Lovely Madness: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 4)

by Jaine Diamond

  I glanced at Merritt. “The best,” she said, smirking.

  “Uh-huh…” I said skeptically.

  Ash gave me his charming rock star smile. “Tell him we’re on our best behavior in here, ’kay?” Then he patted me on the head, which he’d definitely never done before.

  “Uh, okay.”

  “Come on.” Danica hooked her arm through mine. “Now that you’ve seen where these superstars do nothing all day… let’s go for lunch and let them get to work.”

  “What, we seriously can’t come?” her husband called after us as she led me toward the door.

  “Nope!” she called back over her shoulder. “Make yourself useful and write a hit song or something.”

  “Okay, babe. I’ll try.”

  Xander snickered.

  “Goodbye, ladies!” Summer called.

  “’Bye, Summer! Nice to meet you, everyone!” I called back. “Enjoy the treats!”

  “Oh, we will,” Summer said.

  Then my lunch date tugged me out the door… and I wondered what Cary would think of the fact that I’d just gifted the band—and his staff—enough edibles to get them seriously fucking high, for like a month straight.

  Crap.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Taylor

  Load Me Up

  That evening, I was alone in the poolhouse while Cary worked late.

  I put on his vortex playlist while I did my pre-jog stretches; he’d sent it to me just after dinner, minutes after I finally sent him mine.

  See, I texted him back, it’s not so easy, is it?

  Of course, it had only taken him two days to do his.

  When I heard the first song, “Load Me Up” by Matthew Good Band, I may have squealed a bit and texted him again.

  Me: I LOVE MATTHEW GOOD!!!

  Cary: One of Gabe’s favorites.

  I enjoyed the first few songs on the playlist so much, I kept it playing in my earbuds when I headed out for my jog.

  I only got as far as the backyard, though, then hesitated. I looked up at the house. And decided to do some more stretches while I considered my options.

  At lunch, I’d talked things through with Danica. And she seemed zero-percent surprised that I’d had sex with Cary already. Her only concern seemed to be that I didn’t end up “going over to the dark place.”

  When I asked her what dark place she meant, she said, “The one you always tumble into for a few days after you see your crazy parents, or when you know some jerk is about to break your heart.”

  “I thought you said my family isn’t crazy.”

  “I say a lot of things because I love you.”

  “Hmm. And who said I’m getting my heart broken?” I asked her. “I didn’t say I’m in love. I said I like him. Baby steps.”

  “Right,” she said, sounding overly perky and agreeable, because she loved me.

  When we parted ways after lunch, she gave me a hug and said, “Don’t let him hurt you, okay? You went through enough over the winter with Dominic.”

  “Let’s not speak his name.”

  “Done.”

  “And who knows? Maybe this one will turn out to be my knight in shining armor?”

  She gave me a sweet but very uncertain look, patted me on the shoulder, and said, “Let’s talk soon.”

  I was kind of annoyed that she seemed to just assume I was getting hurt here. I was pretty sure she figured Cary was some sort of hot rock star rebound thing. He doesn’t seem like your type was the way she’d put it.

  What, successful, attractive and wealthy? I said.

  No, sweetie. I meant overly complicated.

  She wasn’t wrong about that. I’d really been working on purging the overcomplicated types from my life in recent times.

  I liked him. The sex yesterday was incredible. But I had this tread carefully feeling prickling through me on a pretty regular basis, warning me not to get carried away.

  When I got home with his takeout after lunch and told him I’d met his staff, saw the band, and brought them a spontaneous gift basket, he seemed pleased. When I told him that I’d also picked up a shit ton of edibles for them, he seemed less pleased. He didn’t say anything about it, but I could tell that it irritated him a little.

  Because I’d made the decision without him?

  Because now maybe the band would be getting high for days on end and be less productive?

  I wasn’t sure. So I just said I was sorry if that was a bad idea, and he said it was okay.

