by Cari Quinn
He frowned, then looked down at his wrist. “Fuck.”
“Daddy said a bad word. Dollar!”
“Crap,” he muttered.
“Two dollars.”
He opened his mouth again and Harper snorted. “Better quit while you’re ahead.”
“That’s the truth.” He sighed. “We’re picking this up where we left off.”
“Count on it.” She brushed an easy hand down her daughter’s braid. “Say bye, Daddy.”
“Bye. See ya.” She tapped a dirty hand against her mouth and made kissing noises.
He crouched beside her chair. “Bye, kiddo.”
She leaned forward, her little berry red lips puckered up. It didn’t matter that she was covered in cheesy goo. He gave her a smacking kiss.
He stood and accepted the paper towel from Harper. “Do I get a Mommy kiss too?”
Lexi clapped. “Mommy kisses too.”
He tugged Harper by her belt loops and dipped down to kiss her. It was semi-chaste, but enough to let her know he was still thinking about earlier.
Still visualizing her spread out on her belly with her hair in his lap as she sucked him off.
Yeah, not good.
Good thing Harper didn’t know what was going on in his head.
“Bye, my girls.”
Harper pressed her lips together for a moment before she turned back to Lex. By the time he was at the door to the front of the suite, he heard the familiar chatter.
Chatter he loved.
But there was a quick ache. He had the perfect life. His little family was all he needed. So what if he sometimes heard another voice in his mind. Another little girl…maybe even a boy.
He definitely wasn’t ready to rock the boat there.
He met Margo in the hallway. “Hey there.”
She was halfway into her rocker gear. The Margo he knew so well was a bit more buttoned up than her stage persona. He liked that she was loosening up around them more. She even wore jeans in the studio these days.
Tonight, she was wearing all black minus her crazy heels. Those were just for the stage. Instead, she was decked out in a skirt and subtly sexy blouse with black Chucks.
Adorable. Almost as much as Jazz. Whether it was from the influence of their perky drummer or just a change in Margo’s style, there was no way to truly know. But Jazz had rubbed off on all of them in one way or another.
“Are you nervous? I’m nervous. Like possibly find a trashcan nervous.”
He slowed to a stop. “Everything’s cool with Simon?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s better than ever. No need to worry there. Actually, it’s more like I can’t shut him up.”
Relief pumped through Deacon’s veins and made his eyes throb. “That’s a good thing.”
She patted his arm. “Simon’s at the venue right now doing his warm up.”
Deacon blanked his face. He didn’t want to show his surprise. They’d gone from dragging Simon onstage to him being the first one there, for fuck’s sake. “He’s been amazing lately.”
She twisted her fingers together. “Hopefully you guys will see proof of all the hard work he’s been doing.”
Deacon stopped and put a hand to her arm to slow her down. “We know he’s doing a ton of shit to get ready for this show.”
She nodded quickly, her eyes tinged with red. Before he could attempt to comfort her, she rushed to the elevator. He held the door of the elevator open for her.
The Greek was where Simon had one of his meltdowns.
Not quite as bad as the one that took him out of commission, but bad enough. Orders of total vocal rest had been ignored and he’d done more damage to his chords in one night than should have been possible.
His road back from the physical side had been long enough, but the psychological was still a work-in-progress. But he’d finally let them all in on it. They were different now.
Stronger.
He had to believe this show would prove that.
When they got to the hotel lobby, one of the black SUVs was waiting for them. Their new road manager was almost as good as Lila.
Almost.
Lila was a force. Lance was an apt pupil, but Simon and Nick still walked all over him. Then again, the only person to keep Nick in line was the Dragon Lady herself.
Deacon opened the door for Margo, then climbed in after her. “Hey, Doug. Everyone else at the venue?”
Their driver nodded. “You two are the last.”
“Cool.” Deacon drew on his seatbelt, then drummed his fingers against his thigh. He’d been keyed up for the show all day. Even his interlude with his wife—if he could call it something as benign as that—couldn’t quite put all the jitters back into their place.
His skin felt too tight for his body, and his brain wouldn’t stop picking apart the setlist.
Simon had asked that they put “The Becoming” back into the encore. Actually, the very last song of the encore. Even if they ended up doing an extended one based on the crowd.
He knew it was to prove a point.
And Deacon was proud of him, but holy fuck. He was pretty sure he was going to puke for the first time since their premiere show at the Rhino.
Margo covered his hand. “We’re all going to do great.”
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Of course we are.” The SUV curbed it and Deacon slapped his hand to the roof. “What the hell?”
“Had to take a shortcut,” their driver said.
Deacon’s eyebrows shot up at the line of cars trying to get into the venue. They had already taken care of soundcheck, and the radio stations were covering the show. Simon and Jazz had done a few interviews earlier in the afternoon. The floor of The Greek was general admission. He was used to crowds for that.
This?
No, nothing like this.
“Hang on.”
Margo grabbed the oh, shit handle. That was a very good idea. Deacon gripped the headrest in front of him and the handle as Doug hit every goddamn curb and pothole.
A VIP parking attendant flagged them down, but waved them past when Doug flashed his lanyard.
