Owned (Rockstar Romance) (Lost in Oblivion Book 5) (16 page)

L
ila stepped into the bedroom
, unsure of what she’d find. Deacon had come downstairs a little subdued, but no worse for wear. But no Nick and no Simon.

She’d tried to give him time. To let him work it out on his own. The only problem was that it didn’t feel right. Letting him figure out something so painful on his own was more than she could stand.

Besides, he might’ve fallen in the shower. The dumbass was still broken from yesterday. His color had been better, and he’d certainly been moving okay on his naked flight into the hall—naked, really?—but he had more adrenaline at his disposal than the average insane rocker. He could be curled up on the bathroom floor, too weak to call for help.

Or singing his brains out in the shower while he scrubbed himself with her loofah.

She didn’t know if she was amused or disgusted. She’d asked him not to touch her loofah. Repeatedly. She had no idea what he did with it. Didn’t want to know, truly.

The song changed to George Michael’s “Faith,” and Nick’s voice only got louder. She winced. He wasn’t completely tone deaf—all his years in bands had to have had some effect—but Lord, he was close. Thank God he was better on a guitar than he was at vocals.

So much better.

She lurked in the doorway until he fell to his knees and she ripped open the nearly opaque shower curtain to see him with his eyes closed and his hands cupping her loofah like a microphone.

Her ears might be bleeding but he wasn’t hurt in the slightest.

His eyes popped open and focused on hers. Instead of being embarrassed as anyone should be with a voice like that, he grinned and grabbed her wrist, hauling her inside under the spray, clothes and all. He pinned her to the wall and continued the song, faintly screaming in her face while she shrieked and pushed at him to no avail.

The man was certifiable. And cute as hell singing in the buff with his shaggy blond hair all slicked back from his golden eyes.

Golden all the rest of him too, in spite of Simon’s low blow about pale dicks. As far as she could tell, his was just fine.

Yes, she was looking. The thing was jabbing her in the belly, so how could she not?

Somehow she found herself singing along with him. Since he was bellowing the lyrics, it was either sing too or possibly kick him in the nuts. Since he’d already been wounded yesterday, she’d give him a pass for drenching her.

This blouse was silk, dammit.

He knew all the words. She didn’t doubt he’d know the guitar line too. As he grabbed her hand and placed it over his heart, she stopped singing in favor of doubling over laughing. She laughed so hard she inhaled water up her nose and had to lean back against the tile wall to catch her breath in between fits of coughing.

The water turned from lukewarm to ice cold, but he didn’t seem to care. He just shifted himself under the direct line of fire and her out of the way, oh so casually undoing the buttons of her blouse as if he wasn’t doing anything at all. Her nipples were already as hard as diamonds, and the friction from the fabric as he peeled it away made her swallow a moan. Then he nudged her back against the wall and slipped his hand into her panties, strumming her as easily as he would a guitar while he sung softly in her ear.

And she wasn’t laughing any more.

He slipped a single finger inside her, pressing deeply until he found that spot that made her rise up on her tiptoes. She threw her head back and he licked the droplets off her throat while he got her wet in a whole new way. It was seamless with him, the transition from amusement to passion. To need so thick and unrelenting she didn’t know how she’d ever taken a full breath without knowing its power.

His thumb coasted over her swollen clit, rubbing just right. Tipping her into an orgasm muffled only because of the radio now playing a song about the fineness of Mickey.

She was feeling fairly fine at the moment herself.

He slid his lips down her jaw and across to her mouth, covering hers silkily. Slipping her tongue into his mouth felt as natural as reaching down to cup his ass. His perfect ass. The one she’d oh so happily grip as he fucked her into next Tuesday.

Adeptly reading her mind, he nudged her panties and pants down one-handed and she stepped out of them, not really caring if they floated away. He pushed her blouse off her shoulders and dispatched her bra, tossing them in the corner too. Silk, what silk?

His mouth closed over hers and he hoisted her up the wall one-handed before she could remind him about his knuckles. He didn’t need her help. Before she’d gathered breath to question him, he parted her thighs and drove inside, finding his way to the heart of her as unerringly as if they’d been doing this since the beginning of time. It didn’t require thought or precision, just the scrape of her nails down his back to his ass and the band of his arm under her thighs as he shoved her higher. He was inside her, and nothing else existed.

