by Quinn, Cari
“This won’t take long,” Mr. Phelps said, clearly ready to get the surly, sex-posturer out of his rarefied shop.
She didn’t blame him. Nick was anti-couth. Anti-classy.
Anti-all of the things she’d been surrounded with since childhood.
She moved forward and held out her hand. Her right, not her left. She’d never taken off her wedding band, though she should have a long time ago. In this case, her sentimentality was ill-placed, since her husband didn’t feel similarly. He hadn’t worn his ring since a few months after the ceremony seven years ago. She wasn’t sure he even still owned it.
Hocked it for drugs, probably. Not because he needed the money—far from it—but just to prove a point. She might be beholden to him, but that road was a one-way street.
Mr. Phelps took her hand and she would’ve sworn Nick growled deep in his throat. She cut him a sharp look and found his face held no reaction at all. His golden cat eyes were glazed like ice. Impermeable.
“You’re a bit larger than Ms. Edwards.” Mr. Phelps rubbed his thumb over her knuckles while he consulted his notes. Again, there was a sound from Nick, muffled and dark. Like an angry wolf lurking in the bushes, ready to snap.
This time she didn’t look. She didn’t want to know if it was wishful thinking that he was even paying attention.
So much of her life had been built on wishes and dreams. Some of them had come to fruition. Most had not.
Mr. Phelps made a few notations on his pad, then let her go. “That should be fine. Now your turn.” He shifted to Nick. “If you don’t mind.”
“Anything for the happy couple.” His thin smile never wavered as he extended his hand and shot her a steady, measuring look.
She fought to drag her gaze from his, but it was like being caught in a force field. She’d never had that power turned on her in just that way before. Her breath backed up in her chest, and the fingers clutching her purse trembled as if he’d touched her with more than his eyes.
Somehow she ripped her gaze from his just as Mr. Phelps slid that thick gold band on his finger. And it was a perfect fit.
Perfect.
The laughter bubbled up in her throat, and both men stared at her as she struggled to swallow it down. Especially since at the edges of that near-hysterical laughter lurked tears.
She never cried. Never. She had no reason to here. She was happy for Jazz and Gray, and miserable for herself, but one had nothing to do with the other.
“Well then, look at that,” Mr. Phelps said quietly, noting something on his pad while Nick flexed his hand. “Excellent hand choice, Ms. Shawcross. Could not be more exact.”
Did he sound amused or was that her imagination?
“You mean Mrs. Shawcross,” Nick said, offering her a bland smile.
Deliberately, she tugged out her phone and sent Gray a text. She’d be damned if she got into some kind of pissing contest with Nick, especially when she wasn’t even sure why.
Wouldn’t allow herself to acknowledge why.
Gray responded almost immediately. Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver. Cya soon.
She smiled faintly and glanced up to find Nick still watching her, his gaze narrowed until only the thinnest slits of tawny gold remained visible. Just like that, her smile faded.
She was so glad she’d been able to help Gray and Jazz on their special day. She cared deeply about them both, and they were so in love. They deserved nothing but the best.
But she had to wonder. When the day came, who was going to save her life?
Nick and Lila: Fused Bonus Epilogue
A Lost in Oblivion Extra
We added a bonus epilogue to Fused. We thought the story needed just a little bit more. So, if you haven’t read Fused, Lost in Oblivion #4.5 there may be a few spoilers in here.
August
Lying on his back beneath his woman was basically his favorite place in the universe. Especially when she was riding him slow, her eyes heavy-lidded, her lips parted and plump from where she’d had them last. And what she’d done with them, so thoroughly that he’d barely held on long enough to get inside her.
Without a condom for the first time no less. Hallelujah.
How had he lived without experiencing this before? He could feel every ripple, every clench of her walls, every damn drop of her excitement on his skin. His balls were harder than they’d ever been, and so full he even feared thrusting would send him over the edge. But he had to get deeper.
So much deeper.
Her tits bounced with every movement and her blond hair slipped over her shoulders to tease her already blush-pink nipples. He ran his hand up her belly, higher to twist the tight tips, reveling in the sigh that tumbled from her cock-swollen lips. He was the one who’d done that to her, who’d given her mouth that used look.
Because Lila Ronson—formerly Shawcross—was all his.
He brought his knees up, flexing his pelvis until she gasped and fell forward onto his chest. With one hand cupping her breast and his lips a hairbreadth from hers, he changed the angle of his thrusts again, just to see the blue of her eyes flare brighter for an instant before they shuttered. Her body turned liquid and boneless, her release saturating his dick. Soaking him in her so that he had no choice but to follow, exploding deep inside her giving pussy bare for the first time.
Heaven.
“Don’t move,” Nick murmured, when she started to do just that. Probably to roll over and breathe. But he wasn’t letting her go just yet. “I’m basking.”
She laughed softly and pressed a cool wet kiss to his still stampeding heart. “Basking in making a fine mess of me and my bed?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
“So that means you liked it?” She turned her head and peered up at him from under her thick fringe of pale lashes, her expression coy. “A condomless convert?”