The place was a frigging madhouse. People stuffed the parking lot with gear for a tailgate, and still more poured out from the box office and front steps.
Margo sat forward. “This place doesn’t even hold ten thousand people. What the hell is going on?”
“That’s the problem, Miss Margo. And the history of the last show Oblivion had at the Greek. Tickets are going for five hundred dollars plus for just a general admission ticket.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not so much.” Doug pulled up to the side gate. “You don’t even want to know what I’ve been offered for a pass.”
“When did this happen?” Margo murmured from the side of her mouth.
“Beats the hell out of me.” Deacon opened the door and helped her down. “Thanks, Doug.”
“Break a leg.”
Deacon slapped the side of the SUV when he closed the door. Unfortunately, he wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. He hustled Margo through the gates to the security guards waiting for them as a pack of people came running up after them. They reached through the bars of the gate.
No way could they stop and talk to the fans. Not in the midst of this kind of frenzy.
Deacon waved to them as he put Margo in front of him. They both hustled down the dark hallway toward the hum of voices. The crowd was already riled up.
The heavy beat of drums filled his brain. Warning Sign was already on stage. Getting through traffic had taken a lot longer than usual.
“There you are.” Simon rushed them as the hallway spit them out near the side stage. He dragged Margo in and hooked his arm around her shoulders until his hand dangled precariously close to her breast.
Margo didn’t even notice.
If Deacon hadn’t been so keyed up, neither would he. Simon didn’t allow anyone to have a lot of personal space, but right now, everything seemed to be turned up to an
eleven on his holy shit meter.
“It’s insane out there.” Margo tilted her head and looked at Simon. “You good?”
Simon hauled her closer, pressing a smacking kiss against her cheek. “Right as rain, Violin Girl.”
Deacon took a minute to search his friend’s face. There were nerves there, but the excited kind. Not the ones he’d seen on stage a moment before the meltdown. One of them, as Simon had had a few. But that was a long time ago.
This was the Simon he’d been waiting for.
Deacon slapped his arm. “We’re gonna kick some ass.”
“Fuck, yeah, we are.” Simon dragged Margo away from Deacon. “I need a little pre-show time with the wife.”
Deacon rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”
Margo elbowed Simon. “Really? You’re such a…” Her words trailed off as the healthy screams from the crowd drowned out their conversation.
Jazz was bouncing on the sidelines as Deacon moved closer to the cluster of his bandmates. “I’ll do the ball. Seriously. Just let me in it.” Their pixie drummer Jazz rocked up and down on her toes. “If West Reynolds can launch himself into the audience, so can I. It’d be amazing.”
“Not sure I’m okay with you launching yourself anywhere.” Her husband Gray rubbed her shoulder. “Is that ball even safe?”
“Of course it is. You’re protected inside. Besides, no one would drop me. Can you hear that crowd out there? They fucking love us.”
“Loving you wouldn’t keep you from getting hurt,” Gray said.
“C’mon. Hurt how? I’d be bouncing all over the place.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.” Gray rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes following the human bubble ping-ponging at the crowd’s whim.
Deacon had to admit it looked fun, but he’d have a similar reaction if Harper decided to leap into the fray.
Deacon hopped onto a trunk to get a better look at the crowd.
“Whatcha doing, Big Guy?” She cupped her hands around her mouth to be heard above the show.
He grinned down at Harper. “How’d you get here so fast?”
“I had my driver guy drop me at the front gate. No one knows who I am. You know, the whole not six-feet-four thing.”
He held out his hand. “You gotta see this.”
She gave the trunk a dubious look. “I’m good.”
“C’mon.” He wiggled his hand.
“If I fall, it’s your ass that’s going to chase after Lex all Christmas,” she shouted over the screams.
“Worth it.” She lifted her hand to his and squeaked when he hauled her up in front of him. He stepped forward until he was flush with her back and hooked an arm around her waist. “Now look at that,” he said into her ear.
She shivered and glanced up at him. Her eyes were a stormy blue and her lips were parted. Jesus, she still stirred him up even after all these years. He lowered his head and met her open mouth with his own. He thrust his tongue into her mouth without preamble. The quick inhale of her breath reverberated through his chest.
The shouts drifted into the wind tunnel taking over his head and heart. He’d been inside her not two hours ago, and the quick kick of need was still as palpable as the first day he met her.
“Get a room.”
Harper jolted in his arms. They both glanced down to find Jazz and Gray grinning up at them.
“Hey guys.” Deacon jumped down and held up his arms for Harper. Instead of jumping down, she twirled her finger. Deacon laughed and obliged.
It had been a damn long time since he’d given his wife a piggyback ride.
Jazz gave a delighted laugh and followed them into the backstage area where they could hear each other talk. “You only have forty minutes, you two.”
Harper curled her arms around his neck. “Is it wrong that I only need ten minutes?”
Deacon laughed. “I usually last at least fifteen.”
“Overachiever. How do you keep Lexi out of your room that long?” Gray asked.
“Nanny,” they both said.
Gray glanced at Jazz. “See, others use the nanny at home.”
“Quit your bitching, Duffy. You’re the one who keeps getting me pregnant.”
