Wicked Serenade: a Lost in Oblivion Collection

by Quinn, Cari

  She wasn’t sure she liked this whole being a slave to her sex-drive thing, but right now she couldn’t care. Not when she had a view like this. He passed her, and the obvious and easy athleticism of his pace made her feel frumpy.

  Kicking it up a notch, she was gulping breaths by the time they made it up the hill to where the beer tents were set up for the show that night. “Over there,” she said on a wheeze.

  Deacon slowed his pace. “You don’t have to try to keep up with me.”

  “Ass,” she said with a gasp and grabbed her knees. “How the hell are you not panting?” The heat made her lungs burn as much as the lack of oxygen.

  “All we do is sit and get on a bus and sit some more. I’m ready to scream with all the inactivity.”

  “Guess we don’t have to worry you gaining weight on tour like some other people.”

  “Opposite problem for me. I have to eat more. I just burn weight off. Luckily I have my very own chef now.”

  “You think so?” she said and rested her elbows on her knees. But already her brain started whirling with recipes to keep him healthy.

  “I know so. You like taking care of us idiots. I’ve seen the breakfast things you’ve been leaving for me.”

  She frowned. Maybe that was part of it. As much as she loved creating, it was the people that ate her food that really kept her going. “Well, you like to work out. And I’ve done plenty of dietary classes.”

  “You’re a dietitian too?”

  “Not quite, but I do have the foundations and I researched a bit.”

  His eyebrow rose. “So you were thinking about me?”

  All the alarm bells and flashing lights started going off in her head. And not for the orgasm reason this time. “It’s my job to put together the right fuel for my clients.”

  Deacon nodded, his smile gone but humor still flirted with his lips. “I see.”

  “I’m responsible for keeping you guys in top form. And if you kill yourselves with these crazy runs you seem hell bent on doing every day, at least I can make sure you’re eating the right thing.” She stood with only a small groan, thank you very much. “But now we have to get your back cleaned up. Between the sweat and sleeping, you’re a damn mess.”

  “I’m sorry you have to take care of it. I can get Jazz to—”

  “No.”

  He grinned up at her as he stretched his hamstrings. “No?”

  “I said I’d do it.”

  “And you always do what you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good to know.” He picked up his bag and went into the ancient bathrooms that were little more than a shack. The park had given up on doing much more than keeping the water running. Little things like replacing broken windows weren’t in the budget. The echo of his flip flops on the tile was followed by spray. Her Teva sandals saved her from getting squicked out about the floor of the cavernous shower.

  She stopped in the doorway when Deacon’s hands went to the waistband of his shorts.

  “You’re sure?” he asked.

  “What, am I going to get a case of the vapors because you’re getting naked in front of me?”

  He simply grinned.

  Of course she could do this. She stripped out of her shirt. She wasn’t the one going full Monty. Heck, she could walk around the park in the bright pink bathing suit and be completely suitable for the general public. She shucked out of her cotton shorts and tossed them on her small pile on the bench. Then why did she feel so exposed?

  But when Deacon dropped both his pants and boxer briefs she lost all lung function. Running up the hill had nearly killed her. Deacon in all his glory was going to finish off the job.

  His legs were long and muscled from running and whatever else he did. Rowing? Could rowing possibly do that to his thighs? And then there was the entire…package situation.

  He watched her as she looked him over. And as he hardened before her eyes, she could only swallow. He turned away from her and switched on the spray.

  “A cold shower is only going to do so much, Harper. I want you too much to be bashful about it.”

  “It’s a natural response to any woman.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “If you say so.”

  She reached for the washcloth he’d brought and stepped closer to him. “Kate told me that I should slowly dab away any residue and fibers from the gauze.”

  He nodded and ducked under the showerhead, letting the water drill his neck and slowly slide down his back. “Go for it.”

  God, why had she said she could do this? Getting her hands on him was going to make it harder to stay focused. Sex was one thing. This was intimacy. And intimacy came with hooks.

