Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1)

by Lyrica Creed

  “Mmh hmm.” Her lips never parted when she answered.

  “I took it out. Removed the temptation when I realized how crazy you were making me. Fuck. Every time I look around you’re in a teeny tiny swimsuit or those black shorts. Always prissing around being your sassy sweet self. I never put it back. Because I didn’t trust myself not to nail you in the heat of the moment.” He cuddled closer, one inked arm pleasantly weighting my breasts, and his voice dissolved to a mumble. “I wanted to date you. Proper. Instead of mauling you. But this thing with us has been crazy from the start.”

  “Unpredictable.” She agreed, and although she was too languid to add any more to his train of thought, a caboose passed through her mind. Did no convenient condoms mean he had sworn off other women during the phase when the two of them realized their attraction but hadn’t yet decided to explore it?

  Chapter 42

  “C’mon.” He wasn’t sure if she had dozed or was simply sprawled against him, as wrung out as he was. “Let’s go to bed.” He smoothed a hand from her shoulder to her wrist and gently tugged as he rolled to his feet. She came up with him, as smoothly as if they’d choreographed the motion. Without waiting for her legs to straighten completely to a standing position, he scooped her up and stepped over the minefield of clothing as he headed into the hallway.

  Her arms looped around his neck and her legs wrapped to his waist as naturally as if they’d done this lover’s walk for a lifetime. However, her tits smashing to his chest, brushing ever so slightly with each step was like nothing he’d ever known. And the heady scent of their time together inhaled with each breath he took was another nothing he’d ever known.

  By the time he tugged the layers of bed linens open, bounced her gently to the mattress, and followed her down, he was hard again. Staking a knee between her thighs, he hovered over her, letting the tips of her tits dance in a tantalizing brush against his chest as he rubbed his lips in a back and forth motion over hers.

  “Again?” He knew the word was more of a wheedled plea than a whispered question.

  “Again.” She agreed, as he’d been ninety percent sure she would.

  He’d used the same tone, the same puppy dog eyes on her when he’d needed help cleaning the game room before his dad would let him go to the movies at twelve. When at fourteen, he’d talked her into taking the fall when his dad was in a rage over the burned out pump in the Jacuzzi—after all, in his father’s eyes, she never did anything worthy of anger.

  Thinking of their past together had panicked him this morning. Their past of memories and emotions was like a bottomless well. He was falling in love—possibly had already—and was in danger of falling and falling forever.

  They began with languid, lazy kisses, but within minutes, she crawled atop him, holding his body hostage with every caress of her hands and fiery touch of her lips and tongue. He’d pinned her down earlier as he teased and tasted inch after inch of her beautiful body, but she had him submissive with only her lips on his skin—and every flick of her tongue.

  As his craze built, every alpha instinct had him wanting to flip their positions, and yet those XY chromosomes also got-off on the rhythm of her tits with her every move, the straddle of her legs over his hips, and all that thick, wavy hair swinging around her flushed face.

  And then she let out a whimper of anticipation as she aligned herself perfectly and he lost it.

  “Dammit, Scar!” In his next breath, he had her on her back and her legs wrapped in his arms.

  And in the next breath was inside her.

  “Seems weird without Rascal.” Her words were groggy, right before they drifted off.

  “Mmh hmm. He’s fine though. Seth texted.”

  “And when were you checking texts?”

  “I’m a ‘multitasker.’”

  “You’re a liar.”

  “I’m offended.”

  She giggled and her breath bathed his lips. He told her about Seth texting way earlier asking if Rascal could spend the night. She accused him of getting a dog sitter so he could make his move. And between kisses and laughter, they drifted into a doze.

  By the time the rapping on the door roused him, he realized it had been going on a while. Disentangling his limbs from Scarlette, who barely stirred in her sleep, he jumped from the bed. Pulling open the closet, he skimmed a hand down the shelves as his eyes adapted to the dark room. Plucking a pair of khaki cargo shorts from their cubbyhole, he shook them out and stepped into them commando.

