Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection)

by Ketley Allison

  “I’m not ready to leave,” I say. My voice is raw. Pleading.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Rex says. “We’re ready for you to go.”

  My gut seizes with bile and anger. I want to punch his face, kick through the walls, destroy every piece of equipment in this room. Roar and scream until I have no voice left.

  “This is all I have,” I manage to say. “I don’t know when I … I’m perfectly healthy right now, okay? I can go behind the drums and hit the beats and do my part. I can do all that.”

  “Right now, maybe,” Rex says. “But we can’t risk another public episode like last night. People are starting to ask questions, dude. Especially after your motorbike accident on the bridge.”

  “That’s not—” Desperate, I switch tactics. Fling up defenses. “Did you keep playing? Huh?” I say to them. “After I was carted off in an ambulance last night, did you think, there goes the crackhead, and continue the set with Pete?”

  Rex regards me with a flat expression. “Yes.”

  “That’s why you didn’t come to the hospital until much later.” I scoff, but the knife-edge of being right … oh, it runs deep. “Why no one was in the ambulance.”

  Rex steps forward. “The crowd was getting out of control when you collapsed. It’s not because we don’t have love for you—”

  I very nearly spit in his face. Instead, I settle for nose-to-nose. “Fuck. You.”

  Spinner’s palm flies between us, pushing against my chest. “Back off, Easton.”

  Rex snarls, “This is our career you are single-handedly trashing—”

  “And I’m meant to be your family!” Spittle flies. I pound my chest. “When you needed me, I was there. When your kid was born—”

  “Don’t you dare bring up my child.”

  “—and you had no one,” I persist, “I dropped everything so I could help you through it. Because that’s what brothers do for each other. They don’t fling them out in the cold.” I swing my arm for effect, spit catching in my scruff. “They don’t leave them adrift to manage their demons alone.” My voice cracks. “They don’t fucking walk away.”

  It pains him. There’s a flash in his eyes that tells me so, but Rex collects whatever resolve he’s clinging to and stands firm. “We have to do what’s best for the band—”

  “Fuck this band,” I say. Whipping around, I ignore any further excuses.

  At least, they’ll think I’m ignoring them. As soon as I turn my back, I’m sickened to realize, I can no longer hear what’s being said.

  Without a hitch in step, I shove through the door, satisfied when I hear the slam of it behind me.

  My drive home is dangerous, but I’m fucking done with safety.

  I take the same bridge I went horizontal on, envisioning the large bottle of whiskey waiting for me at my apartment, on my bar cart, a sparkling crystal glass beckoning beside it.

  Pretty sure I’ll skip the glass.

  All I want is vast emptiness. A whole blanket of nothing engulfing my remaining senses, bringing them to the same disfigurement as my ears, and just black the fuck out.

  I’ve lost everything. What’s it matter if I go blind, lose my voice, can’t touch, can’t feel, can’t hear?

  Why didn’t this bridge just take me the first time?

  The dark thoughts are mottled and multiplying the faster I force them forward. The road gains curves as soon as I fly off the bridge and I take a left turn scary-fast, the adrenaline push of my heart adding to the gas.

  I’m flying. I’m not caring, and I’m ready for my downfall.

  My wheels skid when I stop in front of my apartment, but my breath takes up the sound when I see who’s standing in front of the building.

  I pull off my helmet and push back my hair as I prowl over to the figure.

  Taryn hesitates. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” My chest heaves, but I control it, for her sake. I have no idea what kind of expression I’m giving her, but it’s barely human.

  “I wasn’t sure when you’d get back from the studio…” Her gaze slides sideways. “I’m not sure what I’m doing here, exactly. I just knew I didn’t want to go home—”

  I hurl her against the wall and take her mouth.

  She doesn’t resist. In fact, she molds into my hands with malleable softness, at complete odds with the way her mouth sucks and bites and latches on.

  I grip her ass, squeeze, and she moans against my tongue, the vibrations coating my throat and zinging a direct path to my dick.

  When I tear away, one hand has traveled to the nape of her neck. “Let’s go inside, before I fuck you against this brick.”

