Misadventures on the Night Shift

by Lauren Rowe

  “One day you’ll what, Abby?” Lucas asks. “What’s your dream for that magical one day in the sky?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I wipe my eyes and look into his beautiful face. “Just play me your song, Lucas,” I say, my voice quavering. “One day doesn’t exist for me. It just can’t. So please, play me your song and help me forget my fucked-up life for a little while.”

  He scrutinizes my face. “Abby, I’m contractually obligated to the cocksuckers. I have no choice. But you? You’re letting the cocksuckers hold you hostage by choice.”

  I wipe my eyes again. “Play me the song, Lucas. Please.”

  He sighs and reaches for his guitar. “I’m not done with you yet, just so you know. I’m going to play the song for you because I’m a weak bastard and I can’t resist you when you look at me like that. But trust me, Angel, I’m not even close to being done with you yet.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  If there’s something more mind-blowingly erotic than watching Lucas Ford sitting naked on a couch, passionately performing a song called “Angel” for me, after having just called me Angel, then I don’t know what it could be.

  The song is the same one Lucas played behind the penthouse door earlier, and now that I’m able to understand the lyrics and watch Lucas’s glowing face as he sings it, I’m even more blown away by it. It’s utterly brilliant.

  The song starts out as whimsical. Kind of funny, actually. Lucas muses about accommodating his angel’s rather large feathered wings as he makes love to her. He wonders if she’s really an angel, or more like a nymph. Nymphomaniac? And then the song takes a decidedly poignant turn. What starts out as Lucas’s sexual attraction to his angel turns into something much deeper. He realizes she’s maybe not just a vehicle for his pleasure, but perhaps something much more. Perhaps she was literally sent from heaven above to free him from his shackles. “Only you can free me, Angel,” he croons toward the end of the song. “Free me from myself. Free me from the bloodsuckers and their relentless pursuit of wealth. Angel, let me slide inside you, bring me back to life. Let me get inside you, baby, ’til I feel like I’m not dyin’. Oh, Angel, my sweet Angel, save me with your wings. I’ve died a thousand deaths to find you, now I’m born again.”

  When Lucas finishes the song, he opens his eyes and levels me with burning eyes.

  I clutch my heart. It feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. “That was amazing.”

  “I swear it’s got to be the best song I’ve ever written,” Lucas says. “And, holy fuck, playing it turns me on.” He lifts his guitar to prove it—and I’m met with the delicious sight of his hard penis straining up toward his abs.

  “Well, gosh, what a coincidence,” I say, grinning. “It just so happens hearing that song turns me on.” I motion with flourish to my crotch, referencing the invisible lady-boner straining up toward my belly, and we both chuckle. “Will the cocksuckers be happy with that song, you think?”

  “They already told me they love it.”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “But guess what other thing they said about it?”

  I sigh. “It’s not the leadoff single?”

  “Yup. The cocksuckers want ‘Shattered Hearts’ two point oh—not a love song—and nothing else will do.”

  “God, I hate them.”

  Lucas laughs. “Welcome to my world.”

  “What the heck did you do to those bastards to make them hate you so much? It had to be something horrible.”

  “I stopped being their puppet. I told them I want to make the kind of music I want to make, record sales be damned, and then I went right ahead and wrote an album full of songs I loved.” He shakes his head. “And, unfortunately, the album bombed.”

  I cringe, once again feeling guilty I didn’t buy Lucas’s third album when it came out.

  “You want to hear something crazy?” Lucas says. “Those cocksuckers genuinely think I wanted that album to flop. That I wrote it as nothing but a giant ‘fuck you’ to them, and not from my heart.” He scoffs. “So now they hate me with a passion and they don’t care one little bit if I stay in artistic purgatory forever.”

  “But can’t you sue them? I’m sure you could claim unfair business practices or breach of the implied covenant of good faith and fair dealing in your contract.”

  Lucas chuckles. “Look at you, Little Miss Law Student! Ha! Even if you hate law school, I gotta say you’re still sexy as hell when you talk like a lawyer, baby.”

