by Quinn, Cari
Not just any woman.
She rubbed her nose into his chest at that thought. Hair dusted his pecs, alternately tickling her and making her want to slide back down and sleep for another dozen hours. As muscular as he was, he was insanely comfy at the same time.
His wide palm slid up her back, fitting her even closer to his side as he tangled their legs together with a soft moan. This was where she promised herself she wouldn’t end up.
Cozy and intimate.
She was supposed to have fun and then get back to work. But everything inside her wanted to stay right here. The fact that she’d gotten a solid block of rest in between the eye-crossing orgasms was a miracle.
Sleeping with a man had never been her forte. She liked her space—heck, she needed her space. She had a whole system of pillow and sheet ratios with a particular playlist she had to listen to. And maybe she’d get three hours.
Ten minutes horizontal with Deacon, when he wasn’t strumming her flesh like a bass, and she’d been unconscious. Un-freaking-heard of.
“I can’t believe we got to jam with them. When does that ever fucking happen?”
“At Red Rocks.”
Her head popped up. Crap. Harper tugged the sheet that had twisted under Deacon’s hip, but it didn’t budge. She poked his chest. “Hey,” she whispered urgently.
“Dude, you fucking missed it!”
Double crap. They were coming down the hallway. Probably to tell Deacon whatever story had them all riled up at—she glanced at her watch—three in the morning. She couldn’t tell whose voice was whose, but two men—probably Nick and Simon, as she was pretty sure Gray was a mute—were just outside Deacon’s bunk.
When Deacon didn’t move, she poked him again. He grunted and hauled her up on his hip until she was splayed across his chest like the sheet she was freaking missing. The curtain snapped back and she shrieked, shrinking back to push Deacon on his side.
“Oh, shit. Sorry.”
“Simon,” Deacon growled.
Harper peeked over Deacon’s shoulder. Thank God they were so damn wide. Simon tried to peer over his shoulder, but Harper snatched up the sheet that was finally free.
“Damn,” Simon said with an unapologetic smile. He stood up and leaned against the wall beside the bathroom. “You missed it. We fucking jammed with Mumford and Son at the after show party.”
“No shit?” Deacon sat up, nudity not an issue for him obviously. The flex of muscles along his back distracted her into trailing her fingers over his shoulder and following the fluid lines of his shoulder blade to spine.
She tried to pull her attention away from him. For God’s sake, she’d tasted every inch of his body, and still her lips tingled at the thought of kissing down each vertebrae.
Her gaze darted back to Nick as he leaned against the corner of the wall that connected the back of the bus with the kitchen area. Evidently it was group chat time. “It was unreal. They can play like a dozen instruments apiece.”
Jazz came down the aisle with her wild hair scooped on top of her head and her makeup smudged. Delight shined in her bright blue eyes. “I learned how to fiddle.”
Deacon grabbed his pants from the floor and quickly pulled them up. She couldn’t stop her eyes from drifting down his tattoo to the tight muscles of his ass and thighs. The man was a damn temple of sin in skin. Unreal.
He turned to her with one of his t-shirts in hand. His eyebrow winged up at her obvious perusal of his body. His gold and green eyes heated, and she wished the bus was empty again. She leaned forward and scraped her teeth over his lower lip before snatching the shirt away from him.
She turned his shoulders so he blocked her from Simon’s roaming eyes. Nick was staring at the ceiling, and Jazz was completely unaffected.
She dropped the t-shirt over her head and decided he wasn’t getting the shirt back right then and there. Toad the Wet Sprocket pulled tight across her boobs—the suckers really were too big if she could fill out Deacon’s shirt—but the ultra-soft material slid down and covered her thighs.
He turned and grinned. “Worth the boob prints in my shirt when it looks like that.”
“My shirt now, buddy.”
His grin bloomed into a full-on smile. With dimple. Evil freaking man. “Anything you want is yours.”
She shifted her eyes to her lap. Somehow that statement felt like it was about more than his shirt. She cleared her throat. “I’ll just get my stuff and go.”
His long fingers curled over hers. “Stay.”
