Trust Me (One Night with Sole Regret Book 11)

by Olivia Cunning

  “Gabe?” Nikki said, tilting her head to look at him. “Do you not want to give mind-blowing orgasms to all these people? They’re counting on your Sex Stallion to bring them joy.” She sat next to him on the porch swing and showed him the excited comments of people who’d slapped down a thousand dollars of their hard-earned money for a chance to be delighted by his invention.

  After a few minutes of having his head filled with compliments about his brilliance, he closed his eyes, licked his lips, and swallowed his doubts. That future he’d been so uncertain about? This could be the answer. He’d never expected Nikki to be responsible for pushing him down a new path of success.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Melanie pulled into Gabe’s driveway—she still had a hard time thinking of this gorgeous A-frame log home as hers—and shut off her engine. Nikki’s car was gone, but Gabe’s truck was in the drive, so she knew that he was home, even though the door didn’t open and no dogs bounded excitedly off the porch to greet her. She tucked the little paper sack containing the pregnancy test she’d bought at the drugstore into her purse. She was only a few days late, so didn’t want to get Gabe’s hopes up, but hers were currently sky high.

  The past few weeks had flown by like a whirlwind. It hadn’t taken her long to file for a business license and organize the corporate structure of Bangin’ Toys. After having been only a small part of a large accounting team for so long, she’d forgotten how much she enjoyed running a business and solving the little problems that always arose. They’d had to deal with some ordinances about the sexual nature of their products, so they’d settled on a location outside city limits. The first units were making their way through their small but highly skilled quality assurance department today. Of course she felt the need to be there to make sure everything was running smoothly. Gabe seemed keen to look the other way, however.

  The typical little start-up hiccups weren’t really an issue. The main delay to production was Gabe. He was insistent that they didn’t mass produce a piece of junk. He wanted dedicated artisans creating each machine, not an assembly line of unskilled dildo-makers cranking out a subpar product. She’d tried to convince him that such a labor-intensive method of production would severely cut into their profits—showing him graphs and projections she’d generated to support her cause—but he refused to budge on that particular issue. And she respected him all the more because of it. But it had taken for-freaking-ever to find suitable employees, and they were still grossly understaffed.

  Since Nikki was busy creating a PR maelstrom for the first shipments of the Sex Stallion, wedding plans had temporarily been set on the back burner. Caitlyn and Dawn were still throwing together an engagement party for both Gabe and Adam. Now that Madison was out of the hospital and staying with Adam in Austin, Melanie had run out of excuses to put it off any longer. The party was scheduled for tomorrow afternoon at Owen’s house. The day had somehow crept up on Melanie while she’d been insanely busy getting Gabe’s new corporation up and running.

  Melanie opened her front door, trying to be quiet so she could sneak into the bathroom and pee on the test in her purse. She was immediately assaulted by a loud rhythmic thumping. The sound—heavy and hard—throbbed through her body with an intensity that only Gabe could create within her.

  He was playing his drums.

  She was pretty sure that he hadn’t touched them since the night Jacob had walked off the tour bus almost a month before. Dancing to the beat—she couldn’t help herself—she quietly shut the front door and tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. It filled the house from floor to rafters. Both dogs were sitting in the foyer staring up at the loft area over the kitchen. Oh. Right. The loft. She’d been up in the open spacious room a few times, but had never spent time there. The loft was Gabe’s space, full of various drums, band paraphernalia, scientifically inclined nonfiction books, and the ugliest old recliner she’d ever seen. But drawn by the beat, she climbed the open wooden stairs and stood perched on the topmost step to stare.

  Gabe was shirtless. His hair, which had grown out to almost completely cover his tattoos, had been shaved on the sides again. His Mohawk was at least four inches longer than when she’d met him and was fashioned into tall spikes. He wore studded leather cuffs on each wrist and an intense expression as he pounded away on the skins, his entire body—pumping legs, flailing arms—moving to the beat in his mind. A grimace of longing twisted his handsome features into an expression of elemental need.