  I smile shyly.

  “Well, thanks for the legal advice, counselor,” Lucas says. “But after much consideration and consultation with my lawyers, I’ve come to the conclusion it makes more sense for my life as a whole to just write the fucking song they want and move on. They’re cocksuckers, after all, which means they’d fight me hard in court. And I’ve decided I don’t want to be tied up for years in an expensive legal battle when I could just write one last album and be done with it. I just want to make music, you know? That’s all I want to do. All I’ve ever wanted to do.”

  My eyes lock onto his massive hard-on and, suddenly, I don’t want to talk about contracts and legal arguments anymore. I want to get fucked. Without saying another word, I slide to him and straddle his lap, and slowly lower myself onto him.

  “Oh my fuck, you feel good,” he breathes as his hard-on burrows deep inside me. “How are you so damned wet? I haven’t even touched you.”

  “It was the song,” I whisper, my forehead against his. I grab his cheeks and kiss him as I ride him. “That was the sexiest song I’ve ever heard.”

  “It was about you,” he whispers. “That’s why it was sexy.”

  He grabs my ass and begins leading my pelvis into rhythmic motion on top of him, his eyes fixed on mine, our foreheads pressed together, and all of a sudden a bolt of electricity like nothing I’ve ever felt before courses between us. I quicken the pace of my movement, sliding my clit against his shaft with each furious snap of my pelvis—and just like that, we’re both in a frenzy of pleasure.

  “Angel,” he whispers. “Assassin. Ass-kicker. Whoever you are, you’re conquering me. You know that? You’re conquering me, baby.” He grabs my face the way I’m grabbing his and we kiss passionately as our bodies move in synchronicity.

  I don’t know if he’s mocking me by saying I’m conquering him, but I must admit it’s turning me on to hear him say it, regardless. I press myself down on his hard-on and attack his mouth, suddenly determined to conquer him in earnest. By God, I’m going to get him to do the one thing he says he never does, the one gift he says he never bestows upon any woman. I’m going to make this man come inside me.

  “I’m right on the edge,” I croak out, my body on the cusp of release. “Come with me,” I whisper urgently, grinding down hard onto him, pinning him inside me. “Come with me, Lucas.” I inhale sharply and stiffen as a toe-curling orgasm hits me, pressing myself down onto him with all my might, trapping him inside me, forcing him to trust me like no one else. Not three seconds later, Lucas growls, pushes me up forcibly off him…and comes all over my trembling thighs.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “You’re off from work the next two nights, right?” Lucas asks as he comes out of the bathroom. He grabs his jeans off the floor and begins pulling them on without underwear.

  I silently finish clasping my bra and grab my shirt off the floor.

  “Abby?”

  I pull my shirt on and reach for my skirt.

  “Hey,” he says. “You okay, Ass-kicker?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Then why do you look so pissed?”

  I fasten my skirt. “I’m not pissed. I’m contemplative.”

  Lucas sighs. “Abby, I told you. I never come inside a woman. No exceptions.”

  How the fuckity-fuck did he know what I was scheming to do?

  Lucas plops onto the couch and picks up his guitar. “I’m not going to apologize that I don’t want to accidentally impregnate you.” He begins tuning
his guitar. “Sorry, Aberrant Abby. I guess you’re just going to have to face the fact that not all guys will let you conquer them.”

  I clench my jaw. “Don’t tease me like that. I didn’t tell you about my past so you could mock me about it.”

  Lucas looks instantly stricken. “I was kidding. Hey, look at me. I’m sorry. I was just trying—and failing—to make a joke.”

  I don’t reply.

  “Abby, I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m just really sensitive about that,” I say softly. “I’ve never told anyone the stuff I told you, other than my therapist. I’m not quite at the point where I can laugh about it yet.”

  “Understood. Won’t happen again.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So what’s your schedule the next two nights?”

  “I’m off from work both nights.”

  “Will you stay here with me both nights?”

  “Will you make fun of me again?”

  “Yes. But not about the stuff you told me.”

  I smile. “Okay, then. I’ll stay.”

