Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series: Box Set 1

by Charli B. Rose

  “Deal.” And we sealed it with a kiss. With strong arms, he set me on my feet. He slipped his discarded t-shirt over my head, then pulled my hair out from under it, sending shivers over me.

  “Now, go make your masterpiece.” He swatted me on the butt.

  Before I immersed myself in trying to capture the sparkling fireworks of color I’d envisioned earlier, I needed to clear my head. So, I picked up my camera and moved around the room taking photos of the flowers Dawson had gotten for me, symbols of our relationship. The lens didn’t quite do them justice, but I had to preserve their beauty. Who knew if they’d hold up for the rest of my trip or if customs would even let me bring them home with me?

  From the corner of the room, Dawson watched me with his guitar across his lap. He idly strummed. His eyes were filled with love.

  I settled in the chair, drawing my knees up in the seat, so I could prop my sketch pad against them.

  “Damn,” Dawson growled from across the room.

  Puzzled, I looked up. “Everything OK, baby?”

  “Is everything OK? No, everything’s not OK. You’re about to get lost in sketching. I’m supposed to be writing you a love song. And you’re perched in that chair with no panties on. How the hell am I supposed to concentrate or leave you alone to work?” his voice was ragged with need.

  “You want me to put more clothes on?”

  He sat there, chewing on the corner of his lip, thinking. “No. I’ll just have to suffer through it. But maybe I should take my pants off and even the playing field.”

  “Yes. I think you should.” I’d never turn down an opportunity to see his body. It was a masterpiece. All lean muscles stretched over hard lines. Shadows and contours. Perfection.

  Never one to back down from a challenge, he set his guitar aside and got to his feet. The flaps of his jeans were already flared open where he’d never fastened them. He shimmied out of them, smirked at me, and picked his instrument back up.

  My blood heated but seeing that expanse of skin was extra fuel for the fire of creativity raging inside of me. Closing my eyes and drawing a deep breath, I brought the reflection of us making love earlier to the forefront of my mind. The pencil moved fluidly across the page. Long lines created a torso spread over rumpled sheets. Ripples of shadow added a sense of movement in muscle. More lines and curves hinted at shoulders, breasts and an abdomen perpendicular to the muscular frame on the bed. The bend of a leg and curve of a hip blocked the marriage of bodies only hinted at with the series of lines and pencil strokes.

  Digging through my pencil case, I found the perfect shades of blush pink, orchid, cornflower, mint and lemon. Messy, sweeping strokes with them generated a tangle of rainbow locks that somehow managed to look as if fingers had just been run through them or wound them around a fist. It was hot. Then I added streaks and swirls of color to the background, bursting like explosions of love between the two bodies. The sensual melody Dawson was composing was the perfect backdrop to my work.

  ♪ “When You Say Nothing at All” by Alison Kraus

  By the time I was satisfied, my fingers ached from gripping a pencil for so long. A glance out of the crack in the drapes revealed the sun had sunk below the horizon at some point while we worked. Standing, I stretched my arms over my head and rolled my neck to loosen it up. Before I could drop my arms, Dawson was across the room in ten strides. With gentle hands he took my sketch pad and pencil from me.

  “It’s not finished yet,” I protested as he turned the paper, so he could see it better.

  “Gosh, Izzy… Is this how you see us?” his question was a strangled whisper.

  Fear of his critique stole my voice. My head bobbed up and down. No matter how many times I created something, the first time anyone saw it, I was always nervous.

  “I don’t know if you’ve ever created a more beautiful piece. When it’s done, I want it. Please.”

  “OK,” I agreed. It wasn’t like I could ever display something that was so much my heart and soul in a gallery anyway.

  “Now, let’s go shower, so we can go on that candlelit dinner cruise along the canals. Joe will be here to get us in an hour.”

  He stripped his shirt from my body and led me to the bathroom. As he maneuvered us beyond the first area of the bathroom, I was overcome by the opulence of the room. A huge infinity tub rested on a platform surrounded by mirrors.

