ocean waves and a louder shriek of gulls. “Man.” Her groan was definitely more whine than pleasure this time. “I gotta go.”

  He slid two fingers inside of her and traced the tip of his thumb around her clit. “Now?”

  “I’m going to be late.” Her hips lifted to give him greater access. The buzz of her distressed groan gave way to a sigh when he drew his fingers out and slid them back in hard. His name was a choked groan that tumbled into a laugh. “Oh, heck. Just hurry.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  “You’ve got two minutes to make me cum my brains out, mister.”

  “Challenge accepted.”

  * * *

  He was home. For a lot of years, that had been a word he’d never uttered. But California, Los Angeles specifically, had become home. Sometimes dirty and dingy, sometimes too bright to look at, and yet always a part of his soul.

  The mountain air kissed his sweat-streaked arms and back. It was just a touch too cool to have his shirt off, but he’d wanted the sun on his back. He was on his second circuit of stairs. Full of energy to spare, he’d done the stairs of the Greek Theater and bookended it with a two mile run.

  He’d been to a dozen shows at The Greek, had dreamed of playing there one day, but he hadn’t actually believed it would happen. At least not this fast. Slowing his run to a walk and a stretch, he looked down at the stage he’d spend nearly an hour on tonight.

  Roadies were finishing the stage. All that was left was hoisting the specialty lighting rig that Rebel Rage used in their set. He knew Harper’s brother would be climbing around as his sister had done.

  It was hard to believe she’d ever been a part of the rough and ready staff that put the Summer Rage tour together and tore it down every other night. She was so at home in front of the stove and cutting board that it was odd to imagine her covered in anything other than the scents of her cooking.

  An echoing clink of metal against metal drew his attention. They were opening the doors already. He’d gotten a late workout in thanks to a pile of radio interviews and one frightening Cisco video chat with fans in Brazil.

  They were…exuberant.

  He didn’t even know they had fans outside of the US. Thanks to Jazz, they’d done a live acoustic set for a bunch of fans at a club in Venezuela. Evidently they’d have to add a southern trek to their next tour if the crowd was anything to go by.

  Deacon jogged along the east edge of the seats to get backstage before someone recognized him. He picked up his pace when a swarm of women in concert wear chic—aka the T&A brigade—noticed him.

  There were times where he wished he wasn’t so damn tall. They could spot him damn near everywhere. The only thing he wanted right now was to enjoy the day and kick ass at the show tonight. He couldn’t seem to get his mind wrapped around playing Demon right now.

  Deacon with his girl, Harper…that’s what mattered right now.

  He wanted that normalcy and to show her how it could be off the road. He couldn’t wait to get her in his space and spend a few hours with her and only her.

  Twenty-Four

  September 13, 8:48 PM - Snake in the Garden

  Harper pushed her cleanup cart out of the way and did a final survey on the table. All their favorites were there. Deacon’s dehydrated strawberries sat in a fat white bowl beside plates of watermelon. A crock pot of brown sugar and garlic chicken, a tray of sliders, an
d the ever beloved turkey sandwiches were stacked and ready to eat.

  This would be the last night she ran the kitchen for the tour. The sendoff party on the last show would be a combined affair that was geared to show off the money and the prestige of the music label. Tonight was just for her guys.

  The band that she’d grown to care about despite everything she’d done to keep them at arm’s length. A high pitched squeal and slap of flip flops made her smile. Harper turned to see Jazz bounce her way into the room and head right for the table.

  The little dynamo had to burn a thousand calories a night. Her red-and-purple-streaked hair was dripping, her studded purple bra and matching boy shorts glittered in the fluorescent lights accenting her pale skin. An equally naked Simon followed her, clad in only a pair of jeans and a wicked smile.

  Gray came next with barely a wrinkle in his ever-present white button down shirt with his leather vest and black cargos. The only proof he’d been on stage were his damp temples and exhausted eyes.

  Nick followed him with an oddly bright smile lighting his face. His blond hair stuck up everywhere, and his white Henley clung to his leanly muscled chest. His jeans hung low, showing off a hint of hip bones and a dark blond trail above his buckle.

