“Are you done?” The bed creaked as Krist rolled onto his side, his voice a raw whisper.
“You should go now, before she gets back.” The longer he and Krist were apart, the more he wanted this interlude over, the harder it was to remember why it had felt so right between the three of them.
“You’re a bottomless pit. I just keeping going down further, and further, thinking this will be the end. This is where it stops. But the more I have, the deeper I get, the more I want. Shit you’ll never give me.”
Lock knew that feeling, that terrible slide toward destruction. Seeing it reflected back at him made him feel hungover, like the bed was spinning and if he could just get his leg on solid ground, it might stop. “What do you want now?”
“Quit fucking with me and just fuck me already. Or leave me the fuck alone.” Krist swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed for his pants, prickly hurt rolling off him in waves.
“Stop.” Krist froze with his jeans bunched around his knees. Lock pushed down a knot of angry panic. “Did I tell you that you could leave?”
“Well, you didn’t tell me to stay. And I’m not staying if you just want to use me to entertain your girlfriend.”
Girlfriend stung. “I thought you liked being used.”
Krist stood, zipping his pants. “As long as you keep doing it. Use me, fucking use me, but don’t shove me in a drawer afterward like some forgotten dildo.”
The shower stopped. His pulse stuttered; he needed to finish this before Hailey came back out. He couldn’t let her smooth this over, scold them like unruly children unwilling to decide on a game to play. He chose the game. He made the rules.
One shove and Lock had Krist flat on his back, bed bouncing beneath them. He yanked the still-unbuttoned jeans down his legs and left them tangled around Krist’s ankles. He watched as Krist’s cock hardened. The weight of his regard, the anticipation of what would follow the shove, was enough to bring Krist right up to the edge.
Lock rolled him onto his belly and pinned him to the mattress with the length of his body. Wrapping his arms around broad shoulders, he wedged one arm between Krist’s chest and the bed and squeezed. Holding him down. Holding him still. He pressed his face into the plane of Krist’s shoulder and bit down hard. Anchored in the moment until he released. “I don’t forget anything, but if I wanted to fuck you, I’d have done it already.”
Lies. Growling them didn’t make them true. The cruelty, salty like the skin he still tasted on his lips, felt right. Abrasive. Cleaning the wound. He couldn’t give Krist what he wanted, only what they both needed. A sharp pain to remind them that nothing changed, nothing mattered. Full or empty. Drunk or sober. The hurt remained. If he fucked Krist, he’d be making a promise he couldn’t keep.
Lock couldn’t see Krist’s face, but felt his whole body tense beneath him. “This was a mistake, and you can’t even blame the booze.”
FIFTEEN
Sunday morning
Hailey woke up surrounded by sex. It wasn’t the musky scent of Lock’s warm skin when she nuzzled close. It wasn’t even her own flavor that he fed her from his fingers. This was something else, an undefinable energy in the room, the dregs of intimacy. Coffee would drown out the scent of them but not the awareness vibrating through every cell of her body. He burned against her back. The sheets felt like sandpaper against her skin. Cool air hardened her sore nipples. Like the minutes right after climax, when her clit ached at the slightest touch—only this was her whole body. Too sensitive. Too used to handle anything else, but the world didn’t let up.
Krist’s absence pulsed through the room, a gaping wound in a wild-beast night. She wouldn’t think about that. She felt Lock’s heart beat slow and steady through the arm slung over her body, and in his cock, hard and hot against the small of her back. Don’t think about that, either.
The sleek alarm clock gleamed eight a.m. on the second day, and she hadn’t yet fulfilled her task. The most important reason for coming. Her sister. Family. Redemption. Their fucked-up family life hadn’t been her fault, except…was it? Had she done something to make Chloe rebellious and reckless? Had Hailey done something to make their mother leave?
