The Trials of Guinevere DeGrance (Legendary Rock Star #5)

by L. B. Dunbar

  It wasn’t that I was upset that Lansing was kissing Lila. I’d seen him kiss her before. It was the freedom he had to kiss who he wanted. He kissed who he desired. I wouldn’t be able to do that. My emotions of passion were on a rollercoaster. I wanted to devour Arturo one minute and kick him the next.

  We continued to walk in silence as we passed the couple making out. I turned to look back and noticed Perkins and Hollister were conspicuously missing. Those newlyweds couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It was Perkins. He had time to make up for when it came to women, when it came to one woman. I looked at Arturo. He had time to make up for with one woman, also. Me.

  I was growing angry, as we silently strode through the sand. Arturo’s pace was quick. I struggled to keep up with the depth of the sand, and legs tight from dancing and drinking. My heels dangled in my hand. If Arturo wasn’t going to speak, I wasn’t going to speak either, and so we continued down the beach.

  When we entered the house, giggles erupted from the hall containing the bedrooms. It was too close to the entrance, and only one door was closed, which meant Kaye Sirs had brought someone back to the house.

  “Fuck,” Arturo muttered, running his left hand through his hair. Double fuck, I thought, as it meant Arturo wasn’t sleeping in that room for another night. He grabbed my wrist and tugged me into my room, slamming the door quickly without releasing me, and then flattened me against the door. His body pressed against mine and instantly I reacted. A shot rippled through my center like rapid fire. A fuse ignited, travelling the dangerous line to explosion.

  “What the fuck do you think you were doing tonight?” he breathed into my face. His nostrils flared in suppressed anger. His arms were braced on either side of me on the door. It was his hips that held me in place.

  “We were only dancing,” I mumbled, attempting to avert the dark eyes that narrowed on me.

  “Only dancing? Only dancing!” he yelled into my face. “If you had gotten any closer, you’d be fucking on the floor.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I laughed.

  “Are you kidding? He was gay,” I blurted.

  “He wanted you,” Arturo growled, his arms skimming down the wall on either side of me.

  “He did not,” I huffed.

  “He wanted to fuck you,” Arturo hissed.

  “He did not,” I laughed again.

  In an instant, I was spun and my chest hit the door. A hand caressed roughly down my side, but his wrist slipped down the middle of my back.

  “He was touching what is mine,” Arturo moaned through clenched teeth. My body shivered at the aggressive excitement in his tone. His wrist slipped over my ass. One handed he struggled to lift my dress at the side. I sensed his frustration, but to upset him more, I moved to my right. He leaned into me. The weight of his excitement pressed into me hard.

  “Is this how you wanted it, Guinie? Is this what you wanted from him?”

  I was completely turned on, when I shouldn’t have been. I should have been angry, but instead I ached for him. His left hand finished its mission and slipped under the raised dress. He drove straight for the center of me. A warm hand cupped me as he growled in my ear. There were no words. He was claiming me without them. Fingers delved into the lace material and dove into me. I hissed at this roughness and pushed back, forcing my ass to collide with his length. He pushed me forward and I flattened against the door again. It was going to be a struggle. I was so turned on; the growing thrill quaked through me almost instantly. I tried to muffle my cry as the side of my face was plastered against the wood door. I bit my lip and moaned without abandon as I came hard.

  I arched my back and pressed into him with his fingers still inside me. I wasn’t done. This man knew me. He knew my body. I wanted it again. I was ready, and he withdrew from me quickly. I whimpered in frustration. I was pissed.

  Rounding on him, I pushed his chest with clenched hands. He stumbled back in the shock of my attack. I wrapped my fists full of his shirt and forced him back again. His hand came over my wrist, but he couldn’t wrestle me. He was the unbalanced fish in the water, and I was a tidal wave. We awkwardly stepped back and then his knees hit the bed. I gave him a final shove as he sat with a thud.

  Instantly, I was on my knees, yanking at his belt and working his zipper.

