A Lush Rhapsody: A Rhapsody Novel

by Selena Laurence

  “The thing about cocaine is, it starts off so simple. It gives you a burst of energy, makes everything seem easier, faster. I would do a little before we tried to write, a little before we went onstage. It seemed harmless.

  "But then the writing didn’t get any better, and the pressure from the label didn’t go away, and I started doing a little every morning because I didn’t want to get out of bed and face the mess that everything was becoming. Then I was doing more before shows because for the first time since I’d started I didn’t love playing. I didn’t want to face the crowds, and I wasn’t excited to be onstage with my band. Eventually I was using every day, all day.”

  I hear her little sound of…something. Disgust maybe. Horror is another possibility. I’ve seen pretty much every variation.

  “It was costing thousands of dollars a day, so when I asked Dez to float me a loan he knew I was in trouble.”

  “Oh.” It’s all she says, and I can’t tell from her expression what she’s thinking. Her eyes are deep, unfathomable, and so beautiful it makes me wish I’d never taken a single grain of cocaine because then I might possibly be worthy of her.

  “Amazingly, since I’m a pretty stubborn son of a bitch, he didn’t have much trouble getting me into rehab. I hate losing more than anything, and I know damn well that junkies are always the losers in any equation. So I went.”

  I don’t tell her that I also left early. I’m a rehab dropout so to speak, but that’s something I don’t tell anyone. Dez knows, but no one else. The rest of the guys think I finished up my program like a good little soldier, and there’s no reason to tell them otherwise because I won’t use again. No matter what.

  She reaches over and places her hand on mine for a brief second, sending tiny sparks of electricity up my arm. “I’m glad you did.”

  I give her a wry smile and nod my head. “I know the politically correct answer is that I am too, and I am, in the bigger picture, but I won’t lie to you—moment by moment I wish like hell I never had.”

  “Is it hard?” she asks softly.

  I reach forward and run a finger along her bare skin just above the boot but below the hem of her skirt. She shivers and her eyelids droop slightly as her lips part. My dick roars to life again.

  “It’s getting harder by the moment.”

  She chuckles and shakes her head. “You know what I meant.”

  I let my entire palm rest on that patch of bare skin now and her breathing hitches. Her skin is hot and silky, and I can almost feel what it would be like to lick her thigh, working my way from the top where my hand rests to the tender flesh on the inside, then up, up, up, to the apex. My balls ache as I imagine what she would taste like. Her juicy little pussy, hot and slick under my tongue. I’d lap her up like a cat with a bowlful of cream.

  “Enough about the fucking drugs,” I growl. “You look far better than any drug I’ve ever tried.” Her head rolls back against the seat and her eyes drift shut for a split second before she snaps her head up and looks at me with eyes full of sex and heat.

  “You’re bad for me.”

  She’s right. I’ll only bring her grief one way or another. But I’m a fucking selfish bastard, and I want her so much it’s choking me. I’m not sure I can breathe if I don’t get at least a taste of her.

  “I know I am, short stack. And I’ll leave you alone—after tonight. Let’s have this one time though. We can make a great memory and then I’ll get out of your way.”

  She considers it a moment, her eyes hooded, her chest rising and falling rapidly as my hand moves up higher and higher on her thigh, heading toward Nirvana.

  Finally she gives me a small nod and I reach the juncture between her legs, rubbing my finger along the seam of her core. She gasps, and I can smell her arousal. It’s making me crazy. I lean forward, breathing in her sweet apple hair as I reach for the intercom button to the driver.

  “Drive us around for a bit, will you?” I instruct. He answers in the affirmative and I turn the intercom off before burying my face in her long locks. I dig my hand into the dark mass and press my other thumb against her clit through the tiny silky panties she’s wearing.

  “Ohhh,” she breathes as her hands land against my chest, her fingertips digging into my pecs.

  I place a series of tiny kisses along her jawline, sipping her before I get to the devouring part.

