Owned (Rockstar Romance) (Lost in Oblivion Book 5) (28 page)

She peeked up at him. “I did.”

“Yeah well you’ve always been smarter than me.”

“Finally, he admits it!”

“You can’t prove it.”

“Dammit, I forgot to hit that record button.”

He caged her tight against him and kissed her through the strings of the song. The callback to a simpler time couldn’t be denied. When they’d been in a studio and kissed around a song.

“We should have a velvet chair,” he mumbled against her mouth.

She laughed into his mouth. He lifted her, delighted when her legs went around him. “Hurry.”

“I can do that.” His cock was certainly all right with that way of thinking.

She pushed at his shirt. Her mouth hot on his throat.

“Stupid buttons,” he muttered and fell onto the couch behind them.

She straddled him and opened the buttons with shaking fingers. She raked her nails through the light hair on his chest. A month of breaks and now the studio, he hadn’t needed to do the crazy manscaping that had taken over his life the last year.

“I missed this.” She scraped her teeth over his nipple ring, tugging none too gently.

He hissed. Luckily the rockstar edge he’d cultivated hadn’t required he take out the nipple rings, but he’d put in thicker gage ones for the first time in a damn long time. They were sensitive and each tug made him hiss.

“Two can play at this game you know.”

She flipped her sweater over her head. “Yeah?”

He pushed at the padded cups of her bra. No one knew about them but him. Vicky Secret kept all those little bits of his wi—woman—away from anyone but him. He dragged his thumb across her rose gold nipple bar. The jeweled ends were diamonds and a swag of sapphires hugged along the underside of her eternally tight tips.

Margo with her staid upbringing and orchestra background had the most gorgeous pierced nipples hiding under her clothes.

Just for him.

He wrapped his teeth around the bars and tugged just how she liked. A little forcefully until the pink flesh tightened up even more. He laved it with his tongue and then sucked.

She bowed back, her nails digging into his shoulders. He didn’t stop.

Never stopped.

She loved it. And she wanted it quick, so he played her body as masterfully as the strings that came out of the damn speakers. She undulated over him, her wool slacks rubbing against his jean-clad cock.

Not enough friction though.

He needed her naked.

Needed to spread her out and tug on her clit with just the same amount of force.

No piercing needed there.

Just the suction and flick of his tongue was enough right now.

He knew her cues.

Knew that the lightest touch would be all she needed. But he also knew that a little bit rough, a little bit wild was even better.

He slid his fingers into the little gap at the back of her pants.

She got the hint. Her fingers trembled between them as she undid the series of buttons that kept the high waisted material flat against her mouth-watering belly. She rose off of him as he helped from the back and she wiggled them down.

He pushed her back before she could stand up and take them off.

The wool and silk of her panties strained across her thighs. She bowed back and gripped the club chair near her head, dragging it over.

Smart girl.

He slid his thumbs along her slit. “You want my mouth here?” He lowered his mouth to the soft skin with its little strip of dark hair. He gripped her waist as she rolled up for more. “Say it, Violin Girl.”

She gripped the back of the chair she was propped on. “You know I do.”

He moved back up to her nipple, circling the tip. “What if I want to stay up here?”

Her breath stalled. “That’s good too.”

Simon rolled his hips in time with hers. He knew her body, knew her sounds, knew everything about this woman. She was the other half of him in every way.

Every way but one.

“Simon?”

He shook off that thought. It kept coming up more and more, but there was too much going on in their life right now for him to put this on her too. “Tell me.” His voice went even darker as he tugged harder on her ring.

The little frown between her brows disappeared and her eyes closed. “Your mouth. I need your mouth on me.”

“It is on you, babe.” He sucked her nipple in, the scrape of the jewels on his tongue heightened his own careening needs.

“Lower.”

He let her nipple go with a pop. “Here?” He sipped at the salty skin between her ribs. The way her chest shuddered with each breath ratcheted up his impatience, but he held onto the tatters.

Wanting to watch the destruction flow over her and make her voice break around his name overruled whatever needs he had. It had been a long damn time since he’d heard that particular melody from her.

“No.”

There it was. Just the edges of it. Not quite there.

She bowed up off the club chair, but he held her down. He scraped his teeth over her ribs and down to her waist, heading for her hip. “Where. Here?” He painted little circles over her curves and the muscles under her honeysuckle skin.

He twisted her until he could get the side of her perfect ass cheek. He sunk his teeth into her soft flesh. The temptation to roll her over and taste her sweet slit and spread her open for him was fierce. To taste every inch of her.