She looked up again. This wasn’t her place. This was the band bus, and they were obviously winding up to talk for a while. Food Riot’s bus would be pulling out at eight, and if she was really lucky, she could get another few hours’ sleep.
He leaned in, catching her mouth in a soft, unhurried kiss. Nothing deep, just a brush of his lips against hers. “Stay,” he breathed into her mouth. “I liked having you next to me when I sleep.”
She cupped his cheek, sliding her thumb along the scruff that was on its way to a full blown beard.
“Stay.”
She nodded. “Do you have a pair of boxers or something?”
“They’ll be too big on you. Maybe you can wear one of Jazz’s—”
“Oh honey, I wouldn’t fit into anything Jazz wore.”
He grinned. “Her yoga stuff stretches. And man, you’d look good in some of the stuff she wears for that.”
Her thighs and hips were about two sizes bigger than Jazz. “Doubtful. Unless you find muffin tops sexy.”
He slid his hand under the sheet and palmed his way across her belly to her hip. “No muffin tops that I can feel.”
“I volunteer to double check.”
As if just realizing Simon was there behind him, Deacon turned back around. “Shut it.”
Simon shrugged and flipped off his shirt, pitching it into the corner where a huge pile threatened to fall over. “It’s not like we haven’t played together before.” He hooked his foot into the small ladder at the end of the bunk and slipped into his bunk. “I’m wasted and done in. Night.”
Harper’s eyebrows rose. She shouldn’t be surprised. The entire group was very familiar with each other on the bus, and especially during the scavenger hunts. The thought of Simon’s lighter skin trailing over Deacon’s tanned flesh as they curled around a woman made her swallow.
Did they do more than share?
He slid his hand down her thigh. “Sorry about that.” Deacon stood and pulled a pair of boxer briefs from his little cubby. “These okay?”
She nodded and accepted them, wiggling into them under the covers. When she rolled onto her knees, she caught the look in his eyes. Intense. Hot. Filled with intent.
“That’s way hotter than it should be.”
She looked down at the black shorts with the front opening that gaped a little. The same material that had cupped his long, hard cock. She could imagine slipping her hands into the slit and pulling him free. The smooth shaft with its tongue-worthy head that was so very sensitive. And the vein that pulsed along the underside as if it was a direct line to his heavy balls.
“You’re a menace.”
She looked up, sliding her hand over the front with a little smile.
Nick’s eyebrow winged up, but he didn’t say anything, just did an about face and walked to the front of the bus. He nodded to Gray, who was silently crawling into his bunk.
Jazz grabbed Harper’s hands and pulled her off the bunk. She couldn’t tell if Jazz was oblivious to the crackle between her and Deacon, or if she was simply ignoring it. “I’m so glad you’re with Deacon. He’s such a good guy.”
“Not with the hard sell, huh, Pix,” Deacon said with a sigh.
“I’m not. But seriously, he’s the best of us. He deserves to have a nice girl in his life. He’s been lonely.”
“Jazz,” he warned again.
“What?” Jazz slipped her arm through Harper’s and tugged her to the bus’s outer area. “Am I saying anything tha
t’s not true?”
“Who says I’m a nice girl?” Harper asked with a grin and let Jazz lead her out into the main living space.
Jazz bumped her arm. “Yeah, I like you. We’ll keep you.”
Not entirely sure what to say after the Simon comment, Harper just smiled. She didn’t get an orgy vibe coming off them, so she relaxed. Simon was probably just being his typical mouthy self. The guy didn’t know when to shut up. She’d seen it in the food tent on more than one occasion.
Jazz bounced onto the couch. “I’m too keyed up to sleep. Want to watch a movie?”
“Jazz!”
Jazz’s blue eyes widened. “Yes?” she called back at Deacon’s raised voice.
“Can you come back here, please?”
“Crap,” Jazz muttered then stomped to the back of the bus. “What did I do now?”
Harper curled into the corner of the couch, flipping one of the throw blankets over her legs. They were discussing something with an attempt at whispering, but she kept hearing snatches of information. Something about the cage in Jazz’s bunk made her listen a little closer.
