Rock Me: A Rockstar Romance (Rock Chamber Boys Book 4)

by Daisy Allen

  I pull him gently toward the tub, gesturing for him to get in, to join me.

  “I'm not-…” he gestures to his clothes. But I don’t care about that.

  I tug on his hand, saying nothing, and he hesitates for just one more second before he steps over the rim of the tub and sinks down onto his knees into the water.

  The water splashes over the sides but I couldn’t care less.

  I push myself up onto my knees so we're face to face, waist deep in disintegrating bubbles and warm water and jet spray blowing against our legs.

  He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. I raise my hands and hold his face between them, staring into his eyes. The pain in them means so much more to me now. I used to think it was just that he was a brooder, with the pain, the scars from his childhood of losing his parents. But now I know, it’s from losing himself.

  How can someone play like that, like what I just heard, have it taken away from them, and ever be whole?

  My Jez, my sweet, unique, talented, godly, Jez.

  I say nothing, but what my eyes express to his. I want him to know, need him to know, that I understand now. That he doesn’t need to say a word. I move my hands away from his face and take his hands in mine, cradling them like they're the most precious things I’ll ever hold.

  I open up his left hand, running my fingers over the scars and press a kiss to his palm.

  I lift my eyes back to his, and they’re stark with vulnerability. And I know, what I say in this moment, is of vital importance to him.

  I make sure he’s looking into my eyes, when I finally speak.

  "You are going to be okay.”

  And something breaks in him.

  His face crumples, his eyes well up and his mouth quivers. I watch it as if in slow motion. The complete and utter devastation of a man. I can barely hold back my own tears for him. But it's not about me. It's never been more about him.

  I sink down into the tub and pull him with me, his body drops, his head falling onto my shoulder as he starts to shake.

  And I hold him. Body and clothes and healing bones and broken soul as he sobs.

  "It's okay, I'm here. You let it out. I'm here."

  No wonder. No wonder it's been so hard for him. To be given that gift, direct from the hand of God... and then, not know if you can ever do it again.

  I think back to all those times I watched him flinch as he tried to just hold a ball.

  All those times he couldn't hold a pen and needed to ask someone else to write me a note.

  When he couldn’t reach for a tissue.

  How each time it must've reminded him of what he may have lost. And how much physical pain he’s been through.

  Yet, he ignored it to carry me. To bed. Twice.

  "You are going to okay,” I repeat. For myself this time, to comfort myself for the anguish I imagine he’s going through.

  "What if I'm not… there’s so much wrong with me…" he sobs into my shoulder, and the catch in his voice tears at my heart like a rake dipped in acid.

  "Hey, I'm not saying your hands will ever fully heal, I can't. But there isn’t anything wrong with you. Not you. And I know, that YOU, my mystery, sexy, gorgeous, beautiful man. You are going to be okay. I promise you."

  "You promise?" And I have to bite my tongue to stop from crying at the helplessness in his voice.

  "Listen to me. Look at me.” He lifts his head, and I can barely make out his pupils through my own blurry vision. “I promise you. Do you hear me, do you see how much I mean it?

  He nods, "No one's been able to promise me before."

  "I'm not just anyone."

  "No, you're not.” His lips quivers again and I push his head back down onto my chest, so that my heartbeat can steady his breaths.

  I feel my own tears fall hot and full down my face as I ache for him. Holding him tighter, hoping the water transfers his pain to me.

  Give me it all. I'll take it all, I whisper to any power greater than me that can make it so.

  I don't know how long we lay there. This broken man and I. Just that when it's finally quiet, I'm not the same person I was before. And I don't think he is either.

  He lifts his head, his eyes red, his hair wet, the clothes clinging to every inch of his body.

  "I'm sorry,” he murmurs.

  "Shhh, what on earth are you sorry for?"

  "I'm sorry, I'm... I'm not him."