  Watching him—her rock star—play those drums as if a huge piece of him were missing without them made tears spring to Melanie’s eyes. She swallowed the huge lump in her throat, but it did no good. Regret threatened to suffocate her.

  What had she done? Barged into his life. Invited her friend to live in his house. Monopolized all his free time. Forced him to start a business he’d had no intention of starting. Turned his attention from making the music he loved to her.

  She covered her mouth and said into her palm, “Oh God, I’m sorry.” She’d been so focused on building their new life together that she’d completely steamrolled over the life he loved—the one he’d had before he’d met her.

  The drumming stopped abruptly. Gabe slid his drumsticks under his snare as if ashamed that she’d caught him using them.

  “I didn’t realize you’d be home so soon,” he said.

  “Don’t stop playing on my account,” she said, rubbing wetness from her cheeks with her fingertips. “Please don’t stop.”

  “Are you crying?”

  She couldn’t stay away. She rushed to his side and wrapped her arms around him, hugging the side of his head to her chest. “You haven’t played since I moved in.”

  “It’s noisy,” he said. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  She laughed, kissing the recently shaved side of his head. “It wouldn’t disturb me. And if it did, I’d just go sit on the porch. You need this, Gabe. This drumming. It’s part of you.”

  “Honestly, I haven’t felt like playing. I figured it would just remind me of everything Jacob took from me when the selfish bastard dismembered the band.” He twisted so he could look up into her eyes. “I’d forgotten how fun it is.” He grinned, and her heart melted. “I don’t know if Sole Regret will ever get back together or if I’ll ever play drums professionally again, but I will play them for fun.”

  Melanie laughed because the man made her so damned happy, she couldn’t help it. “I’m glad. And I want your band to get back together. I really do.”

  “Are you sure? You can tell me the truth. I won’t be upset. I know you don’t buy into the whole rock star gig.” He rolled his eyes at her. “You’re so not impressed.”

  But she was impressed. More than impressed. “Watching you play the drums is the most erotic experience I’ve ever had.”

  He snorted “More erotic than riding the Sex Stallion?”

  “Way more erotic than any sex toy.”

  “Sounds like a challenge.” He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows at her. “That’s one way to inspire my filthy, inventive mind.”

  “Play for me, Gabe,” she said. But then she shook her head and added, “No, play for yourself. Lose yourself in your rhythm. That’s what really turns me on.”

  His bass drum thudded, and she jumped. Within seconds his entire body was moving again. She couldn’t look away. Not when her ears began to ache from the loudness. Not when her breathing quickened and her heart started to race. And certainly not when sweat began to trickle down his flexing pecs, abs, and back. As enticing as his lean, muscular body was, it was that look of intense concentration, of love—a look she recognized from their bedroom—as he played that drew her closer and closer until she was close enough to touch him.

  Sole Regret needed to get back together. She wasn’t sure why it hadn’t seemed all that important to her until now. Maybe because she simply hadn’t recognized how important it was to Gabe. And if the
band was important to him, it was important to her.

  Unable to keep her hands to herself another second, she reached out and touched his shoulder. His skin was damp with sweat and cool to the touch, but she could feel the heat just beneath the surface. His concentration shattered, he stumbled over a beat and then lowered his sticks, gathering them into one fist. He wrapped his free arm around the backs of her thighs.

  “Are you sufficiently turned on?” he asked. “Or should I continue?”

  “You should always continue,” she said. “But this isn’t about me at all. It’s about you. I’m an idiot for not seeing it before. Can you forgive me?”

  He cocked his head to one side, confusion written across every devastatingly gorgeous line of his face. “Forgive you? For what?”

  “For not trying to help you get the band together.”

  “You went with me to talk to Adam, as well as to Jacob and even Amanda.”

  “But I didn’t do anything.”

