“You got the other one pierced,” she said, her eyes wide.
They had each pierced one nipple on whim together, so it was a surprise for her to see that he had the other one now matching.
“Yes, not long ago,” he said. It was still sensitive but he didn’t mind the way she trailed her fingertips over it.
She reached out and pulled at his belt, releasing the catch. He sat still, watching the way her tits swayed as she moved forward to unbutton his jeans. When was the last time he’d seen Celia like this, in soft lighting? She was always so eager to get the whole thing done, in the dark, with no need to build up any kind of anticipation like this.
The thought of Celia killed his erection. Jesus, just because Celia wasn’t into sex with him didn’t mean she deserved this betrayal. She was his wife, his partner—the one who had put up with a lifetime of him away at long stretches on tour while she raised their kids.
“You know, maybe—”
Ashley shut him up first with a kiss, and then she pulled away and replaced her tongue in his mouth with her nipple, pushing her breasts against him. Instinct and raw desire took over as he sucked and bit her tender skin, pulling at the bud of her nipple with his lips and teeth as she once more settled herself with her legs around his hips. Pulling away, he took her other breast to his mouth, finally doing to her what he had fantasized about for so long by toying with her piercing. He flicked at the metal with his tongue and she moaned. She fingered his piercing in return, pulling and twisting it enough to reignite the hurts-so-good feeling he had experienced upon first getting it.
“Oh, yeah, baby,” she moaned. “That’s what I like. Your mouth right there.”
His erection was back in full force as she opened her legs wide against him. Her rhythm quickened as she dry-humped him.
“You’re going to make me come,” she said, breathless. “I need you in me. I need to feel you.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
She quickly stood, kicked off her trail running shoes and pulled down her spandex bottoms. There were no panties to remove since she hadn’t been wearing any. Martin stared at her. She was completely shaven.
“Like what you see?” she asked with a laugh. She spun slowly around so he could see her from every angle.
She stood naked before him with only the glow of the firelight, and he had never seen a more beautiful body. Reaching for her, he pulled her, still standing, to him and buried his face between her legs. He used his tongue to open her to him and she gripped his hair in her hands in return. It had been a long time since he had done this to a woman. She tasted sweet. She was wet and he licked up every bit before focusing on teasing her clit. He was only vaguely aware of her moans getting louder. It wasn’t something he really registered as she rocked against his face. When he placed first one finger inside her, then another, she pulled his hair so hard he thought he lost a patch. It didn’t matter as the reward of her coming against his tongue outweighed that.
“Oh, fuck,” she moaned. “Oh my god, you’re so good.”
She slid down and he kissed her belly and chest as she went. Kneeling before him, she pulled at his jeans and he helped her guide them and his boxer briefs down to his knees.
“Holy shit,” she said with an astonished laugh. “You’re fucking huge, baby.”
“Like what you see?” he asked, unable to resist.
Before she could reply, or make any move to satisfy him in return, there were three loud bangs. They both turned to look at the door. Martin saw a shadow in the window next to it and groaned.
“Park Service,” a male voice announced. “I suggest you get your clothes on and come outside the cabin at once.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Conor could hear Felicity speaking but he had a hard time focusing. They were in their home in Dalkey on the outskirts of Dublin, but his head was still in the tour that had wrapped less than a month ago. As was often the case, transitioning from tour life to “normal” life was a challenge. He and Gavin had used the time on this last leg of the tour well, exploring the nightlife of each city for musical inspiration, drinking copiously as they went. They had both been hyper-motivated to create new music since the release of their latest single, “Thoughts and Prayers.” Though it had been controversial, they were happy with both the intent and the final product. It had spurred a sense of urgency to keep the creative juices flowing, and they already had the outline of the next album ready to dive into. In fact, they had gone out last night to see a local band before returning to Conor’s home studio to work together on a particularly troubling guitar transition until almost dawn, which explained his current fatigue and distraction.
“Or we could just adopt a giraffe and call it a day.”
Did she just say they could adopt a giraffe? Conor raised his eyebrows and looked at Felicity, the woman he loved, lived with, and wanted to marry. But even though they had started to seriously look into adopting a child together, she was stubbornly resistant to marrying him. Then there was apparently this talk of a giraffe.
“What was that?” he asked and braced himself for the terse response he deserved.
“Got your attention, did I? Only thirty minutes into explaining all the ins and outs of what’s required for this adoption process,” she replied, exasperated.
“I’m sorry, honey. I’m listening. Go on.”
She sighed and sat back in the Lucite dining room chair. It reminded him how she hated the modern-style throughout the house. He’d purchased it before they started dating, and that meant his tendency toward minimalism was the driving force of the decor. She had added softer elements where she could—throw pillows, plush rugs, pops of color, but there wasn’t a lot to be done with these chairs.
“Another time, maybe,” she said.
“Fee, don’t do that. Talk to me.” He took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her palm.
