by Louisa Bacio
“Are you all right?”
“I will be.” He fumbled forward a few more steps, hands outstretched, feeling his way until warm flesh came under his fingertips. “Oh, that’s more like it.”
Creamy thighs, not too muscular, not too soft. Right between her legs he moved, thrusting upward, kneeling until his cock hit her entrance, slick and ready for him. He slid in a few inches before coming back out.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, partially for her but also for him. If she stopped him, he might escape unscathed. Something told him he wouldn’t be able to forget this woman easily.
“Absolutely.” She lifted her hips. “Let’s make the Earth move.”
As he pushed into her pussy, her words echoed in his mind, a new mantra. Each pump, he repeated to the refrain. She stretched upward, finding his mouth, and the unison of their tongues synched up with their bodies. Her warmth embraced him, caressed every inch of his cock, and soothed his fears. Pure lust consumed all hesitations. He gripped under her ass, pounding into her. She met him thrust for thrust. His entire body heated up, and he slowed the pace, stringing out every sensation. She smiled and ground her hips upward, adding a different friction to the mix.
Two could play that game. He rubbed her clit with his thumb. “Do you like getting fucked?” he said, egging them both on. “Come for me. Show me how good it feels.”
Her inner walls tightened around him as her orgasm overtook her. She sucked on his upper arm, adding a bit of pain to the pleasure.
He wasn’t ready to come yet. He wanted more of her. He pulled out, eliciting a whimper.
“Can you roll over for me?” he asked, guiding her body over and her ass up in the air.
Two plush globes of her rounded arse greeted him. Sweat from their romp shone on her skin, leaving it glistening. He licked the hollow of her lower back as he fit himself between her legs and delved in.
“Yes, stretch me.” She moaned, rocking back on his cock.
He pumped into her, his balls bouncing off her mons, until she grunted with each plunge. The pleasure tightened the base of his cock, and his body stiffened as he came. He swore it went on forever, her moans matching his own.
Wiped out, physically and emotionally, he lay on his side, pulling her over with him. Their breathing leveled out, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest moved under his hand.
He kissed her shoulder and whispered, “My muse.”
***
She slept within his arms while he thought about his music. For so long, it had fueled his passion. Being on stage, strumming his guitar, creating. All the background noise—the marketing and kissing up to those who didn’t give a fuck—like ad-sales representatives, thanks a lot—wasn’t his thing. But when it came to his music, he took an active role. If a video was going to be shot, it had to live up to his standards, and that was why he’d made the trip. Not because he possessed high expectations for a payoff, but because he wouldn’t settle for anything less than perfection.
Right now, a new form of perfection snuggled against him. He’d avoided attachments for so long, thinking they might be a distraction from his career. But maybe, that didn’t have to be the case. He could have both. Maybe, he needed both.
A song floated through his head, something he hadn’t heard in so long.
He stared down at her in his arms, marveling. Twenty-four hours trapped with this woman and one rambunctious shag, and his writer’s block had dissipated.
Chapter Seven
Panic struck the moment Sebastian woke. Heart racing, he sat up to darkness. He fumbled beside him, searching for a lamp but found only open air. Where the hell was he? The events of the previous day crashed upon him, he remembered the earthquake, the shelter…and Kayla.
Where was she?
He couldn’t breathe. Like someone sat on his chest or held the covers over his head for too long. His thoughts drifted back to that day, so many years ago, and he fought to regain control of his emotions.
He reached down next to the cot, found the portable lantern this time, and flicked on the switch. There she was, sleeping in the cot next to his but still too far away. The shallow light cast a shadow over her face, long eyelashes standing out against her pale skin and her lips parted. For someone so intense during the waking hours, she appeared peaceful while she slept.
Why had she moved from sleeping next to him? Maybe he had gone a little crazy. He tended to kick the covers off and talk in his sleep, especially when the nightmares hit, a tidbit the guys in the band liked to tease him about on long bus tours where no one had any privacy.
Or could she have moved for another reason altogether? Regret over getting physical with him?
He’d have to ask after she woke. It had to be morning by now. He couldn’t believe how much he wished for natural lighting, to stare up at the sun and feel its warmth against his body. It was one of the main reasons he now resided almost full-time in Southern California. He loved England, but the dreary days of his homeland got to him. Sunshine, more days of the year than not, was more his style, and he was thankful his career afforded him the option to choose.
Not to mention he had to escape. Too many bad memories.
The day before had had its highs and lows. Discovering Kayla hurt and not being sure what to do, had rocked him to his core. He didn’t have to take care of such things; he had people for those types of duties but yesterday, he’d had to take control and figure out the situation. When he’d done so, a sense of pride and independence had fueled him.
Being buried deep inside her hours earlier…. It might not have been the smartest thing he’d ever done, but his body enjoyed it and, if he admitted it, so did his mind.
It was different being with someone so normal. She wasn’t a groupie, or a fellow rock star. Her life was uncomplicated, and he’d come along and screwed with it. When they got back to the real world, she was going to hate him because of the noise his life brought. For now, he’d take what he could get, and maybe she’d help chase the nightmares away.