  "Him?" I point to the TV. "I never knew him. I know you. Baby, I want you."

  "Even though I’m broken?"

  "Every jagged, delicate, imperfect piece."

  I bite my lip and his eyes stray to my mouth. He looks back up to me and there’s heat in his eyes now. Something solid compared to the mist of pain that was looking in them before.

  He rolls off me and leans his back against the wall of the tub, the water spilling over the sides as he grabs my hips and pulls me on top of him.

  My legs fall on either side of him, and I can feel him growing hard against me. I reach for the hem of his T-shirt and lift it over his head. It's wet and heavy and he laughs as I struggle to throw it over the side.

  And then he stops laughing. Eyes dark and serious as he reaches under the water, his hands finding me, the spot between my legs.

  I spread my knees further apart, sinking deeper, holding my breath as he caresses me. His fingers tracing along the lines of my skin, as I slide the zipper of his jeans down.

  He moves his hand away, just for a moment, as he wriggles out of his jeans.

  I reach into the water to fist his cock. He groans as I run my fingers up and down the length; he’s already rock hard. He leans his head back against the side of the tub for a few seconds as my hand grips him harder, pumping him, getting him ready.

  "Jez, I want you. All of you," I whisper. And he nods.

  I stroke him, hard and fast, watching his Adam’s apple moving up and down his throat as he breathes deeply. Even under the water I can feel the slickness of the drop forming on the tip of his cock.

  He's ready.

  I wriggle further up his body, lifting slightly, positioning him right at my opening.

  He lifts his head, his fingers reaching up to flick on my nipples.

  “Ohhhh,” I exhale, my chest arching against his hands, wanting more.

  It spurs him on and he leans forward and catches my nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. Making my hips rock, involuntarily.

  Now it’s his turn to know, I’m ready.

  He keeps sucking, and I let go of his cock, reaching behind me to brace myself on his thighs. I keep rocking, the movement instinctive to a woman who’s ready to fuck.

  “I’m yours, Noémie. Every jagged broken piece,” he grunts and thrusts forward just as I rock against him, and his cock sinks deep inside me.

  "Ohhhhh," I moan, the air pushed out of me as he fills me up. "Oh god, Jez."

  "Shhh, baby, take me, take all of me," he rasps, his hips moving fast up and down under the water.

  "Fuck!!” I yell. Feeling the orgasm build and build and build.

  "You are so fucking beautiful. You're a fucking goddess, Noémie. I can't get enough of you."

  "You have all of me," I promise, just as I feel my entire body shudder.

  I lean forward, gripping his shoulders as I ride him, bucking my hips, feeling him completely fill me up with his hard, driving cock.

  In the distance I hear him growl my name and I see his head throw back, leaning against the tub rim as he drives himself inside of me.

  I'm dizzy, and I fall to the side.

  And he catches me, pulling me against him, our bare chests heaving against each other, as my legs collapse around his.

  "Damn,” he pants.

  "Holy macaroni, Tony," I add.

  He laughs even through his short breaths. “That's not something you hear every day.”

  "I can change that." I wink at him as my face falls to rest on his shoulder.

  "You change everything, sweet girl. Everything."
>
  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Jez

  The next two days are spent in complete and utter bliss.

  I didn't know life could be like this. I know I told Noémie that I've never been in love, and now I know it's true.

  Nothing has felt like this. Nothing has come close.

  At one point, I feel a little envious, a little jealous of her that she has felt this way in the past. With someone else.

  But then she looks at me while we're making love, or she reaches out to me in her sleep, and I know, it was never like this.

  We spend the days exploring Las Vegas; she's never been here. I laugh so hard when I hear that, she's lived in California for almost four years, and never been to Las Vegas.

  "I never had a sugar daddy until now," she says, pouting.

  "You don't now!" I reply, abhorred that she would think of me that way. "Sugar daddies are old and hairy and balding and live on a diet of vitamins and Viagra."