  “Baby, that’s not your responsibility.” He set his sticks down on his snare drum, freeing his hand to take hers. “Standing beside me while I sort this shit out, that’s all I require of you.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “And you’ve done a fine job of that. You’ve stood by me through it all.”

  “But I want to fix it.”

  He laughed softly and kissed her wrist. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t want to fix problems for someone you care about, but the ball is bouncing between Jacob and Adam now. We just have to be patient and hope we aren’t eighty years old before they set their differences aside and stop being selfish jackasses.”

  She bit her lip, trying to think up a course of action. “There has to be something we can do. Are they both coming to the party tomorrow?”

  Gabe shrugged, his gentle, seeking kisses along the inside of her wrist and palm wreaking havoc with her pulse as well as her ability to keep her hands from trembling.

  “I know Adam will be there,” he said. “It’s his party too. Jacob was invited, and I was planning to ask him to be my best man if he comes, but I’m not sure if he’ll show.”

  “He’d better come,” she said, and it sounded like a threat. Because she knew if Jacob bailed on their engagement party, his indifference would hurt Gabe, even if Gabe somehow managed to hide his feelings.

  “If he doesn’t, I’ll just ask one of the other guys to stand up with me. It’s no big deal.”

  But it was a big deal. And she planned to make sure the right person was her groom’s best man when Gabe pledged his forever to her. If that person was Jacob “Ego-Maniac” Silverton, so be it.

  “So,” she said, hoping that a subject change would wipe the melancholy from her lover’s face. “Is there any way to make love while drumming?”

  He bit his lip. “Make love?” He shook his head. “Doubtful. Fuck? Oh yeah. I can definitely fuck while drumming. Do you think you could handle the bass?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “What do I have to do?”

  He shifted his stool back and stood, wrapping his fingers around her hips and arranging her in front of him facing the drum kit. He moved in close behind her, rubbing the hard bulge in his pants against her ass while his hands slid up her sides to cup her breasts.

  “There are three pedals on the floor in front of you,” he said. “Step on one.”

  Distracted by the feel of his body behind her and the exertion-intensified masculine scent of him—the man smelled like sex, and her hormones were raging in response—she wasn’t sure where the floor was, much less the three pedals. When she didn’t move, he nudged her side with his elbow.

  “Go on now. I won’t be able to drum, fuck, and hit the bass pedal. You have to help me out.”

  She liked being helpful. She looked down, and beyond the snare drum in front of her knees, she spotted the pedals he’d mentioned. “I don’t think I can reach them. There’s a drum in my way.”

  “Good point,” he said. “And your pants are in my way.”

  She unfastened her pants and shimmied out of them, her flip-flops, and her underwear before kicking them all aside. “One problem solved.”

  His soft chuckle near her ear made her shiver with anticipation. One of his hands massaged her breast, the other moved down her belly to cup her sex. A finger slipped between her lips to tease her clit.

  “I also can’t drum with my hands full of glorious Melanie,” he whispered.

  “I guess this idea is a no-go then,” she said, leaning back against him and opening her legs to give him better access. That was fine with her as long as he didn’t stop touching her.

  As usual, he was up for the challenge. She groaned in protest when he moved away and picked up the snare drum, shifting it to his right side. The space in front of her was now open.

  “Step forward,” he said when she expected him to haul her down the stairs to their bedroom. “We’re going to try something.”

  Always up for one of his experiments, Melanie stepped forward.

  “Can you reach the bass drum pedal now?”

  She pressed her foot down on a hard pedal, and one of his bass drums thudded.

  “Good,” he said. “You control how fast we go.”

  She turned her head to look at him, but he pressed a hand in the center of her back and she leaned over the center drum. Was the drum under her elbows called a tom or was it just a bigger snare? She wasn’t sure, but it was probably something the wife of a drummer should know. She heard his pants unzip and the sound of fabric rustling behind her. When the tip of his cock nudged her opening, she gasped and her extended leg tensed, lightly pressing the pedal and producing another soft thud.

