Plucked (Classical Badboys Duet Book 1)

by MV Ellis

  Plucked

  Classical Badboys Duet 1

  MV Ellis

  Plucked

  Published by MV Ellis

  Digital Edition

  Disclaimer

  Plucked is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  The author acknowledges all song titles, song lyrics, film titles, film characters, trademarked statuses and brands mentioned in this book are the property of their respective owners. MV Ellis is in no way affiliated with any of the brands, songs, musicians, artists or other entities mentioned in this book.

  “If you love two people at the same time, choose the second. Because if you truly loved the first, you wouldn't have fallen for the second.”

  ~Johnny Depp

  For everyone who has ever let the love of their life slip through their fingers.

  Follow Me

  Thank you for purchasing Plucked, I hope you enjoy it.

  If you are interested in getting to know me better, as well as accessing sneak peeks of my work, freebies, and giveaways, you can sign up for my newsletter HERE.

  You can also access additional exclusive content via my reader group on Facebook HERE.

  Last but not least, you can poke around my website HERE

  If you can’t be good, be kickass, and if you can’t be kickass, be badass.

  xMV

  Plucked Playlist

  Check out my playlists on Spotify search MV ELLIS

  Find the Plucked playlist on Spotify

  X Ambassadors - Torches

  Haux - Caves

  Tara Carosielli - Leave You Lonely

  Dawn Richard - Paint It Blue

  George Maple - Everybody Here Wants You

  FKA twigs - How's That

  Labrinth - Still Don't Know My Name

  Lola Jane - Leave You (feat. Randy Wisky)

  Bebe Rexha - Small Doses

  The Weeknd - Wicked Games

  Michl - Kill Our Way to Heaven

  Fjord - I Get It Now

  Shoffy - Goodnight

  Geoffroy - Sleeping on My Own

  Two Feet - Had Some Drinks

  Dennis Lloyd - Leftovers

  blackbear - santa monica & la brea

  Dennis Lloyd - Snow White

  Aquilo - Just Asking

  Emma Jensen - Closer

  East Forest - Carry Water

  Tors - Now We Fall

  Honors - Over

  How To Dress Well - Cold Nites

  Cautious Clay - Joshua Tree

  Sleeping At Last - Two

  X Ambassadors - Gorgeous - Live – Upstate Sessions

  * * *

  Find this playlist on Spotify

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Bowed - Classical Badboys Duet 2

  Books By MV Ellis

  Thank You & Follow me

  Acknowledgments

  ABOUT MV ELLIS

  Prologue

  Quincy

  One year earlier

  * * *

  “And the winner of Best Classical Album is…” There was a drumroll, and the awards presenter waited with fake bated breath. “Bowed and Dangerous.”

  Of course.

  The bad boys of classical music were bound to walk away with the accolade. I bit my lip to quell the tears that were threatening to flow, plastered a fake-ass smile on my face, and clapped along heartily with the rest of the audience. The last thing I needed on top of everything going on in my life was to be called out for being unsporting, or a diva. That would have just been the final insult in what was shaping up to be the week from hell.

  One of the members of the group took to the stage to accept the award, and I wondered idly where the other one was—they were a duo.

  “Well, I wasn’t expecting to win. This kind of shit never goes our way. I’m accepting this on behalf of both of us, as King can’t be here tonight, due to the fact that he’s at home shitting and puking his guts out with a stomach flu,.” A snicker blew through the room, then died in the air, presumably when people realized they were laughing at someone else’s misfortune.

  “Anyway, there are a bunch of people to thank—you know who you are, but nobody else does, so I’ll just say a big fat thank you to you all. That’s it. Peace, motherfuckers.” He brandished the award aloft and cast his dark, brooding eyes about the room as though looking for someone, before shrugging and sauntering from the stage like he had all the time in the world. Arrogant bastard. Not that he didn’t have reason to be, on a purely looks basis. He was stupidly attractive—all smoldering dark features beneath his mop of thick, dark hair.

  It wasn’t that I thought that Bowed and Dangerous were undeserving of the accolade. I hadn’t listened to their stuff, but I knew it was highly regarded in the industry. It wasn’t even that I thought I was more deserving—not having heard what they did, I had no point of comparison. It was just that in the shitstorm that was my life right now, I could have used a little well-timed pick-me-up. A sign that I wasn’t better off digging a huge hole and burying myself in it forever.

