Beats (17 page)

“After that shit went down, I vowed I’d never let another woman have that kind of control over me again. So, back I went to my old ways. Fucking groupies. Not giving a shit about anyone.

“Until the day you walked in on Toombs and me on the bus. When you found us jerking each other off, the expression on your face—fallen, hurt, damaged—grabbed me by the balls and twisted. I saw the longing in your eyes, the crease of your brow, the tenseness in the clench of your jaw. I saw your devotion. To Toombs.”

Rax jabs his chest. “
I
want that devotion.
I
want to be loved the way you love him.”

My mind whirls with jealousy and outrage. “Don’t you get it? You
are
loved that way. Toombs feels the same about you. It’s plain as day.”

His pupils flare with a quick black burst as he springs into kissing range of my lips. “I. Want. You.”

You can’t have me. At least not my heart.

I harden my expression as best I can, but inside, I’m crumbling. At my choices, my future, my impending tragedy.

“You want me? Fine. You can have my body for one night only. After that, I strongly suggest you talk to Toombs about your…situation. Once we’re done, this ends. All of it. I’m doing this for my
family
, not as a favor to you.”

Eagerness floods his features. “Deal. Toombs is yours tonight. The job is your mom’s tomorrow, and you’re mine when we get settled in New Orleans.”

“And then it’s over,” I reiterate. There can be no confusion on this matter.

“If that’s what you want.” Back to being good old smug Rax.

Not at all what I want, but I have to help my family and put a stop to Rax’s ridiculous, misplaced affections. This arrangement is the only way I see to do it.

What an ironic clusterfuck. Toombs loves Rax, Rax loves me, and I love Toombs. And none of us has enough sense to run away from the burning building before the flaming rafters crush us all.

Verse Two

Later that night, after our second show in Baton Rouge, Rax, Toombs, and I return to the suite. Attempting to clear my head, I take a long shower and spend thirty minutes drying my hair. I don flannel pajamas. They might be the only comfort I get tonight.

Everything’s fucked. The band was off earlier, mostly because of me. The rhythms in my head and chest didn’t jive. When your drummer’s out of sync, everyone’s out of sync. Letty texted me for details about the sex romp since the guys were all there and we had no privacy for a face-to-face chat. I’m kind of grateful I couldn’t talk to her. I just said we’d talk later.

Toombs and Rax speak in hushed voices in the living area while I halfheartedly hit the skins in search of a new song that doesn’t exist. I don’t want to hear them discuss my future. And I can’t stand the thought of Rax lying to Toombs by omission. We have a secret rendezvous planned without him, something Rax is apparently not averse to doing with others, either, if Letty’s declaration is accurate. A truth I’ll have to conceal as well.

My stomach clenches into a hard knot. I can’t lie to Toombs. Just can’t. I care about him too much.

This rhythm sucks. I toss aside the drumsticks and flip the hair out of my eyes. Lately, I can’t do anything right. Not the drums. Not Toombs. Not even stupid Rax.

The guys come into the room. “I’m heading out.” Rax’s eyes bore into mine with a clear message:
We have a deal. Don’t fuck it up.

“Okay.” My voice is small, defeated. I avoid Toombs’s gaze and round them both. Destination: the bar.

Rax says nothing else, but I hear the door close as I rummage through the liquor bottles for something to calm me.

“Thirsty?” Toombs leans against the wall.

Now I face him. “Nervous.”

How come it’s so easy to tell him the truth about my fears, but so hard to be honest about cheating on him with Rax? Because that’s what it is. Cheating. Toombs and I might not be an exclusive couple, but my heart belongs to him, even if he doesn’t realize it. That makes me lower than dirt.

He folds his arms over his chest. “I scare you.”

“No. I scare myself.” Screw the liquor. I don’t need it. I leave the comfort of the bar in favor of Toombs’s shadow and lay my shaking hands on my hips.

I hate confrontation, though I don’t seem to have a problem confronting Rax or calling him out on his bullshit. But it’s really hard for me to say what I need to say to the people who matter the most: Toombs, my family, Letty, Jillian. I fear disappointing them. Or maybe losing them.

I’m gonna lose Toombs anyway, so I guess it’s time to grow a thicker skin where he’s concerned.

“I need to know where I stand with you, Toombs.”