Hair streaming down to shield them both, she gave him back what he offered. Those slow, deep thrusts became the rhythmic squeeze and slide of her body around his, tighter, so tight that breath became impossible. Still, he made more room inside her, flaying her open at the same time he filled her up. She couldn’t do anything but accept.

Take. And give.

He shifted her and she lifted her dazed eyes at the jostle of his hips. He kicked out at the faucet and stopped the icy flow, closing them in the white-walled chamber with only the drip of the water and the uneven staccato of their breaths. Of her moans at the retreat and slam of his cock into her where she was so soft and swollen for him. He moved just right to stimulate her clit, tumbling her into another climax, this one not so easily hidden. Even the music couldn’t cover her scream.

He absorbed her cries with his mouth, swallowing them as if they were his own. While she shuddered and broke around him, he fused her back together so he could crash through every one of her walls again. Rebuilt only to be destroyed one more time.

This time, he was with her. Hips surging against hers, he stroked deep one last time and held, so full and hard. The explosion rocked her where she stood, trembling through muscles and nerves still weak and shaky from her own release. Flooding her with aftershocks that made her whimper and drop her head to his shoulder until his big hand came up to hold her there.

Somehow, some way he was soothing her. He was still falling apart, still shaking himself, yet he wrapped himself around her to keep her upright.

Lifting her head, she saw the truth in his eyes. That steady gold shined into hers like candlelight. It would never go out. He would always be there for her, always wait. He was her safety. Her home.

Never, ever would he let her fall.

He reached up to brush his thumb over her lip with his sore hand. The rawness of his knuckles drew her attention until she realized he was speaking. She could barely hear him over the thunder of her heartbeat.

“Marry me, Lila.”

She blinked, frowned. Her eyes were still full of water. She could barely see him outside the gold of his irises. They were twin beacons, and the droplets obscured everything else.

In his pupils, she saw herself. But his question echoed in her head, louder even than her still raging pulse.

He’d asked her to marry him. All on his own.

Then reality clicked in. Not all on his own. There was the fact they’d just had great—spectacular—sex and even a relative newbie to the ways of lovemaking knew never to trust what a guy said when he was still balls-deep. Then there was the fact she’d oh, proposed herself the night before. Ineptly, true. But she’d posed the question, sort of, and he’d given her an answer of absolutely nothing. Bedside delirium aside.

“Okay, so now I’m getting how it feels not to get a reply to that question.” He adjusted her and his wince gave her momentary pleasure, since he’d brought up last night’s major screwup. She felt guilty soon after.

She loved the asshole. She didn’t want him to hurt. Especially not when his thick cock was waking up inside her—

Focus, Ronson.

“Can we have this discussion when you’re not playing plant a flag inside my private areas?”

He rolled his eyes and set her down. “Better?”

“A little.” She unkinked her neck as he retrieved her soggy clothes and dumped them on the lip of the tub. “Next step is to be dry and warm.”

Before she could even blink, he’d pulled open the shower curtain, picked her up again and placed her outside the tub. More doll action. Good times.

He climbed out and grabbed a giant fluffy towel. After drying her hair briskly, he wrapped it around her and tucked in the edge. Still naked, he held up a finger. “Forgot something. Wait here. Please.”

She almost argued. Hell, she was practically duty bound to argue. It was their foreplay, midplay and afterplay. But he’d said
please
, a rare and treasured event, so she bided her time.

Nick returned, a small box in hand.

A small box.

She didn’t have a chance to quell her shock, because he magnified it one hundred fold by dropping to his knees on the damp bath mat. Yes, he was still naked, and he evidently didn’t get the whole “one knee only” thing, but he had a box and he had an earnest expression that so didn’t go with the massive cock.

Yep, focus was pretty much gone.

Then he popped up again. “Yeah, yeah, I know you can’t get engaged while I’m naked. Hang on.” He grabbed another towel and wrapped it around himself, then dropped down on both knees and proffered the ring. He’d managed to cover the most distracting parts at least. “You have to marry me. I’m down here. Let’s make it happen.”