  “We’ll try that out tomorrow,” Dawson promised as I trailed my fingers longingly over the cool porcelain edge. “No time right now.”

  He tugged me into the shower, which really was big enough to be a room. The circular area was tiled with a mosaic of cerulean and cream tiles around half the walls. The other half of the walls were glass. Inset in the tile were various benches and ledges. With a flip and turn, Dawson had water cascading from numerous jets and fixtures. Perched in one of the alcoves were my shampoo, conditioner and body wash. Guess he unpacked them for me at some point.

  Gently, he urged me onto the bench beneath the waterfall spray. He settled behind me and leaned my body back against his, so my hair got saturated. Nimble musician fingers massaged strawberry-scented shampoo into my scalp. It felt so relaxing I could’ve fallen asleep there in his arms. He twisted the handheld nozzle, so he could rinse my hair. Then he repeated the process with conditioner. Dawson and I had showered together many times. But he’d never shown the level of care and pampering he was now. He’d never washed my hair before. His ministrations made me feel loved in a whole new way.

  Once my hair hung down my back cleaned and conditioned, he lathered up his hands with my body wash. Then he proceeded to clean every inch of skin on my body, turning me into a wanton mess.

  I returned the favor, making him squirm beneath my touch. And when he could take no more, I eased to my knees on the tiled floor. I gripped the length of him firmly and gave a gentle tug. Pressing my other hand into his thigh, I balanced myself as I leaned forward, taking him into my mouth. I teased him with a variety of licks, nips, scrapes and sucks.

  Over the years, I’d amassed a tremendous amount of knowledge, a virtual encyclopedia, on what Dawson liked best, what drove him insane. And I made it my mission to drive him to the brink every time I had the pleasure of expressing my love in this manner. He grew hotter and heavier in my mouth as I worked his length with my mouth and hand. His thigh muscles tightened beneath my palm, alerting to me to his precarious state. As I doubled down, prepared to shove him over the edge, his hands gripped me under my arms, drawing me reluctantly off his throbbing cock. It was an angry shade of purple.

  “Why’d you stop me?” I pouted, catching my breath.

  “You know why I stopped you,” he croaked.

  On trembling legs, he drew us both to our feet. He planted my hands on the shower wall and kissed a line down my spine. Pressing my back to his front, he melded our bodies together. Our hearts fused as one. Our souls fitting together as if they were carved from the same bit of heavenly essence. Forgoing any more actual bathing, we made love with the sounds of our pleasure echoing around us.

  When we were finally sated, we dried each other off and got ready. Hastily, I dug out a sweater dress and leggings. I had twenty minutes to get ready before Joe would be ready to escort us down to the boat.

  “How do I look?” I asked when I emerged from the dressing area.

  “Stunning. But you’re going to need this.” He slid a black beanie over my hair. It matched his. “It’s a little chilly out there, especially along the water.”

  “Thanks.”

  Thirty minutes later we were strolling along the cobblestoned paths, hand-in-hand with Joe trailing behind us. A cluster of people paid special attention to us as they passed, craning their heads to get a second look. Moments later a flash of light lit up the other side of the street.

  “Damn it,” Dawson huffed under his breath.

  “Just keep moving. We’re almost to the boat,” Joe urged as he stepped closer to us.

  By the time we boarded the
boat for our private dinner cruise, I’d forgotten about the photograph. The flickering bridge lights as we cruised the canal belt enraptured me. As we floated, I marveled at the rainbow formed on either side of the canal by the buildings.

  “Oh,” I gasped. I tugged Dawson’s arm. “Is that a pink canal?”

  “Yeah. When you put pink river on our bucket list years ago, you didn’t specify anything else. Hope this will do.”

  “It’s perfect,” I breathed out as our boat glided through a tunnel formed by pink flowering trees. The pink petals dotting the water along with the tree’s reflections made the canal look pink.

  Withdrawing my camera from my coat pocket, I snapped images of the sights in between stealing kisses and selfies with Dawson. The dinner was amazing, made even more so by the romantic atmosphere. I wished I could freeze time and stay forever in this place with Dawson.

