Destroyed (Rockstar Romance) (Lost in Oblivion Book 3)

by Taryn Elliott

  “I’m not sure exactly who you think I am.”

  “I think you’re a well-bred, moneyed young woman who has been following a plan since she was in her…what? Early teens?”

  Margo took a step back.

  He advanced, his eyes glittering in the dim light from the street. “I think fucking a rockstar wasn’t in the plan, but you can’t help but want to slum it sometimes.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “Oh no?”

  “No,” she whispered as he caged her in with an arm over her head and one against the wall at her hip. He didn’t touch her—mostly. His worn pants brushed her knees and his belly grazed hers.

  “Tell me, Margo. Why would you come after a man like me in a dark alleyway if you didn’t want to fuck?”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t want to…” She swallowed. The words felt right and wrong at the same time. She wasn’t a prude, but she had been trained since birth to keep crass words out of her vocabulary.

  “Fuck,” he said with a hard K. “If you’re going to do that with me here and now, you best be able to say the word. Because there’s no gentle touches in me tonight.”

  Part of her wanted to know why. There was something there that he wasn’t saying, but she didn’t have any right to peek into that private domain. Not when they were only this.

  Sex.

  Fucking.

  Sinful pleasure that she’d never known before and would never know after him.

  Simon with his jagged edges and broken past.

  Just Simon.

  She slid her hand under his T-shirt and up to his chest. She pulled back as her nail skimmed over something metal.

  Simon groaned.

  Margo pushed his shirt up. Had she missed that before? He was always behind her, always pushing at her until she unraveled.

  And she loved it.

  It was raw and God, it felt good. But she’d seen him without his shirt many times before, and she would have remembered a piercing.

  He hissed as her thumb traced over the ring.

  “When did you do this?”

  “About a month ago.”

  She pulled her hand away. “Oh, God. Is it still healing?”

  “Yeah.” He held her hand over his nipple. “Feels good.”

  When he hissed again, she stopped. It didn’t sound like it felt good.

  “A little pain can feel good, Margo.”

  When his fingers tightened on her hips, she thought he might have something there. “What if I don’t want you to be gentle with me?”

  “Want to walk on the wild side with the bad boy from Oblivion?”

  She wasn’t used to his rough voice, or the sharper edge to it. Simon usually had a sleepy, sexy quality to his speech. Like he’d just rolled out of bed. This Simon was almost harsh. “I just want you inside me,” she said without preamble. “I want you, Simon.”

  “Jesus fuck.”

  His mouth was on hers, his arm around her back, crushing her to him until he’d emptied her lungs and taken all her air. He dragged her skirt up and found her pantyhose. He pushed it up higher until he could get both hands under there. The rending of material echoed to days past.

  That night he’d been impatient to get inside her as well.

  The cool night air kissed her inner thighs then it was all Simon. His fingers pushing at her underwear as he cupped her.

  “This. Is this what you want?”

  “God.” She clutched at his upper arm.

  “Tell me, Margo. You want me to fuck you?”

  She whimpered when he slowly slid two fingers inside of her. She lifted her hips to give him better access, but he stopped.

  “Tell me, Margo.”

  “Yes. Yes, I want you to fuck me.”

  He growled into her neck. “That voice. That upper crust accent. I want you to fuck me, Simon.” He swirled his thumb around her clit. “Say it.”

  “I want you to fuck me, Simon.”

  He moved quickly. So fast that she didn’t have time to ready herself or her back for the brunt of his invasion. The zipper, the crinkle of plastic, then he lifted her knee up on his hip and levered himself inside her.

  And no, he wasn’t the least bit gentle.

  His fingers dug into her hips, his mouth sealed over her neck and the harsh suction of his lips with a bite snapped her closer to the edge. He’d marked her. She knew there would be something there, along with the tattoo of his fingertips on her hips.

  There was be reminders this time.

  She coasted her nails up his neck and pushed the Fedora off his head to get to his hair. And because she wanted him as insane as she was, she slid under his shirt again and found the piercing.

  “Ah, fuck.”

  Her shoulder burned where the brick abraded her skin, where the elastic of her panties dug into her, and at her neck where he kept scraping his teeth like she was going to give him something. But she was dripping. He took her without care or consequence. As if he was driving a demon out of himself and into her.

  Her leg shook and still he came at her.

  No flourishes, no laughter, just him battering into her until her skin was too sensitive to take anymore. She gripped his shoulders and cried out, surprised when the orgasm enveloped her like a black hole.

  “Yes.”

  His voice was raw and the friction built until there was nothing but darkness and Simon and an unending orgasm. She wasn’t built for this.

  Shattered.

  Broken open.

  Forever changed.

  Damn this man. If she hadn’t known, if she could have stayed blissfully ignorant, then nothing would have changed.

  He pulled out of her and she felt him doing something with the condom, but she was too frayed to care. Her leg dropped to the ground and she slapped her hands on the brick to stop the slide into a quivering mass on the pavement.

  She expected him to walk away. This is what she’d wanted, of course. She’d asked for it. But no, he came back and leaned into her, touching her forehead with his.

