by Elle Greco
“Yeah,” I said. Rafe’s eyes on me were kind of intense. I didn’t think I could handle intense right now. I’d had plenty of intense last night. I swallowed. “What time is it?”
He leaned back, looked at his phone, and then rolled back into me. “A little after seven.”
“Shit,” I said, kicking off the covers.
He hooked his leg around mine to stop me. “I thought Nik was picking you up at ten thirty.”
I tried to roll away from him, but his leg and arms tightened around me. “I need to get to the studio.”
“To do what?” he asked. His hand stilled and pressed into my back, holding me to him. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Rafe,” I said, my voice edged with annoyance. “I have an EP to finish.”
“Jamie Sage doesn’t roll into the studio before noon,” he said.
“Then I won’t make it in at all today. Again.” Likely pissing everyone off.
“The music’s recorded,” Rafe said. “Sage can work on the mix without you.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I wanted to be there for that.”
“Because you want to watch a master at work? Or because you don’t trust him?”
I pressed my lips together.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, a slight smirk playing at his lips. “You need to take care of your family first, babe.”
“I know,” I said, watching his lips while trying to ignore how badly I wanted to kiss them.
“You trust me?” he asked.
That made me lift my eyes. “What?” I asked, unsure how to answer. Did I trust Rafe?
“To work with Sage on the mix. Do you trust me with that?”
“Of course,” I blurted, without having to think. I didn’t need to think about that. Rafe was one of the few people I trusted with my music. My heart was another matter.
“I’ll work with Sage in the studio today. You swing by when you’re done with Nik.”
“But don’t you have…” I paused. I had no idea what Rafe did with his days, really. Lately, he’d spent most of them with me. “Stuff to do?” I pushed out.
Rafe’s rich laugh filled the room. “Baby, you’d be doing me a favor. I need a distraction while the lawyers are dealing with Grimm. Holed up in En Fuego’s studio is the perfect stuff for me to do.”
A sigh escaped from someplace deep, and my body loosened as the tension seeped out of me. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“Ain’t no thing,” he said, his arms tightening around me. “Now we got time to talk about the other night.”
Double dammit.
“What’s there to talk about? Presley’s going into rehab,” I stalled. I knew that wasn’t what he wanted to talk about.
“I’m not talking about Presley,” he said. This time it was his voice that was impatient.
“Want to talk about how I owe Vince an apology?”
“I want to talk about what we were talking about before all this shit went down,” he said, then he dipped his head and pressed his mouth to my neck.
“The song?”
“The song’s part of it,” he said as his mouth worked against my skin. God, but it felt good. I tried to keep my back stiff and feign disinterest, but his tongue flicked out, and I lost my determination. Why was I trying to stop something that felt so amazing?
“What’s the other part?” I asked, my voice thick with the lust that built as his mouth continued its exploration.
“The part that’s happening right now,” he said, moving his body over mine.
“What’s to talk about?” I asked, opening my legs to him. His hips settled, and his hardness pressed against my pubic bone.
“We need to talk about what’s happening between us.”
His weight shifted, and his erection hit the exact right spot, making me gasp. His mouth tipped up in a smile. “I know how I make you feel.”
“Arrogant much?” I snapped. His response was to grind into me, and I was suddenly very aware that I was wearing way too many clothes, even though it was just undies and a slip. I wanted to feel his skin on me. I wanted his mouth on more than just my neck.
He continued his slow grind, and I squirmed under him. “Okay, we don’t have to talk about it. We can just do it.”
I closed my eyes as his hands swept down my sides and whooshed my panties off in one swift move. He did the same with my slip. Wasting no time, he reassumed his position on top of me, his rigid cock pressed against my clit. I bucked my hips up, desperate for him to fill me. He dropped lower, the head just pressing into me, opening me slowly. There was no frenzy behind this, no hard mouths and driving tongues, no fast and dirty fucking against the window. Instead, Rafe held my eyes as he filled me inch by leisurely inch. Our fingers intertwined, and I lifted my hips toward him with a gasp as he planted himself deep inside me.