She rummaged through her bag and found a new outfit. Somewhere during the potent sex-ridden hours, she’d lost her confidence. The swagger with which she’d worn those fishnets and platforms the first night was missing. The leather skirt fit her hips awkwardly, as if she was trying to look cool and failing. The bra pinched her, and the top was more see-through than she’d expected. She still wore a costume, but the disguise was growing thin.
The elevator dinged open, and she winced. When she didn’t hear anything from the bedroom, she stepped inside and hit the button for the lobby.
She’d find the father of Chloe’s baby and convince him to… A wry laugh huffed out of her. She hadn’t been able to convince Krist to stay the night. Hadn’t convinced Lock to talk about what he felt when they’d lain alone in the dark. So odds weren’t high she’d be able to convince this man to take responsibility for his child either. Except she had to. Her little niece or nephew counted on her. Hailey knew about the hurt that never left, the doubt that infected every relationship she’d ever had. Chloe had compensated by becoming the friendly girl, so damn accommodating she’d ended up pregnant. Meanwhile Hailey might as well have entered a convent, she’d become so reclusive. The man she spoke to most was the pastor of her church, and even he had gently suggested she attend the spring social, keeping an eye out for the bachelors. Neither approach, her sister’s nor her own, had filled their small apartment with much warmth.
The bar area was dark and empty. No chatting up the bartender for information today. She followed the smell of coffee to a dining area around the side, separate from the swanky lounge. A large placard read Complimentary Breakfast. This room seemed far more comfortable, almost too homelike for the frosty hotel. Fat rolling chairs with thick cushions scooted up to oak tables. Along one wall, a line of banquet tables held platters and gleaming serving trays. Only a handful of people were seated at the table. A couple of kids—or were they teenagers?—worked together on the waffle machine, laughing when it bubbled from the sides.
Yes, this was exactly what she needed. Light streaming in through the broad open windows. Breaking bread amid laughter and pleasantries. A full belly to start her search.
Her stomach growled as she piled her plate high with eggs and bacon and a cinnamon roll so hot the icing still rolled down the side. Coffee, tea. Fresh orange juice sounded even better. Something wholesome to nourish her. Something real.
The man sleeping upstairs is real.
Pushing the thought away, she found a table in the corner. This seat gave her a clear view of the city unimpeded by surrounding buildings. Endless rows of glass and metal cubes as far as the eye could see, bleeding into the orange morning light, shattering it.
She wasn’t the only one enjoying the view. At the table beside her, a young man scribbled in a notebook. He looked at the horizon, expression intent, before looking down to write quickly. Like copying down notes from a chalkboard. It made her look more closely, searching for the words scrawled there, the answers, but all she saw were pretty colors and a new day. That was what made her different from her pastor, who could divine truths from the world around them. It made her different from Lock, who plucked notes from the air and wove them into a song. Seeing something beneath the surface, capturing it. That had never been her forte, but in that moment, with her eggs cooling on the plate and the light almost blinding, something stirred inside her.
“Excuse me,” she said. The young man didn’t look up, so she called again. “Excuse me. Do you come here every day?”
He blinked as if surprised anyone else was in the room. She recognized him then as the guy she’d spoken to backstage, Colt. She’d felt something then too. He knew something. He could help.
He shrugged. “I’m up earlier than most of the crew. And I like bacon.”
“Did you ever see a girl with the band…?” No, she corrected herself. A woman. Chloe was a woman, now that she was pregnant, and if Hailey was honest, she’d been a woman for a long time. They had both grown up fast. “A young woman about my age? She’s an early riser too. Blonde hair, a little taller than me.”
“That’s a lot of girls,” he said, but his gaze flicked away.
She slid into the seat opposite him. “Her name is Chloe. She’s my sister.”
Wariness shone in his eyes. And concern. “She okay?”
Her heart panged. At least someone here had cared. Was Hailey looking at the father of her niece? Because God, he looked so young.
“She’s okay,” she said softly. “I just need to find out who she was friends with here. I need to speak with them. Can you help me?”
He swallowed and said nothing.
“You knew her,” she prodded gently. “You were friends with her.”