He straightens. A long stretch of silence fills the space between us.

I swallow hard.

He lifts a length of my hair to his nose and inhales as if smelling a flower. His eyes drift shut. Then he drops it and looks at me. Raw. Rugged. Arresting.

“I don’t know.”

“Not the answer I’d hoped for.” I turn away, but he stops me.

I sigh. “I get it. You’ve known Rax forever. He’s safe and easy. You don’t have to get your hands dirty because he calls the shots.” Okay, that was a low blow, even though it’s true.

His eyes narrow. He leans in and squares his shoulders, dwarfing me. “I can be myself around Rax.”

Is he insinuating he can’t be himself around me? That one cuts to the quick. I was hoping he’d admit Rax stifles him. “Oh? Who’s that, then?”

“A drummer. Like you.”

Fueled by frustration, I lash out. “You’re not a drummer. You’re a guitarist. Like Rax.”

His lip twitches.

“Drummers are leaders. Not followers.” Inside, I’m shaking.

A hand shoots out and catches me just under the chin, soft but firm. He herds me to the wall and pins me there. My pulse rockets from zero to sixty in .34 seconds.

“Then when do you plan to step up to the plate, Jinx? The band depends on you, and you’ve fucked around for a month. Now shit’s starting to fall apart onstage. What happened at the gig tonight?”

I grind my molars and shove him aside. Hot words spew like lava from my mouth. “I don’t know. Maybe if I wasn’t so fucked up on
you
, I could pull a Mary Poppins, wave my sticks like magic wands, and make some music appear out of nowhere. As it is, I get to watch you submit to Rax’s whims over and over, day in, day out, without a single thought or care for anyone but him.

“You wanna know why I can’t lay any drum tracks? It’s because I’m heartbroken. It’s because I want things I’ll never have. It’s because I—”
love someone who doesn’t love me back,
“because I’m a stupid dreamer living in a harsh reality that blocks my every move.”

My shoulders heave. My lungs labor. I wipe away the stupid tear that snuck down my cheek while I was in the throes of my self-indulgent hissy fit.

He looses his body on mine like an animal freed from a cage, nailing me to the wall, and kisses me hard. All my angry energy transforms into limp submission in the blink of an eye as I succumb to the storm that is Toombs. I scramble for a foothold in the swirl of insanity, and then think better of it.

Let it go, Gianna. Let him take you away from the mess of your life for a couple hours. Deal with the consequences later.

“Rax isn’t here now.” His delicious cinnamon breath and the lingering taste of him on my tongue make me lick my lips.
More. God, please give me more.
“It’s you and me. No one else will know what we say or do for the next few hours, so let’s make every second count.”

I stroke his rough cheek and resist the urge to blab the three words pogoing through the chambers of my heart like kids in a bouncy castle. “I’m yours. Anything you want from me.”

A pleased smile spreads across his features. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

There’s something very catlike about the angular lines of his face, the subtle upsweep at the corners of his eyes, the purse of his lips. I trace the gash tattoo with the tip of my finger and follow it with a long, slow lick. The stubble from an hours-ago shave abrades my taste buds to the brink of discomfort, but that threshold isn’t crossed. His hand drifts to my breast; the heel of his palm grinds the soft flesh and hard metal.
There’s
the pain that tells me I’m alive. With him. About to be claimed.

He shoves my pajama top over my head, twisting the tangle of fabric to pin my arms to the wall above me. I’m helpless to fight him and not at all interested in doing so anyway. He bites a nipple stud and lifts the mound of my breast with it, flicking his tongue over the stiff bud. Warmth floods the empty space between my legs. God, the sweet agony. The pleasure. I want more of both. I can’t move my hands, so I hook a leg around his thigh and grind against the hard dick trapped inside his cargoes.

He releases my arms but holds on tight to the nipple. I wrestle my top off and toss it to the carpet.

“I want to fuck you,” I whisper into his hair as he suckles.

“We have other business first.” One more tongue stroke on my burning nipple, and he returns to my mouth for another round of panty-ruining kisses. My head swims in a sea of sex-crazed yearning.

Twisting my arms around his neck, I flap up my lashes. “My underwear’s soaked. I think I need to take it off.”

“Keep it on.” His voice is gruff.

I pout. “But my…pussy is lonely. She needs companionship.”