  Feelings are rushing at me and I’m captive to them—desire, need, awe. I’ve fucked a few women since I got out of rehab—but I did it almost just to say I had. I haven’t had any strong urges of any sort since I left the center. Keeping myself from doing more coke has taken up most of my physical and mental energy. Whatever I’ve had left has been for the band—writing new songs, building our business, making up for my absence. But now, with Tully, I can’t remember ever wanting someone this badly. Not before rehab and definitely not since.

  I reach her lips with mine, and before I kiss her I whisper, “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” Then I devour her, crushing my mouth to hers like I haven’t kissed anyone in years.

  And truly, it feels almost new. Even though I was kissing her earlier today this feels different. That was fun. This is deeper, so much more poignant it hurts inside my chest, and I almost can’t breathe for a second.

  Her tongue tangles with mine and I groan, nipping at her lips, plunging into the velvety depths of her mouth over and over as our breathing gets louder and harsher.

  Her hips thrust against my hand and I press on her core, finally reaching up to her hip and giving a hard yank to the little silk strap that holds her panties on her. With one side torn the scrap of fabric falls open and I finally touch heaven. She’s bare, hot, and dripping wet and I nearly come in my jeans when I feel her.

  “Christ, short stack,” I growl. I run a finger through her slit until I come to that most beautiful of places, the entryway to heaven. She’s a tiny thing, but I don’t spare anything as I thrust two fingers into her at once.

  “Oh!” she cries out, rocking against my hand over and over.

  “Not too hard for you, baby?” I ask, gently kissing her lips then her cheek, working my way to her neck and back up again.

  I pull her closer and she slides forward onto my lap, her knees on either side of my hips. Then she buries her head in my shoulder and rocks faster.

  “God, you’re good at this,” she gasps.

  I chuckle and pump my fingers in and out of her, making sure to hit that little rough patch deep inside each time. I find her tits with my other hand and pull the lacing that holds her bustier in place, sliding the ribbon free from the eyelets until she falls out into my waiting palm. Her tits are heavy and soft, the nipples big and rosy. She arches her back, her head rolling as she moans, and I take the chance to bring my mouth to one of those gorgeous mounds, sucking it deep and hard.

  She comes like a fucking freight train and it’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. Her skin is flushed, her eyes closed, long lashes fanned out over her cheeks. She rocks against my hand, and I feel her channel clamp down on my fingers in wave after wave of pleasure. She cries out, and when it’s my name on her lips I decide I don’t give a damn if I get off or not tonight. To hear her cry out, “Oh God, Blaze, fuck me that’s incredible” is better than any orgasm I’ve ever had. That shit might last me for days.

  As she comes down I draw my fingers out of her, rubbing lazy circles around her clit giving her little aftershocks until she begs me to stop.

  “Please,” she half laughs and half cries. “You’re going to kill me.”

  “But baby, what an amazing death it would be.” I kiss her on the mouth again, because I can’t seem to stop myself.

  She wiggles a little and I reluctantly take my hand out from between her legs, putting my fingers to my mouth and licking them slowly while she watches me with wide eyes. She’s tart and creamy and I want more.

  But almost immediately I can feel her pulling away—mentally and physically. She starts to cl
imb off of me and my chest lurches. I’m bereft and she’s still touching me.

  “Not so fast,” I murmur as I lock my arms around her hips and force her to settle back on my lap. She stares at me, eyes dark and filled with a sadness that breaks me into pieces.

  She opens those amazing lips to talk and I press a finger over them, stopping her. “Shh. Just relax. Be with me for a minute before you run off to feel guilty.” She huffs out a little laugh as I stroke her hair and rub the soft skin above the waist of her skirt.

  “All the leather’s a good look on you,” I tell her.

  She snorts. “You think?”

  “Not as good as your bare skin, but it’s up there on my list of ten favorite things for Tully to wear.”

  “Can I see it now?” I ask, my hand moving around to her ass that’s bare under her bunched up skirt.

  “See what?”

  “The tattoo.”

  She looks at me for a moment as if she’s not sure I’m serious, but then she shrugs. “Sure.”