  “That’s it,” he said, working his way deeper, retreating slightly, going deeper still, until he was buried to the root within her. “Every time you push that pedal, I’m going to thrust.”

  “Oh,” she said, a hot flush burning her cheeks. So that was how she was going to control the rhythm.

  “I suggest you start out slow,” he said. “Until I get the hang of this.”

  His drumstick tapped against the snare to his right, sounding like a typical rock intro, and she stomped the bass pedal. Holding her hip with his left hand and doing a rather impressive one-handed drum roll with his right, he pulled out and thrust into her before retreating slowly. Oh, but she wanted him deep, so she pressed the bass pedal and true to his word, he thrust forward. The motion was a bit awkward at first, because she had to lift her foot several inches before pressing down on the pedal, but it didn’t take her long to use that motion to intensify his pleasure and her own. Soon she was thudding with a steady rhythm, twisting her hips slightly with each downbeat, and he was thrusting in time, filling the pauses with one-handed intricate stick work on the snare. Surprisingly, their drum duet even sounded good—strong and steady.

  As her excitement built, so did the rate of her rhythm, until her leg cramped and she had to stop. Oh, but she wasn’t ready for him to stop as he stilled behind her.

  “You okay?” he asked, his hand sliding up and down her hip.

  “Leg cramp!”

  “Happens to the best of us,” he said. “Here, hold my stick.”

  She giggled but took the drumstick he held out in front of her and sighed in bliss when his now-free hand began to massage her smarting thigh. “That’s better,” she said.

  “You know what I do when I get a cramp in my leg?”

  She had no clue, because it wasn’t like he could stop playing in the middle of a song and employ a masseuse to give his leg a rub-down. “What?” she asked.

  “Use the other leg.”

  “Great suggestion,” she said.

  “When in doubt, ask a professional.”

  She’d never been with a man who could make her laugh during sex. Well, that wasn’t one hundred percent true. She’d been with one guy who’d made her crack up every time he climbed on top of her, but she’d been laughing at him, not with him. The dude wouldn’t have been able to find an erog
enous zone even if flashing neon arrows pointed the way. But Gabe made sex fun. Intimate too. And she couldn’t imagine them ever getting bored inside the bedroom or out. She had a lifetime to look forward to with him.

  “Okay,” she said. “I can continue now.”

  She bent her arm back to hand him his drumstick, and he tapped out a rhythm on the rim of his snare.

  “From the top now.”

  And she was giggling again, but she lifted her opposite foot and stopped on a different pedal. The thud it produced was slightly lower in pitch than the original drum. She began to experiment with all three pedals, switching between legs as necessary and working the hard, thrusting cock inside her until she shattered into a million pieces of pure satisfaction. She clung to the drum in front of her and rocked back into Gabe, encouraging him to pound into her as she cried out in bliss. He tossed the drumstick aside and grasped both of her hips, giving her the deep, hard thrusts she craved. Within seconds she pulled him over the edge with her as they moved together to find a few more seconds of ecstasy.

  Her legs went all wobbly, and he had to draw her back solidly against his chest to keep her from toppling forward into the drum kit.

  The only problem she could see with these adventuresome sexual encounters was that there was never a bed handy for her to collapse upon once they finished.

  “So,” Gabe said, kissing her shoulder, “it turns out Force can drum and fuck at the same time, but only with able assistance.”

  She laughed, loving him a little more with each passing moment. “That was fun,” she said, “but I really need to lie down. Is it possible to put a bed in every room of the house?”

  “We could limit ourselves to the bedroom.”

  The sound of his low voice near her ear made her already tantalized nerve endings throb in delight.

  “Why would we want to do that?”

  He chuckled. “We wouldn’t.”

  He pulled out and traces of their joining trickled down her thigh. She didn’t mind until he directed her to his drummer’s stool.

  “Rest here for a minute.”