She was stressed, that was obvious. There was a little inverted ‘v’ between her eyebrows, showing her worry. While he had been on tour, she had been studying their options for adoption. It was a complicated and time-consuming process, one she took on in addition to the media job she had with the band. Their long-distance phone conversations hadn’t been a lot of help with the practical matters she was left to sort out. Finally, their friend Sophie sourced an adoption advocate they could hire to help walk them through everything. It was the advocate’s report they were ostensibly going over now. It laid out all the steps they needed to take in great detail, but the first and most pressing decision they needed to make was whether they wanted to adopt a newborn baby or if they would take an older child. Conor knew Felicity had tortured herself over this, feeling guilty for preferring a newborn when older children had an exponentially harder time finding placement.
“You’re not really home yet, Con,” she said. It wasn’t accusatory, more a simple statement of fact.
“I know, but I’m trying. Honestly.” He held her gaze until she appeared to believe him. There was no use in trying to make an excuse for what they both knew was true. He had started up his friendship with Felicity again after a long absence in each other’s lives on the basis of pure honesty, even when that didn’t serve him well. He wouldn’t back away from that now, especially not when they were dealing with such a sensitive issue.
He watched Felicity look away, toward the view of the gray skies pouring rain back into the sea. The light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and pale cheeks was one of the things he loved most about her. The realization that they wouldn't have a child of their own who could inherit such features hit him with surprising sharpness.
They had talked about trying to use a surrogate. That was over the break in the band’s tour for Christmas and New Year’s when they were spending time with Gavin and Sophie, and the couple’s six-month-old daughter, Daisy. Ultimately, they decided to forego the expense—both financial and emotional—of the procedure that offered no guarantees. Adopting also meant they could make a difference in a
nother person’s life while enriching theirs.
But they were still at this impasse. Felicity hadn’t been able to commit to the very first step in this process. It was a difficult decision, requiring brutal honesty. They both admitted they wanted to know the experience of having a newborn. Making that choice meant passing on an older child in need because of their selfishness. Felicity wasn’t sure she could live with that decision.
“Look at me,” Conor told her. It took her a moment, but she turned to him. “How about this: let me take this out of your hands. Let me decide on the age. Then it’ll be done and it’s on me. At least for the first kid.”
Tears rushed to her eyes but she managed to blink them back.
“And you’ll have to deal with whatever I decide,” he said lightly.
“You just have to have control, don’t you?” she asked with a weak laugh.
“That’s true enough.”
“Okay, then. When will you make this decision?”
“I—”
Felicity’s cell phone, sitting on the glass table in front of her, rang and vibrated at the same time. The ringer was loud, but the vibrating was even more disruptive as it sent the phone bouncing. She instinctively grabbed it to quiet it.
“Oh, great,” she said when she saw the number. It was her assistant, Kiera O'Shaughnessy, who would only call on a Saturday like this if there was an issue that needed to be dealt with immediately.
“What is it?”
“Likely Danny Boy’s gotten himself into some kind of trouble.” She stood and answered the call, stepping away from the table and leaving him to deal with the sudden change in topic.
Danny Boy was Shay’s brother, and though he had set a new record for apparently being sober, it was easy to see why Felicity assumed the call from Kiera could be about him. Danny Boy had a way of making spectacular fuckups at the most unexpected times.
As Felicity dug into the call, Conor thought about his proposal. It was an easy decision in his mind. He knew what would make her happiest. Maybe once this whole thing was well and truly in the works, they could get married. He’d tried unsuccessfully to propose around Christmastime. Felicity hadn’t allowed him to even begin his pitch, seeing his intention a mile away. In a move that was true to her sensible ways, she told him to hold on to the thought until after the tour. He had been mostly on the road with the band since just after they became a couple, and she wanted to have him full-time for a while before they agreed to forever. And yet, she was willing to have a child with him. Conor knew he had more to learn about this contradictory woman he loved.
“Oh, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,” Felicity said and Conor looked up. “Okay, yes. I’ll get in touch with James, then circle back with you. Cheers, Kiera.”
It really must have been a Danny Boy spectacular if James, the band’s manager, had to get involved. Conor watched Felicity pocket her phone. She was smiling, but it wasn’t out of happiness. It was more an expression of what she told Kiera, of not knowing how to respond. Rubbing her hands over her face, she shook her head.
“Do I even want to know, Fee?”
The band had had plenty of controversies over the years. It seemed to Conor that every time they had gained any stretch of stability without a scandal dominating the media, something would happen to send their image careening out of control. Gavin, of course, was the leader in creating drama, what with his and Sophie’s love story having been such a public affair right from the start when they were just barely out of their teens. Gavin’s personal issues with his mother had been an even bigger public ordeal to overcome. Conor, with his penchant for dating models and actresses for so many years, wasn’t innocent in causing a media stir. Then there was his ill-fated engagement—twice—to the young and impetuous model Colette Deveraux. That relationship had ended badly both times, and very publicly the second time. Even Shay had his bit of unwanted attention when last year both his troubled brother and his girlfriend became the subject of well-documented incidents.
