Plucked (Classical Badboys Duet Book 1)

by MV Ellis

  Right now, I had bigger fish to fry. Namely, one dick-throbbingly sexy violinist.

  “Jesus. How much of a plan do we need? We write some fucking songs. That’s all. It’s hardly rocket science. All this talking about it beforehand will kill the creative vibe for sure. Whatever happened to spontaneity? To knocking back a few vodkas, picking up the violin or cello, or sitting down at the piano, and seeing what flows?”

  “Well, firstly, I start with the lyrics, not the melody. Secondly, I like to have a clear mind and my wits about me when I work. I don’t drink and write.” Her tone was clipped. Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

  “Of course you don’t.”

  “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that I’m not surprised to hear that somebody as uptight as you can’t let go for one damned minute and lose control a little, just to see what happens.”

  “And I’m not surprised that an irresponsible loose cannon like you would look down your nose at someone who acts like a professional adult, instead of an overgrown child.”

  “Whatever. When you’ve pulled the stick from your ass, maybe we can talk.”

  “Actually, no. We can’t. This is some kind of bullshit, and quite clearly it’s not going to work. It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, in fact. Those morons at the labels are out of their fucking minds if they think this whole thing is going to end up any way other than in court. And you know what? I’d rather take my chances being sued than get myself any further into this dumb-fuckery. It’s already gone too far. Excuse me.”

  She stood up quickly, probably not realizing that doing so would put her as close to me as it did. Christ. She was crazy fuckable at any time, but all fired up like that, and slick with water from the spa, I couldn’t have conjured up a hotter fantasy if I’d tried.

  As her wet body grazed mine, a wildfire blazed through me, and, judging by the way she shuddered at the contact, the same was true for her. She might not have liked me, but she still wanted me. That much was more than obvious.

  The other thing she probably hadn’t accounted for was the fact that I was blocking her exit from the hot tub.

  “I said excuse me. Please.” She looked over my right shoulder, clearly keen to avoid eye contact.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry, all of a sudden?”

  “Home. Like I should have done hours ago. Speaking of spontaneity, losing control, and all that other irresponsible shit, I don’t know what I was fucking thinking before, but I’ve come to my senses now, and I’m done.”

  “Well I’m not.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that we have unfinished business. I say you stay and we fix it, like adults—” I loved throwing her words back at her, knowing how much it would piss her off. “Instead of running away like a child.” As predicted, her face was a picture of fury.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Yeah, that was the plan.”

  “Jesus. Will you stop being an asshole, and move out of the fucking way, before—”

  “Before what?”

  “Nothing. Just move.”

  “Nope.”

  “You can’t hold me here against my will.”

  “I’m not holding you. In fact, I’m not touching you at all.” Apart from the way the tip of my dick keeps grazing against you as we speak. “If you wanted to go, you’d be gone by now.”

  I honestly don’t know who kissed who. I just know that we were facing off one minute, and the next, it was on. So. On. Anger made her fierce, and her ferocity made me horny to the point of insanity. I pulled at her, desperate to increase the friction between us. She obliged by thrusting her hips slowly, rotating hard into me.

  As she bit down on my lip, I slipped my hand to the base of her throat, squeezing gently, and drawing her closer. When she gasped, I pushed my tongue into her mouth. She tasted so sweet I could have kissed her forever, but King had other ideas. He’d stood up to join us, but now was beckoning Quincy back down into the hot tub.

  “Come here,” he coaxed gently, but I didn’t miss the undercurrent of urgency in his voice. He wanted her as badly as I did. More so, even.

  At the sound of King’s voice, Quincy dragged her lips from mine and turned to offer them to him. He accepted, hungrily plunging his tongue into her mouth before lowering himself back onto the seat of the tub. Quincy went down with him, so I lowered myself into the water too.

  Once I was in the tub, Quincy scooted to her knees and leaned forward to deepen the kiss with King. Her body was mostly out of the water, and the view of her ass had me squeezing the tip of my dick hard, trying not to come. When she pulled her lips from King’s to look over her shoulder at me with so much lust in her eyes, I thought she was going to set the building on fire, I almost came there and then.

  I raised up on my knees, and nudged her entrance from behind with the tip of my dick. She was still looking over her shoulder at me with eyes that told me her body was mine for the taking, and when I pushed slowly into her, I wanted everything she had to give.

  King reached out to squeeze Quincy’s tits, and in return, she dropped one hand to his cock, jerking him off as she rode my dick, hard. It was hot as sin, and as I thrust into her, I was torn between wanting it to last forever, and wanting to come more than I’d ever wanted to before.

  That desire won out, and we chased our climaxes like Olympic sprinters. We made it across the finish line in an epic three-way photo finish, and the single hottest sexual experience of my entire life.

  Chapter 22

  Quincy

  * * *

  I can’t fucking do this. I can’t fucking do this. I can’t fucking do this.

  The words spun over and over in my mind as we sat in the cramped, airless studio, a deafening silence stretching between the three of us. If there was a more-awkward scenario on the planet, I couldn’t think of it.