  “Guinevere,” he hissed. I noticed he used my full name more often, as if he was disappointed in me, in my behavior. I’d show him disappointment. I hardly had him free of his pants when my mouth came down over him. I multi-tasked as my lips held firm to him and my hands made work of removing his pants over his hips.

  “Guinevere,” he snapped again. I let my teeth drag over him.

  “Fuck,” he exhaled, exaggerating the word. He wasn’t in a position to argue with me. I drew him deep into me and sucked hard. The length of him filled me and I forced him to the back of my throat. I wanted to inflict pain. He’d get to the brink and I planned to make him wait. In my attention to deep throating him, I felt the first release of salty flavor. I pulled my head back, but a hand came over my head. I wasn’t going to give in. He was being unreasonable.

  I sucked hard one more time, using muscles I didn’t know I had to squeeze him while my tongue twirled fiercely around him. I pulled to the end of him, releasing him. Too late, he came. I cursed internally that he’d received his full pleasure, then I cheered that I’d been the one to bring him to his knees, or rather mine. I stood abruptly, wiping my mouth with dramatic effort then turned for the bathroom.

  Once inside, I shook. My resolve shattered and my body trembled enough that the door rattled behind my back. I tried to press off it, but my plastered hands had no energy. Thankfully the sink and mirror were to my side. I didn’t wish to see myself. I couldn’t face me. I could imagine my lipstick was rubbed off, my makeup smeared, my hair a wreck. We hadn’t even kissed, it occurred to me, and the tears fell. I slid down the door and covered my mouth to stifle the sob.

  Within a second, the door handle jiggled. I’d locked the door without knowing it. I needed to keep Arturo out. He was ripping me apart, and I couldn’t take it any longer. I shook my head as if he could see me, as if he was asking me a question when he wasn’t.

  A knock softly rapped on the door.

  “Guinie, open up,” he spoke calmly, too controlled compared to the aggressive tones of minutes before. I shook my head in answer. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see me. He wasn’t looking at me anyway. He wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing to me. I was crumbling.

  “Guinie, please,” he voice softened, sounding as if he might be directly behind me on the other side of the door. I imagined him, bending, knowing I was on the ground.

  “Guinie Girl, let me in.” His voice was hushed, but I could hear it through the thin wood. I shook my head one more time. While I denied him, I wanted to let him in, but I no longer knew how.

  Not certain how much time passed, I exited the bathroom after washing my face. I still wore my dress. Arturo sat on the edge of the bed, his head hung, arms resting on his knees. He looked up at me and stood immediately.

  “Guinie, I’m so sorry,” he breathed, but I raised my hand to stop him. I was on Arturo overload. I needed a break, and there was no way to I could sleep with him in the same bed. I noticed the time on the clock: 11:30. I reminded myself that we were here for a wedding, and our argument should not put a damper on the festivity. Ireland’s attempted bachelorette party had already been a bust.

  I needed to rectify that I felt responsible for this fail, although it had actually been Lansing’s overreaction that started the whole demise of the party. Without a word to Arturo, I turned to exit the door, letting the soft click behind me tell Arturo how I felt. I walked to Tristan and Ireland’s room at the end of the hall, and knocked softly. Giggles echoed from behind me in Kaye’s room and I bristled at the thought of him blatantly having sex. Tristan opened the door, running a hand through his hair. His chest was bare, showing off the dark sketch of the dragon
tattoo around his left side.

  “Not you, too,” he laughed. I peeked in the room to see Lila already on the bed next to Ireland, who was tucked into the sheets. Lila sat on top of them in a pajama set.

  “It’s almost midnight,” I said, smiling softly. “You know the rule.”

  “I don’t follow rules,” Tristan laughed.

  “Well, tonight you do,” I demanded playfully. “Out.”

  He pouted his lips at me then turned to Ireland. He crossed the room in two steps and kissed her hard.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, the smile on his face lighting up the whole room. It was actually dim as the only light was the soft glow of the television. He turned back to me.

  “I’m never this lucky. I have to choose who to sleep with, Lansing or Arturo.” While he meant to be humorous, and any girl in her right mind would like that type of decision, the humor was lost on me. I’d had the choice. I’d slept with both. I laughed falsely to cover my discomfort at this comment and avoided Lila.

