Ashes & Embers Series Collection (Books 1 to 4)

by Carian Cole

  Asher is not one of those hyper lead singers who runs all over the stage. He stands at the mic, leaning to the side a bit, swaying. His voice is deep and melodic, hypnotizing. He’s an emotional singer, putting every part of himself into the song. There’s another guitarist, also very good-looking with long blonde hair, who’s playing shirtless, flirting with the girls at the edge of the stage, and a bass player who has a commanding aura about him. He’s tall and muscular—even more so than Storm, with long jet-black hair and dark skin. He looks like he could be Native American. I know Storm said the band members were his brothers and cousins, but this guy looks completely different from the rest of them. He’s dark, unsmiling, and oozing sensuality.

  I finally let my eyes rest on Storm, saving the best for last. Seeing him up on stage, playing his guitar, doing this kind of bounce and stomp with his feet, his hair flying around, grinning out at the audience like a Cheshire cat . . . there are just no words to describe how I feel. He appears to be the energy of the band. He plays with the audience, walking to the edge of the stage, letting the girls grab his legs. And, boy, are they grabbing. A whole crowd of women made its way toward the front of the stage to get closer to the band and they were all screaming. They love the band. They love him.

  I feel proud. Jealous. Excited. Scared. I try to imagine myself right now in a relationship with him. Could I do this? Watch women grope at him? Watch him strut around and put on this show for several months out of the year? And where would I be? Here watching? Or home alone, wondering? Worrying? Driving myself crazy?

  The song ends and Ash throws his hands up. “Thank you all for coming!”

  The crowd screams. Storm meets my eyes, grins, and winks at me. I love when he does that.

  Amy elbows me. “Holy fucking shit, Ev. They are amazing. They are all hot as hell, too. Look at that bass player. What I wouldn’t do to be under that for a while! Hot damn!”

  Lukas leans over. “That’s Vandal. He’s my brother.” He laughs.

  “Is he single?” Amy yells across the table.

  “All the time.”

  “Don’t get any ideas!” I say to her. That’s the last thing I need right now is her getting involved with Storm’s bandmate and cousin.

  The band roars into a second song, this one faster, a little bit of metal. I’ve heard this one on the radio and had no idea who it was. It’s one of those songs I would crank up and drive fast to. At that moment, I realize Storm is something I will never be able to get away from. If I were to ask him to stop contacting me, to boot him from my life, I will still have to hear him on the radio and be reminded of him. Of us. I’d have to wonder what would have happened. Forgetting him would be impossible. Not that I even could, but even attempting to do so.

  I glance over at the girls at the stage. Any one of those women would want to be with him, or any of the guys up there. But they don’t know these guys. They don’t know they sit around with their eighty-something-year-old gram, drinking homemade hot cocoa. They don’t know at home, Asher was quiet and sad. They don’t know Storm likes to have his hand held. I know these things.

  Lukas rises from the table and makes his way over to the side of the stage, talks to Juggsy for a moment, then disappears. I turn to Ivy and smile at her. “How long have you been dating?” I ask her.

  Her eyes get wide and she actually blushes. “Well, we’re not really dating. Not yet, really. I’m, uh, a thirty-six-year-old new divorcee. I met with him to get a tattoo done and we sorta hit it off.” Wow, so he’s a tattoo artist. Nice.

  “That’s great!” I say. “He’s really cute.”

  “I guess. I don’t know. He’s much younger than I am. He’s only twenty-four. I have an eighteen-year-old daughter who has a crush on him. She loves this band. This is all really new for me. I think I’m too old for this.”

  “You don’t look thirty-six,” I tell her, and she really doesn’t. She looks about mid-twenties to me. “And who cares about age? If you’re happy, go for it.”

  “Look who’s talking!” Amy pipes up.

  Ivy laughs softly and lowers her voice, leaning closer to me. “I heard about you and Storm. Lukas told me.”

  “Heard what?” I ask her, afraid to even know.

  “About the blizzard, how he fell for you. Don’t worry; I won’t say anything. Lukas told me about it. He wants to see him happy. I think they are kind of close. I’ve only met him one other time, but he seems nice.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  The song ends and Ash grabs the mic off its stand, walking a little closer to the end of the stage.

