Grease Slapped (Ink Slapped Book 2)

by A. M. Jones

  “You and me, both.”

  He checks his phone and stands. “I have to work late but I’ll be back to pick you up at eight.” I say nothing, and he laughs at the look on my face. “Why do you look horrified, right now?”

  “I don’t know if it’s the date or the surprise.”

  “I promise. It’s a good surprise. The best.”

  I slip underneath the bubbly bath water to wet my hair. When I open my eyes underwater, I see Crockett’s blurry form overhead.

  I jump, straightening and splashing water all over the floor. Covering my chest, I yell, “How did you get in?”

  He moves his hands in a calm down gesture. One hand holds a magazine. “Maybe you shouldn’t leave your door unlocked. I’ve been knocking for five minutes.”

  “You have not. And you’re the one who suggested a hot bath.” I wave my fingertips at him.

  “Ouch.” He flinches at the sight, but somberness takes over his features. “You’re right, but I thought you should know something.” He waves the magazine before grabbing me a towel. “I’ll wait in the living room.”

  A few minutes later, I find Crockett lounging on my couch. Without a word, he flips to a certain page and hands it over. My whole being drops upon reading the heading of the article.

  Rising Country Singer Confesses Her Abusive Marriage to Rising Indie Rock Star.

  I don’t read further because a picture catches my eye—one of Eli and me in his truck right after his dad’s funeral. We aren’t doing anything immoral—only embracing with grief, but a normal reader doesn’t know that. And from the angle of the picture, it looks bad. Real bad. I slap a hand over my mouth as I scan the caption telling all about Eli’s adultery with an eager author. Another picture shows Eli appearing to manhandle Madison. Fear is registered on her face while his own clenches in anger.

  I drop the magazine like a Hot Pocket as blood rushes to my ears. Crockett says something, but he swims in my vision. He helps me sit on the couch.

  “Yeah, the bitch threw you both under the bus.”

  At his words, I stand again, to get my phone, needing to know if Eli is okay because I don’t care about me. Not when she’s trying to tarnish us both in one go.

  “What a vindictive bitch!” I point to my floor for emphasis. It’s 6:30 pm. Exactly an hour and a half before Eli’s supposed to pick me up. Typing a text, I choke. “Why did she do this now? When he’s grieving? And use that picture?”

  Crockett’s face falls to misery and opens his arms. I plop next to him and he wraps them around me. “Cause she’s a cunt.”

  “What does it say?” I whisper.

  His chest lifts and falls with his sigh. “It says Eli never signed the divorce papers so he could use Madison to further the band while he abused her mentally to keep her in line while having an affair the whole time.” He clears his throat. “But the jokes on him, since you’re with him for the same thing. And lush, thank god you never accepted any agent because I’m sure she wanted to hold that against you, too. It would have come across as you are using him.”

  He has a point. This is Madison’s motivations for the agent. Thank everything holy I went with my gut instinct.

  It’s scary how the media can make things seem a certain way when it’s the furthest from the truth, but… I rush to grab my laptop. I open my website stats and it shows what I suspect. They’re through the roof—eighty thousand views in the last four hours. Crockett whistles, taking it all in. I don’t check comments, I’m sure they’re nasty. “Why do people even care?”

  “People have no lives of their own.” Disgust seeps from his tone.

  Checking my phone, I see he hasn’t replied. Now that I think about it, something’s been off and I’ve been chalking it off as grief. I’m tired of Madison and her shit. If our relationship is going to be splashed all over as illicit, then fucking hell, I will make it worth it. “I’m going to see him.” As soon as I finish primping.

  Without knowing where Madison’s mind is, it’s hard to feel excited about my date with Taylor. I mean, we’ve never been on a date before, so of course, Madison’s tainting it. Again. I can’t wait until I can wipe my hands of her. And everything I’ve been through so far? It’s worth the price of freedom.

  I take the steps to my studio two at a time only to see Jack sitting on the landing.

  “I don’t have long,” I tell him. I have thirty minutes to pick up Taylor and I’ll be damned if I’m late.