He shook his head. “Friends, yeah. As much as anyone is friends around here. But not like you’re implying. We didn’t fuck, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Hailey raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, I mean, I wanted to. I told her that, but she said she already had a boyfriend. They always do, right?”
“Who was her boyfriend? Someone in the band? In the crew?”
“Nah, some guy back home. And she never talked about him except for that. That’s why I figured she was just letting me down easy. But what do I know; maybe he’s real.”
The knot in her stomach grew tighter. Some guy back home? No, there was no boyfriend. Hailey would know. She had to know, or what kind of sister was she? But no guy had come around to pick her up, and Chloe always came home at night. So when had she even had time to see a guy? Hailey’s heart swelled in her throat, because God, she had failed worse than she’d thought.
Maybe he’s real.
“Thank you,” she murmured and stood. She started to walk away when he called her back.
“Hey, you gonna eat that?” He nodded toward her plate the next table over.
Her stomach did a little flip-flop. Her hunger had evaporated under the blistering heat of abject guilt. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks.” He gave her a small smile. “That was how I first noticed her. She always used to pray before she ate. Quietly but you could see her lips moving. I asked her about it once. She said it reminded her of home.”
* * *
Lock found Hailey in the bedroom with her overnight bag and her purse slung over her shoulder. Leaving. That couldn’t be right; he still had one more day. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Oh, I was just coming to talk to you. I have to go home. I should get on the road before it gets too late. I hate night driving.” Her voice lilted, fast and forced cheerful, but he could hear sadness leaking in at the edges. It made his jaw tighten.
“I’m not done with you yet. I decide when you leave.”
The sadness sharpened into anger. “If I want to go, I’ll go. My keys are still in my purse. The door is right over there, and I haven’t forgotten how to use it. I may have signed a contract, but I didn’t sell you my soul.”
She hoisted her bags higher on her shoulder. His fingers itched to grab them and fling them across the room.
“You committed to three days.” He kept his tone steady. She wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t ready for their interlude to end. There were too many things he still wanted to do with her, to her. Every time he touched her, he came up with half a dozen more. Not enough time.
“My sister needs me.”
“She called?” He hadn’t heard her phone ring, but she might have it silenced. If something were wrong, he’d have to let her go. He’d put her on a plane himself.
“No. But I’m worried about her.”
“She hasn’t been very worried about you. She’s selfish. She doesn’t deserve you.” He didn’t deserve her either, but he had her anyway. For now. For a little longer.
“That isn’t how family works. She’s my baby sister. I take care of her.”
“Who takes care of you?”
She winced, and he knew the answer was no one. Nobody took care of his little church mouse. She gave and gave until there was nothing left for herself, and then she gave some more.
“That’s what I thought. Put down your bags.”
She let them slide down her arm and land at her feet with a jingly thump. “Are you going to tie me to the bed and force me to stay?”
Jesus. The things that came out of her mouth. “Would you like that?”
Her breath hitched, and she wrapped her fingers around her wrist, stroking absently exactly where he’d bind her. And not with the soft terry belt of a robe this time. No, he’d cuff her and lose the key. Or find some rope. The rough stuff they’d used to tie equipment to the top of the van back in the day, before they’d had roadies and buses. He’d keep her. The tightness in his belly, the pulsing in his cock, that was lust, not need. He didn’t need her. He wanted her. And he could keep what he wanted.
She licked her lips and nodded. “Or you could just ask me to stay. Please really is a magic word.”