  As it was, in five short days I’d moved out of the apartment I’d shared with my now-ex boyfriend of four years, due to what he described as “irreconcilable differences.” Though, he’d fundamentally misunderstood the concept, as the differences in question were that I wasn’t his ex-girlfriend and childhood sweetheart, with whom, it turned out he’d never fallen out of love.

  To make matters worse, I’d been in talks with my record label, Sonic Bully, regarding my next album. I’d put forward a raft of new and original music—songs that I’d written either alone or with collaborators—for their consideration. After weeks of deliberation, they’d let me know that they had decided against going that route, in favor of the tried-and-tested strategy of releasing an album of covers. Again.

  In a nutshell, there were a lot of Rihanna and Beyoncé songs in my future. And then I had to sit around a table with those same record execs at this awards ceremony, as though I didn’t want to push each of their faces into ground glass. Fuck them, and fuck my life.

  Not that I had anything against RiRi or Bey, per se. In fact, I thought they were both great at what they did. I just wished the idiots at the label could see I had more to offer than a rehash of someone else’s music , and would trust that people would buy something other than covers from me, if I actually put it out there.

  So, along with the shame of moving back in with my parents until I could find a suitable apartment, I would have to deal with the indignity of being known as ‘that violin chick who pl
ays other people’s music’ forever. I would also have to smile and thank people graciously when they offered their commiserations for not winning the award, and probably every award I would ever be nominated for, if I was up against people like Bowed & Dangerous, who I was pretty sure wrote their own material—and actually got to record it.

  Fucking perfect.

  I managed to endure the rest of the ceremony by the power of wine, and drinking on an empty stomach, and Deone, my best friend, who kept both the laughter and the drinks flowing. By the time I made it to the after-party at the grand ballroom, I was more than merry, and set on having a good time. I deserved it, given the crap I’d been through lately.

  I took to the dance floor, and once I started dancing, didn’t seem to be able to stop. My body kind of took over my mind, and I was all about the music.

  “You’re the sexiest woman in this room, by a long way.”

  The words spoken right into my ear shocked me out of my reverie, and my body stilled immediately.

  “No, don’t stop. The way you move is hot as hell.”

  Without even turning around to see who was speaking, I resumed dancing, this time making sure the slow figure of eight I was drawing with my body had me rubbing against what was, unmistakably, a hard-on pressed against my butt. Holy shit it was a turn-on. I had no idea if it was the alcohol making me feel that way—although I hadn’t had a drink in at least an hour, maybe longer—or the fact that I’d just been dumped, or that I’d been shat on again by my record label, or that I’d been passed over for an award.

  All I knew was it was one of the most arousing things I’d ever experienced. Dry fucking an anonymous stranger on the middle of a dance floor was definitely one to tick off the bucket list. Not that it had ever been on it. Take that, Jonathan. Who needs you, anyway?

  As I raised my hands and secured them behind mystery man’s neck, drawing him closer to me, he thrust his erection harder into my butt, and lowered his mouth to my ear again.

  “Christ. You’re hotter than hell on a Sunday. I’ve never wanted to fuck anyone so much in my entire life.”

  Thoughts zapped through my mind at warp speed, but the only one I could make any sense of was a solitary word. Yes.

  I was young, free and single, and had four years’ worth of wild oats to sow, so why the hell not? If there was one thing guaranteed to set me on the road to recovery from the break-up, it was meaningless, dirty sex with a stranger.

  I opened my eyes and sought out Deone’s. I wasn’t surprised to find her watching me—everything I was doing was pretty out of character—she was probably wondering what the hell was going on.

  I raised an eyebrow in question, hoping she’d be quick to catch my meaning. When she smiled lightly back, then gave me a discreet thumbs up, I knew she had. If the guy had looked like the ogre from under the bridge, she would have found a way to give me an ‘abort mission!’ signal.

  As it was, instead of running a mile in the opposite direction, I turned toward the warm body, tilting my head to meet a pair of deep brown eyes. Oh shit. Of all the people in the whole room, why the fuck was it him? My mind wavered for a moment, thinking that maybe I should abort after all.

  “Let’s get out of here.” His voice was low and commanding. I could tell he meant business. I wasn’t sure whether he’d read my indecision, but it was a very well-timed instruction. I put my doubts aside—I’d come this far, why not let it play out all the way? I had nothing to lose.

  I nodded and let him lead me from the packed dance floor, and out of the room. As he strode down the hall and stopped at the cloakroom, I assumed he was collecting his coat so that we could go on to somewhere else.

