The Song Remains the Same (10 page)

“No!”

“Good. Turn over.”

Phil’s chest shuddered with his awesome breaths, his body strung up tight. He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself, and then rolled onto his stomach. The contact of the bed with his erection made him moan. Turning to face me, he watched as I removed his thick leather belt from his cargoes.

“Holy fuckin’ shit, Kenna! What are you gonna do?”

Shrugging with mock confidence, I replied, “Whatever I need to do to get out all this aggression that’s been building up. You know how it is.”

“I ain’t
ever
beat you with a belt!”

“No…you only shoved that monster cock up my dry ass and told me to take it.”

Having nothing to retort with, he turned his face into the pillow. Phil’s ass really was an epic piece of flesh. It should be illegal for a man to have an ass like that.

Folding the belt in half, I grabbed each end and tugged hard, creating a resounding
snap
to echo through the room. Phil jumped, his ass cheeks clenching, and he buried his head deeper into the pillow. His shoulders tensed, bunching, as his arms tugged on the silk cord bounding his wrists. I started to wonder if I could go through with it.

“Oh my God, woman!” he yelled. “Fuckin’
do it
already!”

Well, I can damn well give it a shot.

Climbing back onto the bed, I got myself into a steady stance on my knees. I raised and crossed my arm over my chest and let that fucker fly.

“AUGH!”

Fuck yeah.

A fat red welt rose up across both of his cheeks, and I lovingly licked it. “That was fun.” I laughed.

“Fuck you!”

Crack!

“AAUUGH!” he roared. That time, he ground his pelvis into the bed.

“You
nasty
freak! You liked that!”

Shuddering and panting, Phil broke out into a sweat all over, even behind his knees. I pulled my arm back to deliver another stinging blow.

“Argh! Fuck!”

“You ever going to treat me like that again?” I asked.

“Fuck you!”

Crack!

“SHIT!” His screams could probably alert the neighbors to domestic violence.

Feeling giddy, I laughed before demanding, “
Are
you?”

His ass looked like it was on fire. I hadn’t broken the skin, and I didn’t want to, but I noticed the tail end had a bruise blooming.

“Would it matter? Wouldn’t you forgive me anyway?”

I crouched down, my mouth right next to his ear. “Would you really want to test that?”

“No,” he answered truthfully. “No, Baby. I never wanna hurt you like that again. I swear, it killed me inside. Please…can I have one more?”

Glancing down at his flaming arse, I bit my lip. “I think I might have gotten carried away. You’re getting bruised.”

“One more,” he begged. “Just one more.”

A deep breath steadied me, and I rose up, arm across my chest, belt over my shoulder, and then I let one last beating whistle through the air before connecting with his welted-up perfect ass.

“FUCK!” he screamed, grinding into the bed again. “Baby, I’m gonna come. I’m so fuckin’ close.”

“Roll over,” I snapped.

He flipped onto his back, sucking air through his teeth. “Ohhh fuuuck!”

“How do you want me?”

“Sitting on my face with my dick in your mouth,” he replied.

Quickly, I untied his wrists, and he grabbed me. In the blink of an eye, I found myself straddling his head, and his hand was sliding up the back of my neck, fisting into my hair.

“Fuckin’ suck me dry!” he snarled.

Then, his mouth was on me, and I ceased to think at all. He shoved my head down, and I took him to the back of my throat where he spurted hot and thick. His powerful ecstatic moan buzzed through my clit, my cunt, up into my nipples.

“Don’t stop,” he said harshly. “Keep goin’.”

Phil’s soft lips and tongue devoured me—sucking, licking, kissing—until I cried out around his once more throbbing cock as I convulsed from clit to sternum. Limp and trembling, he threw me off him and pounced on me, thrusting into me hard and fast.

“How do you want me, Baby? You want me to make love to you? Or you want me to fuck you stupid?”

“Fuck me stupid,” I replied breathlessly.

Slamming his mouth on mine, he slicked the taste of me onto my tongue.

“You like it when I taste like you?” he asked.

“Fuck yes!”

“Yeah, me, too,” he growled.

My gorgeous, wonderful Phil held nothing back, his cock pile-driving me into a state of utter bliss. He stretched his long fingers through my hair and pulled, exposing my neck for him to score his teeth over. I dug my fingers into the flesh of his back, gripping fistfuls of muscle with bruising force.

I came and came and came.

“Make love to me now…” I whimpered, feeling deliciously battered and bruised.

Like a switch flipping, he turned gentle and sweet, thoroughly kissing me. He rode in and out with easy slick strokes, making me come one last time as he himself dripped over the edge.

“I love you,” he whispered against my mouth, his cock twitching hard inside me.

Phil pressed his Third Eye to mine, and my brain filled with the terror, pain, loss, heartache, hope, elation, frustration, fear, longing, desire, anguish, and love he had felt these last few weeks. Leaving had never been an option, but he had desperately tried to figure out how to make us whole again.

“Damn, Phil…”

“Don’t ever scare me like that again, Kenna. I died that day with you. My heart…she was gone.”

“It’s not like I did it on purpose!”

“I don’t care. I can’t exist without you.”

Phil had had a few days where it was a little difficult for him to sit down without wincing, and though I’d questioned whether I should have taken it as far as it had gone, he’d had no complaints.

Freak.
I’d catch him grinning when he felt the soreness.