“He was so cute, though. I couldn’t leave him.”
“It ate through my socks.”
“I’ll buy you more socks. Jeez.”
She heard his exasperated sigh, and just as Harper was about to go back and see what they were going on about, he came out with an orange puffball on his shoulder, burrowing into his hair. Jazz followed with a white and brown bundle overflowing from her tiny hands.
“Deacon found Ratt.”
Harper blinked and took a better look at the animal in Jazz’s hands. God, was it a rat? If it was, it was a damn fat one and its tail was missing.
“Really? Ratt?” Deacon asked.
“I heard Round and Round in the car when we were coming back with it.”
“And who let you buy a guinea pig?”
“Same person who rescued George.”
Harper leaned forward. “I’m confused.”
Deacon sat down next to her, draping his arm over her knees. He tipped his head until the blond-striped kitten peeked from his hair. “Lawless, meet George.”
“Lawless?” Jazz dropped onto the couch across from them.
Harper gave Deacon a side-eyed look. “Inside joke.”
Jazz’s eyes sparkled as she brought the furry bundle to her face and rubbed noses with it. “Honey, that inside joke sailed across Twitter days ago.”
Harper lifted the kitten off Deacon’s shoulder. It instantly climbed her arm and headed for her hair. “Likes hair, huh?”
“Yeah. Better than socks,” Deacon said and nodded to Jazz. “Evidently, we’re turning into Doctor Dolittle here.”
Harper pulled the kitten out of her hair and raised it over her head. “George?”
“I didn’t name her.”
“So, you are a her.” She nuzzled the kitten, but let her crawl back into her hair when needle-like nails punctured the back of her hand. “So who talks to them?”
Deacon leaned in and brushed his nose along the back of the kitten’s neck, and in turn, he bussed his lips along Harper’s ear. “Cute.”
Harper shrugged with a grin. “You were the one that said Dolittle.”
Ratt—the guinea pig—curled into the crook of Jazz’s elbow. Jazz lifted the remote and flicked on the TV. Evidently, they were going to watch a movie with animal accompaniment.
Deacon settled back, stretching his arm behind Harper, hauling her in until she and George curled in against his chest.
“I wanna cuddle, too.”
Deacon held out his other arm, and Jazz crossed to their couch and settled on the other side of Deacon. Her head fit perfectly into his armpit as if she spent a lot of time there.
Fifteen minutes into “Old School,” Harper wasn’t sure what to think. On one hand, she’d never been familiar enough with people to cuddle. On the other, well, she didn’t quite know what to do with a man that could ruin her with orgasms just a few hours ago and now seemed completely content to play the role of big brother.
When his fingers slid into her hair and lightly massaged the back of her skull, she closed her eyes. Okay, so not exactly big brother-like. George purred against her belly, and if Deacon didn’t stop with the stroking, she would be doing the same in a second. Being all burrowed into his chest felt good. Heck, it felt perfect.
She opened her eyes and saw that there were no little lingering touches toward Jazz. She lay against the side of Deacon’s chest, and his arm cradled her tiny body, but it was more like he was a warm couch for Jazz instead of someone she got naked with. Ratt was nestled into the valley of Jazz’s cleavage, and Miss Wide-Awake was already fast asleep.
The movie drifted into the background. The slow, steady rise of Deacon’s chest and reassuring beat of his heart mesmerized and then lulled. And for the second time, she drifted to sleep in his arms.
* * *
Deacon rolled his shoulders then rubbed his cheek over the top of Harper’s head. She was a near silent sleeper, so he hadn’t been sure she was all the way out until halfway through the movie. His first clue had been the wake-up call of her hand in his lap. Instead of teasing him, she’d simply run out of real estate. The kitten was sprawled across her lap, taking up far more room than anything less than three pounds should.
But then again, she was Simon’s kitten.
Harper had slid her leg between his and the smooth line of her hip had come free from the paper towel-sized throw that Jazz always had on hand. He trailed his fingers along the smooth expanse of skin up to her waist, where his shirt flirted with his boxers.