“Oh, baby, you have no idea how many times I intend to fuck you now. What we did before? Training camp.” He flipped her on her belly and she laughed into the pillow as he lined up with his target and sank inside again, practically delirious at the warmth that enveloped him. “This is the real deal.” He pinched her ass and she wiggled, her laughter swiftly morphing into a moan as she realized his half hard length was quickly rising to full mast.
“You can’t be ready—”
“No? You think someone else has his cock in your tight little pussy?” She whimpered and he fisted a hand in her hair, driving her face into the pillow. Cutting off her air for just a second while his hips jerked back and forward, impaling her more completely with his dick. “So tight. I’m going to make you come again.”
She shook her head but her ass was already rising into his strokes, urging him on. She wanted to come again just as much. If he reached around her waist, he’d find her clit hard again. But he wasn’t going to make this easy for her.
Not until she begged.
Gripping her hair, he used it to anchor his thrusts, knowing she loved when he got rough. Lila might look like straight class on the outside, but inside she was every bit as filthy as he was.
He scraped his teeth over the back of her neck, leaving marks she could easily hide while she was at her endless parade of management meetings at the record company. No one would ever know but him that before work he’d fucked her into the mattress until her moans pinged off the walls.
“Touch me.”
Her gasp struck straight into his chest. He wanted to oblige her but there was something he needed even more.
“I am touching you.” He closed his lips around the pearl drop earring she wore and softly pulled. “I’m all over you.” He slammed his hips against her bottom and she cried out. “That’s me touching you so deep you won’t be able to walk without feeling me.”
Making sure of it, he hammered her into her over and over, dragging his teeth over her neck until she started to squirm beneath him. She was building again, heading for that peak he wanted her to fly over. “You know what to do,” he said when she
pressed her forehead into the pillow in frustration. “Make us both come.”
She slid her hand beneath herself, sliding it down her torso. Her fingers crept between her legs and bumped his cock, still powering in and out of her pussy. She touched him tentatively at first then with growing boldness, her hand sweeping up to rub her clit and then to explore the base of his erection, smearing the wetness between them and making more. Tight and hot, she burned around him with every stroke.
Relinquishing his hold on her hair, he shifted and pulled her legs closer together, making his entry that much more difficult—and causing her to fist him so hard that he bit off an oath. Her fingers were still working them both, slipping in the proof of her pleasure. Their pleasure. Then she used her nails on the side of his thrusting dick at the same time she squeezed him inside and he went off, surging into her with enough force to practically put the headboard through the wall.
Somehow in the midst of his orgasm he heard her cry out again. Lost, he absorbed her frantic spasms around him as he rode out his climax. He drained himself inside her then rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so that she sprawled stickily on his chest, her wild blond hair tangled around her face and clinging to her bitten raw lips.
He’d never seen her look more gorgeous.
“Goddamn, I love you.” He cupped her face and brought her mouth to his. “If I moved in, we could do this even more often.”
She let out a weak laugh, as she usually did when he not so subtly made the suggestion of altering their living arrangements. Not that he wasn’t happy with the current situation. They’d been going strong for over seven months now, and there was no rush. She was newly divorced, and he’d never been in a real relationship before, so there was no reason to do anything hasty.
Except for the fact that he spent all his time at her place anyway, and when he wasn’t there, he wanted to be. She was like a freaking magnet, always pulling him closer.
Resistance was futile.
He didn’t know why he should even bother. He’d laid his cards on the table. She was his world. All the years he’d thought he could never love anything—or anyone—as much as his music…well, he’d been a fucking moron. Even through all these months without Oblivion while they were on hiatus, he was still living and breathing. His heart still beating. And in large part, that was because she’d taken it over when he hadn’t been watching. This was no temporary occupation either. Nope, she’d moved right in and shoved everything else out.
He still ached for his band. There was no denying that. Music was a part of him in a way that didn’t require thought. You didn’t have to search for your lungs to know they were doing their job. He didn’t have to be playing music to be aware that his guitar was like an extension of his arm. Of him, in the most intrinsic way possible.
At least he was still playing. Sort of. He’d found a way to give the gift of music to other people, since his own enjoyment was briefly on ice. The guitar lessons he’d begun giving to eager—and carefully selected—students helped, more than he’d ever expected.
But Lila was his bedrock, and everything else was window dressing until the day Oblivion existed again.
“You have a big house all to yourself now,” she said, rather than respond directly to his comment. That was Lila. All perfectly reasonable in between orgasmic screams.
He barely resisted making a face. Yeah, the band house. The home that had once held all of his bandmates, before they’d gone off and started new lives with their significant others. Now he was all alone for the first time in his life, something he’d always yearned for, only to find out that he absolutely freaking hated it.
His friends were like ghosts, lurking in the hallways with their laughter and their music. And he couldn’t play there anymore, because he felt like he was living a lie.
Who was he without Oblivion? Without the people who’d helped him become who he was? Just a guy with a guitar, that’s who.
But he wasn’t going to keep pushing her. If she wasn’t ready to have him around full-time—or if she thought she wasn’t, which equated to pretty much the same thing—then he would just stop nudging her for more.
