Strike a Chord

by Salsbury, JB

  “Ethan,” Tommy says with feeling, “can I talk to you for a second?”

  Ben steps forward. “I’ll show Ms.…?”

  “Call me Tori.” Okay, that was definitely a purr.

  Ben’s cheeks turn a little pink. “Okay, Tori. Let me show you around.”

  As they pass us, Tori snags my arm. “Don’t listen to a word she says. She can be such a Debbie Downer.”

  What the fuck? She’s talking shit about her daughter right in front of her?

  When Tori is safely out of earshot, Tommy mumbles, “So great to see you too, Mom.”

  I look at Tommy, feeling a lot of weird shit. None of it good. “What exactly did you need to talk to me about, Taylor?”

  Her shoulders tense. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Why not? It’s your name, right?” I lower my voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She licks her lips, and fuck, I wish she wouldn’t do that. I’m frustrated with her, annoyed by her mom, and the last thing I need is to be thinking about her perfect mouth. “I told you, no one calls me Taylor except her.”

  “Why not? It’s better than Tom.”

  “Why did you invite her backstage? Wherever the woman goes, drama manages to find her. She offered Jesse coke! Not to mention the shitstorm that’s going to go down if Prophet sees her. Oh God.” She laces her fingers on top of her ball-capped head like a jogger does to catch their breath. “You have to tell her to leave, Ethan. I’m serious.”

  “If she’s so much trouble, why did you invite her?”

  She pulls her baseball cap down farther on her head as if she could hide whatever shame or guilt she’s carrying beneath it. “She’s my mom, I don’t know. She’s living in New York with her boyfriend, and I guess I thought…” She huffs out a breath.

  “You thought maybe she’d changed?”

  “I guess I just keep thinking the next time I see her, she’ll actually act like a mom.”

  “I’ll admit,” I say, scowling in the direction Tori left, “it’s hard to envision her raising a young Tommy.”

  “In the short time I lived with her, she did very little raising. She’d have to be home long enough to do that.”

  Is Tori the reason Tommy went without food as a kid? And after that, Tom still wants the woman to love her.

  I have an overwhelming sense that Tommy needs a hug, but when I look around the room, see the few lingering fans and staff, I know this isn’t the place.

  “Come on.” I jerk my head toward the exit. I’m grateful when Tom follows me into an empty hallway. I pull her into my arms, warming to the feel of her pressed against me. “Hey.”

  She tries to push out of my arms. “I’m fine.”

  “I know you are.” I roll my eyes at her obnoxious need to appear strong. “Just let me hug you anyway.”

  A growl rumbles in her chest and I nearly sigh in relief when I feel her lean in and grip my T-shirt at my back.

  “Families are fucked up.”

  She grunts. “Some more than others.”

  I rest my chin on her head. “Don’t worry about tonight. I’ll keep an eye on your mom.”

  “I saw you keeping an eye on her earlier. You know boobs are just fat, right?”

  I grin, grateful she can’t see. “Your mom’s got a killer rack. Guess the big boob gene skipped a generation—ahh!”

  Her fist is locked on the elastic of my underwear, which she has yanked halfway up my back in an atomic wedgie. I try to push her away, but she only pulls up harder.

  “What did you say about my boobs?” She uses both hands and yanks so hard I hear seams snap.

  “Your boobs are great! They’re—ouch! You’re killing my balls.”

  Another yank.

  “Your boobs are sexy! Especially your nipples! I want to suck them—”

  She releases me and backs away, eyes wide, mouth slack.

  I tug at the fabric sling around my dick and nuts and exhale as circulation is restored. “You’re a lot stronger than you look.”

  She still looks in shock as she stares at me.

  “Did I go too far?”

  She blinks.

  “I went too far.” Everything with this girl is a challenge. I need to remember she’s inexperienced and spooks easily. “I won’t apologize for being honest.”

  “We’re just friends,” she says in a barely audible voice.

  I squint one eye and step closer. “You sure about that?”

  Her breath comes faster, her eyes dropping to my lips.