  "Fine, sugar brother."

  We both scrunch up our faces pretty quickly at that.

  "Never mind. You can just be my sugar, baby."

  And I try. To give her as much as my sweetness as I have, to offset the times when it's not so easy to be with me. Such as the hours of PT she forces me to do every morning before breakfast and every evening after we come back from a day of exploring. She’s a hard task master and sometimes I wonder if I’m working hard to help myself or to please her. Either way, I couldn’t do it without her.

  "What do you want to do today?" I ask her the next morning, her body still hot and sweaty in my arms after she’s rewarded me for my PT exercises by a particularly vigorous fucking against the large glass window looking out at the Eiffel Tower.

  "Hmmm,” she thinks, wriggling against me, getting comfortable under the sheet. “I want to do something you've never done."

  "You mean, like work an honest day in my life?"

  She laughs and tickles my stomach with her fingertips, which is quickly becoming my favorite thing she does to me. Favorite G-rated thing. Well, PG.

  "Hey, you might not be sitting in a cubicle or standing in a factory line, but I bet you guys work pretty hard," I smile, no longer surprised every time she understands something without me having to explain it to her. "What's your favorite thing about it?" she asks.

  "About what?"

  "Your... work."

  "That it's not work, I guess. As glamourous it might sound, as much money as we make, as many benefits as we get from the fame, if it felt forced or like work for a moment, I'd be the first one to cut loose, followed very closely by the rest of the guys. It wasn’t about the money or fame when we were thirteen years old and sneaking out of our houses to jam in any abandoned house, hall, side alley we could find. And even then we knew if we had to work ten hours shifts at the local fast food store so that the remaining fourteen hours of our day could be spent doing what we want to do, we'd do it. The important thing is that it never feels like we have to. I think it comes through in our performances, too.” I smile, in a rare moment of reminiscing that doesn’t plunge me into a pit of doubt about my future. “We're just lucky that there are people out there willing to pay us to do it. But we couldn’t do what we do if the end goal was the money. Our music doesn't work that way. Our creativity doesn't work that way. The money and fame kill it, really. It's important to not let it do that."

  I take a breath.

  "Huh, I've never really said that out loud before." I look down at her, and she's listening, her eyes closed, her head on my chest.

  "I love listening to you," she says.

  "Talk?"

  "Well, yeah. What else?"

  "I'm not really used to people wanting to listen to me talk. My cello playing, yes. Talking, not so much."

  "That's stupid.” She crinkles her nose up and I reach out and touch it, making her yelp quietly.

  "Maybe that's why they don't want to listen to me talk."

  "No, not 'you're stupid,' though that last comment wasn't so smart. I meant, you thinking people only want to listen to your music and not what you've got to say, is stupid."

  "It's a little bit true."

  "I think you're underestimating people."

  "Hmmm, I don't like this conversation. I’m not coming off too great."

  "You started it,” she finishes, knowing I’m not going to argue since it’s clear I’m in the wrong.

  I scrunch up my face which seems to trigger something in my brain and I get an idea. A fucking brilliant idea.

  "Then I'm ending the conversation." I jump out of bed and throw the robe at the end of the bed to her. "Let's go!"

  "Where?" She sits up, rubbing her eyes.

  "Somewhere neither of us have gone!"

  "Balls," she mutters under her breath as she drags herself out of bed, and I have to restrain myself from dragging her back to it. “I was just getting comfortable.”

  "Then you’re going to hate this. Now, come on! And trust me, you're going to want to brush your hair for this."

  "Ba. Double balls.”

  "That's how they usually come.”

  ***

  "No. Absolutely fucking not in a million years of pigs flying through a frozen hell filled with snowballs. No."

  "Noémie, you said to pick something neither of us have done."

  Her eyes shift from side to side, trying to think of an argument, and coming up empty.

  "Well, this seems a little more like something I've never done and you watching."

