Stage Dive 02 Play (27 page)

“Lean down.” I poured some shampoo into my hand then rubbed it in, massaging his scalp, taking my time. “Let me rinse it.”

He did as asked without comment, hanging his head beneath the showerhead. Next came the conditioner. Carefully, I finger-combed it through.

“You’re not allowed to cut your hair,” I informed him.

“Okay.”

“Ever.”

He gave me an almost smile. It was definitely getting closer.

Once his top half was done I knelt on hard stone tiles, soaping up his feet and ankles. Spray from the shower drifted down over me, keeping me warm. Face to face with it or not, I ignored his thickening cock. It wasn’t time yet. The muscles in his long, lean legs were so nice. I really needed to look up their names. He flinched when I did the back of his knees.

“Ticklish?” I asked, grinning up at him.

“I’m too manly to be ticklish.”

“Ah.” I dragged the soap over the hard length of his thighs, back and forth. Damned if he wouldn’t be the cleanest, sparkliest rock ‘n’ roll drummer in the whole wide world. Water slid over his body, highlighting all the ridges and dips, the curve of his pecs and the satin of his skin. I should just call him cake and eat him with a spoon.

“You going higher?” Desire deepened his voice.

“Eventually.” I soaped up my hands and put the bar of soap aside. “Why?”

“No reason.”

The “no reason” was pointing right at me all large and demanding. I held it aside with one hand, slipping the other between his legs. His hard dick warmed the palm of my hand. A woman with more patience wouldn’t have curved her fingers around it, squeezed tight. I was so crap at waiting.

Mal sucked in a breath, his six-pack contracting sharply.

“I love your ass.” I said, tracing soapy fingers along the crack before cradling his balls. Every part of him was sublime, body and soul. The good and the bad and the difficult. The times I wanted him to be serious and the times I didn’t have a fucking clue where he was at. He always made me want more while making me profoundly thankful for what I had at the same time.

Because I had him, it was right there in his eyes.

“No idea how I got so lucky.” I nuzzled his hip bone, sliding my fingers over the smooth skin of his cock.

“You love my ass that much?”

“No, it’s more of an all-of-you kind of thing.”

I gave his cock another squeeze and his eyes went hazy in the way I liked so much. Things had definitely woken up between my legs, but this was all about him. The tips of his fingers drifted over the sides of my face, his touch gentle, reverent.

Enough playing around.

I guided the head of his cock into my mouth and sucked hard. Hands dug into my wet hair, holding on tight. My tongue flicked over the top of him, teasing the sensitive rim before dipping below to rub against his sweet spot. I took him in deeper, sucking hard, again and again. His hips shifted, pressing him farther into my mouth. I’d never perfected the art of deep throating, sorry. Mal made me want to learn. Something told me he wouldn’t be adverse to some practice time. With one hand I cradled his balls, massaging. The other stayed wrapped tight around the root of his penis, stopping him from going too far and gagging me. But I took him as far as I could, pulling back to lavish him with attention from my tongue. Tracing the thick veins and toying with the slit.

The fingers in my hair drew tight, stinging ever so slightly. But it was fine. It was all good. I fucking loved being able to do this to him.

I drew him in deep and sucked hard, working him. He came with a shout, pumping into my mouth as far as my hand would let him. I swallowed.

And they said romance was dead.

He stood, panting, arms hanging slack and eyes closed. Fuck, he was perfect. I slowly stood, my numb knees shaky. After oral, there always seemed to be this moment of shyness. Maybe I should have been smug, thrown in some swagger. There wasn’t really the space for it in the shower, however.

Mal opened his eyes and stared at me, his arms going around my shoulders. He drew me in, placing soft kisses on my face.

“Thanks,” he said, the word muffled against my skin.

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m sorry about your parents, pumpkin. So fucking sorry.”

My fingers tightened on his hips, involuntarily. One day, I’d stop reacting like that and I’d let it go. “I’m sorry about your mom.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed my arms briskly, smooched the top of my head. “We need to think happy thoughts. And order a shitload of bacon and eggs. And waffles too. You like waffles?”

“Who doesn’t like waffles?”