  Chapter 4

  Dawson

  ♪ “Angel of the Morning” by Juice Newton

  A soft warmth pressed me to the mattress. Blinking, my vision filled with color. Silky hair spread over my shoulder and trailed down one arm, almost tickling it. One of my arms anchored the presence of heaven to me—chest to chest, heart to heart. Wet heat pushed against my hard cock, which was straining to gain entry of its own accord. A minor tilt of my hips and slip of her body would easily accomplish it. But the torture of her damp folds barely sliding against me with each exchange of breath was delicious and worth savoring. Her knees squeezed my hips as her long legs lay alongside my own. The fingers of her hand resting on my pec twitched and flexed. She was beginning to wake up. With my free hand, I dragged my fingers through her hair.

  Her lashes fluttered where they rested against my skin.

  “Hey, you,” I spoke quietly into the void, so as to let her wake up slowly.

  “Hi,” she murmured with a smile and closed her eyes again, snuggling more closely to me and amping up the torture.

  Izzy wasn’t grouchy in the morning, but she’d always been slow coming around. Especially when we spent much of the night before climbing the mountains of pleasure. And climb we had. We only had a few more days to stuff enough kisses, touches and orgasms in to last us for eight more weeks. Then she’d be back for a spring run. A few weeks after that she’d be back on tour with me as the official band photographer. Then when summer ends we’d figure out how to deal with the last year of my contract with the record label.

  I had to figure out how she and I could start our lives officially as an engaged couple.

  Once I asked her, that is.

  She had no idea I’d bought us a house in LA a few weeks ago. As soon as I saw the listing online, I knew it was perfect for us. Perfect location. Room for both of us to nurture our art and our love. And for months I’d been carrying around a black velvet box in the bottom of my suitcase waiting for the perfect moment to claim her forever.

  “I hear your heart beating.” Her palm flattened against the flesh over my heart.

  “It’s saying Isa-belle, Isa-belle.” I ran my hand up and down her spine.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. That’s all it’s ever said. It’s a stubborn organ. Only ever learning one tune. The most perfect song in the universe.”

  She lifted her ear from where it had been tuned in to the rhythm of my life force and grinned at me. “Even when you’re being cheesy, your words are so beautiful.”

  I swatted her butt cheek. “I am not cheesy.”

  She circled her hips and squealed. “Yes, you are. But I love it.” Her lips landed on mine. “I love you,” the words caressed my mouth before I opened and invited her in.

  With a shift of her pelvis and a thrust of mine, two bodies joined much like two hearts already were.

  Sweaty and sated, we cuddled, entwined on top of the rumpled sheets. “We should do that again,” she panted.

  “We can. Later. First, I have a surprise for you.”

  “Oooo. Is it a one-eyed snake in need of a home?” She managed to keep a straight face while her eyes fluttered innocently.

  I guffawed at her and squeezed her tightly to me. The first time she ever saw it in the light of day was when we were teenagers. I laughed then at her description, and years later, I still laughed whenever she pulled that line out of her bag of memories. “My one-eyed snake has a home. And after his nap, he’ll be happy to slink back where he belongs. While he recuperates, we need to get dressed. I’d rather Joe not see my snake or his cave when he gets here in about fifteen minutes.”

  That got her moving. She leaped from the bed and threw open her suitcase. “How should I dress?” Clothes were about to be sent into a violent storm of fabric and color.

  “Dress comfortably. We’ll be walking a bit. And make sure you bring your sketch pad and camera.”

  She shimmied into a pair of blue jeans and an off the shoulder sweater that somehow matched the pink in her hair perfectly. “This OK?” She didn’t bother to look at me while she stuffed her pad, pencils and camera inside a canvas tote.

  “Perfect.” I continued to watch her. Finally, she met my stare and smirked. “What?”

  “Don’t you want to get dressed before Joe arrives? Unless he’s had to haul your naked self out of somewhere and therefore has seen it all before.” She propped her hand on her hip as she contemplated me.