  “Take a break and close up for a while.” He spoke to the cloakroom attendant as though he owned the place. No, as though he owned the world. Arrogance wasn’t normally a trait I looked for in a man, but somehow his commanding douchebag routine was pushing all my buttons.

  “Excuse me? I can’t just—”

  He reached into the inside pocket of his tux jacket, retrieved a wad of notes, and thrust them at her. “You can. I mean it. Take. A. Break.” She hesitated for a split second, looking at the notes suspiciously before reaching for them. Then she exited her booth hurriedly, closing the serving doors as she did.

  My “date” turned to me, pulling me toward the cloakroom.

  “Come on.”

  My moral compass told me to refuse—anonymous sex in a closet wasn’t usually my style, but then again, it was an abnormal day at the end of an epically abnormal week. Moral compass be damned! I followed him into the cloakroom.

  The door was barely shut behind us before he was up against me.

  “Take off your panties.”

  “Wha—?”

  “You heard me. I want you from behind, and I don’t need them getting in the way.”

  “I’m not wearing any.” It was the truth. My slinky fitted dress didn’t leave room for underwear—not even a thong.

  “Fuck. You’re killing me here.” He pounced on me then, crashing his lips to mine in a punishing kiss. It couldn’t have been more different from kissing Jonathan, and I was glad. Different from Jonathan was exactly what I needed. When we finally came up for air I was close to coming, without him even touching me below the waist.

  “I want you.” My voice was thick with lust.

  “I know. Turn around and brace yourself against the wall.”

  As I followed his instructions, I came to my senses a little. “Condom?”

  “Yeah, I have it covered.”

  Thank God.

  I watched him over my shoulder, admiring his junk as he sheathed up. His dick was as pretty as the rest of him. No surprises there.

  He approached me, placing one hand next to one of mine on the wall, the other on my waist, and his mouth just below my ear.

  “I’m gonna fuck you till you forget whatever it is you don’t want to remember.”

  He pushed hard into me and made good on his promise. When my orgasm exploded through my body, I forgot everything except him.

  Chapter 1

  King

  * * *

  As the almost-too-hot water flowed over my body, I leaned one forearm on the glass shower screen, then rested my forehead on it heavily. With the other hand I gripped myself, squeezing hard and pumping fast. I scrunched my eyes shut, too, blocking out the reality of what I was doing. I hated coming this way, but I also hated going through the day with blue balls, so it was a case of a means to an end.

  I hadn’t found anyone I would even vaguely consider sticking my dick into at the end of the gig the night before, so it was a rare night when I’d passed out alone after drinking way too much, and woke up the next morning with the raging boner from hell.

  Well, the drinking too much part wasn’t rare, but the alone part was. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Still, I hated the frustrated feeling waking with unspent wood gave me, so I would rather jack off, even if was the most unsatisfying kind of orgasm in the world.

  I opened my eyes just in time to see a thick stream of cum splatter onto the shower screen, and to meet a pair of dark brown eyes locked with mine.

  “Jesus, Rome. What the fuck are you doing? Can’t you see I’m kind of busy right now?”

  “Busy slapping your own salami? Who cares? Nothing I haven’t seen a billion times before, and I need to pee.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

  He was right. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, one way or another. We always shared an adjoining suite for exactly that reason. Not to watch each other come, but because there were no secrets between us. No boundaries to speak of, either. And it was easier to be able to access each other’s rooms when we needed to, than to be in different rooms, maybe even on separate floors.

  When an idea popped into our heads, we needed to thrash it out while it was fresh and raw, not to have to hunt the other person down, probably forgetting what the fuck we’d intended to say, and ending up pissed off and fr
ustrated.

  This way, we pretty much always knew where to find the other person, and if that meant we occasionally stumbled in on them jerking off, neither of us really gave a damn. As for watching each other fuck, that was an entirely different matter. We’d purposely witnessed that more times than most people had broken bread with their friends. The shock factor had worn off years ago.

  Now it had less impact than seeing Rome brush his teeth or tune his cello. In fact, I’d be more shocked to see him giving a fuck, and taking a professional approach to his work, than I would to see him screwing. He definitely applied himself way more to the second task than the first, although he was arguably as talented at the former as the latter. However, Rome’s interests and his strengths were two very different things.

  He was one of the most horrifically gifted people I’d ever met—the physical embodiment of the saying that some people were born with an unfair amount of talent. It was almost unbelievable, as was the fact that his natural ability was inversely proportional to the fucks he gave about said talent. He routinely did the bare minimum he could get away with—which for someone with his gifts was laughably little—but he still always came out on top, no matter what.