“Exactly. Anyone who doesn’t like waffles should be put in the fucking penal system. Lock ’em up and throw away the key.”

“Absolutely.”

“No more sad stuff today,” he said, voice gruff.

He picked up the soap and started washing me, paying particular attention to my breasts.

“There’s just one more thing I think we should talk about,” I said, as he worked hard at rubbing some imaginary spot from my left nipple. It felt rather nice, truth be told.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Well, about what you said last night when we got back here. About starting a family.”

His hand paused, covering my right breast. “Starting a family?”

“Yes. You said you were really serious about it. You even threw all the condoms out the window and flushed my pill down the toilet.”

“That’s pretty damn serious. Did we fuck?”

I batted my eyelashes at him and gave him an innocent, if somewhat evil, look. “No. Of course not.”

The whites of his eyes blazed bright. “God … you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry.” I kissed his chest. “You did throw all of your condoms out the window. You couldn’t find where I kept my pills, though. Then you lay down and proceeded to name all of our children.”

“All of them?”

“I take it we’re no longer having a brood of lucky thirteen?”

His brows arched up. “Shit. Um, maybe not, huh?”

“Probably for the best. You were going to name three of them David. It would’ve gotten confusing.”

“How much crap did I speak last night, just out of interest?”

“Not too much. You fell off the bed a couple of times, trying to lick my toes, and then you went to sleep.”

He washed the soap off his hands and reached for the shampoo, massaging it into my hair.

“Ouch,” I gasped. “Gentle.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You don’t remember?”

He turned his face slightly and gave me side eyes. “What now?”

“You might’ve accidentally kicked me in the head ever so slightly when you fell off your drumming stool.”

“Oh, no. Fuck. Anne …”

“You didn’t hurt me. It’s just a little bump.”

Face drawn, he carefully washed the shampoo from my hair, starting in on the conditioner. He kept shaking his head, frowning hard.

“Hey,” I said, grabbing his chin. “It’s okay. Really.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“You already did.” I placed my hand over his heart, feeling it beat against my palm. “You listened to my story without judging me. You told me what was up with you. Those two things are huge, Mal. They really are. We’re good.”

“I’ll make it up to you more. That won’t fucking happen again.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

He gave me cranky eyes and then suddenly smiled. “I know what I’ll get you. Been thinking about it for a while now.”

“You don’t need to get me anything. Though waffles really would be good, I’m starving.” I finished washing off my hair, ready to get out.

“You’re getting more than waffles.” His arms came around me from behind, a hand sliding down between my legs. Lightly, he started stroking his fingers back and forth along the lips of my sex. “First, you need to come too.”

“Okay.”

He chuckled in my ear. “So obliging about your orgasms. I like that.”

I wound my arms up around his neck and held on tight. He raised his hand to his mouth, wetting some fingers. Then one finger slipped through the seam of my sex, tantalizing me. I tingled from top to toe. Slowly he pressed a little inside, then drew back to trace my entrance, spreading the wetness around. He worked me up in no time, my breathing coming fast and shallow. I writhed against his hand.

“You have to stand still, Anne,” he chided me, laying a hand flat against my stomach. Two fingers slid up into me, rubbing at something that felt amazing inside. “C’mon, you’re not even trying.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to. I can’t do this right if you don’t stay still.”

“Oh,” I gasped as his thumb slid over my clit, sending lightning up my spine.

“See? You made me slip.”

The way he loved to tease me was both a blessing and a curse. Fingers drew out, leaving me empty, and all of his attention turned to my clit. He rubbed both sides at once, making me moan.

“Stay still.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” Lightly, he slapped the top of my sex. The reaction was immediate, my hips kicking forward. No one had ever done that before. Every nerve ending in me felt about ready to explode.

“Like that percussion?” he asked.

“Fuck.” It was the only word I had.

He hummed in my ear and went back to working my clit even faster. The pressure just kept building. So close.

“Mal. Please.”

He slapped me again and I broke. I cried out, my body caving in. If he hadn’t been there to hold me up I’d have hit the floor. The man probably needed to be locked away for the safety of women everywhere.

The water stopped. He wrapped me up in a towel and placed me like a limp rag doll on the bathroom counter.