  “So, as you guys know, my brother got stuck in a blizzard a few weeks ago, right? Like, trapped in his truck in the woods?”

  Oh. Shit.

  The crowd screams.

  “So, this chick he was stuck with had no fucking idea who he was. Can you believe that shit?”

  “NO!” the crowd yells.

  “Fuckin’ A, right? Anyway, my brother gave her one of our sweatshirts to wear. You know, because he steals them all and he had one in his truck.” He looks over at Storm, who’s laughing over on his side of the stage. “And she says, ‘Oh, is this one of those bands that just yells and you can’t even hear the fucking lyrics?’”

  The crowd roars and laughs. Ha ha. Very funny.

  “So, we decided to do a song with no fuckin’ yelling, just for Blizzard Chick. And, as a special treat, Storm’s gonna sing this one. It’s one of his favorite songs.”

  More roaring and crazy from the crowd. I hope Ash doesn’t announce that I’m sitting here. I will die.

  “Now, you all know he can’t sing as good as me, so let’s go easy on him, okay?”

  The lights dim so far down, we can’t see anything on stage. Michael looks over at me and laughs. “This ought to be good,” he says.

  Crap.

  The sound of a violin comes from the stage, and a blue spotlight shines down on one member. It’s Lukas, playing the violin, moving and beautiful.

  “Oh, my God,” Ivy says, grabbing my arm. “I had no idea he played the violin!”

  “They’re just full of surprises.”

  Another spotlight shines down and there’s Storm sitting on a stool, center stage, holding his guitar. He looks so hot and so damn sexy. I can’t believe this man has kissed me and had his arms around me. This same man made me an orange smoothie when I was sick and spent the weekend watching dumb comedies with me. And there he is, on stage and singing a song for me.

  All of this would be perfect if I didn’t have a boyfriend.

  The other guys start to play softly, and Storm begins to sing a slow, darker rock version of “Knights in White Satin.” His voice is unlike Asher’s, but he is still a damn good singer, his raspy voice with a slight lilt belting out the words. The way they’ve arranged the song is awesome, his voice and the violin just haunting. Romantic. All the girls in the crowd are swooning and probably creaming in their pants. Except Juggsy. She’s staring right at me, and she’s not happy.

  I watch Michael for some sort of a reaction to the song, but he shows none. Amy, on the other hand, is practically having a fit.

  At the end of the song, Storm jumps up and takes a bow. “See? We don’t have to fucking yell,” he exclaims. “But we want to!” That starts them off into another hard rock song.

  Amy leans into my ear. “That song was beautiful. That wasn’t easy to sing, and he fucking killed it.”

  “I can’t believe he did that,” I reply. “I had no idea. It was awesome.”

  After the show, Amy drags me off to the restroom, leaving Michael at the table. Just as we’re coming out of the ladies' room, Storm grabs us both and pulls us into a storage room.

  “Well, this could be fun,” Amy says, playfully batting her eyelashes. I shoot her a dirty look.

  Storm is all sweaty and smiling. He looks at Amy. “I need five minutes with her. Can you wait outside and make sure Michael doesn’t come looking for her? Please?”

  She sm
iles ear to ear. “Anything you ask. Behave yourselves,” she says. “You got five minutes. I’ll be right outside the door.”

  I wait until she leaves and turn to him. “Storm, you can’t do this.” Before I can say anything else, he has me backed up to the wall, his body pressing against mine. He buries his face into my neck, his hands on my waist. “Holy shit, I fucking missed you,” he breathes.

  “That song—” I start to say, but his lips capture mine before I can keep talking. He kisses me long and hard, desperately.

  He finally breaks away from my lips, leaving me unsteady and reeling. “Did you like it?”

  “Yes . . .”

  Grabbing a handful of my hair, he yanks me to his lips. “I want you right now. I can’t fucking stand to see you with him.” He kisses me so hard I can barely stand up. I wrap my arms around his neck and allow myself to return his kiss, my body settling against his. I can feel his cock in his jeans, huge and hard, pressing against me. Letting out a small growl, he grinds himself against me. He bends down slightly, and I feel his tongue licking the sides of my breasts in the opening of my sweater. He has never touched me like this before, and I don’t know if it’s from being jealous or if it’s an aftereffect of being on stage.