  I smirk. “I bet I know what you’re thinking right now.” I back her up until she’s against the concrete wall. “You’re dying for me to kiss you.” I pop her ball cap from her head and toss it aside. “I hate it when I can’t see your eyes.”

  She’s frozen, staring at me—whether in fear or desire I don’t know, but I’m hoping it’s the latter.

  “Tell me the truth, Taylor.”

  Her eyes flare.

  “You’re desperate for me to kiss you again.” Her palm presses against my stomach. I look down, watching her, daring her to push me away. “Just as I’m desperate to kiss you.”

  She grips the fabric in both fists. I grin and dip down, pull her up on her toes, and kiss her. Slowly at first. She doesn’t open up to me. I lick her bottom lip, kiss at the corners of her mouth, and she finally lets me in. I groan at the first taste of her warm, wet mouth. So clean, pure, sweet.

  I wrap an arm around her back and tug her closer, feeling the length of her body hot against mine. My free hand roams up her arm to her neck where her pulse throbs wildly. Our bodies fit together as if we were designed to fit against the other—her frame fixing to mine like a last puzzle piece. Her soft to my hard, her gentle to my aggressive, her trembling to my strength—the ultimate yin and yang. I tilt my head, deepen the kiss, pin her to the wall as I lick into her mouth. I let my hand drop to the front of her sweatshirt, and feel her tight nipple punching the fabric. No padding, wire, push up, or lace. What I see is what I get with her. Natural, real, nothing between us but a layer of cotton. I run my thumb over the firm tip. She gasps into the kiss and shudders in my arms.

  “You’re so reactive,” I whisper as I continue to torture the sensitive tip. “You respond to the most innocent touch.” I prove my point by adding a gentle pressure that makes her lips part and her breath quicken. “Fucking beautiful.”

  I kiss down her jaw to her neck, rest my lips at her pulse point, and pinch her nipple through her sweatshirt. The vibration of her answering moan shoots straight from her throat to my dick. I need to feel her, skin on skin. If we were alone, somewhere private, I’d pull off our shirts just so I could feel her soft body against me. Feel her heart pound wildly against my chest. I do the next best thing and slide my hand under her shirt. I rest my palm on her flat stomach, giving her a chance to say no. She arches her back, offering herself to me in a silent plea.

  I inch my fingers higher, over her ribcage until I feel the gentle swell of her breast. Just as I thought, they’re not big, but as I cup the round flesh, only one word comes to mind. “Perfect.”

  I take her mouth again while squeezing her entire boob. Her tight nipple slips between my fingers and I pinch, rub, and coax it tighter. She grinds her hips against mine and I wonder if she’s experienced enough to even understand what she’s searching for. Her body asks for contact, longs for the delicious friction that will temper the ache in her belly. I want my mouth on her. I bet I’d hardly have to touch her and she’d fall apart in my arms.

  “Open your legs.” I slip my knee between her thighs and feel her weight drop onto it.

  Her breath hitches.

  I smile against her mouth and kiss her again, this time applying pressure with my thigh while rubbing her nipple in circles. I pick up a slow, firm rhythm, showing her how easy it would be to put out that fire that grows needier by the second. I grip her hips and show her how to move them in waves, teaching her how to go after her own pleasure.

  She
bites her lip, her eyes closed, and she tosses her head to the side. “Something is…” She moans and shakes her head. “It’s too much, I don’t—”

  I quiet her with a kiss, this one more aggressive as I nip and suck at her lips. She pulls her mouth from mine, gasps for air, and those stormy gray eyes fix on mine.

  “I feel too much—” She gasps and fists my shirt.

  I’ve seen more women orgasm than I can even remember, and not one of them was memorable. But when Tommy’s thighs tremble, her lips part in a silent scream, and her body stiffens as her orgasm slams through her, the visual is burned into my memory.

  “Gorgeous.” I whisper words of encouragement as she rides out the final waves of her orgasm. “That was sexy as hell.”

  Her body falls limp in my arms. “What just happened?”