As successful as Rogue was, and as much as Conor enjoyed the rock star trappings that came with it, he desperately wanted for Rogue’s legacy to be more than their negative press. It pained him to think their personal lives would overshadow the music. Even though he knew he had a part in this conflict, Conor was adamant about trying to maintain the band’s reputation and long-term image. Only, it was almost always Gavin who was able to deflect or otherwise manipulate things to their benefit. He had an innate ability to sway opinion, likely because there had always been something about him that made others root for his success, no matter how he might screw up.
Since joining the Rogue organization, Felicity had proven to have a talent for finding ways to remedy these situations, too. She worked closely with James, and had quickly adopted his ability to bargain favorable deals with the media. It seemed she would once more have to employ those skills.
Taking a deep breath, Felicity dropped her hands and looked at him. “Well, it isn’t Danny Boy this time,” she said.
“Okay,” he said slowly, warily.
“Seems Marty was caught with his trousers down around his ankles in a public place. He’s been released with a fine, but the tabloids are all over this.”
Conor smiled, then laughed. Martin had become a bit of an enigma to him during this last leg of the tour, but he still wouldn’t have expected this.
“Oh, god. It’s not funny,” she continued. “He was with a woman. And it wasn’t Celia.”
“Fuck me.”
Martin and Celia had been married for ages. They’d crossed over from teenagers to the most boring couple in the world upon saying their vows. It was such a reliable dynamic that none of them had foreseen the changes in Martin in the last few months. He’d not only changed in appearance, but began toying with crossing lines married men shouldn’t. Conor and the other band members had assumed this restlessness—if you could call it that—would dissipate with the end of the tour. Didn’t look that way now.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Conor hesitated before approaching the front door of Celia and Martin’s home. It suddenly seemed intrusive to show up unannounced.
As soon as the shock at the news of Martin’s escapade settled, Conor’s first thought was of the boys. He was godfather to Martin’s three boys, and though he didn’t spend as much time with them as he liked, he thought it was his responsibility to look after them at this pivotal moment.
The sound of them chasing after each other from within the house reanimated Conor, and he went to the door, knocking quickly.
There was a brief struggle with the knob before the door swung open to reveal Sean standing before him, jam coloring his mouth and covering his hands. At three, Sean was the youngest of the three boys. He was also the wildest, always fearless in his determination to keep up with his older brothers.
“Uncle Conor! Is my Da with you?” he asked.
“No, em, no.” Conor hadn’t thought of what exactly he might say about Martin. It was better to avoid talk of him at all, he supposed. “What are you and your brothers up to? I could hear you screaming from down the path.”
“We’re having a food fight,” Sean said, holding up his purple palms.
Conor raised his eyebrows. “Explains the sticky hands. How does your Mammy feel about this?”
Sean shrugged. His older brother Colm appeared. At age six, he was the most serious of the trio, but that hadn’t stopped him participating in this food fight. He had a streak of yellow mustard running down his neck and onto his shirt.
“She doesn’t care,” Colm said, “Been sitting in the sunroom for ages, just staring off at nothing. We finally decided to make our own tea and then a sport of it.”
Donal went racing past them, throwing slices of bread and whole pickles as he went. Conor dodged the food but had visions of picking up a pickle and aiming it right back at the kid.
Instead, he shook his head and decided to be the grown up. “Well, you’ve had your bit of fun. Let
’s see about cleaning up, yeah?”
“Do we have to?” Sean groaned.
“Yeah, it’s time. Let me check on your Mam. Maybe I can take you boys out for a meal after you’re done cleaning.”
Sean clenched his fist and pumped his arm. “Yes! Let’s tell Donal!”
Conor watched Colm and Sean run off. “Clean yourselves up, while you’re at it!” he shouted after them.
Fearing what he would find, Conor wound his way toward the back of the house, passing by Celia’s distinctly feminine décor as he went. She was partial to overstuffed floral-patterned furniture, family portraits, and owl-themed knick-knacks. The sunroom faced the garden, which was studded with the rose bushes Celia tended to obsessively. They were spots of pink, yellow, and lavender cheer on a gloomy day.
When she didn’t turn to acknowledge his presence, Conor stood for a silent moment to watch her. She sat on a padded bench swing. Her style had long been simple, including the pixie haircut she favored. With natural white-blond hair and blue eyes, she projected innocence. But now her eyes were red and swollen as she looked vacantly at some middle-distance. She worried a rosary between her fingertips.
Fuck’s sake, Marty, look what you’ve done, Conor thought. He cleared his throat before stepping further into the room. Still, she didn’t respond. He sat down next to her, sending the swing into motion, and she finally reacted, turning with a start.
“Oh, Conor! Where’d you come from?” she asked.
“Just got here. Thought I’d check in on you and the boys.”
Finding Rhythm (Rogue Rockstar Series Book 4) Page 4