  I push on his chest. “Storm . . . Storm. Storm! Stop!” I shove him off me and he stumbles back a bit.

  “I’m sorry. Fuck.” He shakes his head. “I’m fucking crazy tonight, I’m sorry.” He steps closer to me and puts his hands on the sides of my face, leans forward and kisses the top of my head. “I’m sorry. It’s just the adrenaline from playing. It’s been a while.”

  “It’s okay . . .” I stare up into his green eyes, and I see fire. Want. Determination.

  His hands go to my jeans and have them unbuttoned in a second, the zipper dragged down instantly. I feel his hand slide under my panties, his fingers gliding over my clit.

  “Storm—”

  His lips cover mine. “Shh . . . just let me . . .” He picks me up effortlessly and plops me down on top of a table a few feet away. Pushing my torso back with one hand and my pants and panties down with the other, he ducks his head. Putting my legs over his head and onto his shoulders, he kneels on the floor and dives between my legs, his tongue ravishing my pussy. My body lurches up from the sheer unexpected ecstasy. His hands grip my thighs, pushing them apart, spreading me open for his mouth to kiss, lick and suck. His finger slowly slides into me, and I feel myself clenching around him. He groans and moves his mouth up to my clit, sucking, his tongue swirling round and round as he thrusts into me with one, then two fingers.

  I feel like I’m floating above myself, disconnected from what’s happening. I am trapped in euphoria, unable to move, unable to stop. My entire being is focused on what’s going on between my legs, what Storm is doing to me. The universe has disappeared and all that remains is the incredible feeling of his lips, his fingers, his silky hair on my thighs. Each lick, each suck, each thrust pulls me deeper into everything that is him. My pussy quivers and an ache settles deep inside, wanting him. My breasts swell, nipples hardening, jealous for his touch. Every second pulls me further and further away from everything I thought I wanted, everything I was. I’m breaking. I’m falling. I’ve lost my walls. The past few weeks crash together in my head and in my heart, all the feelings I tried to ignore now screaming, tearing their way out and rushing down to explode against his mouth.

  The orgasm he brings out of me is the most intense I have ever felt in my life. My entire body tightens, shaking and then releasing, causing me to grip at his head with my hands, pulling his hair. I can’t take another second. I will die. A moment ago, I could not get enough of his mouth, and now I feel like I will shriek and pass out if he laps at me one more time.

  “Stop, please . . .” I gasp, pulling his head away. He stands and pulls my body against him, lifts my face to his and kisses me gently, his tongue slowly caressing mine. His lips and face are wet. With me. I love it, me all over him. Like he is mine.

  “I could lick you all fucking night,” he whispers.

  Orgasmic fog slowly lifts as my mind comes back down to reality. All the wrongs immediately start screaming in my brain. Slut. Liar. He will hurt you. Idiot!

  I need to get away from him, but I am trapped, my legs around his waist, my jeans around my ankles.

  He wraps his arms around me and holds me tightly against his chest. “Baby, don’t freak out. It’s okay. Don’t push me away again.”

  “We shouldn’t have done that,” I whisper-yell at him. “Amy is right outside the door, and Michael—”

  “I don’t care. We both needed that.” His hand slides down my thigh. I am naked against his jeans, my legs spread right over his crotch. “I want you so much, Evie. I could fuck you right now. I don’t care who’s outside.”

  I start to cry. I am not equipped for this on any level.

  He quickly disentangles himself from me and helps me pull my jeans up. “Evie, don’t cry. I’m sorry. I just wanted you so much. Seeing him sitting there was making me crazy.”

  I jump down from the table and fix my sweater. “So, you did this? To do what? Mark some territory?”

  “What? No. That’s not why. I want you. I’m trying to show you what we can have, how I can make you feel.”

  “By eating me out with a hundred people on the other side of the door? Including my best friend and my boyfriend?”

  He gets up in my face. “Damn fucking right. I have zero fucks to give about anything else when it comes to you, Evie. If I want you, I want you. Now. Nothing else matters to me except knowing you want me back.”

