Bad Day (Hard Rock Roots) (9 page)

“What's wrong with that? I'm telling you you're the
only
woman I want to experiment with. I think you fucking rock, Naomi Knox. That's pretty much it. I won't rest until you're mine and that's that. Get over it and quick. We've got a life to live.”

“You're such a fucking asshole,” I tell him, but when he reaches back and flicks off the lights, my inhibitions go with them. Our mouths crash in a tangle of tongues and teeth, painful and pleasurable all at once. I don't know why we're always like this, fighting at the same time we're fucking. It feels like the two emotions shouldn't be able to clash like this, to tangle and twist, send us spinning in circles on a fucked up merry go round from friggin' nowhere. But every time he touches me, I feel this …
thing
inside of myself that pisses me off and makes my brain explode into clouds of color. It's sick that I get a kick out of it, even sicker that it turns me on, makes me so wet I feel like I'm swimming in a pool of mercury, going insane at the same time I'm finally figuring out what it is that I want.

“Marry me, Knox,” Turner says as we part lips and I step back, over the edge of the tub and into the stream of scalding water. I don't bother to turn it down though. It won't help. It's already hot as Hades in here. Figure we both might as well get used to it since that's where we're going to end up one day, toe tagged and earmarked for a trip straight into the depths of hell. I feel around in the dark, molesting Turner's pecs with my hands until I find his taut nipples. I pinch the shit out of them, squeezing so hard that he actually growls at me and lifts his fingers up to my wrists, squeezing me right back. He pushes me against the tiled wall and steps in, pressing his body against mine. “You think this is a fucking joke?”

“I think you're full of shit,” I grind out, trying to ignore his heavy erection pushing into my stomach, teasing me into oblivion, trying to scramble my brains and drag me down into Turner la-la land. I reach down and grab his cock,
hard.
Turner hisses, but he keeps a tight grip on my wrists, holding me captive somehow, someway. I almost wish I could see his face. Almost. But then I might have to punch him in the mouth. Sex with the lights off works better for us.

Turner leans in close, brushing his wet lips along my ear, nibbling the small silver rings with gentle teeth, clacking his tongue ring against the metal.

“Don't pretend you don't like it, Naomi. That you're not dripping wet down there.” Turner finally releases me, giving me the opportunity to take advantage, gripping him tight and sliding my hand up and down his shaft, one, twice, three times. He grunts, but he doesn't stop what he's doing, diving in between my legs and fingering my wet slit. “And look at that, you're soaking.”

“That's the shower, genius,” I snarl back at him, feeling the water spray off my lips against his face. His laugh only makes me grip him even tighter, squeezing so hard I hope to fuck it's painful. Doubt that though. Turner's probably been whacking it since before he could walk. That, and he's fucked everyone under the sun, so his poor, abused little love muscle is probably half-immune to touch.

“Don't fucking lie to me, woman. I know love juice when I feel it.”

I roll my eyes.

“Don't be a dickwad,
man.
I know a premature ejaculator when I see one.”

I pump him hard and fast, water splashing up around us, mixing with the spray from the shower. Turner doesn't let this stop him, moving his own hand inside of me, sliding his fingers deep until he hits knuckle. And all the while, he fucking chuckles this low, sultry
male
sound that both disgusts me and excites me. An unwelcome moan tears up from my chest and my nipples peak so hard they'd cut fucking diamond.

I move my hand faster, grip tighter. I want to get that satisfaction of feeling him break under me, of turning that masculine chuckle into a whimpering moan, maybe even a scream. I know we both got off listening to Ronnie and Lola fucking in the bathroom. Why try and deny that?

“I bet you could never make me scream like he did to her,” I say, and I know even without seeing his expression that he knows exactly what I'm talking about. Turner withdraws his hand, leaving me with a shocking gasp and a loose grip that he pulls out of. There's a moment of him fumbling around and then he grabs my hand, guiding me back to his shaft, showing me that in his own way, he does care.

The condom is already on.

We stand in silence for another second before he leans in and whispers to me.

“Watch me.” Turner surprises me by grabbing my hips and lifting me up, slamming my back into the slippery wall. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, my legs around his waist.