“But you don’t want me to ask, do you, Hailey? You want me to hurt you, to make you, to use you. That’s why you haven’t touched those keys jangling in the bottom of your purse, why you keep coming back for more. I don’t have to tie you up; you’re already bound to me. You’re mine.” Because I do need you. The thought bristled, but it wasn’t wrong either. He’d lied to himself for a long time, but not anymore. He’d lied every time he told himself he could stop with the next drink. There hadn’t been any stopping then. And there wouldn’t be any stopping with Hailey. He took two long steps, closing the distance between them, and covered the hand stroking her wrist. Squeezed, just hard enough to still the subtle motions that were so like the ones she’d used the first time she’d touched his cock. She melted into him, her forehead falling against his shoulder, and murmured something into his chest. He couldn’t hear her, only feel the brush of her mouth. Wet and hot, dragging a trail of syllables ever closer to his nipple. The tip of her tongue touching and darting, again and again. He skimmed a hand up her back, gathered her hair in his fist and guided her lower.
She dropped to her knees, and he flicked open the fly of his jeans. His heavy cock sprang free, slick with precum, and nudged her cheek. There was nothing tentative in her touch now. She looked up at him from beneath lashes heavy with unshed tears, smiled a wobbly smile, gripped the base and guided it home.
Was she saying good-bye?
Her free hand disappeared under her skirt and between her legs as her cheeks hollowed. He could feel her rocking against her fingers, a counterpoint to her swirling tongue. Even now, taking care of herself. He was a fucking monster. A selfish prick with a selfish prick. “Stop.”
Her hand stilled, but she kept a steady pace on his cock, the muffled mmph of an apology vibrating up the length. That's not what he'd intended. He released her hair, pulled himself free from the warmth of her mouth with a groan. Brows knit with confusion, she wiped her chin. “Did I— What's wrong?”
“Nothing, baby.” Everything. They might be bound together, but he couldn't keep taking from her. He'd use her up until nothing was left. Drink every drop until he was alone at the bottom of her bottle. Still—always—thirsty. He bent, gathered her into his arms, and guided her to the bed.
Standing before her, he drank her in with his eyes. He'd use his hands and his mouth soon enough. The scrap of leather skirt rucked up to her hips, exposing pale blue panties, so wet at the crotch they'd gone sheer. He nudged her knees apart for a better view. The blue suited her, not the skirt. Not the filmy top either. Not him.
He grabbed the hem of her shirt, and she lifted her arms so he could slip it over her head. The bra was wrong too. Cheap and shiny, the band digging into her chest. He wrapped his arms around her and flicked the clasp open. Her sigh of relief, a broken pant against his chest.
He pushed he
r onto her back and yanked her panties down her slim legs, savoring her surprised gasp. He left the skirt behind, something he could hold on to when he buried his face between her legs. Just one more taste. One last drink.
Kneeling, he bit the soft flesh of her thighs and soothed the marks he made with a roll of his tongue. Her every cry as he worked his way up, a reward and a reminder of what he was. He wanted to rub his cheek into the warmth radiating from her core. Instead he pursed his lips and blew a cool breath over her slit until she shivered. She tangled her fingers in his hair, petted and pushed.
“Yes, baby. Yes,” he hissed, making her shiver again. “Take what you want. I'll take care of you.”
He would take care of her. Like this. Only like this. He grabbed her right hand, the one she'd teased herself with while she blew him, and shoved her fingers into his mouth. Sucking hard, tasting and slicking. Then placed them between her legs. “Hold yourself open for me.”
So pretty, her delicate fingers splitting pink folds. For a moment all he could do was look and inhale the salt of her skin.
“Please,” she begged.
He broke all his toys. Ruined everything he touched before it could be taken away. And now he had Hailey spread open and twitching beneath him, all wide eyes and packed bags. Still unbroken, ready to stay if only he asked. He didn't want to break her anymore. He wanted to save her. Please is a magic word.
He didn't have any magic left in him. He'd washed it all away in a shower of booze and debauchery. Please fuck me. Please hurt me. Please love me. Was that the fans echoing in his mind, or Hailey, or his own weak-willed soul rattling its cage? He could give them all most of what they wanted. Fucking and hurting. The kind of angry fucking he needed like water and air and whiskey. He stilled. He needed this, wanted it so badly his whole body ached, but it would only make the voices louder, the rattling worse.
BANGED: Rock Stars, Bad Boys & Dirty Deeds Page 32