  Taryn pants, her eyes wet with desire.

  I unlock the front doors and we barely make it to the elevator before we’re gripping, pawing, tearing at each other’s clothes. My leather jacket falls to the floor with a heavy, chain-clanging thud. When the doors open, she bends down to grab it, but that simply gives me access to pull up her skirt, dig my fingers into her peachy ass, and rub my dick against the white lace thong, a feeble barrier to what’s mine.

  White lace.

  “Leave it,” I say. All I want to do is add her underwear to the pile we’re creating.

  The thought that I was right, that she’s a lace thong girl, causes a feral exhale, teeth bared. After a moan, she stands and twists in my hold, a trembling grin on her lips. “Down, boy. We’re in an elevator.”

  “We could be in the middle of the fucking Rockefeller Center skating rink and I’d still fuck you senseless.”

  Taryn’s eyes flare at the dark promise, but she’s not afraid. Good—because I’m not confident I can stop myself from ramming her.

  Every ounce of self-possession has left me, and there’s the pale notion that I could be dangerous to her, I could maybe hurt her, but I want Taryn too much to worry about consequences.

  And her stare holds so much seduction.

  She takes my hand and leads me down the hallway. I have to stride carefully, my dick straining against the tight denim of my pants. I pull her against me when she walks past my door, grinding into her from behind, moaning into her hair and grazing my nose from her shoulder, up her neck, to her ear.

  I bite.

  She yelps, but when my fingers travel over, under, through the lace, the slickness there gives me any answer I need.

  We fall through to my hallway once I gain enough momentum to unlock the door, kissing, nipping, clothes falling outside our path.

  I tear into her blouse like I fantasized, rip through her flimsy bra and expose perfect, delicious breasts. I dive, licking and sucking at the same time I lift her and wrap her legs around my torso.

  “Oh…” Her head falls back, tendrils of her hair tickling against my grip on her ass. “Fuck. Easton.”

  I growl against her nipple and flick with my tongue. She groans, clutching my head, pulling it closer.

  If I die of suffocation by breast, I’ll go into the afterlife a happy man. So long as I can take these tits with me.

  I let her fall onto my bed, splayed with nothing but a skirt and panties to her name. Making quick work of that, I have her naked in seconds.

  The bed dips as I climb onto it with my knees and lift her legs, spreading them, enjoying the view.

  Taryn bites her lip in a flash of insecurity, but she doesn’t clam up. Instead, she waits.

  I lower my fingers, watching idly as I glide them in and out of her. “You’re fucking perfect,” I say, and I don’t recognize my tone. It’s beastly. I have a bare tether to my human soul.

  “Fuck me already, Easton,” she moans, but she keeps her eyes on mine, unblinking.

  It’s enough to derail the little decency I have left.

  I strip off my clothes, baring myself to her, and her lips part at the sight of my dick. I don’t give her time to enjoy, because I sink into her the way I promised, riding her hard.

  Her nails rake down my back, and she meets me, thrust to thrust, her hard sighs sounding right next to my e
ar, providing a clarity of sound I hadn’t registered in much too long.

  When I rise onto my hands and her head falls against the pillows, her mouth open into an O of pleasure, I pound harder.

  Because I can’t hear the sighs that are coming out of her anymore.

  My mouth twists as I thrust harder, drilling into her so long and hard, it must be hurting her. But Taryn opens her eyes, lids low and permissive. She holds onto my biceps as I release my anger, pushing the hurt, the traitorous fear, the utter despair that my body has failed right when fate decided to pave the way for dreams, and I pound.

  I pound.

  I pound.

  Just as fate gives, it destroys.

  Covered in sweat, hair falling into my eyes, I aim for release, but I can’t come.

  Taryn holds my face in her hands, directing my attention to her.

  “I’m hurting you,” I say, but my voice doesn’t hit my ears. All it is, is a grinding feeling in my throat.

  She shakes her head determinedly. Mouths something. Something close to, “let me.”

  And when she rolls us over so she’s on top, my hearing comes back in a popping whoosh.