  She gently slid the soapy cloth over his shoulders. Suds coasted over the network of muscles that made up his back. Little particles and flecks of abused flesh washed away. Kate had explained the extra plasma and blood that would shed from the tattoo, but for the most part Deacon’s back was unmarred. Casey Wilde knew his craft and knew how to work on skin with the least amount of tearing.

  She traced the pads of her soapy fingers down the filigreed design that mimicked his spine and out to the tribal markings that looked like intricate armor. Layers of beautiful black and gray artwork had been painstakingly etched into his skin.

  And she’d sat there, watching the entire process. Weirdly, it felt like it was hers, too. That was just insane, but true nonetheless.

  He leaned against the half wall that housed the trio of showerheads that made up the stall. The slap of water on tile and their breathing were the only sounds. She didn’t even know what to say to him. So she washed away the suds until the water ran clear, and then replaced her fingers with her lips.

  She couldn’t stop herself from touching him. He’d been so gentle and yet so very insistent in the bunk that her own gentleness was building up inside until she couldn’t stop the overflow. Muscle and sinew flowed under her fingertips as she followed the design. At his indrawn breath, she sighed and tracked the path of the design down.

  The knife-edge of the bottom of the tattoo arrowed just above his ass. She followed the dimples that dented his flesh and then slowly slid around to the front of him. His flesh was cool under the lukewarm spray until she came to the heavy erection between his thighs. Her name was a whisper under the slapping water that fell around their feet. She cupped her fingers around his shaft and lightly stroked through the suds that remained.

  His groan reverberated through her chest, tightening her nipples and making her teeth chatter in reaction. Just a quick trip against the tiles, and she could have all of him inside her.

  “Harper,” he groaned and tipped his head back. “I don’t have anything with me.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned heavily on his arm. “Of course you don’t.”

  “I didn’t think…”

  Of course he didn’t think. Deacon didn’t go into this shower knowing it was a sure thing like most men would have. She pushed him out of the path of the water before she turned him. The spray was too harsh for his back.

  Rising on her toes, she pressed a soft kiss to his neck, his chest, and the tight nipples that edged his firm pecs. She sipped water from the dips and ridges that made up the wall of muscle that banded his midsection and finally followed the vee that lead to his cock.

  She crouched low, looking up at him. Water starred his lashes, and his hair was slicked back, making his angular face starkly beautiful. The usual crinkles around his eyes were missing. In their place was an intensity that stole her breath.

  They’d played, they’d flirted, and they’d laughed. But laughter didn’t quite fit here. She stroked the smooth skin of his cock and followed a vein tracing the underside of his shaft with the pad of her thumb. When a muscle in his jaw flexed, she felt the answering clench of her muscles, the clasping tissues inside her that felt too tight, too exposed, as she opened her knees for balance. His nostrils flared and the gold at the center of his hazel eyes glowed from the shafts o
f light that came in from the broken window panes.

  She brushed her nose along the base of his cock. The familiar scent of his soap filled her brain. She opened her mouth, dragging her lips along the hot, hard length of him. Using the flat of her tongue, she sipped water from him.

  The stream from the shower fell around his neck and arrowed down the line of his abs and right to her mouth. She flicked her tongue under the sensitive ridge before taking him inside.

  A hiss of indrawn breath made her bolder. She cupped around him with her tongue and took him deep into her mouth and then deeper, into her throat.

  Her name was a strangled groan as she relaxed and took as much as she could before pulling back and sucking. The wetness from the shower and her mouth made the act easy. She watched his face for clues, and when his fingers slid around her hand at the base of his cock and increased the pressure, she felt her own arousal burn.

  His head tilted back as he drew in a choked groan. God, yes. Giving back some of the pleasure he’d given her twice now was heady. Knowing it was her touch that made his entire body lock up and veins bulge in his arms and neck made her bolder.