  I brush her hair off her face and cup her jaw. My cheeks hurt from grinning. “Have you never had an orgasm before?”

  She drops her chin, and I feel the heat on her skin as she flushes. “I…” She shakes her head.

  I’ve seen Tommy mouthy, confident, cocky. I’ve rarely seen her bashful. As refreshing of a change as it is, I don’t want her bashful around me, especially not about something we do sexually.

  I lift her chin until I get her eyes. “You coming undone was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot of—”

  “Okay, I get it!” She smiles, looking sated and beautiful.

  I wrap her in my arms, bury my face in her neck, and breathe her in. “Thank you, baby.”

  A few silent seconds tip by before she clears her throat and says, “I’m not an expert…” Her voice is soft and shaky—from nerves or her release, I’m not sure. “But shouldn’t I be the one thanking you?”

  A relieved chuckle crawls up my throat. “As good as that was for you, I can assure you it was a million times better for me.” I pull back and look down at her, surprised and grateful when she holds eye contact. I search her eyes and find only a flicker of embarrassment in her gaze, not regret.

  “You’re, ah…” She tucks her hair behind her ears self-consciously. “Really good at that.”

  Usually I’d say something about my skill with women coming from over a decade of hands-on experience, but I bite my tongue. My usual response would dirty the moment, cheapen it. It would be like pissing on holy ground. “Why did you avoid me at sound check tonight?”

  She frowns, her gaze dropping to my neck. “I didn’t.”

  Liar. “You were three feet away from me and I said, ‘Hey, Tom,’ and you muttered something and ran off.”

  Her shoulders deflate on an exhale. “I don’t have a lot of experience in this area. After we kissed, I don’t know how to act around you.” She studies my face with such intensity, I have to fight not to look away.

  She has a good point. She’s not some groupie I can kiss senseless then send packing. She’s someone I’ll see every day for the rest of the tour. I’ve never been in a relationship before. Romantic attachments always seemed more troublesome than anything. I can’t commit to more than the occasional stolen kiss in a hallway, and even that is more than I’m used to.

  “You’re totally freaking out,” she says.

  “I am not.” And yet, maybe I am. Having to define whatever this is between us seems impossible.

  She smiles, but it somehow looks sad, and something in my chest pinches painfully at the sight. She pats my chest—never a positive place to be patted by a woman. The gesture is equal to a pat on the head. Good boy, now run along.

  She says, “I should go check on my mom.”

  I back up, scoop her hat off the floor, and hand it to her. I feel as though this is the perfect moment to say something profound, to make some kind of grand declaration or claim, but not a single word comes from my stupid mouth.

  “So I guess I’ll see you around.” She settles her hat back on her head, hiding once again behind the familiar veil.

  “Are you going to keep ignoring me?”

  A soft laugh escapes her. “If you thought it was hard for me to talk to you after we kissed,” she says, walking backward and away from me, “it’ll be doubly hard to talk to you now.”

  Maybe it’s for the best that she avoids me. In a perfect world, Tommy would allow me to show her all the ways a man can please a woman physically. She’d give me permission to touch her in ways no other man has touched her. I’d spend hours. Days. Fucking weeks pulling every kind of pleasure from her body…

  I blink, rake my hands through my hair, and pull. What the fuck am I thinking? A woman like Tommy deserves to be with someone who will commit to being hers and only hers for as long as she’d have him.

  I could never be that guy.

  Chapter Twelve

  Taylor

  I watch my mom’s reflection in the bathroom mirror as she leans over and snorts a line of white powder off the countertop. “This is so much fun.” She flips her head up, checks her nose, and fluffs her hair. “Reminds me of the old days. You sure you don’t want a nip?” she asks my reflection while touching up her lip gloss.

  “I’ll pass. Why don’t I take you to your seat? I got you front row center.” The opening band took the stage nearly forty-five minutes ago. “You’ll get a much better experience in the audience.”

  “Better than watching from side-stage?” She packs up her tiny purse and turns to me, her expression dripping in condescension. “I’d have expected your father to teach you better. Where is he anyway?” She grabs her boobs and fluffs them at the top.