  He poked his head through a tee shirt as he sprinted the hallway and then peeled it off when it didn’t stretch to fit him. As he entered the lighted den, he glanced at the shirt and saw the flower motif on the pink material. Wadding the obvious woman’s tee in one fist, he stopped by the fireplace mantel and switched off the music. He stooped, sweeping their clothing from the rug, bunching it all together, and jamming it into a corner of the couch with a pillow on top. Carrying the trash that had been with the clothing, he detoured back to the kitchen, burying it in the kitchen bin in the folds of the pink shirt. Twisting the faucet, he held his hands beneath the stream in the sink and then wiped them across his face, slicking the unruly strays of his hair back as he did.

  Finally, flipping back the shade on the windowed door, he checked to verify he wasn’t unlocking to the boogeyman.

  What he found was a conundrum. Ivy Messlehof flexed her shoulders when she saw him, and a hopeful, barely-there smile curved her lips. There was no use even entertaining the idea of leaving her outside. The temptation was there of returning to bed to curl around a Scarlette who seemed more peaceful than she’d been in weeks. But Rascal pranced excitedly near Ivy’s legs, and when his dog saw him through the window, he pawed the door. Drawing a fortifying breath, he unlocked and swung open the door. Rascal shot through with an animated waggling tail.

  When Gage continued to block the threshold without a word, Ivy spoke. “Gage!” Her dark eyes wandered over him. Seeing them alight with definite interest was a reminder of how barely dressed he was. “Wow!” Her eyes still hadn’t hit his face, and he suddenly wished he’d thought of donning the shirt he’d cleaned up, instead of rolling it with the rest of the clothing. When her gaze ran down his arm, stopping on the ink etching his left fingers, he knew some of that wow had been over his tattoos. For a second, he remembered Scar’s reaction play out in almost this same scenario the night she’d shown up on his doorstep. Her lips moved a couple of times before more words came out. “Just wow. I’ve seen you. Pictures obviously. But in person it’s so different.”

  “Wow to you too, Ivy.” He felt guilty greeting her, even much more so, returning her joking compliment. But standing before him, as much as the woman she’d become, was the fourteen year old girl he remembered.

  “The boys said they had permission to keep your dog all night. But he wouldn’t settle down. And I wanted to talk to Scarlette. So I said I’d just bring him over. Can I come in? I really need to see her. Please?” Relenting, he stepped back. She continued her seemingly nervous chatter as she passed him. “Did I wake you guys? I heard music and the lights were all on…” She trailed off when he turned away long enough to close the door. Her throat moved convulsively, and her eyes riveted from his shoulder blades to his face. “Um, anyway… she’s asleep isn’t she? Or is she mad?” This time when her gaze grazed below his face to his chest and more, she seemed off. “I should come back.”

  “No.” Scar’s voice rang quiet but clear as she advanced on them from the den.

  Ivy halted next to him and her hand, already reaching for the door latch, fell to her side. “I feel so bad about everything. I’ve been outside staring at the lake all night. I couldn’t go to bed without trying to talk to you.”

  “Erm, I’m just going to…” He locked with Scar’s eyes with a silent inquiry and felt the okay when she blinked. “If you need me, I’ll be…” Whatever you need always. He whistled for Rascal and the two of them adjourned to the bedroom. It was the best privacy he cou
ld give her, other than resorting to closing himself in the bathroom.

  They didn’t keep their voices down, and their conversation drifted clearly. He wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping. The bedroom didn’t have a television or anything. His phone was still in the dock in the other room, so headphones were out.

  “You were right to worry. The guys in the band, on the bus that first night, they saw me texting and took my phone. Said they’d give it back. That it was to make sure I didn’t take pictures or anything. But it was lost by the time we reached L.A. By the time we were in L.A., I was sick of them. Things happened. At first, I was into it. Then sometimes it didn’t feel right. You know? I mean not bad things. Just sharing, and threesomes… foursomes… One of them had this ritual before every show. He had to snort cook from a girl’s… ass… so sometimes, that was me. It was degrading…”

  He wished the bed would open up and swallow him with its layers of pillows and blankets to muffle what he was hearing to a bearable murmur of less audible words.