  That was it. No further discussion.

  I’d spent the rest of the day working in the great room on my laptop while Cary worked in the control room. I’d told him about how nice Little Black Hole was, about the space where the Players were working, gently encouraging him to go down there sometime and check it out. I even offered to go with him.

  But after that, he didn’t seem to want to talk much.

  I knew he was working and I should leave him alone. But I wondered if he would ever really talk to me about the things that bothered him.

  He’d endured my questions about agoraphobia and stage fright, but I was already picking up on the pattern—that he pretty much changed the subject whenever something came up that he didn’t want to talk about.

  I wondered if I should stop asking, or keep asking.

  Try to drag him out into the world, or just leave him alone.

  Fuck it.

  I headed into the house, walked into the studio and stood in the control room doorway until he noticed me. It didn’t take long. He turned his head and his eyes dragged down my outfit; tank top and sports bra, fitted leggings.

  “I’m going for a jog,” I told him. “You should come.”

  He blinked at me.

  “I just go around the neighborhood. The sun is going down, so it’s getting pretty dark out there. I stay on the residential streets, nice and quiet. I rarely even see another person.”

  “Uh…”

  “Come on, it’ll be good for you.” I stepped into the room and took his arm. He slipped off his headphones and let me pull him up out of his chair. “You sit too much. Go put on some jogging stuff and let’s go.”

  “I don’t have jogging stuff. I don’t jog.”

  “Well, it’s like walking, only faster.” I pulled him out into the hall and toward the foyer. “And all you need is some sweats or whatever you’ve got. You can wear jeans, but you might get some thigh chafe.”

  I deposited him at the foot of the stairs and watched him reluctantly head upstairs. He turned to walk up the stairs backwards, raking his gaze over my body again. “You know, I’m only going with you because I want to see how well that sports bra holds in your tits.”

  “Great. I’ll be here waiting. Hope you have some decent running shoes.”

  “I may,” he said, and turned and jogged up the rest of the stairs.

  While I waited, I tucked my earbuds away in my zipped pocket. When Cary reappeared, he had on some joggers and an old T-shirt. The shirt had a caricature of an obnoxiously handsome dude with a bum chin and a sparkling smile, with the words, Born Like This.

  I snickered. “Nice shirt.”

  “Dean’s idea of an uplifting Christmas gift.”

  “Holy shit, is that him?” I examined the caricature a little closer. “Wow. You really have thoughtful friends.”

  He made a doubtful snorting sound, pulled on the baseball cap he was carrying and said, “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

  I led him outside and only realized he wasn’t following when I didn’t hear the door shut behind me. I turned to find him standing just outside the front door, at the top of the steps, staring at me.

  “You okay?”

  “Just need a sec.”

  “Take a deep breath,” I said automatically. “I’m here.”

  He turned and carefully shut the door and came down the steps, looking stiff. I took his hand. “Come here. You should stretch.” I drew him over to the grass at the side of the driveway and
guided him through some stretches to warm up his legs. And to distract him. “Don’t worry. We’ll start at a slow pace. Ish.”

  “Good. If I have a heart attack, it’s your fault.”

  “First of all, that is not an okay thing to say to someone.”

  “Isn’t it? I’ve lost my social acceptability meter.”

  “You’re kidding me,” I said with mock surprise. “I didn’t notice.”

  “And I’ve lost my filter, too. Your tits look huge in that top.”

  “Anyway. Second of all, you’re too healthy for a heart attack. Probably.”

  “Thanks for the reassurance.”

  “And I’m sure a panic attack is more likely, given your history.” He wanted to distract me by talking about my tits? I wasn’t sure who he thought he was trying to play, but I wasn’t that bimbo. I held his gaze and told him point blank, “If that happens, I promise to sit your ass on the curb and calm you, and call Liam to come get us.”

  “How do you intend to calm me?”