Still moving slow, he dragged his pelvis against my clit as he thrust into me, driving me straight to bliss. I closed my eyes as the orgasm built inside me, filling me, my body aching for release. But he stilled.
“Jett, baby,” he said.
I looked at him through my half-closed eyes. “Why are you stopping?”
“Because I don’t want this to end,” he said.
I licked my lips, and his eyes dropped to my mouth before he ground deeper into me.
“Nothing lasts forever,” I whispered back.
His hips pressed into me, sending him deeper still. His pelvis ground against my swollen clit. Then my orgasm released in one giant explosion, and, my eyes meeting his in a mix of pleasure and shock, I breathed his name as I came.
His face shifted, becoming more intense. He thrusted into me, pushing deeper, and I moaned as my pleasure began building again. He took me faster, harder, driving into me, leaving me nearly breathless as I tilted my hips up to meet his. He pushed into me with a moan just as my second orgasm peaked, my muscles clenching and releasing around him as he came at the same time.
“Nothing lasts forever, babe?” he asked, bringing his forehead down to meet mine. “Maybe this does.”
30
“That sounds beautiful,” I said, my eyes meeting Rafe’s warm brown ones.
It had been a long day that had ended with gridlock traffic coming back from Malibu, where we toured the last treatment facility on the local list. On our ride back, Vince had called. He was about to board a flight back home from Utah, where he’d toured a treatment program that sounded like a Four Seasons for addicts. Of course, he’d loved it. He thought it was top-notch, in a beautiful part of the mountains, close to Park City but away from watchful industry eyes. It would be a bit of a pain in the ass to visit, but the ninety-minute flight was commutable. Hell, Vince landed at the Burbank airport before we’d even made back into LA proper from the Pacific Coast Highway.
And he was paying for it. Which was good, because getting sober at a five-star resort didn’t come cheap.
I was later getting to the studio than I’d wanted to, but, true to Rafe’s word, they hadn’t needed me there. The tracks they played were flawless.
“Your man here is magic,” Sage said, telling me something that I already knew.
But I still turned to him wearing my shock on my face. But it was mostly because he had referred to Rafe as “my man.”
Bobby snorted. “Sage is not free with the compliments, especially when it comes to albums he’s supposed to be mixing.”
“I give credit where it’s due,” Sage said. “Davis has an ear, a golden one.”
“That he does,” Bobby agreed.
“He’ll get an album credit,” Sage stated. “Producer. Alongside me.”
My heart lifted, but my elation was short-lived. “What about Grimm?”
“Attorney delivered the papers this afternoon,” Rafe said. “We’re done.”
I shook my head. “It can’t be that easy.”
“When there’s a criminal case hanging over the proceedings, it can,” Bobby said, chuckling. “I heard Grimm got s
o pissed off, he fired all his attorneys.”
“That was stupid,” Sage said.
I turned to Rafe. “You okay?”
His arm stretched around my waist, and he pulled me into him. “I’m good, babe.”
His lips kissed the top of my head as I melted into his embrace.
Bobby’s eyes lit up. “So you two are an item.”
“Bobby.” Rafe’s tone held a warning.
“Shit,” Sage muttered. He shook his head before burying it in some paperwork laying on the mixing board.
“What?” Bobby asked with a smirk.
“You’re not bringing the PR department into this,” Rafe said.
My eyes, which were bugging out, bounced between the two of them. “PR department?” I whispered.
“We’ve got an EP to sell,” Bobby said. “A little grind on the PR machine isn’t gonna hurt.”
“Absolutely not,” Rafe said.
“What’s the issue?” Bobby asked. “You two are a thing, right?”
“And the press is gonna catch wind of it eventually,” Rafe said. “Let them suss it out. Don’t feed it to them.”
Bobby crossed his arms. “There’s gonna be a ton of rumors flying around about Rogue and Grimm. This could help quiet some of that noise.”
Rafe’s body went tight. “This stays private.”
“Don’t give me that crap,” Bobby snapped. “You live in the public eye. There is no private.”