The terrors persisted. He couldn’t get free of them, no matter what he tried to think about. His throat constricted. Suffocating. Thick black smoke filled the small compartment. The already blacked-out confines grew even darker. When the train—the tube—lost power, everything turned off, even the emergency lighting. Fire from somewhere added smoke and his nostrils burned while he tasted ashes on his tongue. He wiped soot from his eyes, only to have them clog right back up.
And then the moans and screams began, cries for help over the creaking metal. He coughed, breathing tainted air. Light from mobile phones shattered the darkness. He fumbled in his back pocket for his, praying for service. The brightness burned his eyes for a moment, and he wiped away the dust again, feeling it smear across his forehead. A baby bawled and his heart ached.
They were trapped, and he had no idea how long it would be before help arrived.
“Shhh, it’s all right. You’re safe,” a voice like an angel called out to him. He fought the cloying web of the nightmare, seeking the light. He hovered in the between world, semi-asleep, and semi-awake, where nightmares felt the most real.
“Please wake up.” The voice again, soothing.
He lurched upward, gasping, and she was there, taking him within her arms, enveloping him in her warmth. Bloody nightmares. He must have fallen back to sleep.
She brushed back his hair.
“What was it? Maybe if you talk about it, it would be better? It might help you let it go.”
“I don’t talk about it.” His voice sounded raspy, like it had that day. “Stupid dreams won’t leave me alone. When can we get out of here?”
Her body tensed against him. Guilt filled him. Bloody hell, all she was trying to do was help him and instead he pushed her away, when he really wanted to hold her close.
“I didn’t mean to pry. Just trying to help. We’re stuck here for a while.” She handed him a bottle of water. “Here. Sounds like you might need this.�
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Although it was room temperature, the liquid soothed his raw throat. Had he been screaming in his sleep? What a mess. He must have scared the hell out of her.
“Listen, I’m sorry. I have these recurring nightmares, and I hate the feeling of being trapped.”
“Claustrophobia. I get it.” She watched him. He avoided her gaze. “Lots of people have it. Being stuck in a bunker doesn’t help it much either. Let me tell you a secret—I live in Southern California, the land of freeways, and I hate overpasses. Every time I’m at the top of one, I imagine an earthquake hitting and sending me and all the other drivers plummeting.”
“Didn’t that happen before? I remember something.” Even though he’d been living in L.A., on and off, he rarely considered the potential of quakes.
“Yep. Northridge quake, 1994. I was a kid then. It was bad, but the San Francisco area has had some worse ones.”
“Well, see, that’s a learned phobia,” he said.
“Don’t change the subject. Are you telling me yours is not learned? Oh, I forget. Mr. Rock Star doesn’t share personal information with me.”
She returned to the cot, and the absence of her body, her physical presence, left him with a void. He wanted her back, but knew he’d have to give something in return. Himself.
“I stayed the night out at a mate’s place, but I promised my little sister I’d be home for her birthday. I wouldn’t normally be on such an early tube—too many office workers—but I didn’t want to disappoint Lizzie.” When he started talking, his voice took on a haunting quality to his own ears, as if someone else was telling the story of that day.
Not much else would make him get up so damn early. “I was dozing, with my head propped up against the glass, and my guitar tucked under my arm, when the explosion hit. It took me a while, but I realized…we’d been bombed.”
“It was all over the news,” she whispered. “You lived through that? Good Lord, when was that?”
“2005. The London Underground bombings, they called it.” The horror of it rolled over him again. “Fifty-two people dead, seven hundred injured. I came out whole in body, but it changed my life.” As he said the words, he realized how true they actually were.
She stilled, completely focused on his tale, and all he could hear was the beating of his own heart.
“The tube jumped the tracks, and the whole carriage turned on its side. There were murmurs of all sorts about what could have happened. It had been a while since the IRA hit.”
She moved back to his bed, bringing a lantern. The warm glow chased away the shadows. It was as if they were encircled in a magic sphere of safety, and the world outside of it remained unknown.
She took his hand and climbed under the blanket with him. “How long were you in there?”
Memory flashed—blood in the darkness, and how it appeared black. Reaching to help someone and coming away with wet hands. Wiping them on his jeans. He’d fought against panic and the need to escape. He had to help others. A woman’s arm, barely connected to her body. Trying to stop the bleeding with another guy’s belt. He couldn’t tell her all of that. The horror remained too fresh in his mind. At night, when it was quiet, he heard the echo of their screams, and he hated the dark. His fear lingered too close to the surface. Sometimes he felt like if he gave it a holding, it could take over his life.
He swallowed and took another sip of water. “Time is weird in an event like that. An hour, maybe a bit more, but it feels much longer, and I know it could have been worse. Once my body figured out it was all together and whole, that flight nature kicked in. I had to fight with myself to make sure others were all right, too. Not everyone was.”
God, people had died. He’d been bloody lucky to get out intact. So fucking lucky.
“Here I’ve spent my entire life frightened of what might happen someday, and you lived through it and survived it,” She rubbed his arm. “No wonder you don’t like being underground.”