  He said nothing.

  Just stood there with her until their breathing evened and the night sounds intruded. Until someone opened the door.

  “Oh, man. How long were you out here, guys?” The waiter lit a cigarette and drew in a deep lungful of smoke. He jammed his foot against the door to keep it open. “Aren’t you glad I came when I did?”

  “Yeah, man. Thanks.” Simon bent to pick up his hat.

  The crash of piano and horns, the guitars and screams penetrated the moment, reminding her that nothing about this was right time, right place. She let Simon hold open the door for her, and she held her head up high as she sailed down the hallway.

  “I need to use the ladies.”

  Simon nodded. “I have to get back to the hotel.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  He curled his fingers into a fist. “This is stupid.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and he crowded her. “Margo.”

  “What?”

  He traced his thumb over her shoulder. “Fuck. Did I do that?”

  “It’s nothing.” She pulled her hair forward.

  “Dammit, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was a willing participant, Simon. Everything you did to me I wanted.”

  “You wanted to bleed?” His face was incredulous as he crushed his hat between his hands.

  She tipped her head. “I wanted someone to want me like that.” To see her as a woman, not just an instrument. Not just a tool. A woman.

  “Someone?”

  “Do you need to hear that it was you?”

  Simon’s eyes glittered.

  “The millions of adoring fans aren’t enough. Do you need to hear one more woman can’t resist you?” Angry at him, at herself, and the fact that she couldn’t feel this way with anyone but him, she pushed at him. “You. It needed to be you.”

  He curled his hands around her upper arms and drove her back into the wall.

  She w
inced and he tried to back up. She could see the horror on his face. She gripped his belt loops. “You’re right about me. I had a plan. I’ve always had a schedule, a goal, an endgame. And now I’m starting over. And I like this feeling.” She brushed her thumb over the rigid muscles of his belly and the ultra-soft arrow of hair above his zipper. “I’m not ashamed to want more of it.”

  He cupped her face, his fingers twining in her hair. His eyes blazed a silvery blue that haunted her dreams. Seeing them again, the way he looked at her—it would follow her for days. “You make me fucking nuts.”

  “I like when we’re nuts.”

  He brought his other hand up to frame her face. “Then come back to my hotel.”

  She twisted her fingers into his suspenders. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why? Because that would make it real?”

  “Actually, that’s pretty much it.”

  His nostrils flared and his brows snapped down. “I’m good enough to fuck in an alley, but not a bed?”

  “I’ve had guys in a bed. I want this.” She knotted her fingers into his shirt. “I’m tired of being traditional.”

  Simon blew out a breath. “And I’m your ticket to non-traditional, huh?”

  “Golden ticket.”

  “At least there’s that.” He leaned into her. “Well, if you’re not going to use my bed for some exceptional gymnastics, then this is goodbye.” He coasted his mouth over her chin and to her neck. He skimmed down to the vee of her shirt and flicked his tongue over her cleavage. “Goodbye perfect boobs.”

  She pushed him back. “Pig.”

  He looked down at his chest then stuffed his hat back on his head. “This is obvious.”

  “The shirt is a bit much.”

  He shrugged. “I like the expressions on people’s faces when they figure it out.”

  “You would.”

  The smirk she’d been missing slid across his face as he hooked his thumbs into his suspenders. “Never a dull moment, Violin Girl.”

  The warmth in his voice when he said that made her tuck a hand behind her back to steady herself. Simon could make anything feel like a sexual innuendo, even playing with a pair of suspenders. “You guys are almost done with the promo stuff?”

  He nodded. “A few more days then we’re off to someplace in upstate New York to rehearse.”

  “Where?”

  “Gonna come find me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Just wondering.”

  “Someplace with an S. Horses—lots of horses are there or from there. Something.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Saratoga?”

  “Yeah.” He frowned. “How did you pull that out of your head?”

  “Saratoga Racetrack, and it’s one of the most famous outdoor venues for the ballet and orchestra.”

  “Ah. Violin Girl knows her classical.”

  “That I do.”

  “Then if you get a wild hair to visit the venue, you know where I’ll be.”

  She snapped his suspender. “You never know.”

  But she did know. This was one more goodbye, but at least this one was civil. He turned on his heel and headed toward the crowds and the music, to the streets of Boston that wanted him and his band.

  Watching him go shouldn’t leave her ready to chase after him.

  But it did.

  11

  Margo skimmed her email as she sipped from a wide red mug of French roast on her back terrace. Three possible jobs and a message from her mother that she was studiously ignoring were the only things worth reading.

  Summers were notoriously busy for her since that was when she made most of her money with the studio work. So she could ignore her mother for a few more days, thank God.

  When her phone chimed, she debated ignoring it. For the first time in weeks, she was actually enjoying her solitary cup of coffee. No restless night to recover from, nothing on her schedule. A day to herself.

  She didn’t want to examine the fact that Simon and last night’s impromptu concert had a large part to do with that. She simply wanted to enjoy her afterglow.

  When a second message popped up, she sighed and glanced at the phone.