  “Watch,” she says, unabashed and beautiful as she displays all of herself in the late afternoon light.

  She moves my hand to my dick, so I can feel her sliding up and down, so I can see the way her lower lips flare at every lift, the way she coats me with lust.

  Then, she brings my other hand to her throat and lays it there as she moans.

  “Use it all,” she says, chin tilted up, so she looks at me with slanted, sinful eyes. “Don’t rely on sound, because fucking me requires everything from you.”

  I emit a loud swallow as my gaze travels to the way her breasts bounce, how her abdomen contracts each time my cock goes all the way in, the way my fingers go wet as I feel her pussy sliding, how my palm on her neck absorbs the vibrations of her building orgasm.

  “F…” I can’t finish the curse.

  Senses overridden, I lift my hips and meet her halfway, faster, deeper, my teeth exposed on a growl.

  I feel all of her.

  I want all of her.

  I have all of her.

  Taryn’s name is on my lips as I roar out my release, spilling into her and gripping every part of her body she’s given over. Her hair is tousled, her nipples are hard and rose-colored, her face flushed with the same color.

  Watching me come sends her straight up, and she rubs her clit enough to catch the tail end of my orgasm and join in with her own.

  With her eyes, the liquid depths of her soul, on mine, we meet our ends with equal desperation.

  26

  Taryn

  I lay breathless, my fingers intertwined with his.

  My head rests in the nook between Easton’s neck and shoulder, and I can hear every rapid beat of his heart as we exhale our recovery.

  Light filters through the window, outlining his profile and the peach-fuzz of his skin. Tiny dust particles glint in the air against the setting sun above us.

  It feels so perfect, all of it. And if I don’t think too hard, I can believe it.

  Easton squeezes my shoulder, pulling me closer. “You okay?”

  I nod, my tangled hair sticking between his skin and my temple.

  “That was … it was perfect timing.” He kisses the top of my head. “I was about to lose my fucking mind.”

  I lift off his warm, hard chest, glad to talk about anything but myself. “Something happened?”

  “Ah…” He shakes his head, closes his eyes. “I’m not with the band anymore.”

  My forehead pulls taut. I swear my heart stills. “What?”

  “It’s complicated,” he says during a deep sigh. “They don’t think I’m—they don’t think I can play right anymore.”

  “No. They found out?”

  “Not exactly.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he stares in the opposite direction. “They seem to have it in their heads that I’m a drug addict.”

  Automatically, I guffaw. “That’s insane. You set them to rights immediately, I’m sure.”

  Easton remains silent.

  “East?” I prompt. After a few more seconds of silence, I ask slowly, “You didn’t let them believe you’re addicted to drugs, did you?”

  “I … might’ve.”

  “But why?” I rise into a sitting position, pulling the sheets with me and crossing my legs. I drag my tangled mop of hair to one side of my head and continue, “You’ve been together since you were teenagers. You could’ve been honest with them. Tell them what’s really going on.”

  His attention swerves to me, and he hooks my free hand, gently massaging my palm. “Like you did with me?”

  I send him a suspicious glance. “I’m not understanding.”

  Easton lifts my hand, exposing my bare arm, and twists it in the light. Light that has become much too revealing. “These bruises. They’re much too big for a ten-year-old’s fingers.”

  “That’s…” Frantically, I try to think of something plausible to say. “I never said it was his hand.”

  His head angles against the pillows. “What was it then?”

  “It, uh—” I clear my throat, and his eyes narrow. “You’re flipping the conversation. We’re talking about you, and the fact you’ve walked away from the one thing that’s kept you sane. Your dreams. Willingly, I might add. All to cover up what? The fact you won’t be able to hear? There are plenty of deaf musicians—”

  “Taryn,” he murmurs.

  “I looked it up, East. I even spoke to Jamie’s music teacher. Without mentioning your name, but I think she’d be an excellent resource, as she’s deaf herself and plays multiple—”

  “Taryn.” His gaze goes sharp, but when he traces my bruise, it’s tentative. “I don’t expect you to bare your soul to me. God knows I’ve kept enough from you. But I need to know the source of this.”