  “I told you not to get involved with another woman. Now it'll probably ruin your chances with Dash Top.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  He slaps me in the stomach with a rolled magazine. “This.”

  His word reverberates in my brain and I know without a doubt the other shoe just dropped.

  Can things get any worse? I beat on the door more. “I know you’re home.” And there is probably some dude taking my picture right now—just waiting on me to become hostile.

  Movement sounds from the other side. “Go away, Eli. I have a restraining order. I’ll call and have you thrown in the metro jail. They love wife beaters in there.”

  “Really? Is this how it’s going to be?”

  “Not my problem. Now go fuck your whore. If she’ll even let you.” She laughs.

  I take deep breaths to remain calm. It’s the single hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. “Why did you do it?” The thing is, I don’t care about my reputation, or me, but that article splashes Taylor’s name all over it.

  My phone buzzes for the billionth time. “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath as I turn and walk away, knowing I’m not going to get anything out of her.

  Climbing in my truck, I pull the phone out. To my surprise, it’s Brenna this time. “Hello?”

  “Eli? Good God, you are one hard person to get in touch with. Look, don’t talk to anyone about this. I’m on it.”

  “What?”

  She laughs. “I’m your manager, remember? It’s my job to help.”

  I can’t help but smile. “Not yet.” We haven’t gone into anything concrete—only because it involves Marcus Demont, too. She’s pushed her way into this. I have to admire her dedication.

  Another laugh. “Please. Semantics. Do nothing until I get there. I’m hopping a plane tonight.” By “I’m,” she means “us.” It hasn’t taken me long to figure that out. “Have you talked to Taylor?”

  I swallow and start my truck, flinching from the awful sound. Another thing I’ve been ignoring that needs attention. My alternators on its last leg. “That’s where I’m headed.”

  “Good.” She hangs up.

  It’s past eight o’clock as I make my way down Twenty First Avenue from Green Hills, trying to call her every few minutes, but she never answers. When I arrive at her apartment a half hour later, her 4Runner is gone. With nothing else to do, I go to my apartment.

  I’m trudging the steps when I notice she’s waiting on me. She stands with a stoic face. “Are you all right?”

  I laugh nervously. Tension tightens between us, and I hate it. “Who cares about me? She did exactly what I was afraid of this whole time.” I open my door, waving her in. “Taylor, I’m so sorr—”

  “Shut up.” She slams the door on her own. It startles me and dread settles in the pit of my stomach. “Sit.” She points to the bed on the other side of the loft.

  My heart pounds in my ears. I hold my hands in a ‘calm down’ gesture. “Okay. I know you’re mad, but I’d like to know why?”

  She stalks toward me. “You think I’m mad?” She backs me against the bed and pushes me down. I bounce on top of it and prop on my elbows. “Well, I’m upset, but that’s to be expected. It’s humiliating having my name dragged through the dirt.”

  “I know, and I’m—”

  “Shush.” She crosses her arms, grabs the end of her t-shirt, and pulls it over her head. The red lace of her bra stands out against her skin. It matches her lipstick. Now she has my full attention, I notice she’s looks ready
for our date.

  Oh. I see.

  I almost ask her if she still wants to go but close my mouth. Either she wants to take our minds off it, or she’s just feeling feisty. Either sounds good.

  She smiles. “Good boy. You got the point I don’t want to talk about Madison right now.” Her ‘good boy’ praise should sound condescending, but it doesn’t. Far from it. I like this. I’ll play her game. She walks toward the door, locking it and when she struts back, she inches her jeans down a little over panties that match her bra.

  Blood pumps. Of course, it’s been a few weeks, so it doesn’t take long. “Dam—”

  “No talking.”

  I snap my lips closed and think about all the things I’m going to do to her. How slow I’ll lick her, with barely any pressure for as long as it takes to drive her crazy. My mouth waters and I grip the edge of the bed.

  She licks her lips, regaining her composure. “You’re thinking dirty thoughts, aren’t you?”

  I smile and slowly nod.

  “You like this?” she asks and bumps my knees sliding between them.