Just those two little words and then he's sliding in deep, slamming his pelvis against mine and filling me up all the way with a guttural groan that reminds of the stage and the music and the looks he throws down into the crowd, hooded eyes, smirking lips, a gaze that has brought fuck knows how many women to their knees in worship.

“You make me fucking sick to my stomach,” I tell him, and I feel his smile against my neck as he thrusts into me, smashing my body against the wall, pinning me between slick tile and hard muscles, a body that's like chiseled friggin' marble. The only thing that gives him away is the tightness in his arms, his back. He's fucking to forget. “This is for Trey,” I whisper back at him, both hoping that he can and can't hear me over the sound of the water and the slick sliding slap of flesh on flesh. “Just to keep you going until he gets out. Just until then.”

“Marry me, Knox,” he growls, biting my lip, diving into my mouth with his tongue ring, scraping it against my teeth. “Say yes now, or I'll ask next time we're onstage, in front of thousands. I'll even put a ring on your goddess finger.”

“Try and I'll break your face,” I pant back at him, letting my body go and my mind wipe itself clean. The violence I felt towards Hayden fades away in the warmth and the water and the feeling of fullness inside where Turner's cock completes me. Even though I don't want it to. Even though I do.

We grunt and grind against the wall until the water goes cold and we're both panting, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
Stupid, cocky, arrogant, little asshole with his head on straight and his body rock solid and his music that warps my soul and destroys my mind.
I'm letting the devil prick me with his horns and I'm enjoying every minute of it. The secrets are out of the bag and Turner knows everything now. He's one of a few people on this planet I can be completely and fully honest with. From hated enemy to trusted friend. The fuck is wrong with me?

“Turner,” I gasp, but I can't iterate anything. My words have been ground to dust by the rough pummeling of his cock, his hot mouth against my skin, the scrape of his lip piercings on my throat. “Turner.” I try again, but nothing comes out. One of the first times in my life I've ever really had trouble saying what I feel. There's so much going in inside, too much going on out. “Turner.”

“Naomi.” A word, soft like smoke, twirling and snaking around my wrists, my waist, sliding into me with every movement of Turner's hips. “Naomi.” My name like a song, torn from his mouth on the end of a screaming gasp. I hold him tight while he comes, body buried inside of me, letting my head fall back and my fingers play across the spasming muscles in his back. “Naomi.” One more time, a sigh, a contented noise from a sated Rock God.

I slip my hands back between us like a barrier, pressing them flat against his pecs. I can feel that unyielding pulse down below, the slow build of pleasure at the base of my spine. My body's ready to fucking come, like a volcano about to blow, but to do that, I have to let my heart go again. And I can't. I'm scared. I'm having a hard time admitting it to myself, but I'm terrified that this new thing, this spark, this connection, that we're building is going to get ripped away from us before it even begins.

“What's wrong?” Turner asks, voice breathy and rough, full of male satisfaction but tinged with worry. “Let me take you over the edge, baby. Whatever you want to do. Whatever you want.” I'm breathing hard, body pulsing as I reluctantly untangle myself from Turner, my feet slipping to the floor. “Lemme take you into the room. I'll show you a good time, Naomi.” I don't answer him. I can't. My mind is on a loop now, dragging my spirit through the mud, blinding me to the beauty I've got right in front of me. Right in fucking front of me. “Naomi?” Turner's hands touch the sides of my face, smoothing across my wet flesh as we both shake and shiver in the rush of cold water. I close my eyes and luxuriate in the feel of skin on skin. “What's the matter?”

There's so much I could say, but I'm not sure I'm ready yet. I could tell him about the birth mother who hates me, or the adoptive parents that I actually liked. I could talk about the first night I heard Chuck Rhineback raping his own daughter, or the time I saw McKenzie Rhineback hit her in the face with a baseball bat. I could tell him that I don't feel like I've ever had a life that was fully my own and now that I'm actually getting there, someone's threatening to take it away.

Instead, I reach down, slide my hand past his crotch and poke him, right in his gunshot wound.

Turner hisses, but he doesn't move back.