She was unreasonably sexy in his underwear. What should have looked bunched and uncomfortable instead clung to her curves, giving tiny flashes of skin when she turned just right.
Jazz shifted at his right, bringing him back to the moment. It was far too easy to crawl into Harper fantasies. He’d gorged himself on her all evening and yet he could only focus on getting more of her.
Her taste was as familiar as his favorite beer and just as intoxicating. Losing himself inside of her was a sweet pain that he’d never experienced before. He’d felt alive for the first time in his life. And he wasn’t entirely sure he could live without her.
Anxious to have Harper to himself again if only for a few more hours, he tapped Jazz’s arm. She woke easily, but she didn’t stay awake long. She gave him a soft smile and bundled up Ratt. “Night night, Deak.”
“Night, Pix.”
Jazz padded her way to the back of the bus. “C’mon, Mr. Ratt, it’s time for bed.”
He clicked off the television before cracking his neck. Having two women use him as a cushion was awesome in theory, but man, he was sore. Instead of waking Harper, he slid his arm under her knees and gently tipped both woman and kitten against his chest and stood.
Harper nuzzled against his chest, but didn’t wake. Getting her into his bunk was a little trickier. He crouched low, his thighs protesting the movement. He’d pushed it a little too hard on his run earlier in the day. Too many inane interviews and too few moments to himself had prompted him to escape for an hour.
And now he was paying for it. Double time. Add in a few hours with Harper and his body was well and truly done in. As he lifted her away from him, she gripped his shoulder and her blue eyes opened wide.
He smiled down at her and rolled her into his bunk. The kitten protested with a pathetic mewl and scampered up to the pillow, kneading it until she found just the right combination of cute curled up perfection.
Harper slipped under his sheet and settled against him with a sigh. “I should be going back to my bus.”
“You should stay.”
“Okay.” She brushed her cheek against his chest and pushed at his shirt. “Skin, just your skin,” she said sleepily. “I like your skin.”
“I like your skin, too.”
She wiggled until his Toad shirt drifted up above her perfect breasts and off. How the hell was he supposed
to sleep with her unconsciously sexy stretch of arms and arching back? She pushed at his shirt until he could flip the well-worn cotton over his head. When the petal-soft skin of her breasts rubbed against his skin, he groaned.
“Sleep now,” she whispered.
He bowed his head to see if she was truly falling back to sleep and groaned as her fingers slid up and tangled in the hair on his chest.
“So pretty.” She sighed against his skin. “So warm and tan, and the muscles... Oh, yeah, the muscles.”
His lips curved. Was she awake? He hissed when her fingers slid down his abs and into his jersey shorts. Yep. Definitely awake.
She turned sleepy eyes up to him, her fingers curling around his lengthening cock. “Especially the muscles.”
“Harper,” he said with a low growl. They weren’t alone now. Nowhere near alone.
She slid down his body, open mouthed kisses along his ribs, his belly, and finally his straining cock. She pulled his shorts all the way down and closed her mouth around his head.
He slammed his jaws tight, swallowing the moan trapped in his chest. Watching and enjoying a woman’s pleasure was his drug, especially when it came to this woman. But dammit, she punted him off a cliff every time she got her hands on him.
The entire bus would know just what they were doing if—”Fuck, yes,” he hissed between his teeth. Sleepy blue eyes gleamed up at him in the low overhead light.
She let him go with a lazy lick. “I’ve had friends tell me they love to give head.” She lifted his shaft and followed the sensitive underside with the pad of her thumb. “I never believed them until now.” She took him inside her mouth, and he arched up to get even deeper.
The sweet warmth of her mouth and wildness in her eyes threatened more than his sanity. Part of him didn’t give two shits that the entire bus would know what they were doing in his bunk, but he didn’t want Harper to be embarrassed when she figured out just how non-whisper her whisper was in the light of day.
He sat up as much as he could and thanked God for his long arms. She gave a muffled cry when he flipped her around. At least he could keep his mouth too busy to shout out something stupid.