  Finally, Deacon came in, full of wide smiles and dripping with sweat. And seriously intent eyes.

  “No.” Harper slid behind the table.

  “C’mon, Lawless, gimme some sugar.” Deacon headed for her and trapped her behind the table, dragging her in for a full body hug.

  “Ugh, you’re a sweaty mess.” She struggled half-heartedly. He was completely soaked to the skin. He buried his face into her neck, his low chuckle driving her crazy. It was ridiculous how sexy he was when he came off stage, but the big lug didn’t need to know just how much that turned her on. “Out!”

  He squeezed her ass affectionately, then joined the rest of the band at the front of the table. They were a diverse group, but one thing matched on all four of them. Excitement, exhaustion, and relief. End of the tour relief.

  The end of her time with Deacon was barreling down on her faster than she wanted to own up to.

  Jazz slapped her hands together and rubbed, dragging Harper back away from the doom and gloom. “Oh, man. You know just how to make the night even more awesome, Chef Girl.”

  Harper smiled. “It’s the last night I can spoil you guys. Tomorrow is big wig night.”

  “Great. That means sissy finger food,” Nick grumbled.

  Harper couldn’t stifle a grin. “Probably.”

  “Fucking Los Angeles.” Simon picked up one of the sliders. “The one thing I didn’t miss was the fact that no one eats here,” he said around bites.

  “We didn’t eat either,” Jazz chimed in.

  “That was because we were poor. Now, we definitely are not.” Nick stuffed a turkey sandwich into his mouth. He kept looking toward the door.

  Deacon socked Nick in the arm. “Do you actually have someone coming backstage? I thought you were strictly pre-game, son.”

  Harper rolled her eyes and refilled the half empty trays from her cart.

  Nick shoved him back. “Fuck off. I do have a surprise, though.”

  Jazz looked between Nick and Deacon. “What kind of surprise?”

  Nick’s face shuttered, and his gaze slid away from her. “Just an old friend.”

  Deacon frowned. “What kind of old friend?”

  Jazz shrugged, looked around, noticing Gray already sat on one of the battered couches that lined the wall. She quickly piled food onto two plates and followed him over. Harper frowned as Gray picked at a wedge of watermelon, but didn’t really eat any of it.

  “About fucking time,” Nick said, a huge smile lighting his face. He jammed his plate onto the smaller table that held their post-show beverages.

  Harper followed his gaze to see another man at the door.

  Simon looked up, muttering “holy fuck,” before dumping his plate as well. The two men hurried across the room, both pulling the new guy into a bear hug. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Nick actually hug anyone before.

  “Holy shit, I can’t believe you actually came! How the fuck are you doing, man?” Nick clamped a hand on the bald stranger’s shoulder before dragging him back into a hug.

  After a few more slaps and raucous laughing, they all came toward her and the food.

  “I can’t believe you’re here. Fuck, it’s good to see you.” Nick’s voice was more excited than she’d ever heard. And even for him, the f-bomb was free flowing.

  Deacon’s arms were now crossed over his chest and the good cheer was completely missing. Void of all emotion, actually. Instinct had her rounding the table to stand by his side. She tucked her fingers into the cement tight grip he had on himself and drew his arm around her waist. Finally, he sighed and kissed her on the temple. She frowned up at him, but he shook his head subtly. “Snake, meet my—” He cleared his throat. “Meet Harper.”

  The trip-up stuck her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Deacon had been throwing around the L-word, and they couldn’t even figure out introductions? She slapped on a smile and held out her hand. “Harper Pruitt. I’m on the staff here.”

  Simon popped another sandwich into his mouth. “She’s more than staff. This girl is our goddess chef and Deacon’s main squeeze.”

  “Thanks, Simon,” she muttered. Simon shrugged, smirked, and rocked back on his heels, his mouth full of meat and bread.

  Snake’s hand was cool to the touch, his palm damp. “Deacon always was a lucky shit.”