“Um.” I tried to disentangle myself from Rafe. His arm went tighter around me, pressing me into his side.
“You will not use us to sell an album, a tour, not even a fucking T-shirt,” Rafe growled.
“Jesus!” Bobby exploded out of his chair and began pacing the room. Zen master Bobby was gone, replaced by music mogul Bobby. “You want to tank her career before it even begins?”
Rafe shifted so that his body shielded me from Bobby. “Is that a threat?”
“Come on, dude.” That was a warning shot from Sage, who looked up from his paperwork to zero in on Rafe. “Bobby ain’t Grimm, man. You know that.”
Bobby stopped pacing. “No, but I’m acting like him.”
Rafe’s hold on me tightened when he felt the tremor move through my body.
“I’m sorry, to both of you,” he said. “But I’m not gonna lie, we could use the press leverage.”
“Her music is good enough to stand on its own,” Rafe said.
“No doubt,” Sage said, wading in cautiously. “But times have changed since Rogue released their first album. It’s a whole new game out there. Doesn’t matter how kick-ass the music.”
I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against Rafe’s shoulder. “Rafe and I will talk about it,” I said, feeling his body go stiff.
Rafe twisted his head to me. “Jett, you don’t have to…”
“No, Jamie’s right,” I said. “It’s not enough to have solid tracks these days. Satan’s Sisters wouldn’t be half as popular if Presley wasn’t an Instagram star. And I’m not sure I am up for that.” I turned to Bobby. “But Rafe and I need to sort out what this is first. Can you give us that? Then we can talk about going public.”
Bobby was nodding his head at me. “I can give you that. Any leaks won’t come from my team until you give me the okay. But shit comes out on the internet, and you two live in LA. There’s nothing to stop a pap from taking a shot when you’re strolling arm in arm through Farmers Market or holding hands at Starbucks.”
“Right,” Rafe said.
Bobby clapped his hands together. “Good, that’s done. Time for some hot yoga. Rafe? Jett? Want to join?”
“Nah, we’re good,” Rafe said, smirking at my horrified expression.
“Your loss,” Bobby said. “What about you, Sage?”
“I’m going to finish this up,” Sage said, declining his offer. “Rafe, you got a few minutes to talk Rogue? If you’re out of your Grimm contract, we should consider a project.”
Wow. That was big. Huge. I tried to hide my excitement for Rafe, but based on the look he shot me, I failed miserably.
“Yeah, I got a few. Jett, you cool?” Rafe asked, way more chill than I was about this fresh development.
“I’ll see what Vivienne’s up to,” I said, leaving the studio.
“Hold up,” he said before I went out the door. “You’re forgetting something.”
“What?” I asked, swinging my body back into the room. He pulled me the rest of the way through the door and into his arms. Then he planted a kiss on me that was so hot that when he let me go, I had to hold on to the wall for support.
“Wow,” I whispered.
“More wow to come later,” he whispered back.
A shiver of anticipation flowed through my body as I drifted out of the studio. I glided through the hallways of En Fuego and found Vivienne in the kitchen cleaning out the espresso machine.
“Hey, Jett!” she called out in greeting. “Damn, sister, you look like you are in love!”
I giggled. Fuck all. I, Jett Benson, let loose a giggle.
“I guess that’s an affirmative,” she said, her lips quirking up in a smile. “You got a few? I wanted to talk wardrobe for your coming-out party.”
My dreamy mood disappeared. “Coming-out party?”
“That’s what I decided to call your listening party, because you’re going to surprise a lot of people.”
“I thought we picked an outfit already,” I said.
“Bobby decided to book Vamp,” she said. “And they don’t allow jeans.”
“Viv,” I said in warning, my good mood dissolving. “I am not wearing a dress.”
“But you have legs for days,” she argued as she wiped down the steam wand.
“And I like to keep them covered,” I said. Her full fire-engine-red lips formed a pout. “Come on, Viv, I need to be comfortable in my own skin out there. And if I’m in a skirt or dress…”
She tossed the paper towel into the trash. “So, what would you be comfortable in?”
