The Last Love Song (A BWWM BDSM Romance)

by Lyn Rosella

  I had to let that all sink in. He was falling for me - had fallen for me - and not because of my fame or my money or my singing abilities. It was because he'd gotten to know me. And he knew me in ways that no one before him ever had - not even myself.

  "Now you have to answer one of my questions," he said.

  “Okay.” I was still reeling after his answer.

  "Why did you stop writing love songs?"

  That question. That fucking question. How many times was someone going to ask me that damn question? I thought that at the very least, my announcement on Harper’s show would put an end to it.

  For the first time ever, though, I wasn't going to give my stock answer. I was going to tell the truth.

  "The last love song I wrote... it was more about longing than loving who I was with." I stared down at my hands. "I think it tipped Camden off. It wasn't about loving him. It was about loving an apparition. A shadow of a person. Someone who wasn't there." I bit my lip and took a breath. "Someone I was waiting for." He was silent. "Anyhow, everything with Camden blew up right after, the accident happened, and I made myself a promise. One no one else knows about."

  "Yeah?"

  "No more love songs until I actually find love. Real love. Not that twisted shit I had with Camden." I sighed. "And I was prepared for it to never happen."

  “But now you’ve written one. For me.”

  “The muse strikes when she strikes, sometimes you just gotta go with it!” I joked, trying to keep it light.

  But he was right. And it was there - that warm glow of acceptance and comfort and love - off in the distance, still new, still young - but it was there.

  I didn't get to see him before the tour kicked off. It was a torturous time - talking to him on the phone as much as we could, getting off together, but not being able to touch him. We discussed the possibility of doing a video chat but I was still to shy about technology and didn't trust that it wouldn't somehow be recorded and released.

  Maybe that was silly. It probably was. But all of a person's fears aren't always rational. Just like my fear of Camden, growing once again.

  I'd thought that I'd kicked it when I faced him backstage three months before at that fateful award show. But everything I'd felt before - the dread, the anxiety - it was creeping back in.

  It didn't help that I was about to debut the song that he thought was for him.

  "Places! Places!" Pauline was directing everybody backstage, despite the fact that I had a stage director.

  "Where are we, again?" I asked sweetly, just to piss her off.

  "Portland!" she barked, her eyes wide. "Seriously?!"

  "I was joking, calm your tits!"

  Her face turned red. She took it out on some poor stagehand just trying to get by with a cart of water bottles. "That doesn't belong here!" He scampered off with a pathetic whimper.

  "Pauline," I said, "Cool it. We've rehearsed the shit out of this. Everything's going to be fine."

  She eyed me suspiciously. "Since when are you so calm?" she asked.

  "Since she's been getting laid," Lexi muttered as she pushed in between us. "I should warn you, Zenaida. We've got a familiar face in the audience tonight."

  "I'm not getting laid," I pouted, pretending to be cool with the news. It wouldn't be the first time Camden came to one of my concerts. I never did get a proper restraining order on the bastard and sometimes he showed up just to piss me off and set my crew into a tizzy. He'd never bothered me though, never tried to see me - not before, anyway.

  "Security's on him but..." Lexi gestured toward the dark stage. The curtains were up and some crew members were sweeping it with some big wide brooms. It was nothing out of the ordinary except the cleaning up should have been done already.

  Then I saw what they were brushing aside, piling up and then lifting into the garbage bins nearby. Yellow fucking roses.

  "How the hell did he get them onstage?" I shrieked. Everyone went silent - Lexi and Pauline, the band, the dancers - they all looked at me, waiting for the explosion.

  I forced myself to simmer down. "I want everything inspected," I said, digging my nails into my palms. "If that means starting late, we're starting late. If he got the roses out there then he could have sabotaged something else."

  They burst into action with something like relief. I didn't blame them - a year ago I would have started hurling insults, possibly shoes and water bottles, and fired a bunch of people. Even people that I couldn't actually fire, I would have declared them fired and made them leave.

  I barely recognized myself. Who was this woman who was finally learning how to let things go? Not the biggest diva that pop music had ever known. It couldn't be.

  Still, watching those yellow roses pile up did make me want to unleash hell. Someone was going to pay for this shit.

  ◦◦◦

  I was still on edge when the show was over. I kept expecting another shoe to drop, for something to go wrong or for something awful to happen. Maybe the pyrotechnics would malfunction and hurt someone. Maybe the drum set would topple over, maybe a dancer would slip and break a leg. But nothing happened.