  I could hardly even look Rome in the face. It was partly because every time I did, the fire in his dark brown eyes, and the way he looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole, would give me flashbacks of the previous day.

  I remembered how we’d screwed like I’d never been screwed before, and recalled how we’d come together, the three of us—Rome swelling inside me, owning me, with me clenching around his dick, and King emptying into my hand as I squeezed him tight.

  I recalled how I’d looked into King’s eyes and been shocked by the depth of emotion I saw there, but I’d been even more shocked by the fact that I’d felt a twinge of regret that it wasn’t Roman I was sharing that level of emotional intimacy with, along with the overwhelming physical connection.

  “It shouldn’t be this hard. We’d normally have jammed a few songs by now. This is fucking bullshit.”

  “Finally something we agree on.” I rolled my eyes heavenward.

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “It means this isn’t going to pan out well. We’ve been here five hours, and it feels like five years. Five hundred years, in fact, and we have nothing to show for it. You guys have your shit that’s obviously been working for you forever, and I normally work alone. This whole writing together thing can’t just be engineered. It’s all about chemistry and producing organically. Trying to force it is just plain stupid.”

  “Exactly.” Rome nodded his agreement emphatically.

  “Which is why this was doomed from the get-go,” I continued my train of thought.

  “Ha! Are you both smoking crack, or something?” The look on King’s face as he spoke surprised me. From what I knew, he was normally the more rational, even-tempered one of the two, but right now he looked like he was ready to rumble. In fact, they both did.

  “What’s your problem, man?” I’d noticed that Rome didn’t take kindly to being challenged by King. Or anyone, for that matter. This was no exception. He looked daggers at his friend as he spoke.

  “You mean apart from the fact that we’re sitting here wasting time talking about a lack of chemistry, w
hen in fact, the opposite is the case? We’ve got more chemistry than you can shake a fucking stick at. Are the two of you just going to pretend that yesterday didn’t happen? Like it isn’t the colossal elephant in the room?” That was definitely the way I wanted to play it, but it seemed King had other ideas.

  “Yeah.” Again, Rome and I were oddly in agreement.

  “That was the plan,” I concurred.

  “What the fuck is wrong with the two of you?”

  You could have cut the silence with a chainsaw. I looked down at the floor, suddenly fascinated by the parquetry, but I stole a subtle sidelong glance at Rome. He was staring back at King, his face an impenetrable mask.

  “A word. Outside. Now.” Rome’s voice was deliberate and measured, and so out of character that I found it more disturbing than if he’d exploded in a fit of annoyance. Weird.

  I couldn’t read the dynamic between the two of them, but clearly there was something bubbling close to the surface. It felt like a pressure cooker about to explode. They stepped out of the airless room, and I let go of the breath I’d been holding. I didn’t know how we were going to be able to progress from the impasse we were facing. The pressure was too much.

  As the guys argued in the hall, I couldn’t make out the specific words, but the rumble of Rome’s voice was like distant thunder carried to me on the wind.

  The thought fired an idea in my mind, and I grabbed my notebook to capture it before I lost the spark of inspiration.

  When the door to the studio banged open again, I wasn’t sure how long they’d been gone. I’d gotten so lost in the words and thoughts that time had stood still—so much so that, when I looked back down at my pad, I was surprised to find that I had somehow jotted down enough lyrics to form a song. Reading them back quickly, I was even more surprised to find that they didn’t suck.

  King entered first, followed a few moments later by Rome. The look on Rome’s face as he strode across the room, letting the door bang noisily against the studio wall before slamming shut, shocked me to my core. If he’d been pissed before, he was positively murderous now.

  What the fuck is going on?

  I followed Rome’s trajectory as he stomped across the small space, then opened up the baby grand, sat down at it and began to play. My breath hitched as the notes permeated the air. I had no idea what he was playing, but it was beautiful. Hauntingly so, in fact. I closed my eyes, letting the sound flow over me, and slowly the words I’d written earlier began to arrange themselves with the music. By some miracle, they seemed to fit perfectly.

  Rome stopped playing, and I opened my eyes to find King staring at me, an intrigued look on his face. “Where’d you go just then?”

  “Nowhere. Why do you ask?”

  “Really? You seemed to have been transported by Rome’s playing. I just wondered where to.”

  “What was that you just played?” I asked Rome, trying, and failing, to catch his eye as I spoke. As before, his face was unreadable.

  “Nothing.”

  “I meant what is it called?”

  “I know what you meant, I’m not stupid,” he snapped.

  Jesus he was touchy. I really couldn’t work him out, except to know that being around him was like playing a dangerous game of emotional roulette, both in terms of the vibe he gave off, and the feelings he aroused in me. I never knew what I was going to get with either.

  “It doesn’t have a name. It’s just something I made up on the spot.”

  What? “Are you serious? It was so beautiful. I didn’t even know you could play.” Let alone pull hauntingly beautiful melodies out of thin air like it was nothing.

  “He’s ridiculous, right? He turned up at the con, only being able to play cello, but everyone had to take piano, too, as one of the compulsory course elements. He picked it up in like five seconds flat, and can now play the rest of us under the table while blindfolded.”