  “Lucky you,” I muttered. Tristan rubbed my shoulder as he passed, unabashed that he walked through the house in only his shorts. It was evident he didn’t have on underwear underneath.

  I turned to Ireland and Lila. Walking numbly, I crawled onto the bed. It reminded me of when I stayed with Lace for a while. Enid, Lace and I would all curl into one bed to chat. Lila moved closer to Ireland, leaving space for me. Ireland yawned.

  “I’m sorry, ladies. I’m no fun,” she laughed.

  “Actually, I’m sorry,” I said sheepishly. My guilt at ruining her night, and her wedding festivities, was evident in my tone.

  “I’m sorry, too,” Lila said, her head hanging down as she twirled her fingers together.

  “Don’t apologize,” Ireland began. “I didn’t have expectations of anything wild. I just thought it’d be fun. I don’t have many girlfriends. Lansing and Arturo are pretty mad, aren’t they?” she looked at each of us with worry.

  “Lansing will be fine,” Lila swished a hand through the air. “He overreacted.”

  “Arturo is fine, too,” I said quietly.

  There was a pause.

  “How about you, are you fine?” Ireland asked. I nodded, but my watering eyes betrayed me. I tried to blink hard and smile, but one traitorous tear escaped. I hung my head and covered my eyes. A small hand rubbed across my back then gently nudged me toward her. Lila wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into her.

  I’d handled it all poorly. I overreacted, and yet, it could have been worse had I been able to use my hand. I was right hand dominant. That was my fighting hand. It wasn’t there any longer and I had to let Lansing fight my battle. He went for the man over Lila first, of course. He had his own desire to serve and protect. The man was pony humping Lila. The exaggerated attempt to slap her ass sent Lansing over the edge.

  When we first saw the girls, Tristan warned us to be cool. Ireland tried to intervene, saying they were just having fun. There was no harm in dancing. I didn’t trust the way they were dancing, though. That man’s hands were on Guinie. He was touching her how I wanted to touch her. I wanted to hold both her hips, and the phantom hand twitched. It was the strangest sensation. This feeling that my hand was physically present when I mentally realized it wasn’t.

  Either way, Lansing’s anger pulsated off of him when he saw Lila bend forward. She had a sex-kitten look to her, with her hair over the side of her head, and her neck twisted so she could look back at the man behind her. It was too much. Lansing shot forward faster than Perkins could grab him. Hollister’s hand stopped him. This fight was for Lansing and me, not the others.

  I vibrated with my own anger. I couldn’t even speak. I was so pissed off at how the security guard looked at me. The pity in his eyes as he recognized who I was from the name and my new trademark: a missing hand. The anger clawed at me and I gripped Guinie harder than I intended. I felt her flinch under me, but I didn’t care. I needed to remove us both, before I did something I’d regret.

  As we walked, I saw her watching Lansing and Lila, and the fuming energy inside me boiled. I held it together as best I could, until we reached the house. I was ready to let it go when I realized Kaye had someone in the room. I was ready to walk away from her again to cool off, when I discovered I wasn’t going to have a choice. The adrenaline surged, and my body took over. I wanted to strip her and satisfy her, all in one. I wanted to tear her apart and tempt her to no end. She came so fast; I wasn’t expecting it. When I felt her tighten, in need of a second release, I snapped. She would not take pleasure from this night. I was angry.

  Then she undid me. She turned on me so quickly; she caught me unaware. Possessed, she pushed me to the edge, literally, and I lost control. I was bewitched by her, like I’d said before. I was under her spell, and I could not shake it. I didn’t want to. I wanted her to use her magic on me. I needed her to heal me. I longed for a signal from her that we could start again.

  We seemed to have these starts and stops, and it was torture. I didn’t want to fight with her. I wanted to be with her. I just couldn’t seem to level us out. If we were a telemetry monitor, measuring heart rate, the graph would be erratic. I wanted us to flatline: not to die, but to level out and live. A straight line would move us forward, instead of this one step up and two steps back.