He needed to finish the story and purge the memories. “Mobile phone service worked for shit in the tunnels, but I used the light. I’d forgotten to charge it overnight, so it didn’t last long. When I got out, when I saw the sun again, even though it was clouded over, it was like my soul had been shaken out and sparkled anew. I don’t remember too much more about what I saw. I know it was horrific, but a mind is a powerful thing. Blocked some memories.”
And he edited the content for her sensibilities. He hunched over, the telling of it exhausting him.
“Your family must have been so relieved when you got home.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t get home until much later that day. Dirty, torn, and bloody clothing, still carrying my damn guitar. I must have looked like the walking dead. I remember dropping it when Lizzie launched herself into my arms. Never thought I’d smell her sweet baby hair again, or feel her small hands against my face. When I didn’t come home, they’d known I might have been on the Underground, but not if I was alive.”
She watched him, searching his face, as if she wanted to ask him something but was afraid. Afraid to make him angry or afraid of his answer?
Finally, she asked, “You never got any help for it? Or talked to anybody?”
“Why? Because I have nightmares?” Sebastian became defensive. People who’d never lived through such a thing really couldn’t understand. “People lost limbs and loved ones. Me? I got off light. Can’t stand confined spaces, though. And trains. Let’s say I’m glad I’m in Los Angeles, the land of roads and cars.”
Dryness scratched at his throat, and he sipped water. She’d grown quiet and still, not asking any further questions, and he could almost feel her thinking, putting the pieces together.
“The band’s name, the UK Underground, it ties into that day, doesn’t it? And your tattoo.”
He’d been waiting for her to make the connection. “Yes. Before then, we hadn’t settled on a name. Afterward, it seemed quite appropriate.”
“But how come I’ve never heard the story? The band is connected more with the underground music scene.”
He chuckled. “People will interpret what they want. Why would they connect me, the band, and the Underground bombings I don’t want to capitalize on other people’s pain.”
He and his bandmates had discussed the issue from time to time. One of the most often asked questions in interviews was how the band got its name but he always deflected. Those few hours had scarred him, brought him to the realization he couldn’t take life for granted. At any moment, everything he held dear could be blown away.
A light kiss brushed against his neck. Soft lips, warm breath. “You are a complicated and amazing man.” Her voice dropped to an almost whisper. “Remember, it’s your pain, too.”
An argument bubbled up inside of him, and then just as quickly disappeared. She was right. He’d been running away from the trauma so much he’d forgotten his own pain. The experience was one he couldn’t control, and he’d never know if something else would ever occur. He possessed no influence. Natural disasters, terror attacks, happened everywhere. He needed to do more than live. He needed to embrace life.
Music remained his rock, his center. He never doubted the guitar in his hands, or his ability to entertain others. What he doubted was his ability to connect with them. To give himself emotionally to another person.
For fear of losing them?
The truth struck him, nearly as fast as they had been trapped in this damned underground bunker. How could he be stuck and free at the same time?
“Anyone ever said you should go into psychology?” he asked, giving her a tight hug. “You’re a miracle worker.”
“Don’t give me credit.” Kayla smiled, returning his hug. “Some people overcome their fears by facing them. For someone with extreme claustrophobia, trapping you down here was like throwing you into the deep end of the pool in order to teach you how to swim. I just got lucky to be the one here with you.”
No. He was the lucky one.
Chapter Eight
Time lagged the next day. Sebastian watched Kayla bustle about the small space. She warmed with her tasks, she wore fewer and fewer clothes, and she’d pulled her thick hair up off her neck. Tendrils escaped, and one stuck to the side of her cheek. He wanted to reach out and smooth the hair off her face. Didn’t she feel the blasted thing? It was driving him crazy.
Within tight quarters, they kept getting in each other’s way. He couldn’t jump her every time she brushed by him, and his cock rose to attention.
Although his lower anatomy had a different idea about the situation and despite being under lockup, he enjoyed the time spent with her. The warring of the words, and the kissing.
She blew out a small breath, and the section flounced upward, then boomeranged back. Stuck again. A rustling of plastic broke the silence as she opened individual packages of cookies and arranged them on a dish. She popped one into her mouth. “Why are you staring at me like that?” she finally asked.
Telling her it was because she looked adorable while aggravated wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Despite her preparations, she seemed to be going as stir-crazy as him. Right now, she fought with the plastic of the cookies a bit too much.
“I like watching you.” He shrugged. What was wrong with that? I wasn’t like they had any other form of entertainment.
“Want some Biscoffs?” Kayla asked.
“What are they? Biscuits?”
She held them up. “Oh, speculaas, I see,” he said. “Toss me a couple.”
“They travel and store well,” she explained. The small white packages with the red writing shot through the air like tiny, sweet missiles.
He bit into the hard cookie, savoring the way it burst into flavor against his tongue.
“Thanks.”
The sound of her shuffling a deck of cards broke the quiet. Her hands folded the cards inward, mixing them with ease. She tapped-tapped-tapped them against the table and shuffled again. Even in this act, she liked things precise. Could she live in the chaos of his world?