“You can't scare me away, Knox,” he says, and I smile. Might be dark in here, but I know he can hear it in my voice.

“Watch me,” I whisper, and then I'm stepping out of the bathtub and disappearing into the bedroom.

Trey's still alive, and Naomi's avoiding me like the plague.

Those are the only two things I'm aware of this morning. I've given up trying to touch Knox. Every time I go for her, she pulls away, teasing me with the scent of cigarettes and toasted vanilla almond whatever the fuck soap. The scent's already got my dick up and at 'em, and I've got a raging headache from the screaming that's taking place in this house. Drama, drama, drama. I don't do drama.

“Just shut the fuck up!” I scream after awhile. Cannot friggin' take this anymore. If I have to sit in this house for more than a day or two, somebody's going to get it. I try not to think about the fights Trey and I always have. We've always taken our frustrations out on one another. Not the best way to cope with the world, I guess, but it works for us. I need him. Sounds gay, but it's true. At least he's still alive. Milo got a call from Trey's stripper whore of a sister, Sydney, while I was still sleeping. He's hanging on – barely – but there's a chance he'll pull through and that's all I need.

The voices stop and everyone turns to look at me. Hayden Lee narrows in on me with a blue eyed glare that pleads violence. She's pissed about last night, but I figure she should consider herself lucky. If Naomi had gotten her way, Skinny Bitch might be dead right now. And she'd have deserved it, too. Betrayal like that is punishable by death in my opinion.

“I can't listen to you bitch anymore. Just be quiet.” I stand up and shake myself out, looking over at Naomi who's been on the end of Hayden's needling for the past half an hour. Combine that with a little bit of Dax, some America, a hint of Milo, and I'm just about ready to blow my brains out.

“Maybe we should jam?” Wren asks from the corner, sprawled across a chair like a wraith from down under. Dude's so high he's flying a damn kite. Fucking Christ. I flip him off and lean forward, gripping the arm of the couch with tight fingers.

“Jam? You want to jam while my friend's lying half-dead in a hospital bed? Fuck you.”

“Never said you had to come with,” he mutters under his breath, threading his fingers through his dirty blonde hair and rolling his eyes up and over to the window at his right. Cold as balls out there right now. And empty. I never realized how much I like the constant chatter and the music and the smoking and the fucking. People swarming everywhere, life hitting me and spreading out like water on rocks. It's a constant cycle of pain and pleasure, anger and joy, fucked up bullshit and clear as cock truth. I miss the shit out of that, and I'm happy as hell to be a part of it. “Why don't you hit a bowl and calm down a slice?”

“Why don't you try to sober up before you rot from the inside out, motherfucker.” I flip the druggy bitch a big one and turn around, tucking my fingers in my pockets and searching Naomi for some clue that she's still here in this dimension. I hate to admit it, but I
need
her right now. I need that support, that strength. My bandmates aren't strong enough to hold me up. They have enough shit to deal with on their own. I study her, thinking of last night and wondering what, if anything, I did wrong. Or maybe she's caught on her own special set of hang ups. Who the fuck knows? “Milo,” I snap, drawing my manager's attention up and away from the laptop he's pounding across, fingers flying like he's playing a one man symphony from God. “Any news?”

“Since the last time you asked?” Milo checks his watch and then sighs, reaching up to adjust the pale blue tie he's got on. “Which was about an hour ago. Nothing. Trust me, when I know, you'll know. I'm not exactly thrilled to be here either.” I wrinkle my lip at him, but I don't get into it. I could fire his ass anytime I want, and he knows it. If he's getting lip with me then he must be pretty upset. I look at Naomi's manager with her arm in a sling and a bandage on her forehead. Her blonde hair is just so, in a perfect bun atop her head like a fucking librarian. I know exactly what she is, can see right through her power bitch attitude. Secrets layered on secrets layered on secrets. I know what she told Naomi last night – heard it straight up from Ronnie this morning. But that's not all she wrote. Not by a long shot. America Harding is hiding something bigger and badder up that modest little skirt of hers. Something nasty. Hopefully, she lets it out before it gets so rotten that it destroys us all from the inside out.