  I raise her skirt more and lean sideways as she twists so her butt cheek is in better view. There, spread across the smooth, silky skin of her ass is a beautiful bird, its head a deep blue, while its chest is red fading to orange and its wings are a mixture of green and yellow. The colors are vibrant, the lines clean.

  “What kind of bird?” I ask, my fingers tracing the outlines of the lush plumage.

  “A painted bunting.” She clears her throat. “They’re one of the most beautiful songbirds in the world, but they’re endangered, and they spend their lives hiding in bushes and underbrush.”

  “So why this bird?” I ask, knowing that there’s more to her choice than a pretty picture.

  She purses her lips briefly before she continues, her voice steady, but quiet. “I’m like a painted bunting. I have songs in me, beautiful songs, but my whole life I’ve been hidden in the underbrush. My family—they don’t know what to do with me, they don’t want me to sing my songs. But when I joined Lush I promised myself that I wouldn’t let anyone hide me ever again, so I got this to remember. I’m this songbird, and I’m beautiful, and this is to remind me of that.

  I sigh, my head falling forward so my lips can graze hers. “You are, short stack. You’re absolutely beautiful. A gorgeous songbird, and the world is so fucking lucky to get to hear you sing.”

  She smiles softly, then leans her forehead against mine. “We can’t do this again, you know.”

  “We’re not even done with tonight and you’re already talking about tomorrow.”

  “You holding out hope that you’ll get yours?” she asks as she looks at me, an evil sparkle in her eyes.

  I shift her off my lap, plopping her back down on the seat facing me so I can watch her shimmy that hot skirt back into place.

  “Short stack, I got everything I needed just watching you come all over my fingers. But I promised you a night at my favorite hole in the wall bar in San Diego, and I aim to deliver. The fact that I get to look at your beautiful face some more while we go there is just the icing on the cake.”

  She tugs at the lacing on her bustier, trying to tuck that amazing rack back in. I bite my lip in solidarity. It’s a crime to restrain all that tender flesh. Although the fact that it means I’m the only one who got to see them tonight is a real plus.

  “You know,” she looks up at me, long lashes sweeping up and down a couple of times before she goes back to securing the girls in their leather prison, “you’re not the asshole everyone claims you are.”

  A strange feeling pumps through me, a mixture of hope and regret. It makes my heart race, but the rest of me ache. It’s not that I’m unaware of my reputation, nor that I even care—except I do, when it comes to her. With her I want to be the prince, the kind of guy who other people admire, the kind of guy she’d be proud to be seen with. But instead I’m the guy she has to hide. The one she can only be with in the back of a dark car winding its way through the night in a town neither one of us call home.

  Her next move breaks me out of these maudlin thoughts though. She reaches under her skirt and wiggles a moment before pulling out the remains of her thong which she delicately manages to slide over her thigh high boot. She then dangles the ravaged scrap of silk between her fingers and looks at me like a schoolteacher would the class delinquent.

  “These were forty dollar panties,” she reprimands.

  I grin. “They should make them stronger for that amount of money.”

  “What am I supposed to do with them now?”

  I reach out and snag them from her, tucking them into the back pocket of my jeans. “I can deal with those for you.” I grin as she rolls her eyes. “And I guess now you’re stuck without anything under that skirt for the rest of the night?”

  “Thanks to you, yes.”

  I breathe deep, the smell of arousal still strong in the enclosed backseat of the car. “Yeah, sometimes I’m a fucking genius, short stack. Points to me.”

  She laughs as I press the intercom button and tell the driver to take us to the bar. I’m going to show this girl the best time she’s ever had, and if I’m lucky, the orgasm I just gave her will only be the first of many she has with me.

  Tully

  Blaze Davis is funny. This is news to me, because in the press he’s brooding and damaged, and in person he’s big and wild, and a little frightening when he’s throwing objects around a dressing room. But now? Here with only me and a roomful of surfer types who couldn’t seem to care less that they have a genuine international rock star in their midst? He’s funny, and charming, and so completely unexpected.