  Still smiling and gripping the bed so I don’t touch her, I nod again.

  Leaning down, she brushes her lips against mine. “Well, are you going to tell me about those dirty thoughts?”

  This time I move my head from side to side and she takes a deep breath through her nose. She grins wide against my mouth before standing straight. I keep my gaze seared to hers as she flicks the loose denim on either side of her lowered zipper. “Help me take these off.”

  The smell of her skin, like coconuts, hits me. I breathe her in, tracing the line of her lace bra over the mound of her breast with the tip of my nose. I love she doesn’t drown herself in perfume.

  Skimming my hands on the back of her thighs, I squeeze her denim-restricted ass cheeks. I can’t wait to get them off but will myself to go as slow as possible. The perfect distraction is right in my face. I bite the bra, pulling it down to expose her nipple, letting my tongue drift over the tip and feeling it harden.

  She moans, but pulls away, looking down at me. “Bad boy. Jeans first.”

  Her eyes darken when I hook my thumbs in the waistband and slide them down her hips, feeling soft skin the whole way. Goose bumps raise her tattooed flesh, and I revel in the way I affect that involuntary body reaction. I run my fingertips inside her thighs, watching as they appear there, too.

  She licks her lips, swallowing as she breathes faster. “Keep doing that,” she demands, but the breathiness of it causes my pulse to spike. Holy hell, her telling me what to do is hot, so I follow her instruction—slower this time. Her lips part as her eyes cloud over.

  Clutching my shoulders, she slips off her shoes. My control is tested, but she wants me to slip—to be eager. No way in hell. Truth is, I’m loving going slow. I want to take my time. Not only is it driving her mad in the best way but also gives me much anticipated time to become more familiar with her body. To get a better peek under all this ink.

  After I toss away the jeans, she runs her fingertips on my stomach, pushing up my shirt. I hiss in a breath and she sucks it down, kissing me without warning. She uses those lips to her benefit, turning me full on. Soon, she’ll realize what this is doing to me, but there’s no hiding it. Breaking away, she pulls my shirt and I lift my arms as she takes it off—to torture me more. Sweet torture, but still. To my surprise, she backs away, leaving me cold.

  She smiles. “We need music.” She walks to the other side of the loft, which is dark, but I can still see her pale form through the open spaces of the bookcase that separates my living space. She gasps. Ah, shit.

  I smirk when she peers through the bookcase at me. “Where did you get that?” Surely, she has an idea since Marcus took the picture, but I shrug. I would give the monstrous picture a glance, but I have the real thing in front of me—tattoos and all.

  She strolls to me with swaying hips… and wide-open arms. “You have permission to speak.” She bites her lips to keep from laughing.

  “It was a gift.”

  Her face becomes serious as she gets lost in thought. “How long have you had it?”

  “Since the day we baked brownies.”

  Her smile is wide, remembering. “Ah. Fifty thousand downloads.” I nod and she laughs, shaking her head. “Marcus. He promised that photo would never see the light of day.”

  I try not to let my curiosity get the best of me and ask about their relationship. “He had it hanging in his office.”

  “What?” The horror on her face would be comical, but I don’t want her mad. I want mind back on the right track. “I’m going to kill him.”

  “It’s hanging where it belongs now.”

  She eyes me. “I guess I’d rather it be here than there.” She laughs. “He must like you. How’d he know to give it to you?”

  “I never tried to hide my feelings for you.”

  She smoothes her hands around my neck, running her fingers through my hair and my scalp. I feel her grip right before she tugs my head back. “How many times have you jerked off to it?”

  I could tease her about being presumptuous but give her the truth. “On average… uh, once a day.” She laughs, but I can tell she likes the idea. “Hey, it’s a healthy activity. By the way, do you still have those ruffled panties? Because I want to take my own photo.”

  She sends me a mysterious smile as she let’s go of my head, pushes me flat on the bed, and unsnaps my jeans. After giving my erection a stroke through the denim, she bends down and removes my boots. My jeans go next as she pulls them off by the legs.