  Please don’t be Mother.

  Lila Shawcross.

  What did she want?

  She frowned and picked up her phone

  Are you home?

  Are you alone?

  Margo thumbed back a yes. Almost immediately there was a reply.

  Then open your door.

  Surprised, she moved back through her house to the front. She checked the peep hole and swung the door open. “Hi.”

  Lila was on her stoop but she definitely didn’t look like the usual woman who was barking out instructions and reminders. She wore white shorts and a navy and white striped cotton shirt.

  Margo glanced down at Lila’s feet and was dumbfounded to see Chucks.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t wear a power suit every day.” Lila pushed by her and inside.

  Margo gripped the door and stared after her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in flats, let alone shorts.”

  “Yeah well, I’m here in a non-professional manner.”

  Margo closed the door and followed her into the vestibule. “Okay. I was just having coffee, would you like some?”

  “Is it a day ending in Y?”

  “Touché. Come in.” She led her down to the kitchen. She unhooked a poppy red mug from her company cups and filled it with the last of her French-pressed coffee. “Black, right?”

  “Damn right.”

  Margo set a mug in front of her. “Well if you’re not here for business, what can I do for you?”

  Lila cupped slim, ringless fingers around the mug and tapped her forefinger on the handle. “Can I be blunt?”

  “I’m not sure you have any other mode.”

  Lila lifted her mug and smiled over the rim. “I like you.” She took a sip and her wide blue eyes went heavy-lidded. “And I’ll pay you five thousand dollars a week just to make me this coffee every day.”

  “My one vice.” Margo nodded to the back. “Why don’t we go out on the patio so I can finish mine?”

  “Lead the way.”

  Margo held the door for her and caught Lila looking around at her house. “It was my grandmother’s.”

  Lila’s golden brow rose. “Was I telegraphing?”

  “Well, I’m sure you know what a studio musician makes. Add in the Philharmonic, and it still wouldn’t cover this place in Boston.”

  “No. It wouldn’t. Especially when you were dismissed from the Boston Philharmonic,” Lila said as she sailed through the door.

  Margo’s fingers tightened on the doorknob. “And here I thought we weren’t going to discuss business.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Lila sat on the rattan couch and crossed her elegant legs.

  Margo perched on the matching chair at the end of the oval table. “Okay. Since you obviously have a plan for this visit, care to share?”

  “May I?” She nodded as Lila pulled Margo’s laptop toward her. She typed for a moment then spun the screen to face Margo.

  Callahan’s filled the small video player box. Margo’s heart skipped a beat and her lower belly pulsed as the camera focused in on her and Simon making a small circle around each other.

  Intense and prowling, they were the center of attention for the videographer. She glanced down at the name of the video—Since when is a violin player this hot?

  The audio was questionable with the level of background noise and shouts, but the video was certainly the important part.

  “Yes, Simon came in and played.”

  “Did you call him?”

  “God, no.”

  “So this wasn’t planned?”

  “No.” Margo crossed her arms. “What are you angling for, fifteen percent or something?”

  Lila put her mug down and gave a delighted laugh. “Oh, that’s perfect.”

  “What’s with the interr
ogation, then?”

  “It was a roundabout way of asking you if this was planned or just happened.” She picked up her mug again and leaned back on the couch and looked around. “I like this set-up.” She wiggled her fingers. “All New England chic.”

  “I’m glad you like my postage stamp backyard.”

  “Brrr. It just got chilly.” Lila’s wide cornflower eyes sparkled with humor. “Look at the other videos.”

  Margo sighed. “So, a few people took videos. That’s what people do when famous people are around.”

  “Indeed they do. But there are over forty videos from that one show and look at the views. Hell, even the crappy videos have tons of them.”

  “And that means what, exactly?”

  Lila sighed. “It means whatever chemistry you and Simon have on stage translates to salivating fans.” She tipped the mug back and frowned when she got to the bottom. “More?”

  She started to stand and Lila waved her back.

  “I’ll get it. You keep looking.”

  Margo scrolled down and saw the views and the comments. Some were obvious troublemaker types, but on the whole, there were a lot of people excited to see Simon play on stage with her. Some that were shocked that a violin player could be so cool, others that couldn’t get enough of Simon dirty dancing with her.

  In the comments, there were other links to their release party videos. She leaned forward at the sheer number of posts on the sidebar of the site.

  Hundreds.

  Thousands of views and shares.

  Their rendition of “The Becoming” seemed to be the most watched video. And that was from the second night in Los Angeles. Back to back, they were one with each other on the stage and when he circled her to come at her from behind, her body reacted.

  Stiffened nipples and a throb so deep inside that she shut the laptop.

  “Pretty amazing, huh?”

  Margo lifted her mug and took a healthy swallow, saying nothing.

  Lila came down the three stairs and settled on the couch again. She’d changed out the standard red mug for a huge black one from her cupboard. “You can’t deny that was awesome stuff.”

  “I hope it translates to sales for them.”

  “Oh, it did. We actually rebounded from the top twenty on Billboard to top five again.”