  The next day was the wedding, and everyone was putting on their false cheer after the night before. Tristan wasn’t being allowed to see Ireland, which was difficult considering the confines of the house, and the fact that the plan was for them to ride together to the wedding site. My man, Tristan, had worked hard to secure the spot, and he triple checked every detail. He worried that she would be upset that her parents were not included. He worried that she desired the big fancy society wedding instead of our private nine person party. He worried that he wasn’t going to be enough for her.

  Isolde Ireland had led a pampered life, and while she rebuked it, she was still used to it. Tristan made good money with the band, but he didn’t have a penthouse suite on Fifth Avenue. He only attended societal events when it was necessary but preferred the less formal life of parties and bars. He was used to getting what he wanted, going where he pleased, taking who he wished. Of course, he only desired Ireland, and that’s the argument Perkins used to calm Tristan’s panic. Ireland only wanted Tristan in return. Having a baby was going to advance things, but Perkins could relate. His child was due in a month.

  I thought back to Guinevere and the loss of our child. We hadn’t talked any further about what she must have gone through, alone, when she lost the baby. Our brief two-minute conversation was the only time we spoke on the subject. We didn’t seem to be speaking about much. Our bodies were talking instead. One minute we were tenderly in discussion, the next we were aggressively arguing. We were that unstable graphic of jagged lines, and I was exhausted.

  We kept the positive energy, as best we could, while we traveled as a group to the secluded beach. Two limos separated the men from the women and we parked in a small lot. The host met us and ushered the men through the heavy brush to stand along the quiet waters near a small enclosed bay. Tristan casually explained that he and Ireland had shared a day there, and he wanted to be wed in the same place.

  The wedding was to be held at sunset, and the timing was tricky. The evening was drawing to a close, but the hour was late. A candle light dinner was planned after the vows were exchanged. The wedding feast would be served in the sand, so to speak. We would lounge on pillows and cushions on raised platforms, surrounded by firelight lamps under an open canopy.

  The priest appeared as if from nowhere. Ireland’s one concession was to be married by a Catholic priest. While most priests prefer to perform the sacrament of matrimony in a church, it wasn’t difficult to find one who would celebrate under God’s creation. Nature was Tristan’s argument. The sky and the sun were created first. That was the extent of his Bible knowledge. He won his argument and the priest stood waiting.

  The host held aside
the thick tropical greenery as each woman walked under the natural barrier. Hollister came first. The girls were told to wear a certain color of blue, but the dresses came in a variety of shapes and sizes. With Hollister’s advanced pregnancy, that was a good thing. Next walked Lila, followed by Guinie. She searched for me instantly. The blue of the dress complimented her eyes. She took my breath away. I exhaled to calm myself as I responded to the small smile on her lips. Her mouth had been on me the night before, and while it had been rough, it still thrilled me to share the intimate act. I twitched to life and I allowed my own small smile at the memory.

  Ireland was last. She walked alone, but her head was high. She did not need her parents’ approval. She didn’t have it, but she didn’t want it. She had her own acceptance of Tristan and his situation. She appeared perfectly content with her decision.

  The ceremony was rather short. Each stated their own vows.

  “In this place,” Tristan began. “I knew it was you, who held my heart. Broken inside, you made me whole. You were the piece I needed to seal the cracks. I give to you my unending love. I promise to be true to you. I love you, Isolde Marie Ireland. I take you as my wife, to love to the end of my life. In sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, I will be the wall you lean on. We will be entwined forever…” He released her hand and placed his on her stomach. “And I will be happy with you for eternity.”

  I didn’t dare to look at Guinevere. Her sensitive heart would be shown with tears of joy for Tristan. His love was genuine. Ireland began next.

  “You are my soil, from which I was allowed to grow. Blossoming in ways I did not know existed. I found in you my soul. You remained true to me, when I failed myself. I love you, Tristan Lyons. I take you as my husband, to love to the end of my life. In sickness and in health, with riches or without, I will be the stone that holds you up. Eternal love will bloom from our union, and I will remain with you for eternity.”