  When she’s satisfied, I say with a grin, “You forgot the music.”

  She puts her finger to her lips. “Shhh.” We’re back to no talking. Noted. She paces back and forth at the end of the bed, never taking her eyes off me. “Turn over,” she says, shaking loose strands of hair from her face.

  I freeze, although I’m not sure why. It seems like an odd command. I guess I’m not quick enough because her foot comes up, gliding along my thigh. She uses her arch to put pressure where I wouldn’t think it’d feel good, but it does. I suck in a breath. She inhales quick when I place my hand on top of her foot as if she didn’t expect it. More pressure brings a twinge of pain. I groan. “I’m not going to tell you twice.”

  I drop my hand and raise my brows. There’s no way I’m moving until she gives me room. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this aroused—since Atlanta. She laughs and removes her foot. As soon as I’m on my stomach, I feel her hands on the back of my thighs, massaging. I smile. My body gets heavy and my eyelids drift as she goes down my calves and up my thighs. By the time she gives attention to my glutes and lower back, my whole body feels limp.

  I feel her heat when she straddles me, working with magic fingertips. Next thing I know, her voice is in my ear. “When’s the last time someone’s done this for you?” Her breath tickles as she circulates her thumbs on my neck. I have to hand it to her, she’s keeping me on the edge of arousal even when I want to fall asleep.

  “I dunno,” I moan. I really don’t. I usually massage myself with my handy dandy rolling pin, but only to ease muscle pain from a gruesome day at the shop or a workout.

  “That’s a shame. This relieves stress and releases endorphins.”

  “That’s what jerking off is for.”

  She halts and bursts into laughter. “I guess so.” She’s now massaging my scalp. She releases me and slips off. “Turn back over.”

  I try to find the right movement in my limbs. When I finally do, she takes my hand and straddles me again. I smile at the view I have. Her tits strain against the bra as she breathes.

  She watches herself as she rubs the pads of my palm. “I love your hands. They’re rough, working hands.”

  I’ve never had someone appreciate my hands before. To me, they’re just hands, but when I look at her soft ones with red-painted nails, I get what she’s saying. All thoughts flee my mind when her warm mouth surrounds my forefing
er. She meets my gaze through the strands of hair in her face as she slips it out, reminding me of her lollipop teasing. Her eyes widen when she feels what it does. She grabs my other hand and gives it the same treatment.

  “I know it seems like I’m being a cock tease right now, but you have no idea how much I’ve wanted to touch you like this. Freely.”

  Now that she says something… she’s never made a move to feel me or touch me in any lingering ways. There have been times, sure, but I understand what she’s saying. I’m not sure how much more I can take without attacking her, but I can see where it goes. “You can touch me however you want.”

  A mischievous glint lights her eyes.

  Sometime later, there’s not an inch on my body she’s not given any attention to. She works some kind of nut rub down while stroking me every now and then. I feel like if I stand, my balls will droop to my knees, but whatever she’s doing, it intensifies feeling. Every touch, lick, and kiss sends a new sensation through me. My breathing is rough and my body jerks, but somehow, every time I feel like exploding, I don’t. I’m ready to blow a fuse or beg. She keeps me on edge, taking immense pleasure in my agony, and it hurts so good. I’m helpless to do anything. I want her to stop, but then again, I don’t, because when I do blow, I don’t think it’ll stop for a long time.

  Her face is flushed. She scoots forward on top me, stopping it all and leaving me wanting. We’re both panting. “Want to help me with these?” She reaches around and unsnaps her bra. It slides from her arms and falls to the side. Her breasts bounce with her movements, begging to be fondled, but right now, I’ve had all the foreplay I can take.

  “I’ll be glad to.” She moves as if she's going to leave my lap, but I grab her panties on each side and rip them apart.

  Her mouth opens in surprise, but she smiles. Sitting up with her, I take her mouth like I’m starving. What the fuck has she done?

  She trembles against my chest as I run my fingers between her legs. She’s wet and ready and I can’t wait anymore. I break away from our kiss. “Fuck, Taylor. I need to—”