  It was crazy on the road. Hell, the life for many musicians was crazy off the road. Until this moment, he’d never viewed the debauchery from the eyes of the women they’d used and discarded as party favors. He’d never been more ashamed.

  “…I was so ready to dump them, but I was in Hollywood. Finally. My dream. Where it turns out, Pax has a wife! Did you ever know he had a wife? Keeping that under wraps is pretty miraculous…”

  Not so miraculous, Gage thought. His own wife hadn’t come to light, not until she’d tried to take half of everything present and future…

  “…so, get this. He introduces me to her. Tells her things. Things, you know? And she smiles and asks how long I’m staying! The rest happened like I said. Me and Bradley met, hit it off. The tape got out there. The thing is… Scarla, I didn’t know you’d be worried. I’m so sorry. I had no idea you’d give it another thought.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? We were best friends.”

  Silence.

  “We were friends, I mean.”

  Silence. And then Ivy. “I hadn’t seen you in years.”

  “But we stayed in touch. Texted. Facebook…” Silence. “Oh… Seriously? I’m just one of the ‘Ivy Leagues’ now? One of your gazillion bitches who text and like your statuses?”

  “No! I didn’t know. I didn’t realize. That you still thought of us as that close. If I had thought you were worrying—that you would get on a plane—I swear to God I would have―”

  “I know.” Scar cut her off, and his heart ached for her. “I know. It’s fine. Don’t worry.” It wasn’t fine. He knew that voice. Her fake bravado voice. “I get it. Seriously, no worries.”

  “Scarlette? It means the world to me that you did this. I mean, my mom didn’t even come looking. You’re the one who came. And I was sitting in the dark tonight, remembering us. The Dynamite Duo. Remember? It was us against the Ivy Leagues and Scarlette’s Harlots. I realized how fake everything in my life has been. Friends who turned on each other. Parents wrapped up in their own lives. Boyfriends who couldn’t handle the real me. But you’ve always been there, and I didn’t realize it. Because you were saying all the stuff anyone else said. But you’re the only one who meant it.”

  “I’m sorry your life has been sucky. I hope it’s better now.”

  “And there it is. The fake voice.” So Ivy knew her well enough to recognize it too. Part of him wanted to storm out there and rip the bitch’s hair out for hurting Scar. What the hell had possessed her to come clean with the brutal truth, when doing so would tear Scar apart? “I don’t blame you. Can you promise me something though? Call me again? Or text me if you want to start that way? I want to be friends again. I want to be best friends. Like we were. Like you were always.” Awkward silence. A squeak of sneakers on the floor. The clink of the door latch. “I’m glad you have Gage to get you through the shit coming up. He was always crazy about you from the start. I’m glad that hasn’t changed.”

  The door closed, and Rascal jumped from the bed, clacking down the hallway to investigate.

  He heard her stirring about in the kitchen. It was several minutes before she, followed by Rascal, shadowed the doorway.

  “I guess you heard.” She crossed the room and handed over the bitter cherry mix in a chipped mug and a bottle of water. Then she scooted back against the headboard with him, cradling her own mug of something. “I’m such an idiot.”

  “No you’re not. You’re a good person.” It killed him that she’d been lonely and reaching out to a ghost the last several years.

  “I feel so stupid. About everything. Not just Ivy.” Meaning her mother too? “God…”

  “Stop saying that. You’re not. You’re different. You see the good first where others see the bad first.” Sucking the drink down in one long swallow, he shuddered and took several gulps of the water. She twisted, pulling the chain on the antique lamp and switching it off.

  Rascal wedged between them when they scrunched down to lay, heads resting on their pillows.

  He rested his arm over her waist and searched for her eyes in the shadows. “Do you think she guessed about us?”

  “She didn’t have to guess” Her fingers glided down his back. “You have eight very angry claw marks…”

  “Is that okay with you?”