She gawked at him for a full minute before she started to giggle. Not laugh like a grown, mature woman. Giggle like a silly teenager with stars in her eyes and glitter in her nether regions.

“You’re laughing.” He sat back on his haunches, wearing the most adorable hurt expression. “That’s even worse than silence.”

“Show me the ring.”

He had a ring. He had a ring.

She’d probably chant that to herself for the rest of her existence.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. First proposal and all.” He popped the top of the box and shoved it at her. “I measured your finger when you were sleeping. It should fit. I know you said you have swelling issues.”

Wasn’t that terribly sexy? Well, actually, it was kind of sexy to be known that thoroughly by someone who still wanted to marry her. Who had bought her a ring.

The most beautiful ring she’d ever seen.

A circle of black pearls surrounded a pear shaped ruby as big as her knuckle. Diamonds surrounded the pearls. The sparkle was almost blinding even in the filtered light from the overcast day coming in through the bathroom window. She couldn’t catch her breath.

No, she didn’t have any breath left.

“When did you buy this?” she whispered.

He tilted the box toward him and pried out a tiny piece of paper. “November 27th.”

“You kept the receipt?”

“Well, if you didn’t like it, what am I going to do with a chick’s ring? Of course I kept the receipt.”

“It’s custom made. You can’t return it.”

“Oh. Dammit.”

She laughed because it was better than crying, and she was sorely tempted to do both. “Oh my God, I love you.”

“That’s a good thing. So, are you going to marry me? I’m still sore from yesterday. This kneeling shit blows.”

Shaking her head, she dropped to her knees without concern for her towel. He’d seen everything from every angle anyway. “You bought this in November. Weeks before I bought my ring.”

“Oh yeah. Long before.”

“You have a book about babies.”

“Yeah, because according to you, I don’t understand how it works. I’ll have you know I do.” His brows drew together. “I just wanted to cover the finer points, like exactly how long the no sex thing happened. Turns out not all that long, assuming you don’t enrage the female.”

“I can guarantee you will enrage the female. I can also guarantee she probably would still have sex with you, pregnant and otherwise.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I know that’s important to you. Having a family. So it’s important to me too.”

She bit her lip, but it didn’t hold back the tears. That he would say that in spite of his own admitted reluctance about procreation touched her immeasurably. If she’d ever doubted he loved her, she definitely didn’t now.

“Aww, fuck. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

She let out a watery laugh. She loved him too, so she’d offer a compromise of her own. “It’s not something we have to handle right now. We can take our time, ease in.”

“Yeah, easing is preferred, gotta say.” He blew out a breath. “Though aren’t you kind of getting up there? My mom had me and Ricki when she was twenty-two. That book mentioned advanced maternal age.”

Now she did laugh, for real. “Either I have to marry you or I may be brought up on homicide charges.” Shaking her head, she wiped her eyes. “I’m a few years from thirty. Not in the danger zone yet, but thanks for your concern.”

“Okay. Just wanted you to know I didn’t only read the sex parts. Though they were illuminating. I never guessed preggos would want more fruit from the poisoned tree.” He lifted his brows. “Like a lot more fruit. Sometimes in rare cases, even four and five times a day during the second trimester.”

She patted his arm. Rare cases indeed, but let him have his delusions. “I think your fruit’s a little overinflated, but whatever makes you happy, sweetie.”

“So…are we getting hitched?”

She couldn’t stop her grin. Romance? Who needed romance when you had a sexy, gruff, impatient rockstar? “We so are.” She stuck out her hand. “Hurry up already.”

He bobbled the ring getting it out of the box, and fumbled more trying to get it on her finger. But once it was there, shimmering up at her, she laughed through her tears. “Look, fits even with swelling.”

“Thank God.” He made a humming noise in his throat. “So I want to do this soon. Like this spring or summer, assuming you can do your feminine wedding mystique thing in that amount of time.”

“I had a big wedding once. Small is perfect.” She bit her lip again. “Wrong thing to bring up. Okay, moving on.”