  “Great.”

  “I’ll have to head out on Saturday morning for my weekly study group, but I’ll come right back and stay that night, too.”

  “Awesome. That’s perfect timing, actually. I’ve got to head off Sunday morning to LA, so this will give us maximum time together before I leave.”

  My stomach drops into my toes. He’s leaving on Sunday? Shit! I’m not even close to ready for this fantasy to end.

  Lucas begins strumming his guitar. “Cool. Finish your shift and get yourself some sleep, and when you wake up, pack a bag and get your ass back here, ready for two days of me hounding you to tell me everything I want to know about you.”

  I’m frozen. I suddenly feel panicked, like I’m hurtling toward a brick wall. If he’s leaving Sunday, exactly when does he expect me to break his heart?

  “Abby?”

  I nod, but my stomach is twisting into knots.

  “Babe, I’m kidding. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

  He’s completely misreading me, of course. But obviously I can’t tell him what I’m actually thinking, since we promised not to talk about the game or break character.

  “Abby?”

  I take a deep breath. “Sorry, yeah, that all sounds good. I better get back to work.” I kiss him goodbye and beeline to the door, my mind reeling.

  “Bye, baby,” he says behind me, strumming his guitar. “Come back the minute you wake up this afternoon, okay? I’ll be here, writing like a fiend. In fact, there’s a song I’m gonna start writing the minute you walk out the door.”

  I turn around to face him, just before reaching the door. He looks deep in thought as his fingers nimbly play an elaborate riff on his guitar.

  Please, God, let whatever song he’s working out right now be the one that sets him free so I don’t have to do it. “What song are you going to write when I leave?” I ask hopefully, my heart aching. “The second coming of ‘Shattered Hearts’?”

  “Nope,” Lucas says, almost gleefully, his fingers moving masterfully up the frets of his guitar. “I’m not even close to writing that song yet. The next song I write’s going to be called ‘Aberration.’” He beams a truly lovely smile at me. “And don’t worry, Angel, it’ll be another love song—not to mention a giant ‘fuck you’ to your cocksucking parents.” He flashes me a mischievous grin. “I promise, sweetheart, you’re going to love it.”

  I try to return Lucas’s beaming smile, but I can’t. “I can’t wait to hear it,” I manage to choke out, turning my back on him and turning the handle of the door.

  “Hey, Abby?”

  I turn around and look at him expectantly, hoping he’s about to tell me the role-play isn’t necessary anymore—that he’s decided we’re going to hang out together for the next two days with no agenda beyond pure enjoyment.

  “Toss me your undies, baby,” Lucas says. He winks. “I want to have access to your aroma at all times. All in the name of artistic inspiration, of course.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The lobby is bathed in golden, pre-sunset light when I enter The Rockford just before seven on Friday evening with an overnight bag in my hand. A guy named Pablo I barely know is currently standing behind the front desk. He looks at me quizzically as I pass by, obviously wondering what the night shift girl is doing here at this time of day and on her day off.

  I wave breezily. “Hey, Pablo. I just dropped by to pick up some paperwork before heading off to…”

  But I don’t need to finish my lie. Pablo’s already waved back at me and he’s now looking down at his computer again.

  Well, that was easy.

  I stride to an elevator, step inside, and swipe the key card Lucas gave me to allow access to the penthouse floor. Why do I suddenly feel like I’m walking a gangplank?

  The elevator door opens on the penthouse floor and I walk down the hall, breathing deeply to steady my racing heart. Yes, of course, I’m thrilled at the prospect of spending two full nights with Lucas, but even more so I’m feeling nervous about the inevitable crash ending to this fairytale. Will I be able to muster the willpower to do what I promised to do, or will I chicken out? Because, at the moment, I simply can’t imagine telling Lucas I want anyone but him, even if we both know it’s a lie.

  I reach Penthouse A and stand outside the door, and once again I’m bowled over by the sound of music emanating from inside the room. I can tell it’s another new song, but I can’t make out the words. I lean my ear against the door and strain to decipher Lucas’s lyrics, but damn it, I can’t make them out. But it doesn’t matter. Even without being able to understand precisely what Lucas is singing about, I can feel the emotion of the song—and it’s absolutely electrifying.