  “Working.” Something you’d know nothing about.

  “God, he was always such a bore.” She rolls her eyes and walks past me out of the bathroom. “Now, tell me about Jesse’s band.”

  I’m great, Mom. Thanks for asking. We haven’t seen each other in years and she’s yet to ask a single question about me.

  “I’ve always had a thing for drummers—”

  “Ryder’s married,” I say through clenched teeth.

  She winks. “What happens on the road…”

  I’ve always had compassion for the groupies who fall for rock stars—the men and women who would do anything for their chance to hook up with a famous musician. My mom is a stark reminder of why groupies have a horrible reputation.

  “He’s also too young for you.”

  She sniffs and brushes her nose with her fingertip. “No such thing.”

  “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

  She shrugs. “We have an open relationship. Besides, he just lost his filming contract with Paramount, so he’s currently unemployed.” She says the last word as if it’s a genital disease. “Tell me about the bass player.”

  My breath freezes in my lungs and I feel a little sick.

  “They aren’t typically my first choice, but he is gorgeous. Tall, strong, and all that hair. I bet he’s great with his tongue.”

  Yeah, I’m definitely sick.

  “What’s his name again?”

  I drop my chin, hoping I don’t get recognized as we pass a group of crewmembers. “Ethan.”

  “Mmmm, Ethan. I like it.” We round the corner toward the dressing room. “He’s single, right?”

  I can still feel his mouth on mine, his phantom hands on my breasts, still taste his moans. “Yep.”

  And look at me doing the one thing my dad always told me never to do—I’m falling for a rock star. Idiot.

  The dressing room is chaotic. Assistants, tour manager, stage manager, and the band radiating with pre-show excitement. I feel Ethan’s eyes on me as I stick close to my mom.

  “Don’t look now, but Ethan is totally checking me out.”

  That’s my cue to go. “You’ll find your way around, right?” I back away toward the door. “I need to go, but I’ll find you after the show.” I won’t, but if she asks, I’ll say I tried.

  Who am I kidding? She won’t ask.

  I whirl around and storm into the hallway and get a few feet away before Ethan jogs around me and steps into m
y space.

  “Move.”

  “What happened?” He dips to look under my hat, his eyes skating frantically over my face. “You look like you’re going to throw up.”

  “I just sat in the bathroom and watched my mom snort coke off a dirty sink before asking me if you were single.”

  He recoils. “What did you tell her?”

  “The truth. Yes, he’s single and he loves to fuck groupies.”

  “Damn, Tommy.”

  I clench my fists at my sides. “How dare you act disgusted.”

  He blinks at me. His jaw tics, but he has no defense.

  “So there you go. A ready and willing groupie—blond, big boobs, and ready to hit her knees, just how you like them. Now get the fuck out of my way.”

  “You think she’s what I want?”

  “I know she is. You said as much the first night we met, when you ordered me to have women delivered to your dressing room, bonus if they’re willing to travel.”

  He runs a hand through his unruly hair. “Impossible,” he says as if he’s talking to himself. “This is why I don’t do rela—”

  “Tom.” My dad lumbers toward us. “Why aren’t you answering your walkie?” He glares at Ethan before addressing me again. “You weren’t at dinner.”

  “I was just coming to find you.”

  The door of the dressing room swings open and the sound of high heels clicking on concrete grows louder behind me.

  “No fucking way…” my dad mutters.

  “Hello, Elijah,” my mom says, sounding like the villain in a Disney movie. “Long time.”

  My dad eyes me. “You do this?”

  I shrug. He knows I did.

  My mom walks right past me and curls up next to Ethan.

  “Tori.” My dad glances at my mom’s tits pressed against Ethan’s bicep. “I see you’re up to the same ol’ same.”

  She sneers at him and loops her hand around Ethan’s elbow. “Jealous?”

  I peek up to see Ethan watching me, his brows drawn together. Does he even notice my mother practically humping his leg?

  “Not even a little.” My dad grips the back of my neck and squeezes. “Tom and I got work to do.”