It wasn’t like he wanted a beating every time we would have sex. It was saved for rare occasions. He had encouraged me to bite him more though. I was really wondering if maybe he should give Sheri’s therapist a call. Not that I wondered too hard.

Apparently, I was a freak, too, because I’d liked it just as much.
Maybe I should be the one calling a therapist…

About a week after my hearing had come back, Phil had wanted to discuss my plans for the future. To be honest, I hadn’t even thought of what I was supposed to do.

Sitting at the kitchen island, chowing down on sushi, he looked at me, and I knew something was up.

“Have you given any thoughts to what you wanna do now?” he asked.

As though a great weight had descended upon my shoulders, I sagged on my stool. “What would
you
have me do, Phil?”

“Marry me, and give me my fat little giant babies,” he promptly replied.

“
Besides
that, ass!”

Mixing some soy sauce with wasabi, he said, “I want you to consider maybe working for me. For
us
. You know, NOLA’s Records.”

“Huh?”

He nodded and shoved a piece of sushi into his mouth. “Yeah.”

“Doing what?”

He shrugged.

“Listen here, caveman, quit being all coy, and just spit it out.”

Laying his chopsticks down, he laced his fingers together and rested his chin on top. “I want you to talent-scout for us. You’d let us know when you hear or see really good bands and write up reviews for us. That way, you could come on tour, for the whole tour, and you could give us and the crew treatments and do your doctor thing to keep you happy.”

“Do my
doctor thing
?”

“You know what I mean. Look, if it had just been Rita who had died and not the fuckin’ clinic blowin’ up, I wouldn’t be askin’ this of you. You worked your ass off to be what you are, but I also know it ain’t what you really want to do. Will you think about it?”

It seemed like the perfect solution. I could spend all my time listening to music, going to shows, and getting
paid
to do it, while still doing my
doctor thing
, if I were so inclined.

“The guys think it would be awesome. They’ve all agreed.”

“I’m sure,” I mumbled.

“We’ve hired Alys as our personal accountant.”

“Seriously?” I asked, wondering why she hadn’t told me about that. “Does
she
know?”

He rolled his eyes…and then shot me a guilty look. “She will when her dad tells her at the end of the week.”

Alys worked for her father, Papa David’s, accounting firm.

“Damn, Phil.”

“Like she’d object! She wants to come on tour, too.”

“What about Lili?”

“Well, she
is
our favorite photographer…and maybe Lewis agreed to be our personal chef for the summer.”

“Shit. What does he charge for something like that?”

Phil shrugged. “He’s writing a new book, and he needs to travel to gather recipes from all over the nation anyway. Two birds, one stone, you know? He can try out his spin-off of the recipes on us, and we’ll be happy to tell him if it’s shit or not.”

“You’ll eat anything!”

“Except that ambrosia garbage. That was like solidified vomit,” he said, and picked up his chopsticks once more.

“For the love of—”

He jabbed his chopsticks in my direction. “I can have what I want, woman, and I want all our friends with us on this tour. We spent five fuckin’ years tourin’ the world with strangers and weirdos and people who smelled worse than the tour bus. We
all
want this. And Connor will need you for moral support.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

Too fuckin’ right.
“I’ll think about it.”

It was a no-brainer really. Phil was like an enormous fairy godfather, just handing out answers to people’s wildest fantasies. He was brilliant, intuitive, compassionate, and wealthy enough to give the people he loved what they wanted in life.

Alys’s hand flexed around mine as we stared up at the monstrosity that was to be our new home for the next ten weeks. Sleek, shiny, and massive, the black tour bus with its obscene amount of vehicular decadence loomed above us.

“Kenna, I think it’s bigger than our house,” Alys whispered.

“Mmm…”

This was our first look at it. We hadn’t even gone inside yet, and we were scheduled to head out in less than an hour. NOLA’s Junk had had this thing custom-made for them. Usually, a beast of this size could fit around twenty-five people, but it would service only the band, their women, and a small handful of friends.

The bunks housed double beds with smaller spaces for those who needed to tag along. However, Phil, being the mad giant of the clan, had a special space on the second level to house a queen-sized bed. For five years, Phil had slept on a sofa on their tour bus because the bunks were unable to contain his gargantuan body, so the guys had happily let him have the space they had coined as The Attic. The Attic was now my space, too.

Most of our luggage was already on board, carried on by the roadies who had joined us the night before. They had their own smaller, older bus that would be following this one.

They’d hired their driver, Mack, from their European tours. He was the quintessential truck driver—middle-aged and bald with a gut that had only shown up from a diet rich in beer and fast food. He smelled a lot better than he looked though. Phil had said the man could drive through any condition.

There was a fully functional kitchen, and according to Lili, Lewis had brought on every imaginable appliance for it. Since I was a certified and licensed nutritionist, Lewis had asked for my help in designing the menus. I’d be working alongside Lewis fucking Lee on his new cookbook.

How awesome is that?

“How much did this thing cost?” Alys asked, still whispering. It was as though, if she raised her voice, the bus might take offense.

“I’ve given up trying to figure the cost of shit anymore,” I replied, my voice strong and audible. The bus didn’t scare me. Spending ten weeks cooped up with horny, moody musicians
was
what scared me—along with having only
one
toilet. “Aren’t you their accountant? How do
you
not know?”