  Before she could try and put together an answer, Nick jumped in. “Snake called me this afternoon. Out of rehab and looking fine.”

  Deacon nodded, rubbing her back lightly, but she couldn’t tell if he was being affectionate or trying to soothe himself. “You look great, man.” Deacon’s voice was cool and achingly polite.

  Nick’s eyebrows beetled down briefly before smoothing back to his usual I-don’t-give-a-fuck mask. Harper looked from Nick to Deacon and had the sudden urge to hide in her kitchen.

  “I’ll let you guys visit,” Harper began.

  Deacon clamped his hand around her hip. “No. I’m good.”

  “Okay, but I’m still working.”

  Deacon’s face slipped into an easy smile, though it never reached his eyes. “I can steal you away for five minutes, right?”

  “Sure.”

  Deacon looked over his shoulder at Gray and Jazz, who were speaking quietly to each other, eyes glued to their guest. Tension pulsed in the room, both from the new guy and Nick. Simon seemed oblivious to it, chattering happily at Snake about the shows across the country.

  A moment later, Harper was being dragged across the room to the hallway that connected the backstage with a maze of corridors. Deacon made two turns and popped open a side door that led to the catering entrance.

  Before she could say a word, his mouth descended on hers. She could still taste the sweat of the stage on his lips and skin. Stage sweat was different from his workouts. It was distilled Deacon. Cool ocean breezes with an icy front behind it.

  He hauled her up until her arms were around his shoulders and her feet dangled from the floor. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was rough and vibrating with frustration. For once she was pretty sure it wasn’t her that was bringing it out of him.

  Instead of feeding into it like she normally would—God, Deacon on the edge was irresistible—she forced her brain to engage and gentled her fingers into his damp hair before lightly raking her nails along his scalp. His shoulders were stiff as boulders, and his lips were almost careless which definitely wasn’t Deacon.

  She tore her mouth away from his and pressed her cheek to his. “Shh, big guy, just hold onto me.” His rock-solid body eased by degrees. His breathing was harsh, and his grip finally lessened around her ribs. “That’s it. There we go.”

  He gently lowered her to the ground, until her cheek was pressed against his chest. His heart raced, but his breathing final
ly slowed. He looped his arms around her shoulders, holding her tight.

  “Gonna let me in on the freak out?”

  He rubbed his chin on top of her head. “Do you know about Snake?”

  “Not really.”

  “He’s our ex-drummer.”

  “Oh.” She tried to remember what she’d read that first day she’d met Deacon, but she was pretty sure another drummer hadn’t been mentioned in her quick Wiki search. “I guess it wasn’t a smooth exit?”

  “More like handcuffs and a forced stint in rehab.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah.”

  She could hear the pain and regret in his voice. With her hands around his waist and her fingers under the damp cotton, she took slow, even breaths to trigger him to do the same. “How long?” she asked quietly.

  Deacon sighed. “He must’ve gotten out a few weeks ago. I’ve lost count. Before Jazz and Gray joined the band, we were counting down the days. We weren’t even allowed to talk to him when he was in. We had to talk to him through his mother, and let’s just say she not the most reliable person.”

  She pulled back. “He knows he’s been replaced, right?”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “We were clear on that.”

  The hesitation waved a big red flag in her face. “Nothing was left unsaid?”

  Deacon slipped away from her. “A lot of shit was left unsaid.”

  She tucked her hands into her apron pockets. Deacon was no angel, but he rarely swore in front of her, and never with a bite in his voice. “And?”

  He turned away and jammed his fingers into his hair, lacing them at the back of his head. “It’s not important.”

  “Oh, I bet it is.”

  “Leave it, Harper.”

  She took a step back. His harsh voice tripped a switch inside her. She turned back to the doorway, pain a hot ball in her throat. He was hurting and obviously didn’t want to talk. He’d wanted her to distract him. She pulled her hands out of her pockets and fisted them at her sides.

  That’s all they were supposed to be. Good sex and a way to pass the time. It was what she wanted. And given a little more time, Deacon would come to realize that, too.