  The orgasm in the back of the limo didn’t surprise me. He’s a rock star, they’re sexual creatures, and he’s wanted in my panties since we met, even I could tell that. But what happened after—when he didn’t seem to be concerned if the favor was returned, when he said, “I got everything I needed just watching you”—that was a surprise. A big beautiful surprise, kind of like now, and this story he’s telling me about Dez’s family.

  “So when I walk into the kitchen for breakfast the first morning, Dez’s mom is standing there at the stove naked as the day she was born.”

  I slap my hand over my mouth to stifle the shock. “God, did you die of embarrassment?”

  “I ran. Before she even saw me I hightailed it back to the room Dez and I were staying in. I woke him up and I was like, ‘Dude, please don’t kill me, I had no idea she’d be walking around naked.’ And he just sits up in bed and yells downstairs, ‘Dharma! Did you forget Blaze is here? Can you put on some clothes?’”

  I stare at him. “No.”

  “Yes,” he says, chuckling. “Dharma and Cale almost never wear clothes at home.”

  “Oh, God,” I choke out. “While you were there? What did you do?”

  Blaze shrugs and takes another drink of his lemonade. “When in Santa Fe…”

  I shriek. “You didn’t! Tell me you did not start walking around their house naked too.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  I smack him on the arm. “Seriously. Tell me. And what about Dez? Does he do that? How did he ever have friends over in high school?”

  “Ok, I’ll admit it…” he pauses, and I wait with bated breath. “We all wore clothes the rest of the time I was there.”

  I shake my head at him. “You’re such a tease.”

  His eyes grow serious, heated, as he leans toward me, sending warmth curling through my chest and landing square in the center of me where I still have twinges of the ache he satisfied only a couple of hours earlier.

  “I may tease, short stack, but you know I’ll come through for you in the end. Any time, any place, as many ways as you need. All you have to do is say the word.”

  I exhale a shaky breath. Did the temperature in here just skyrocket? I feel my whole body sway toward his, like a magnet is pulling me, gravity doing exactly what it’s designed to do. Then from somewhere in the back of my lust-hazed mind I hear the song shift on the hous
e music that the bar has playing. Joss Jamison’s voice comes over the speakers, singing about a woman who deceives both the men who love her. It’s an old one, She Snake. Not one of their best in my opinion, but iconic Lush anyway.

  Blaze must notice it the same time I do, his eyes go flat and he pulls away from me. “Well, they say timing is everything,” he says bitterly.

  My insides squeeze and not in a good way. I reach out and touch his arm. “Blaze. You knew this was a one-time thing.”

  He sighs. “Yeah, it’d just be nice if we could have the one time without Joss and Mike interrupting.”

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him, and I mean it. I’m sorry that Lush came on the sound system, I’m sorry that our bands hate one another. I’m sorry that there’s no way for Blaze and I to get to know each other better, because he’s actually kind of great, and I don’t meet many guys I can say that about.

  He gives himself a small shake, as if he’s literally shaking something off—the bad vibe, the regret, maybe the whole night.

  “Come on short stack.” He stands and holds out his hand. “We’ve got places to go and things to do.” He winks, and I melt into a puddle on the floor.

  I place my hand in his and it feels so right, such a perfect fit, that I wonder at a universe that would show me a man like this, only to say, “Here’s the one guy you can’t ever have.”

  Wordlessly he leads me out of the bar, and when we reach the sidewalk, he gestures at our driver to lower the window, and tells him to meet us a few blocks down, at the far end of the boulevard we’re on.

  He keeps ahold of my hand then while we stroll through the soft night air, surrounded by the noises of the bars and restaurants that line the strip. He told me earlier that Hillcrest is the city’s LGBT center, and there are couples of all sorts strolling alongside us, holding hands, kissing, laughing, making love the only thing that really matters in this giant, tarnished world. Given that I’m walking with a man who I find myself drawn to, but can’t actually be with, the idea that anyone else should be able to choose who you can or can’t love is sobering and infuriating at the same time.