He slips down the front of my pajama pants and wrenches my panties into a knot. I gasp as the cotton splits me, and then revert to a puddle as he gently wiggles it against my clit ring. “We have plenty of time. Come with me.”

I’d love to. Pretty sure I could come on command if he said the right words.

He leads me by the makeshift panty leash into the spare bedroom, my feet stumbling along in torturous pleasure. Each step rubs the tangled rope of underwear on my piercing. The sheer rapture of this moment with Toombs, his dark, erotic energy, and the forbidden intimacy between us leaves me lightheaded.

If loving this—loving
him
—is wrong, send me straight to hell with a one-way ticket. I’d gladly pay the price to share this time with him.

By the time he lets go, I’m panting. And drooling, apparently. I wipe my mouth. Good God. He unzips his fly. The black pants drop to the floor. He pushes his boxer briefs down and kicks them aside, his feet still bare from his own shower. The shirt comes off, and there’s my beautiful Toombs, naked beside his drum set.

What a damn sight.

His tattoos begged to be stroked. His dick points at me as if to say, “You’re next.” His soft gaze cradles me. My pussy flips over the “Yes, we’re open!” sign.

He kneels before me, staring up like a worshipper at a sacred shrine from days long past. Shouldn’t this be the other way around? Doesn’t feel right to look down on him. I smooth his short tufts of hair. He peels my pants off way too slowly. I wiggle my hips to hurry him along, but he wants nothing of it. His lips follow the flannel on its agonizing descent, dropping kisses, leaving trails of wet warmth, driving me mad with anticipation.

My rubbing on his head picks up speed, and I fist his short locks.
God, hurry. I can’t wait another second to be naked with you.

He smiles, so pleased. Or maybe he enjoyed the hair pulling. I tighten my grip a tad to test that theory. A tiny clench in his cheek, and the smile broadens. His lips alight just below my belly button, pressing a languid kiss there. Fingers buried in his hair, I hug his head to my stomach. Our pulses throb in sync. We hold the pose for a long moment, his scarred, tattooed, supplicated form clasping the backs of my thighs. He makes me feel like a queen.

I’ll remember him like this until the day I die. God, how I love this man.

He angles his face upward. “Play with me, Jinx.”

My spirit soars. I pull him to his feet. “Gladly.”

I eyeball the bed, but he marches me toward the drums. Taking his seat on the throne, he tugs me into the space before him. Not really enough room for two, but with the promise of a thick cock wedged between him and my butt, I’ll find a way to make do.

Holding me around the waist, he gently parts my legs. Lifts the right thigh and places my foot on the bass pedal. Positions the left one on the hi-hat pedal. His fingers slip inside me. A rush of liquid heat greets him. I lean back into him, arm twined around his nape, exposed, eager for more.

I ride those digits, savoring his exhalations tickling my ear, the warm length of him resting on the crack of my ass. Reverse cowgirl on a drum throne with the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on? Yes, please, and thank you.

But aside from the fingers rousing my desire, he makes no move to enter me.

They stop, and something cool and hard replaces them. The butt-end of a drumstick slides up and down, teasing my clit and the metal through it. A slow and steady 4/4 rhythm emerges. A deep exhale leaves my lungs. When his lips alight just south of my ear, I’m done for.

Tender kisses on my throat form quarter notes. Goosebumps pop up in protest. His bare foot scoots over mine, depresses the pedal, and together we make bass beats. My hips rock, riding the twin poles of the stick urging my pussy to climax and his cock politely waiting for an invitation into the back door.

Come on in.

“Are we gonna do this, or what?” My words are more air than voice. It’s his fault for turning me into this smoldering pile of sin.

“You said you’d play with me.”

“I have something else in mind.” I reach behind and fondle the pearls along the top of his dick. “Why don’t
you
play while I suck?”

He shakes his head. “I’m trying to help you find your groove, Jinx. For the band. For us.”

I freeze. “What do you mean, ‘for us’?”

“Never mind.” He pulls the drumstick away and swings his leg off the stool. All the emotion, the tenderness is gone. The moment is ruined.

Damn it. “No. You can’t walk away like that. What about
us
?”

His erection loses some of its vigor as if weighed down by the sudden serious turn of conversation.
Join the freaking club, buddy.