That was what had driven away Simon, wasn’t it? Or at least what he’d claimed had helped to drive him away. Nick had never been content to leave things as they were, and he’d lost his best friend and his band over it.
He wasn’t going to lose his girl too.
Carefully, he nudged her hips upward and pulled out his cock, wincing at the pull of her flesh. He so didn’t want to leave her body. Him and Nick Junior were in total agreement there. But she had work, and he had a new—and unusual—
student coming over in a couple hours. Now wasn’t the time for this discussion.
Maybe it would never be the right time, and he’d just learn to live with that.
“Off to the shower you go,” he said, inclining his chin toward her alarm clock when she didn’t move. “You’re going to be late.”
She didn’t even glance at the clock. “I don’t want you to think I don’t want to live with you.”
He didn’t say anything. How was he supposed to reply to that? Oh, I know you desperately want to cohabitate, you’re just keeping it on the downlow. That’s why you try to change the subject or divert me every time I mention it.
“Because it’s not that.”
“Okay.” He slipped back from her as it became obvious she wasn’t going to move and sat against the headboard. “I’m meeting with Michael today.”
Her brow furrowed. “Meeting with him for what?”
“He signed up for a lesson.” Nick jerked a shoulder. “I think he might just be yanking my balls, but whatever, I said yes. I know he’s important to you.”
“He’s having trouble switching off between lead and rhythm guitar, since Molly’s stage routines keep getting more and more elaborate. Ryan’s the jack of all trades in their band and he can play guitar as well, but he’s trading off as their drummer too since they can’t find anyone who fits.” She sighed. “Michael’s used to watching bands like Oblivion with two guitarists and he’s chomping at the bit now that Molly’s not playing as much anymore. He knows I won’t start booking them more dates beyond local stuff until they’re ready to cut a five-song EP, and right now, they just aren’t. Not quite yet.” She tilted her head. “You don’t mind helping him out?”
“I don’t mind helping anyone who you love.” At her steady glance, he heaved out a breath. “It’ll be weird. I don’t like playing with new people, and no matter what he says, he’s going to be critiquing me as much as learning. Maybe more. But this past year has taught me I can’t wallow in my inadequacies.”
“You don’t have any inadequacies.”
“So says the woman who just benefited from my endurance and amazing skills between the sheets.” He flashed her a grin he didn’t entirely feel and rolled out of bed.
Her hand on his back stopped him.
“I love you.”
Those soft, careful words were his undoing, as always. He didn’t speak, didn’t move.
She slid her hand over his shoulder and he reached up to grip it, needing the link as much as she did. He gave her a squeeze and kissed the tips of her fingers, then rose to pull on his jeans.
Time to throw something together for breakfast. Not one of her muffin-smoothie combos. Something simpler, like cornflakes and milk.
Halfway down the hall it occurred to him that maybe he shouldn’t be breakfasting with her either. Perhaps she needed some space. By that token, having Michael meet him there for his lesson or whatever the hell it was probably wasn’t sending the right message either.
The lines between them had blurred, and maybe he needed to make sure they were clearly defined.
The shower turned on, and he imagined walking down the hall and leaving her to get her own breakfast. She wouldn’t, because she was in a hurry. Probably wouldn’t even take enough time to mix one of her protein drinks. She’d start her day all wron
g, and he’d feel partially responsible.
Not gonna happen.
So their lines were a little curvy. So fucking what.
In the kitchen, he dragged down the box of cornflakes and splashed in some milk. He took a couple mouthfuls before he pulled out some fruit and threw it in the blender with some skim milk and that powder crap she liked and turned it on high.
He might not be one for smoothies, but she was.
Prying off the top on the glass canister on the counter, he counted out precisely four mini muffins and slipped them into a baggie. She never ate three. Never ate five. Always precisely four.
She did everything that way, so he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised she wouldn’t just tell him to store his boxers in drawer number five. She planned everything to the nth degree.
Truth be told, he could probably stand to do some more planning himself.
He turned off the blender, lifting a brow at the consistency of the drink inside. Hmm. Maybe he’d pureed it too long or something. He took out her tumbler and poured the goop inside, slapped on the lid, and set her drink and muffins by the purse on the counter. Then he grabbed his composition notebook and stubby pencil and sat down with his bowl of cereal and milk, heavy on the cereal. Soggy flakes were the worst, so he added milk as he moved through the layers rather than all at once.
He flipped open to the back of the notebook, the same one he’d been toting around since high school. He had others, but this was his favorite. Small handwriting meant he’d been able to fit hundreds of songs in this battered old thing. His latest one had come to him in the shower last night, and he’d scribbled down a few lines before he’d headed over to Lila’s for a late dinner. His father had been on his mind a lot lately, though he hadn’t seen him for a couple of weeks. He’d gone back home against all odds, and Ricki had gone with him. She refused to leave him alone, in spite of the nurse Nick had hired to help with his care.
His sister was all of the dutiful that Nick wasn’t, though that wasn’t so much from lack of interest as lack of ability to face a man who hated him day in and day out.