  I tried to come up with something on the fly. “Remind you to breathe? Tell you you’re safe. Press my huge tits up against you.”

  He took a breath like he was fortifying himself. “Okay. That’ll work.”

  “Good. Now move your ass. And try to keep up. My legs are made of solid steel. I’m practically bionic.”

  “I know,” he said appreciatively. “You’re bendy, too.”

  “Quit looking at my butt and get up here.” I was striding toward the gate; he was somewhere behind me. Maybe he was stalling, but I was just gonna go ahead and treat him like a regular guy and not like he had a disability that needed to be accounted for. Unless, of course, he asked me to.

  He caught up to me and opened the gate.

  “Thank you. Now let’s run.”

  “I thought you said jog,” he said from behind me as I took off.

  “Same thing!” I called over my shoulder. But I slowed down. “Too fast for you?”

  He jogged up next to me. “How does that bra keep you so supported?”

  “Technology.”

  “Your tits are barely moving.”

  “They’re bionic, too.”

  He laughed.

  Cary had to stop, a few times, to “catch his breath.” Which was not because of anxiety. It was because his cardio was for shit.

  “You need to get out more,” I informed him.

  “Quit making me laugh,” he complained.

  I’d made him laugh several times in my quest to keep him distracted and happy, and hopefully make him enjoy this experience, but it just made him run out of breath.

  “Aren’t you a vocalist?”

  “So?”

  “So, I bet if we amp up your cardio game, your vocals improve.”

  “That might be true if I was singing onstage every night. But in the studio… I doubt it.”

  “Doubt all you want,” I said.

  At that point, he seemed to get mildly annoyed with me.

  “Come on!” I sped up, egging him on. “Home stretch. Final push. Pick up those feet.”

  Then we basically raced back to his place. I would’ve liked to say I beat him there, but when he actually gave it his all, he kicked my ass. He was through the gate and already halfway up the driveway by the time I reached the property. I caught up to him at the front door as he worked his key in the lock.

  Then I shoved him out of the way and sprinted for the studio.

  He caught me around the waist in the hall and I screamed. I managed to wriggle away, streaked across the great room and dove onto his bed just as he piled on top of me.

  “She wins!” I cried as he flipped me onto my back. “Champion! First place!”

  “Cheater,” he said and kissed me.

  I kissed him deeper, sucking his tongue into my mouth. “I want my trophy.” I was already tearing down his sweats and he was pulling up my shirt.

  “Can’t believe you shoved me out of the way.”

  “Obviously. That was the only way I was gonna win.” I grabbed his cock and gave him a tight stroke.

  He peeled up my sports bra and sucked a nipple into his mouth. “You taste salty,” he groaned, like my sweat was delicious. He kissed his way down my stomach and I lost my grip on his cock. I groaned in complaint/pleasure.

  Then he peeled off my pants, spread my legs, and shoved the crotch of my panties aside—so he could plunge his cock into me.

  He fucked me just like that, hard and fast, one hand squeezing my breasts as he kissed me again, hungrily.

  Whatever hesitation or niceties had made that first time sweet, semi-awkward and slow… they’d vanished. Or maybe they just melted away because we were both so burning up for each other.

  “God, that’s hot…” I moaned, as he pounded into me. He didn’t even take my panties off. “But… the cotton is getting in the way of the naked clit-to-groin action.”

  “Too bad,” he said, and kept pounding into me.

  “You’re a jerk.”

  “You love it.” He kissed me again, deep and possessive, like a conquering king.

  And he was right, I loved his bossiness.

  Then he slowed the pace of his kisses, slowed the thrust of his hips against me, and rolled to the side, taking me with him. We lay facing each other on our sides, my leg tossed over his hip, as he fucked me at a much slower pace. I snaked my arm up his back, inside his shirt. He slid his hand down to tug my panties out of the way and drifted his fingertips over my clit.

  “Better?” he said softly between kisses, as his fingers drew warm little circles.