Scraping his short nails over her skin and between the cleft of her ass would have to do for now. Fuck. Her pussy was so wet it dripped back to that sweet pucker. He could almost take whichever hole he wanted when she was like this.

Right now she couldn’t move. Her pants just low enough that she had no leverage to get them off without help. And he so wasn’t fucking helping. He liked her this way. At his mercy.

Margo did too.

He knew it as surely as his own name. As the guttural growl building in her chest as she released one hand from the chair back and gripped his hair. “Between my legs. I need you there.”

“Here?” The silky expanse of her midriff trembled under his tongue with each catch of her breath. He wanted her to say it. Years of manners were replaced with this beautiful, wicked version of Margo that he loved.

Margo who he loved to distraction.

He dragged his chin across the fragile skin just above her slit. “Tell me, Margo.”

“My cunt.”

“Sweet fuck.” He hauled her up off the chair and peeled her pants off the rest of the way. He struggled with one of her boots. All he needed was one one foot. Just to get her free. Her pants dangled from her other leg.

He didn’t care.

“Say it again.” He loved to hear those dirty words on her lips. To suck them off her tongue and gather them inside him. Only for him.

Huge, dark eyes, pupils blown, stared back at him. The word stuck in her throat.

He rolled his hips until his cock stroked over her sensitive skin.

“My cunt.”

He looked down between them. She left a mark on his jeans. He’d smell her on him for days. The way it should be. The way he wanted it to remain.

She was his entire reason for being. Equally important as his music, and he’d been ignoring both for far too long.

He finally stretched her back out along the chair and hooked her knee over his shoulder. “My cunt.” Was that his voice? All guttural and low? It sounded more like an animal’s growl.

He dragged his fingers over her swollen pussy and opened her. So tight—her little clit was as hard as his cock. Just a flick.

She pushed up on her elbows and her gaze locked with his.

Fuck, he loved when she watched.

He breathed over her. He traced his tongue around where she wanted him most. Her taste exploded on his tongue, but he managed to stop himself from pushing her over.

He dragged the flat of his tongue over her entire slit. She shuddered, but didn’t look away. “
My
pussy,” he said and covered her, sucking hard on her clit until she bowed up and gripped his hair with one hand.

She screamed and he held on, curling his fingers under her ass to grip her tight as she rode his face. Wet from her, covered in her, he managed to ignore his cock.

He’d be inside her soon enough.

Stopping wasn’t an option.

T
he madness
in his eyes heightened everything. When he got like this, her blood buzzed. He pushed and she let him. She loved it.

The shock in his eyes when she’d spit out the word was worth any discomfort it had created in her belly. He’d been expecting pussy. She said that easy enough, but not cunt.

That wasn’t a word I her vocabulary.

Then again a lot of things were different now that she’d been with this man for so long.

She watched as he held her on the verge. She knew she was going to pay for the surprise in the very best way possible.

His lips sealed over her center and she slipped away. Into the darker corners where pleasure swamped her, drowned her, pulled her under until there was nothing but Simon.

A place he’d allowed her to find.

Where she trusted him to take care of her.

She couldn’t hear around the rushing blood between her ears. Her brain heated and her body flamed.

He pushed her knee up to her sheets and spread her out. Lips, tongue, fingers. He left her with nothing as he played her, holding her hostage to the final fall.

She grasped his hair, dragged his mouth up to hers. Tasted herself on his tongue and lips. Finally. It had been so long since they’d come to a pinnacle such as this.

Until there was nothing but connection.

He ripped at his pants and she helped. Her feet fell to the floor as he leaned back to free himself. She curled her fingers around his shaft, gripping tight.

Her name was a chant as she pulled and twisted around his head.

“Inside,” she whispered.

He dragged her back down his thighs until his head slid across her pussy. He bumped against her clit and she cried out. So sensitive. So ready.

She undulated over him, her thighs screamed as she planted her feet and painted his cock against her wet center. “I need this.”

“Fuck, yes.”

She tipped forward and rose onto her toes as he slid inside. “Yes,” she hissed.

His fingers went from the eternal tease to a ruthless grip as he dragged her down on him. She knew what he wanted. Knew what he needed. She rode him, took him inside again and again until her breathing was a gasp covered in a scream.

The friction dimmed the room. The song crashed around them again and again, until there were no words. There was just the faint tones of piano under the heavy panting.