  I pull my hand back, holding it gingerly against my stomach. “No. You don’t.”

  “Is someone hurting you?”

  “Are you deliberately hurting yourself?” I hurl back.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t think Nocturne Court kicked you out. I think you let it get to this point so you could quit. Because you don’t want them to know you’re going deaf.”

  “Fuck, Taryn.” He throws the sheets off and starts to get out of bed. “Why are you—”

  “You lost your hearing when we were having sex.”

  Still seated on the bed, he reaches up to massage his temples and says tiredly, “I can’t keep up with you right now.”

  “You couldn’t hear me, Easton. But with my help, you learned how to find pleasure with your other senses. And it was awesome. Wonderful.” My voice lowers at the memory, but I raise it to go on. “You can relearn things, East. This proves it. The things that give you the greatest pleasure can be found again, if you’d only—”

  “What if I don’t want to?” Easton drops his hands from his head. “What if this is all I’ve been dealt? A few years to live my dream. To play like I’ve always envisioned—loud and crass and hearing every damn beat that comes from my hands. If this is all the time I’ve been granted, I don’t want to waste it by starting from scratch where my peak will be some half-assed version of myself. I want to blast forward with what I have and then, when it comes for me…” He twists his lips and shrugs. “I’ll give up. Because I don’t want to play anymore, knowing the kind of talent I lost.”

  “Your friends—your band—they have no idea you’re going through this. How can you assume they’d desert you?”

  “Because once they find out, I’ll be done for. Career over. Rex will kick me out for good. Make Pete the bandleader,” he mutters. “And I’m not done yet. It’ll be easy to convince them I’m not on drugs and they’ll bring me back in. Much easier than the truth. I’ll piss in a cup and be back drumming by tomorrow.”

  “That’s not the Easton I’ve come to know,” I whisper. “You’re hid
ing. Pretending. And it’s hurting you. You can’t keep doing this. Eventually you’re going to have to face that you’ll be different. And you’re in no way prepared.”

  He flies off the bed and whirls to face me. “Tell me who the fuck is hurting you, Taryn!”

  I jolt at the venom in his tone. “Don’t stand there and shout like you have every right to know what’s going on in my life when you can barely get a grip on yours.”

  Easton’s eyes stretch to their whites, and he points at me. “Then don’t lecture like you have an all-access pass to everything that’s going on with me!”

  “I’m worried about you!” I shout.

  “And I’m fucking worried about you!”

  I pull the covers higher up my chest, feeling more exposed than when I was stark naked and riding him like a hyena in heat.

  “Y-You’re right,” I stutter. “We don’t know enough about each other to dig this deep. I think it’s time I get dressed and—”

  “Know enough?” He scoffs. “Know you? I fucking know you, Taryn. I know you’ve busted your ass since you were nineteen and pregnant to get where you are in this moment. I know you protect your son like a lioness and would rather describe his bike as a beast-mode DeLorean than let him wallow in anything that makes him stand out from the ‘normal’ kids. I know you taught him that being different makes him cool, again and again, until he finally believed it, and you wish it could work the same with me. I know you’re a defense lawyer because you have a sense of justice and fairness and I know you are the most decent, strong, and beautiful woman I’ve ever fucking seen.”

  He dives deep for a breath when he finishes.

  The bed seems to shift from under me, and it’s with unsteady feet that I hit the floor and stand in front of him, chin tilted up, back arched, hiding my trembles beneath the sheets I brought with me. “And I know you’ve had an affinity for music since you were a preteen and it’s not something you’d give up just because it things are getting difficult. Your soul sings lyrics, your fingers itch to bring notes to life, and you play for yourself more than you do to an audience. You can’t lose that. You shouldn’t. I know you’re patient because of the way you treat Jamie. With decency. With normalcy.” I bare my teeth, my eyes watering at the same time. “With humor. And anyone who’s kind to my son is a fucking great human being in my books. You’re not a goddamned coward, Easton, despite how you’re acting right now. You’re a fighter.”