  “That I marked you? Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

  “That she knows, smarty.” He brushed his fingertips along her wrist as he waited for her answer.

  “I don’t care who knows.”

  Did he care? She didn’t ask again, but he thought on it.

  There would be a lot of shade thrown. They would have to be ready for the publicity a relationship between Tyler Conterra’s daughter and the son of the man who had discovered and originally signed him would cause.

  The icing on this cake was their prior adolescent relationship.

  Stepbrother and stepsister could easily be overlooked had they been adults who fell for one another and their parents married. But they’d grown up together in the same house; they’d sat across the dinner table as brother and sister for several years. Hell, Scarlette had begun calling his father ‘Dad’! Their twisted brand of stepsibling-turned-lovers was the taste of scandal media hounds thirsted for.

  However, their prior relationship as ‘steps’ was what had brought them together. A fierce girl who had lost her father before she’d known him. A lonely boy who had lost a loving mother too soon.

  He had always loved Scarlette. And she’d always loved him. She might not know it yet. But he was confident she would figure it out soon. Where they would go from there, he didn’t know, but they would work through it together.

  Chapter 43

  “The hell? Last time we’re coming here for privacy…”

  Scarla filled a glass with orange juice as she listened to Gage grumble. She understood but saw the amusement in the situation. Seth yesterday afternoon. Ivy last night. And now Colt was on the deck, hiding from the morning sun behind his shades.

  They’d banged out a quickie in the shower, and had been about to fuel up and go back to bed. The stereo in Colt’s convertible rental had pounded out a pulsing beat heralding him by almost a minute before he turned into the drive.

  Gage grabbed their clothing from the couch and followed her to the bedroom. He tossed it to the bed and stepped into his jeans. She tried to ignore his heated gaze as she dressed, but took her time. Barefoot and bare-chested, he turned for the hall, and at the last second, shot her a meaningful look of amusement and plucked his tee shirt from the clothing pile, shrugging it on as he exited the room.

  Colt and Gage struck up a dialogue, and she listened, mortified to hear how clear the conversation between Ivy and her had been to Gage.

  Gage’s side was less distinct. He seemed to be in the kitchen, which was on the other side of the bedroom wall. But Colt was standing in the den, right where both Ivy and she had been.

  “You knew. Told you I’d be here this morning to pick up Set
h. He’s got a skate thing this evening.”

  She closed herself in the bathroom and picked up her toothbrush. When she opened the door a few minutes later, the tone of the talk was serious.

  “…and I’m sorry about that.” Gage was saying. “It was shitty of me. You know I got screwed on the first album, and after that, I was damn sure not letting it happen again. I know now, I did the same thing to you that was done to me.”

  “You’re serious about this? Fifty-fifty on those three?”

  “Retroactive. If you want it. I realize you might want to wait for the lawsuit to be over one way or another on the one. And then any you do on the upcoming albums.”

  “If the label keeps us.”

  “Word.”

  “Dude, I don’t know what to say.”

  She felt emotional tears prick her eyes when she emerged into the hall in time to see them clasp. “All right. What’d I miss?”

  “You’ll be shocked to know, your brother owned up to being a dick.” Colt grinned, but his normal jackass tone was tempered by the emotion in his eyes.

  “Shut up, dick.” Gage rolled his eyes. When she passed close enough, Colt swooped in with a peck to her lips. Instantly, he was ripped away from her and pinned to the wall, with Gage’s hand on his throat and his face an inch from Colt’s. “How many times have I said to stop that shit?”

  As she almost passed out from hyperventilating with the shock of the scene, Colt swung his bugged out eyes from Gage, to her, and then back and forth again. The shocked mask slipped away, comprehension replaced it, and he cackled. “Finally!” He barely got the word out between peals of laughter and Gage released him. “Oh my God, finally. It’s about time, you two. Grats!”

  Embarrassed, she darted into the kitchen. “Anyone want breakfast?” Moving a disc in a blank sleeve aside, she pulled the bag of bagels closer and began to twist open the tie.