“Hey, look at me,” he said, standing bent before me.

“Hi.”

He carefully tucked my wet hair behind my ears.

“I feel like we should touch base about this relationship stuff. And I should probably say something profound here. But I’m not really up to it. Especially not this morning.” He exhaled hard. “You’re an awesome lay, a great girl, I fucking hate it when you’re sad, and I don’t like it when you’re not around. I’m even getting used to the fighting and drama now and then, because the make-up sex is rockin’. And besides, you’re worth it to me.”

The tip of his tongue rubbed over his top lip. “That’s basically it. Not necessarily in that order, though. Okay?”

“Okay.” I laughed, but only a little. He was, after all, being sincere.

“You’re my girl. You gotta know that.” He grinned and put his hands on my knees. “Need anything else from me?”

I paused, gave it some thought. “We’re monogamous?”

“Yep.”

“We’re seeing where this goes?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Then yeah, I’m good.”

He nodded, gave my knees a squeeze. “You need anything from me, I expect you to let me know.”

“Same goes for you. Anything.”

“Thanks, pumpkin.” He smiled, leaned in, and kissed me. “Ready to go on tour, Miss Rollins?”

“Absolutely.”

The first day of our official vacation/tour time together, we spent mostly in bed. Waffles were ordered and consumed. In the evening, we left the sanctity of our hotel room to have dinner with his parents up in their suite. Once more, Neil was stalwart and silent, staying close to Lori’s side at all times. Lori was the life of the party. The stories she told about Mal as a kid annoyed him and had me howling with laughter.

My favorite was the time an eleven-year-old Mal and his dad had built a small skate ramp in the backyard and he’d broken an arm, two fingers, and a leg within the first two and a half months. Lori made Neil turn the ramp into kindling. Mal staged a hunger strike that lasted approximately two and a half hours.

To make up for the loss of the ramp, his mom promised him a drum kit.

And so the legend began.

It was a great night. His mom didn’t mention her illness, so neither did we. If Lori weren’t so thin and fragile, and the men so on edge, you could’ve almost imagined nothing was wrong. The more time I spent with her, the more I understood Mal’s devastation. Skate-ramp destroyer or not, Lori Ericson was great. Now that I knew, the quiet despair in Neil’s eyes seemed obvious. He was dying inside, going through this with her.

That was the problem with love, it didn’t last. One way or another, everything came to an end. People got hurt.

When we returned to our room Mal was withdrawn, silent. I put on an action film full of explosions. We watched it together, his head in my lap. When the movie ended was when the night really began. The sex was slow and intense. It went on and on until I barely remembered my own name. He stared into my eyes, moving above and inside me like time didn’t matter.

Like we could do this forever.

The second day, all of their equipment and instruments had been moved from the practice hall to the venue. Mal had a sound check, then a business meeting to attend. I had my own plans. Lizzy came over to keep me and my low profile company. Apparently a couple of reporters were staking out the book shop and my apartment, still hoping for the inside scoop. An old, fuzzy high school photo of me was the best they’d been able to do. It’d run in the local paper yesterday to no particular acclaim.

Fortunately, given her fascination with Ben, Lizzy already had a date lined up for tonight and couldn’t make the concert.

That night, the tour kicked off.

I had barely a week before I had to return to work.

We hung out backstage with the guys until Adrian, their manager, came in, clapping his hands loudly. “Five minutes, guys. We good to go?”

He was followed by a man with a headset and a clipboard or computer of some description. I’d seen quite a few people outfitted this way around. Exactly how much was involved in bringing Stage Dive to town, I had no idea.

Ev and I were watching the concert from the side of the stage beside a collection of massive amps. Holy fucking hell, the roar of the crowd and the energy filling the massive space was amazing. I wasn’t particularly deep or spiritual, but standing there, looking out over so many thousands of people, was an impressive thing. There was a definite vibe.

Stage Dive had sold out the largest concert venue in Portland in record time. Their tour was nine cities stateside, then on to Asia. They’d be hitting several festivals in Europe next spring and summer along with doing more concerts. Somehow during all of this, they’d also spend time in the recording studio. David had apparently been busy writing more songs about the glory of doing his wife.