“Honestly? Jeans,” I said, adding quickly, “Not skinny.”
“How about dress pants? Wide legs.” She caught my expression. “Wait, Jett, hear me out. I found this fierce pair of wide-leg cotton dress pants, but they have, like, an athletic stripe up the side. A white tank and a moto jacket—”
“No leather,” I reminded her.
Her eyes narrowed. “Would I do that to you? It’s vegan.”
“Do I have to wear spike heels?” I asked.
“God, you are impossible,” she muttered. She crossed her arms, and her head tilted up to the ceiling. “Okay, scratch the wide legs. We’ll go with a straight fit, not skinny, three-quarter dress pants in black. Swap out the white tank for a blousy silk one in emerald, keep the moto jacket… the vegan moto jacket.” She sighed, and her face softened. “I really love that jacket. You’ll love that jacket.”
I nodded at her. “But the shoes?”
“You can go barefoot in this outfit.”
I smiled. “Perfect.”
“I’ll call the stores,” she said.
Vivienne’s high heels clipped along the tile floor as we walked out of the kitchen. I tried to keep up with her fast chatter about the listening party—catering, venue, all of that—but my ears picked up on the sound of Rafe’s low rumble of a laugh followed by a familiar giggle.
My stomach turned to lead when the familiar giggle turned into a high-pitched voice as it called out, “Jett!”
I froze, staring at Vivienne’s voluptuous behind, which at this point also came to a halt. I turned woodenly to face the opposite end of the hallway.
Reesie fucking Allen was leaning against the wall, and Rafe was standing in front of her with his left hand against the wall by her head.
“Reesie,” I said, my voice clipped. “I thought you were in New York.”
I cringed at her giggle. “I heard magical things were happening in La-La Land, and since I had a break between shows, I thought I’d check it out for mysel
f.”
“Magical things?” I repeated, feeling as dumb as… well, Reesie Allen. I felt Vivienne sidle up beside me, her body as tight as mine. Her nails gave a gentle scrape against my hand, a show of support.
“Well, yeah,” Reesie went on, nailing me with a blindingly white smile. “I mean, Bobby Gee is turning you into a rock star? It’s so buzzy that the news hit the other coast.”
Vivienne cleared her throat. “I’m not sure how that’s news,” she said, her voice thick with fake syrup. A bit of lead lifted from the pit in my gut. Vivienne had my back. Which was good because, by his silence, Rafe sure as shit did not.
Reesie kept blundering on. “I mean, if Bobby can make that happen for you, I told my manager I wanted a meeting stat. I already have Madd Dawgg lined up to produce—”
“Madd Dawgg? You mean Clarence?” I asked.
“You know Dawgg? He’s the bomb, I mean, like, as good as Jamie Sage, but newer, you know? Not as old-school.”
My back went rigid, and Vivienne’s nails scraped my hand again, a little firmer this time.
“Yes, I know Clarence. I know him well,” I said. Clarence and I had suffered through high school together, bonding over a love of poetry and our weird-ass music industry upbringings. His mom was a crazy successful R & B artist, and his dad was a rapper-turned-producer. “I’m just surprised he agreed to work with you. Your sound isn’t exactly…” I ended with a shrug.
Clarence “Madd Dawgg” Hurd was on the vanguard of hip-hop. Reesie Allen was building her reputation on Broadway. And while Hamilton brought hip-hop to the theater crowd, Reesie was a coloratura soprano, her voice operatic. The woman had pipes, but in the pantheon of pop music, she was more Celine Dion. That was so totally not Clarence’s thing.
Reesie flashed me a saccharine smile. “He thinks I have something special.”
I’m sure he does, I thought, but I kept that to myself. Reesie was the type of woman you looked at twice. Her deep auburn hair was always sleek and blown out. Her eyes were ice blue. And she was built like Barbie with, as Viv would say, legs for days.
“We all have something special,” Vivienne quipped, wrapping her hand around my wrist. “We should go talk about the party now, Jett.”