Her back screamed and her calves locked, but she didn’t stop. He locked his arm around her waist and his other hand in her hair. “Fuck,” he said against her throat.

He thrust inside of her, the hammer of his cock showed no mercy.

She shook and sobbed through one crest and into another. His name was a hoarse whisper on the air. She wasn’t sure if it was her pulsing around him, or Simon pulsing inside of her. The warm wash of come was a welcome balm to her incendiary release.

He rocked her lightly, his cheek pressed against hers as he lightly massaged the base of her neck.

He sat back on the couch and pulled her forward until her knees could reach. She held him inside her, savoring the fullness. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder and breathed him in. Hers.

Always.

She lifted her lips to his ear. “I love you, Simon.”

He banded his arms around her tighter. “Never as much as I love you, Violin Girl.”

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. At least another two full turns through the song. She didn’t realize just how much she’d missed him, missed this, until just then.

She needed the music as much as Simon.

Somehow she had to make sure they both worked. She slipped her fingers into his hair and held him tighter.

It had to work.

* * *

H
er legs were still jelly
. It had been hours since they’d found their way upstairs and into the shower. Simon ended up on the phone with Stef, his agent, so she’d slipped away. She wasn’t ready to bring their reality back into the picture. Especially not after what happened in the studio.

“Hey, there you are.”

Margo looked up as Jazz climbed the stairs to the secluded area. She smiled. “How’s Izzy doing?”

“Going stir crazy, but she’s settled on the couch watching
Tangled
with Nichole.”

“Hallelujah. A kid that doesn’t want to watch Elsa.”

Jazz grinned. “I’m with ya.” She held a baseball stance. “I’m partial to her frying pan myself.”

“I may have hefted one toward Simon a time or two.”

“Foam bats have saved my marriage at least four times.”

Margo laughed. “I’ll have to remember that.”

“You okay?” Jazz tilted her head. “You can tell me to butt out.”

If only it were that easy. “I am thoroughly fucked.”

Jazz pressed her lips together before she dropped onto the couch in the atrium beside Margo. “So that’s what happened in the studio?”

Margo gave her a side eye. “What did you hear?”

“I don’t think it was recorded if that’s what you mean.”

She snorted. “Good to know.”

“I may have opened the door to go downstairs and see how Simon reacted to the song, but I closed it right away.” Jazz’s eyes twinkled with laughter.

“Great.” Margo sighed. Used to living in close quarters for more months than she cared to count, she knew all about walking in on people. At least this time there’d been a staircase to hide the visual proof. Thank God the room had been soundproofed for the rest.

She hoped.

“It’s all good. How the heck do you think I ended up with another tadpole?” Jazz rubbed her little baby bump. “I’m just glad Simon didn’t storm out like he did at Ripper. Or did you have to…convince him.” She fluttered her purple tipped lashes.

Margo sagged back into the soft cushions and stared up at the skylight. “No, he definitely didn’t need any convincing.” She rubbed her hands down her thighs. “Once he let himself listen to the song anyway.” She rolled her neck to meet Jazz’s gaze. “The ego is still in there. It’s just been dormant.”

Jazz flicked off her ballet flats and tucked her feet up under her. “I don’t know what’s kept him so locked away. He sounds better now than he did on the first album.”

Margo nibbled on her lower lip. She had her suspicions, but loyalty kept her mouth shut. She was loyal to the band, but nothing trumped Simon. She wasn’t sure anything could trump Simon at this point.

The last year had been the hardest of their relationship—even beyond his first voice incident. And days like today reminded her why she loved him so very much. She just had to find a way to make sure he knew that her love and support was there no matter what.

He kept things too close to the vest, and she needed to figure out a way to make sure he knew he could talk to her about anything. She was his wife dammit.

She curled her arms across her belly.

Wife.

Her heart was bound to him like no other, but she’d been reticent to define exactly how. The idea of anyone having the power to her hold her with a contract still rankled. Especially after their disastrous Christmas with her folks.

She’d needed the option to walk away.

The heavy diamond and sapphire ring winked up at her. If hadn’t walked away through the last year, she was certain she never would.

“That’s some heavy thinking going on for such a simple sort of question.”

Margo looked up from her ring. “Anxiety spiral, baby.”

Jazz covered her hand. “The last eighteen months have been hard on all of us.”

“Really?” Margo softened the edge to her voice as she twisted her fingers to link their hands. “Because everyone let him walk away. Let
us
walk away.”