  She sucked harder, held him tighter, twisted with a firm hand.

  The slap of his hand on the half wall made her eyes widen. His eyes burned into hers, and she saw him raise his hand to let her know that he was close.

  Still, she kept up the pressure, and when she felt the first pulse of his cum at the back of her throat, she took him deeply again. She swallowed and massaged her tongue along the underside of his cock before she freed him.

  His hands gripped her hair, urging her up against him. He gripped her ass before he lifted her up and into a harsh kiss, all clashing tongues and teeth. Her lips were already swollen from going down on him, and yet he didn’t shy away from the intimacy of a kiss.

  She fisted her hands in his hair and held on as the kiss roughened into a mating of mouths. He rubbed her against his stomach, hooking her legs around his waist for purchase.

  He turned her into the tiled wall and she climbed higher on him. She didn’t even want to check to see if he was hard. She didn’t want that temptation. Because right now she was hot enough to do something stupid.

  Harper squirmed against him, the emptiness inside her dying for that piece of him that would end the ache that felt heavier every hour. Just like her mouth, she knew he’d fill her up until she was ready to scream.

  Until she did scream.

  She tore her mouth away from his and scraped her teeth down his neck. “Oh, God, we gotta stop.”

  “Where’s Simon’s stash when you need it? I want inside you so fucking bad I can’t think,” he said with a strangled groan.

  She bumped her bikini bottoms along the ridge of his erection with a matching groan. “I have to get back to work. If I just had eight condoms and four hours, I’d kill you.”

  “Jesus.”

  She cupped his face and slowed the kiss. “God, it’s going to be so good.”

  “No performance anxiety. Nope. None.” Before she could slip away from him, he dragged her closer again and kissed her breathless. “I have a fan thing after the show tonight, so I probably won’t be able to get away.”

  Disappointment sat heavy in her chest. “That’s okay. I’ll be cooking for that shindig.”

  “We’re heading to Dallas tomorrow. I don’t know it quite as well as Austin and Galveston, but maybe we can slip away for a while?”

  She couldn’t stop a smile when she tipped her head back to get a good look at him. “Is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Deal.”

  “Good.”

  Eleven

  August 20, 1:00 AM - Texas or Bust

  “Load up, people. We have to be in Dallas by noon.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Simon turned around with a bright red plastic cup in his hand and a girl on his arm. “The party just started.”

  Gordo stepped off the bus, his ever constant iPad in hand. “I sent itineraries to you this morning.”

  Deacon unearthed his phone. Sure enough there was an email and a text outlining their schedule for the day. And as usual, there were so many alerts that he’d missed an important one. “Gordo, you gotta lighten up on the notices. We get so many a day that we stop looking at our phones.”

  “Or it drains our damn battery,” Nick said with enough acid in his voice that Deacon winced.

  He’d taken to carrying his charger and a backup battery pod with him. Between the social media blasts they did and the crappy signal they had in the remote parks, their phones were about as useful as a paperweight.

  He sighed and downed the last of his own cup of beer. Well, that was why he couldn’t find Harper. The food trucks packed up with the equipment to make sure they were in place before everyone else.

  “It’s the only way I can keep you informed. Since you love to ditch me.”

  Nick smirked and tucked his hands into his jeans. “We wouldn’t do that, Gordo. That’s just mean.”

  Jazz socked Nick in the stomach. “Don’t be an ass.”

  “What?”

  She plucked a drumstick from her hip pocket and twirled it idly. “Looks like we’ll be getting a good night’s rest for once.”

  “If you’re not tired, you can climb into the bunk with me.” Nick waggled his eyebrows.

  She shoved him back a step, but couldn’t quite stop a smile. “Pig.”

  “Do we get to bring company on the bus?” Simon asked.

  Nick snorted. “Like you’ve ever asked before tonight.”