Harper’s arms tightened around his neck. Deacon reached back and danced his fingers over the flyaway hairs at the nape of her neck. She brushed her cheek against his then tugged his hair. “To the truck, husband.”
He rolled his eyes. So much for the make-out session. His wife needed to check out her kitchen. At least she had an established staff these days, but she’d never quite let go of the operation.
“I’ll be right back.” He waved to Gray and Jazz.
“That’s what they all say.” Jazz’s voice was a sing-song pitch as she made kissing noises.
Deacon hiked Harper higher. “Been awhile since I’ve done this with someone who isn’t a four-year-old.”
“That better not be a nice way of saying I’m heavy, Big Guy.”
He laughed. “I could cart you on my shoulders all day, Lawless.” And he’d do it gladly. Once upon a time, she’d gotten riled up when he used to cart her around. He couldn’t help it that she was so portable.
“Good answer.”
They passed Nick talking to a young woman who was barely dressed. His hands were on his hips and his bitch face was in full effect. “How the hell did you get back here?”
“Groupie alert,” Harper whispered into Deacon’s ear.
“Nick can handle himself.”
“I’m not worried about Nicky. Poor girl.”
Deacon gripped her knee at his side. “Lawless…”
“What? He had his pissy voice on.”
Deacon snorted. “Yeah he did, actually.”
“Can we not worry about him?” Her breath buzzed against his neck. “I’d rather get you into the truck.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He wound his way around to the loading dock area where Harper’s truck was stashed. Deja vu slammed into him as he unlocked the lever and pushed up the slatted metal door.
Harper hopped off him and climbed in. Her black pants pulled tight across her bitable backside. He followed her and shut the door. She whirled around to face him, her hands clutching the island counter. “Did I say you could close that door?”
“Nope.”
Her lips slid up into a sly, crooked smile as she hopped up on the counter. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to make the popovers again?”
He pulled her knees apart and dragged her into him. “Fuck the Doofenshmirtz chocolate.”
She laughed. “Sharffen Berger. The other is the evil dude from Phineas and Ferb.”
“Whatever,” he said against her mouth. Then there was no talking. Just her lemony scent infusing his brain and tightening his cock. She jerked at his jeans and he groaned low and long as she palmed him, circling the base of his erection with the sure touch he craved.
“Fuck,” he mumbled against her lips.
“Yes. Yes, that’s what I want. You fucking me. Now.” Her blue eyes were hazy and unfocused.
The sudden tingle in his spine was overridden by the roar of lust short-circuiting his brain. She knew how to get exactly what she wanted—every time. But he didn’t want her to win this time. She’d blindsided him in the hotel, but here and now, he had a few brain cells that were still operational.
He stepped away from her and crouched in front of her knees. He slid his hands under her hips and tugged her pants down. Her boots thunked to the metal floor a moment before her pants went over his shoulder.
He stared up at her from his stance between her legs. Deacon slid his hand up between her thighs, then dragged his thumb through the wetness waiting for him there. “Fuck.” She squirmed under his touch and reached for his hair.
No.
Not this time.
Right now, it was his turn to get what he wanted. His reached up to lay his fingers against her pelvis to held her still.
He wanted her taste in
his mouth before he went on the stage.
Fuck her special chocolate chips. Harper’s taste was a delicacy he’d never get tired of. He strummed her clit as he thrust his tongue between her folds. Her hips lifted in time to each lap of his tongue. He pushed her thighs wider, propping his shoulders against her knees and swallowed every ounce of her.
She shuddered against him, her legs shaking, her fingers grasping at his hair. He didn’t stop. He drove her past screams to the keening sob he rarely had time to find.
Her heels dug into his shoulders as she arched up to get away from him.
He dragged her back, his world going black as her thighs closed over his ears. He concentrated only on her skin, her clit, her pulse of reaction to his touch. He slid a hand underneath her to find the seam of her ass. Pushing past the tight ring of muscle, he used her wetness to ease his finger inside her to his first knuckle. Just a little pressure.
Just a little closer to that scream he knew so well.
The pre-baby scream.
The one that filled their house when they first moved in.
He brushed his nose against her clit and attacked her from the top. Grateful his hand was so huge, and his wife’s hips fit him so perfectly. Back and front, his fingers worked in tandem to drive her over.
She went there once, then again as her voice went from moan to broken cry. His cheeks were wet, his mouth raw, but he didn’t stop. Not until she was a vibrating mess. And even then, he went just a little further. Pushed for just a little bit more because he knew he could.
Knew she was so far gone they’d both be shattered by the end of this.
Finally, he pulled back and drove two fingers inside of her, his thumb circling her clit as he let go of her ass.
He needed inside of her.
Needed to feel the clutch of her walls and thighs.
She sobbed out a bastardized version of his name as she thrashed on the island.
He stood and licked her off his lips. She grasped for his shirt, pulling him in close. He ripped at his buckle, his button fly, his boxers. He didn’t even get his jeans down his legs before he was rushing into her welcoming body.
For fuck’s sake, he’d taken her with his clothes on for the second time in as many hours. Then he forgot everything about what he should do versus what he shouldn’t. Nothing else mattered but her clasping, perfect body.