  "Well, technically, it's true. I've never watched you do this. Totally fits.”

  She sighs and puts her hand on my shoulder, "Ok, so listen super carefully, okay?"

  "I'm listening, baby,” I say, leaning for a kiss.

  She lets me kiss her and rolls her eyes before yelling, quite emphatically, "For the last time, NO!"

  "You're cute. Even with your clothes on. You ready?" I hand her her ukulele. "You might want to check the tuning. That thing runs sharp."

  "Die,” she hisses, taking her ukulele in hand.

  "Not yet, maybe after this,” I chuckle. My cheeriness is annoying her. Which is, in turn, amusing me considerably.

  "I don't think you're hearing me, Jez.”

  "Actually, my hearing was the one thing that wasn't affected at all. You can do this. I heard you play Bumblebee on that thing, so I know you can do anything. Which, by the way… insane. But we'll talk about that later."

  "JEZ! I can't do this! I'm not..." She stops, mid-sentence.

  "What? Good enough? I say double balls to that and you know it."

  "Why? Why did you do this?"

  I calm myself, and pull her into me, squeezing her tight. "Because, I want to prove something to you."

  "What's that?" she asks, her voice small and scared.

  "That I don't underestimate people. And least of all you. You can do this." I kiss the top of her head. She can do this. I have no doubt in the world.

  The sound of loud applause drowns out my words.

  "Ready?”

  "Hell,” she sighs.

  "Good girl. You’re doing this for me," I add, to give her that last dose of motivation but I can tell from the way her shoulder pushes back and her heads tilt up, that she’s in. She really does have a set of double balls.

  "Double hell,” she curses under her breath, and her hands grip the ukulele so tight, I can see the individual crevices of her knuckles.

  The voice over the speakers have us turning to the stage from our spot in the wings.

  "I'd like to introduce a very new friend of mine. Her name is Noémie, and she's going to join me on stage for this very special song. Noémie?"

  She doesn't move, I look down at her feet and they’re rooted to the spot.

  "Why don't we all give her a little encouragement!"

  The cheers and claps fill our ears and I give her a soft kiss on the cheek and whisper into her ear, "For me, please."

  She takes a breath and walks on to the stage.
/>
  A star.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Noémie

  Celine Dion is smiling at me, and touching my hand.

  And I haven't fainted yet. She's so beautiful I think I might be falling in love. But I can't.

  Because she's saying something and I think should listen.

  "My very good friend Pink wrote this song for me, in the toughest time in my life,” she’s saying. Her voice full of emotion, of memory.

  I know exactly what song she is talking about. And now I know why I'm here.

  "The name of the song is Recovering." She nods to me, and smiles and I nod back. A nod of understanding. Of people who'd known what it’s like to break.

  And have recovered.

  I count it in, and play.

  Play with everything I have.

  Everything I want to be. Everything I want to say to Jez, in this moment.

  Who gave me this moment. I don't know how he did it, but he gave me the one thing I needed.

  Belief in myself again. The song is over almost before it began. Celine’s voice soaring over my last chord and then it’s done.

  And I soak in the applause.

  The moment.

  And then I walk off the stage and return to my life.

  My new life.

  With Jez.

  "You were phenomenal," he's yelling at me over the cheers as I walk into his arms.

  "I can't believe what just happened!" I scream, trying to make sense of what I've just experienced.

  "It happened. Every single fucking moment."

  "Ahh!!!!” I yell, pumping my fists into the air.

  "Quiet!" Someone with a headset shushes us and Jez grabs my hand and we run giggling out of a side exit.

  "Is that... is that how it always feels?"

  He nods, his eyes sparkling. "Yeah. It is."

  "Thank you. My sugar guardian angel." And I wonder if I’ll ever be able to repay him.

  ***

  There's a cello in the middle of the foyer when we get back to the room after a helicopter ride over the strip a few days later.

  Jez opens the door and it's just sitting there.