  The girl on Simon’s arm linked her fingers in Nicky’s belt loop as well as Simon’s. “I’m not ready to stop partying.”

  Simon’s sleepy eyes sharpened, and the trio loaded onto the bus.

  Fucking awesome. It was going to be a damn long drive.

  By the time Deacon climbed inside, Simon and Nick were sitting on the couches with the music on, and the girl was straddling their lead singer.

  She shifted toward Deacon and trailed her fingers down his belly to his loose cargos. “The more the merrier.”

  “Nah.” Nick hauled her off Simon’s lap and deposited her on his own. “Deak has eyes for only one girl these days. Maybe if he finally gets the good chef on all fours he can finally relax.”

  Deacon hauled Nick off the couch by the collar, pulling him up until his feet dangled. “You do what you want with the women of your choice, but don’t fucking disrespect Harper like that.”

  Nick gripped Deacon’s forearm. “Jesus, I was only kidding. Get off!”

  Deacon dropped him to his feet and stumbled back. “I’m sorry.”

  Christ, what the hell was wrong with him? Getting stirred up by a woman was one thing, but this? He swiped Simon’s flask and belted back a fiery mouthful. He hissed as the vodka tore down his throat and burned like gasoline fumes in his lungs. “Fucking shit, Simon. How do you drink this?”

  Simon grinned. “Take another belt, and maybe you’ll calm down.”

  “Maybe I’ll drop into a coma.” But he took another slug. The haze would be welcome, but he’d have to drink a helluva lot more than was in the palm-sized silver flask.

  He leaned over to the small fridge under the couch and pulled out one of his craft beers. When he washed away the vodka with the smooth stout, he evened out.

  His back felt like an army of fire ants were feasting on him, and his adrenaline was still kicking from the show with no outlet. “She’s making me crazy.”

  “Just fuck her, would you? For all of our sakes.”

  Deacon finished off the beer. He knew Nick was right. But he wasn’t entirely sure that fucking her would end the tight skin. When he went to sleep, she was the last thing he thought of. In the morning—well, like this morning. He’d like that to be every morning.

  Seven fucking days.

  Seven days shouldn’t do this much damage. It had to be the sex. He’d cut himself off for the last few months. The club dates around
California and Washington after the single broke had been one mindless fuck after another.

  Not every night, but more than once, he’d let their newfound fame lure him into a bed that didn’t mean anything other than the physical release.

  He understood that. It wasn’t healthy, but at least it made sense.

  With Harper, he didn’t feel any of that. The urgency matched the sense of rightness. And it scared the hell out of him. Everything was changing so fast, and all he could think about was hanging onto something.

  Was it wrong to want it to be her?

  He reached for the six pack under the seat and stalked back to the bunk area.

  He woke a few hours later thanks to an insistent bladder. His head was still a bit fuzzy. After a trip to the bathroom, he wandered into the front of the bus and dropped onto the couch to watch the landscape go by. Joe had the radio on low; the classic rock anthems were replaced with the perfect lyrics that always crawled inside him.

  Not because he had a mother that gave him good advice. Because he sure as shit hadn’t had that. But the lyrics to “Simple Man” had always lined up with his own theories.

  As shitty as days could be, there were good ones to be found. Being patient was his stock in trade. He’d waited out the band, he’d waited out the growing pains of replacing Snake with Jazz and the added bonus of Gray.

  He’d just have to find the patience to figure out Harper. Rushing her wouldn’t do anything to help his cause, but the sense of urgency wouldn’t fade.

  Making her his, holding on to her as if she was going to fade out like the last strains of a song wasn’t a smart move. Instead he had to trust that if she was truly that important, then things would fall together.

  Fate wasn’t something he sat around and waited for. But in this case, he was pretty sure he had to sit on his need to fix and work a problem around to his way of thinking.

  And that sucked.

  Jazz padded out and dropped to the sofa next to him, Nick following a few minutes later. The rest of the bus was silent for a few snores.