  “I hate people like that. The ones who make the shit the rest of us struggle with look effortless and easy.”

  “Ha! You’d better stay away from Rome, then. Apart from being polite and personable, which he sucks at, big time, that’s him in every area of life. Kills it without even trying.

  “I’m sitting right here you know. I can hear you.”

  “We’re aware. But we’re talking about you, not to you.”

  I chanced another peep at Rome. He was looking even more thunderous than before, but I wasn’t sure exactly why. His expression confirmed an idea in my mind.

  “I think I have some lyrics for the melody you just played. I kind of wrote them while you guys were taking care of business in the hall.

  Chapter 23

  King

  * * *

  “Really?” I tried to keep the incredulity from my voice, but clearly failed. A look of sheer irritation crossed Quincy’s face.

  “Yes, really. Why do you sound so surprised? I may have been forced to put out covers, because that’s what the label wanted, but, as I already told you, I’m a songwriter at heart.”

  “Sorry, I’m not doubting your songwriting prowess, it’s just that after all these hours with nothing, I’m surprised to hear that you’ve come up with something so quickly and effortlessly, is all.”

  “I didn’t say it was easy, but I guess it was comparatively quick.”

  Your power hits me hard like booming thunder to my soul

  If I don’t guard my heart, it will surely swallow me whole

  There but somehow set apart, so close, but always so far

  Even when you’re next to me, I don’t know where you are

  She started singing, and without skipping a beat, Rome picked up the piano accompaniment and the song came together as I watched. It was so fucking beautiful. The chemistry was so palpable, it was like another person in the room. A really fucking-hot person. The unspoken communication and synchronicity between the two of them was one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen.

  I reached for my cello instinctively and started playing along. It was obvious after just a few bars that we had the basis of an amazing song unfolding among us. Quincy’s voice was sublime—so much better than any of the recordings I’d listened to—and Rome’s piano playing was as impressive as it always was. Even after all these years, I was in awe of his ability to tell a story through the power of music, with pretty much any instrument he touched. It was a rare and enviable talent.

  As she sang, Quincy slowly closed the gap between herself and Rome. When she reached the piano, she leaned forward, resting her arms on the top. She sought Rome out with her eyes, and eventually he looked up to meet her gaze. But, although the air crackled with electricity, Rome’s face was expressionless—his eyes flinty and hard, and his lips pressed together in a tight line. What the fuck?

  For what felt like the first time since we’d become friends, when he’d barreled into the school as the new boy—rebellious, angry, and cool as all get out—I couldn’t read him. I definitely couldn’t predict his next move, like I normally could, and the feeling threw me.

  When we’d gone out into the hall, I’d called him on his weird mood, and he’d flat-out denied there was anything wrong or different. Regardless of the wall he seemed determined to keep around himself, I knew him well enough to know that was nothing more than twenty-four-carat pure bullshit.

  He might not have been prepared to tell me what, but something—other than the whole ‘being forced to make an album’ thing—was eating at him, and I was determined to figure out what. I was going to have to leave it for a few days, though, as I knew there was no talking to him when he was as pissed as he appeared to be right now.

  I carried on playing but hung back, content to watch whatever was going on play out. Though she’d been the one to make the visual connection with Rome, Quincy was also unsmiling. Not that it mattered; a voice like hers could tear at the heartstrings of even the most cold and detached person, and the fact was, for all his outward assholery, Rome wasn’t entirely devoid of emotion—he
just wasn’t big on letting the world see that.

  Knowing what I knew about the way he’d grown up, I kind of didn’t blame him. There’d been no room for dwelling on feelings, or even admitting he had them, or showing any other sign of ‘weakness’ while he’d traveled the world as part of a Russian-Ukrainian street-performance troupe.

  He and his brother had learned to survive on their wits—and when that failed, sheer brute force—far more than was healthy for growing boys. It was really no surprise that as men, they’d—mostly—evolved beyond using their fists to solve their problems, but hadn’t lost the rough street-kid edge that had essentially kept them alive.

  As the newly created song came to an end, a heavy silence fell among us. It definitely wasn’t the “we’re so comfortable with each other, there’s no need for words” kind, either. It was more the “there’s so much tension in the room that one word, false or otherwise, could blow the powder keg of emotion sky-high” kind.

  “Wow. Your voice is… I didn’t know you could sing that way,” I told her.

  “Again, what you’ve seen me do and what I can do are two different things. My mom is a classically trained opera singer. Not only that, but she went on to develop her own breathing technique designed to help singers make the most of, and also protect, their voices. You’ve heard of the Hicks-Copeland Method?” I nodded. “Well, that’s my mom. So… yeah.”

  “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to imply anything. It’s just that this is quite different from any of the stuff you’ve released. The label really has been hiding your light. You’re incredible. It’s awe-inspiring. Thank you for sharing that part of yourself with us. I feel privileged to have witnessed it.”

  Rome gave a snort of derision and slammed his hands down on the piano keys.

  “Shit! Dude, what the hell is your problem?” Quincy had jumped a mile into the air at the sudden noise, and my heart was hammering in my chest.