  I do want him. Madly.

  I can’t say it, though. I stare up at him, hoping he can see it in my eyes. His face is so full of emotion. Passion. Anger. Disappointment.

  “Did you want me?” he asks, stepping closer to me.

  I step back. “This again? Does everything have to come back to whether every girl in the world wants you?”

  “No. It all comes back to whether you want me. You. That’s it.”

  I swerve around him and head for the door. “I can’t believe we did this, Storm. You know how I feel about cheating, and you also know you have a way of just getting me to do anything. You told me you’d give me time to think.”

  “I didn’t make you, Evie. You weren’t exactly saying no.”

  “Go to Hell.” Dammit, he’s right, and I could kick myself.

  I yank open the door and Amy practically falls inside. “Let’s go.” I grab her arm and tug her down the hall. How the hell long was I in there?

  “Evelyn, slow down. What the hell just happened?”

  I shake my head. “Don’t ask. I just want to get out of here.”

  She stops and grabs my arm, forcing me to look at her. “Oh, my God. Did you guys just screw in there?”

  “Almost, but no. Please, let’s just go. Michael is going to be wondering where the hell we are.”

  We make our way through the crowd of people cluttering the hallway.

  “Storm looked pretty mad, Ev.”

  “I don’t care. He can’t just put his hands and tongue all over me whenever the hell he wants to.”

  “His tongue? Holy shit, girl, we need to talk.”

  We finally make our way to the table and find Michael sitting there drinking and talking to Ivy and Lukas.

  “Where have you two been? You were gone for half an hour.”

  “The line was crazy,” Amy answers. “Evelyn feels sick to her stomach. I think we should go.”

  Michael downs his drink in one gulp and grimaces. “Okay. What’s wrong now?” he asks me.

  “Nothing, I just don’t feel well.”

  “All right, we’ll get you home then. Amy, you better drive; I’ve had a few.”

  She nods. As we’re putting on our coats and saying goodbye to Ivy and Lukas, I spot Storm over by the bar with Juggsy hanging on him. Now I really do feel sick to my stomach. Is he going to go home with her? With my stuff all over h
is face and lips? He must feel my stare because he turns and meets my gaze. Shaking his head, he grabs a shot off the bar and throws it back.

  Shit. Didn’t I read he had quit drinking?

  I sit in the back seat on the way home and listen to Michael go on and on about how great the band was and how epic it was to have his guitar idol sing a song dedicated to me. Amy is watching me in the rearview mirror. I think she’s afraid I’m going to jump out of the car. The thought is tempting.

  I take out my cell and send a quick text to Storm.

  Me: Are you drinking?

  A few minutes go by.

  Storm: Are you my AA sponsor now?

  Me: No. I’m just worried about you. I thought you quit drinking.

  Storm: I had two fn shots. I’m fine.

  Me: Are you going home with that girl?

  Storm: Are you going home with him?

  Seriously?

  Me: That’s not fair.

  Storm: No shit.

  Ugh!

  I should have known this night would not end well. Having Michael and Storm under the same roof was just a disaster waiting to happen. Since it was Storm’s idea we all go to his show, it never even really occurred to me seeing Michael would have an effect on him. I knew it would bother me, but, to be honest, I never really considered Storm’s feelings about it. My mind flashed back to the storage room, my ass naked on the cold table, his face between my legs. My insides flip at the memory. Why couldn’t Michael ever make me feel that way? I never got that turned on when Michael touched me. Yet Storm practically sent me to another stratosphere.

  Amy corners me as soon as Michael disappears upstairs. “Okay, chickie, come clean. What the hell happened back there?”

  I flop on the couch and kick my shoes off. “He threw me on a table and ate me like I was an all-you-can-eat buffet, that’s what.”

  Amy’s jaw drops. “What? Are you kidding?”

  “I wish I was.”

  “Then what happened? You had a fight?”

  “Yeah. I got mad at him for doing it. I don’t want to be a cheater, Amy, and he knows it. But he keeps doing stuff like this to me, and I can’t seem to stop him or myself from wanting it.”