Jazz’s brows lowered. “We did what we thought he wanted. You didn’t speak up in that meeting either.”

She bounced her head against the suede cushion. “What was I supposed to do? Or even say?”

“You’re part of this band, VG. You fucking speak up.” She twisted her head to the voice at the edge of the atrium. Gray. Always so even and not one to make waves.

The tension in his shoulders made her shrink into herself all the more. “I’ve never had a true voice in the band.”

“Maybe that was the case at one time, but you know it’s not true anymore.”

Her head throbbed. All the fears that had been riding her for the last year rose up. “I really don’t.” Margo curled her fingers into a fist.

Gray’s eyes widened. “You’ve helped write half the songs we’ve done with Deacon.”

“Those aren’t band songs, Gray.”

He stalked over with the notebook that never seemed to be out of his hand. His other hand or arm was either around a guitar or Jazz—or Dylan. But the music was always, always one side of him.

He dropped the heavy composition book into her lap. “Go on. Look at it.”

With shaking fingers, she opened it to the clipped section. Songs she’d worked on well into the night in the Ripper Records studio were earmarked in Gray’s own brand of shorthand.

Most of them included the green O that specified Oblivion songs. When they’d written them, they’d just been songs. Songs that could be for others— mostly likely for others when it came to Gray and Deacon. They’d written and produced dozens of songs for other bands at this point.

She turned the page with shaking fingers. But eight of them were labeled for the band.

Five of them she’d worked on.

Four of them she’d written scores for on her own.

She blinked up at him. “I thought we were selling these?”

“I overrode Nick on three of them, but the rest he’s already started fucking with.”

She looked closer and saw Nick’s typical scrawled black ink. Gray wrote in neat block print, and Jazz in all caps. Margo didn’t have the knack for lyrics like the rest of the band, but she and Deacon often found a common ground in composition.

Deacon could write as well, but they both ended up taking the song at the end and creating the fluid in the chaos.

Pages and pages of notes. All of them about Oblivion—a half dozen of them included scribbles to confer with her.

Not as an afterthought, but as someone who’s input mattered.

She smoothed her hand down the bumpy pages. “I didn’t know.”

“Well now you do.” Jazz curled her hand around Margo’s shoulder.

Gray crouched in front of her. “All of us can work apart. That’s what makes us good musicians. It’s what we create together that is the magic of Oblivion. And that’s all six of us. Not just five anymore. It hasn’t been just five for a long damn time.”

She wrapped her arms around Gray’s neck.

“Whoa there, okay.” Gray patted her arm, but he hugged her back. “Man, for people that make a living by working with words and music, we suck at this communication thing.”

Margo sniffled into his shoulder. “Yeah.” She looked up to find Simon hovering at the edge of the hallway. Instead of joining the impromptu weep-fest, he headed down the stairs and out of sight.

She sighed. “Simon.”

Jazz popped up. “I’ll go. I think me and former Super Slut need to have a little talk.” She shoved her feet into her shoes. “He can run, but he can’t hide. Even in this crazy huge cabin.” She rushed down after him.

Margo sat back on the couch. “I wish I knew what to tell everyone, but Simon’s just as elusive when it comes to me too.”

Gray sat in the wide chair that made up half of the u-shape in the atrium. It seemed that Logan’s entire house was meant for collaboration and room to move at the same time.

Her cheeks heated at just how handy another chair had been a few hours ago.

“I think we all get it—even if he won’t say it. He’s just running scared. The longer he stays away from the songs and the stage, the bigger boogyman it becomes.”

She clutched her fingers together. “I’m not even sure Simon sees it that way consciously.”

Gray grabbed the acoustic in the stand next to the chair. Guitars were all over the damn house—in every nook and corner. He handed it to her. Guitar wasn’t her instrument of choice of course, but she was proficient enough to strum with him.

Well versed in the conversing style of Grayson Duffy, she knew that if she didn’t pick up some sort of instrument he’d wander off into his own head. She automatically tuned the six string as Gray did the same with a twelve.

There was something to be said for the soothing tones of an acoustic. She followed him into a song they both played often in the dark nights of the studio. The simplicity of a cover song was always welcome when her brain was too busy.

Gray’s sandpaper and silk baritone flowed with the lyrics from “Mended Souls”. A perfect song for the day. It felt like everyone was slowly knitting together the hurts and getting ready to go back to the studio.

As a band.

As a unit.

So much more than they’d been for so long.