  The music inside the suite stops.

  And so, I take a deep breath and knock. Ten seconds later, the door opens and Lucas appears, looking as sexy as ever.

  This evening, the man who adorned my teenage walls is wearing nothing but black boxer briefs, and he’s quite obviously hard as a rock behind them. His dark eyes look wild beyond anything I’ve seen before. His jaw is covered in stubble. His hair is a disaster. Holy crap, he looks like a madman.

  “Lucas,” I gasp. Truly, he looks demented. “Have you slept at all since I left?”

  I’ve barely gotten my question out when Lucas yanks me into the suite and begins quite literally ripping my dress off my body.

  “Lucas,” I breathe, instantly aroused by his urgency.

  Lucas flings my dress onto the floor, pulls my G-string off with a loud grunt, unlatches my bra, and before I can say or do a damned thing, he presses his lips to mine, slides his fingers deep inside me, and fondles my breast with his free hand. “What took you so long to get here?” he whispers. He bends down and buries his face in my small breasts, like a kid bingeing on cookies. “I’m hungry for you,” he growls. He sucks fervently on one of my nipples, making me inhale like I’ve just touched a hot stove. He gropes my ass. Bites my neck. Strokes my clit. Growls with his arousal. “I’ve been sitting here with your scent for hours, writing another amazing song about you, driving myself crazy.” He fucks me with his fingers, and presses his hard-on against my hip. “It was your aroma that did this to me. I haven’t written like this in forever. I feel fucking alive.”

  I peel his briefs down and his massive erection springs out, its tip already shiny and wet, and I moan at the beautiful sight of it.

  Once his briefs are off and thrown across the room, he scoops me up by my ass, slides me onto his hard-on, and strides toward the bedroom, kissing me furiously as he walks.

  “I missed you,” I coo, grinding myself onto his hard-on, my excitement ramping up instantly.

  “I’m addicted to you,” he whispers. “You’re my drug.” He lays me down on the mattress, spreads my legs like a butterfly, leans in, and inhales deeply. “Oh, baby, that’s the drug right there.” He skims his stubbled ch
in against my crotch as he works me with his fingers and inhales my scent again. “I think I’m having some kind of breakdown.” He begins licking me, nibbling me, nuzzling me. And when he finally goes in for the kill and penetrates me deeply with his tongue, we both let out loud moans of pleasure together.

  When I come for him, he strides to the nightstand, opens a drawer, and pulls out a nylon rope.

  My eyes widen. I’ve actually got a whole bunch of goodies in my overnight bag—handcuffs, a blindfold, a dildo, a tickler—but he doesn’t know that. How did he know I’d be up for some kinky fuckery tonight?

  “Yes?” he asks, holding up the rope.

  “Fuck yes.” I arch my back and spread my legs. “Sir.”

  Lucas smiles wickedly and begins tying my left wrist to the headboard. “I’m going to give you the night of your life, Angel,” he whispers, his voice husky. “To thank you for giving me the best songs of mine.”

  I’m about to hyperventilate from sheer excitement. “My bag,” I blurt. “I brought toys.”

  One side of Lucas’s beautiful mouth tilts up. “Of course, you did. Because you’re an angel sent straight from heaven.” He moves onto tying my other wrist. “Have I ever told you you’re perfect, Abby?”

  “No.”

  He licks one of my erect nipples, making me moan. “Well, let me say it now. Abby the Ass-kicker Assassin Angel, you’re fucking perfect.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The sound of the radio in the other room slowly pulls me out of my dream. I touch the other side of the mattress, expecting to feel Lucas’s naked, warm body next to mine, but he’s not there. And, just like that, I realize I’m not in my own bed being awakened by a Lucas Ford song on the radio. I’m in the penthouse suite of The Rockford Hotel and Lucas Ford himself is strumming his guitar and singing softly in the other room. How is this my life?