  “Nah, he’s been spared that. He did have to haul my drunk self out of a few after parties when we first got started. But it’s been a while since he’s had to hold my hair.”

  “Your hair isn’t long enough to have to hold, crazy boy.” She laughed. “Now clothes. On your sexy body. Now.” She jabbed her finger in the direction of my clothes.

  “I ever tell you how hot you are when you’re bossy?” I scooted off the bed and stood with a stretch.

  “Quit trying to distract me with your sex appeal. Now that I’m dressed, I want my surprise.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I saluted her and made a show of shaking my rear as I bent over to grab a pair of jeans. A long-sleeved, gray Henley and a matching gray beanie completed the look. I held out a black beanie to Izzy.

  “You think I need a disguise?” Her lip wrinkled in distaste.

  “Maybe not. But it might be cold outside. And you were sick a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Ugh. You’re right.” She slipped the knit fabric over her hair, then moved to check the mirror. “Yeah. It was a rough few days. Almost like the flu, but not quite. But I feel almost as good as new now.”

  “Yo, D, you guys ready?” Joe shouted from downstairs.

  “Just about. Got to grab our coats.” I picked hers up from where it was draped over the back of the chair.

  “Good. It’s like thirty degrees or something out there,” Joe informed us.

  I held open her long, black coat while she glided her arms inside. Spinning her around, I tugged it up onto her shoulders securely and zipped her up. Digging into her pocket, I pulled out her colorful scarf like a magician. Quickly, I wound it around the slender column of her neck and tucked the tail. From her other pocket, I unearthed her gloves. Like an obedient child, she held out her hand, so I could cover it with the black knitted material. When she held out her bare hand, I took it in mine and placed a kiss on the inked ring around her thumb. Seeing her matching band of commitment never got old. I covered it up with her remaining glove. I loved taking care of her. I couldn’t wait to do it on a more consistent basis.

  She waited while I donned my leather jacket, scarf and gloves. She grabbed me by my jacket lapels and heated my blood with a branding kiss. Then she zipped my coat up.

  We walked down the stairs hand in hand. “You remember when we got our tattoos?” I asked.

  “Of course. Let’s see.” She tapped a finger against her lips like she was pondering. “We were in California for the west coast leg of your first tour. You convinced the label to hire me for the summer to take photos of the band.”

  “It was our first tour where we weren’t the opening act.” I th
ought we were on top of the world back then. Little did I know, it was just the beginning.

  “Almost exactly two years ago. We were celebrating our first official anniversary.” She squeezed my hand.

  “Right. It was a crazy idea. Getting our first pieces of ink together.” It was nuts branding our bodies permanently in honor of each other when we were so young. Smiling, I shook my head. Some days we were still those crazy kids, still newly in love, ready to conquer the world using love alone.

  We stepped in front of Joe and entered the quiet hallway of the hotel.

  “Permanent art symbolizing our unbreakable love.” The smile on her face was filled with nostalgia.

  “What was the name of the shop again?” My memory for minor details wasn’t always great. Too much space occupied by song lyrics.

  “Inked Hearts. The artist did a great job creating matching designs that suited each of us yet still looked like they belonged to each other.”

  “Exactly. I was thinking we should go back and get another one. You could draw us up something else. Our love has grown even more since then. We should commemorate it.” I settled her in the cradle of my arms inside the elevator, her back to my front.

  “That’s a great idea. I’ll get to work on it. Any thoughts about what you want?”

  “Something musical. It’s a badge of honor for rockers. And I’m running behind. How many rock stars have you seen uninked?”

  “You have ink.”

  “Pfft. One small band of ink doesn’t count.” I tilted my head back and sniffed the air pretentiously.

  Joe snickered from his post in front of us.

  “I saved the guy’s contact info. I’ll shoot him an email and start brainstorming ideas.”

  “Maybe we should use one of the other guys next time… Perhaps the quiet, broody one instead.” My fist clenched as I remembered the flirty guy who was way too attentive as he held Izzy’s hand so gently while he permanently branded her body.