  “Mmm,” I moaned.

  He kept touching me like that, kissing me, until I grew breathless and I started to bear down on him. I squeezed his cock with my inner walls, trying to get more, to feel more, to feel everything, as he ground slowly in and out… I could feel the head of his cock, the thick ridge, stroking in and out, massaging me… and then I came. He buried himself deep inside as my pussy spasmed and the pleasure shook through me. He was watching me, pressing kisses to my face.

  “More,” I gasped. “Harder.”

  He shifted his hips, rolling on top of me and pressing me down to the bed with his weight. I spread my legs wider to take him and he pounded into me, slowly. The orgasm kept rolling through me.

  “I want you to come,” I gasped out.

  He kissed me again, his hips slamming against me, a little faster. Then he let go. His body shuddered against mine as he rammed into me a few more times. I loved that; how his whole body shook and he fell apart.

  Then he collapsed on top of me. I held him tight against me, both of us breathing fast and deep. We lay like that, in a sweaty heap, for a long while as the pleasure ebbed through me.

  “That was a really good jog,” I finally said, breathless. “Invigorating.”

  Cary lifted his head just enough to grin at me.

  I slapped his ass and wriggled out from under him. “Ugh… too hot.”

  He rolled off me and we stretched out on our backs, side-by-side. He pulled his sweats up and I managed to cover all the important stuff with my stretchy clothes. My pants were gone but I still had my top on, and some very wet panties. I really needed to go peel this all off. But for now, I couldn’t quite get up.

  I sighed contentedly.

  “I haven’t kissed anyone in over five years.”

  I looked at him. He held my gaze with his warm-honey eyes.

  “Oh,” I said. “Wow.” I tried to wrap my head around that. Apparently, we were getting serious. Like right now. “But… what about that woman you said you had sex with this year?”

  He sighed and looked grim. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  “Okaaay. That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It’s fine,” he said, taking my hand gently. “It’s not something you need to worry about.”

  “Oh, now that just sounds bad.”

  “Sorry. Did I mention I’m rusty with this whole relationship thing?”
/>   I squirmed inwardly at that word. Relationship.

  We weren’t exactly in a relationship. But then again… we weren’t exactly not in one, either. A unique relationship, maybe.

  “I’m listening,” I said carefully.

  He took a deep breath. “There’s this place I go. It’s hard to describe. Basically… it’s a sex club.”

  I pulled my hand from his, automatically. I didn’t mean to. It was just… “Uh… that is not something a woman is ever prepared to hear, I don’t think.”

  He blew out a breath. “Please don’t hate me.”

  “Of course I don’t hate you. I just need a moment…”

  I studied his face, the discomfort there. I could see how hard this was for him; opening up in any way. And I didn’t expect him to just tear open his whole life for me because we were now having sex.

  But he owed me honesty, if nothing else, when we were together.

  With all the times I’d been cheated on and dicked around…

  I wouldn’t accept any less.

  “Wait,” I said, something snagging at me. “What do you mean… you go there?”

  He sighed. “Liam would drive me. I’d go once in a while. There was a woman I’d meet there sometimes. Can you hear me out before you decide I’m a creep?”

  “I’m not deciding that. I’m just trying to figure out what I’m supposed to be picturing here. You say ‘sex club’ and I really have no idea what that means. I’m picturing whips and chains in a dark nightclub basement.”

  “Then you have the wrong picture.”

  “Good.” I struggled to wrap my head around what he was telling me, but I had way too many questions. “Does your sister know about this?”

  “Why would my sister know about this?” he said dryly.

  “I just mean… your friends seem to think you never leave the house. Is that even true?”

  He closed his eyes, like he couldn’t even look at me while he said this. “I don’t leave the house. Except… to go there.”

  “To a sex club.”

  He opened his eyes. “I know. This sounds… fucking terrible.”

  It did. It was not exactly something I was hoping to hear.