  The new song was well-received. I tried to think of Vaughn as I sang it, but all I could see in my head was Camden's smirking face. I was going to have to retire this track as quickly as I'd started it if I couldn't get my head on straight.

  So as wound up as I was, when somebody grabbed me around the waist and lifted me up while I was on my way to my dressing room, I freaked the fuck out.

  "Get off of me!" I screamed, kicking my feet out and slamming both of my elbows back into the gut of whoever was holding me. My shoes flew off and down the hall.

  The figure grunted and let me go. I whirled around. "Vaughn!"

  "Remind me not to sneak up on you," he said, though he was grinning. I looked him up and down - it had only been a couple of months and he didn't look much different, but it was such a shock to see him in person out of the blue like this.

  "How did you get back here?"

  "Gavin let me in." Gavin. I'd have to give that boy a raise.

  I felt sort of shy and awkward all at once, standing there with him. People bustled around us and smartly kept their mouths shut.

  "Get changed," he finally said, "That costume looks uncomfortable. We'll go out after - your choice." It was true - the shiny black bodice looked hot but it was crushing the hell out of my ribs.

  "Good, 'cause I'm over those dive bars you seem to like so much," I said with a wink. Sashaying my hips, I turned and left him there, somehow only glancing back once to make sure he was watching.

  I burst into activity once I was shut inside my dressing room. Lexi was already there, awaiting instructions. "I want a reservation at Senna Lounge," I said, "VIP area. You can send a security guy with me but I won't need more than one."

  "You have an interview," she said, "You've got to do it, you promised Harper."

  I had. Harper Moore had become kind of my late night guy over all the other shows. We'd streamed the concert, so half the internet had seen my new song already, but Harper would be the first to hear from me. Just a few quick soundbites, then I can get the hell out of here.

  "Right, I'll be ready in ten," I said, ripping the bodice away. "Make the call, though."

  "The crew will be disappointed. It's the tour's kickoff, they want to party with you."

  "Is it in my appointment book? No?" She shook her head. "Then they can wait. Set up something for tomorrow night. We'll get the stream up on a bigscreen and drink our faces off. Tomorrow."

  "We'll be in San Francisco tomorrow."

  "Does San Francisco have bars?" She nodded. "Then tomorrow!" I waved at her, indicating that she could leave.

  I tried to remain poised through the interview. The director jammed an earpiece in my ear, and I spoke directly to Harper through the camera.

  "We loved the new song, Zenaida!" he said. "How are you feeling about it?"

  "I feel great, Harper. I was a little nervous
but I think the audience enjoyed it. And I hope everybody watching from home liked it, too!"

  "I know I did," he said. "Can you speak about the rumor that this song was written for you ex-boyfriend, the rising hip-hop producer Camden?"

  "It was not about him, Harper," I said, as firmly as I dared on national television. "I can assure you and everyone who's listening. I did not write this song for Camden."

  "Then who?"

  "Can't a girl just write a love song?" I asked, batting my eyelashes.

  "Not the famous anti-love song Zenaida!" he said.

  "Now, now, Harper, a girl's got to have a few secrets." I winked.

  Luckily he let that string of conversation die there. Maybe one day I would let the world know who the song was about - but not yet. It didn't matter what anyone thought they knew. It only mattered that Vaughn knew.

  I found him waiting patiently in the hallway, chatting with the other bodyguard that Lexi was sending along with us.

  "Hey," he said. "Lead the way."

  I took his hand. I was done being Zenaida the Goddess of Pop for the night. Now, I was just a girl going out with her man.

  We were allowed to enter Senna Lounge through the back door and were led straight upstairs to the VIP spot that I'd requested. Their own security team guarded the entryway, but Lexi's bodyguard stood nearby, keeping an eye out for anyone that would try to sneak past the velvet ropes.

  I recognized a couple other celebrities there - a B-list actress that had appeared in one of my music videos, a corespondent that I'd interviewed with once before, but they all kept to themselves. This was known for being a quiet spot for the rich and famous to unwind without being harassed by each other or the public.

  "Nice place," Vaughn commented, looking around. It was lit up in a wild variety of lights and decorated with glowing tables and golden lamps. We were seated on a velvet-cushioned bench along the side wall where we could look out into the rest of the lounge over the balcony's railing.

  "Not really your scene, I know," I said. "But I don't have to worry about getting recognized up here." A waitress came around with complimentary champagne and took our drink orders, but otherwise we were left to ourselves.

  "I missed you," I admitted as I sipped from the tall flute.

  "Yeah?" He brushed his fingers down my arm. "What did you miss?"

  "This," I said, nodding at his hand. "And that." I nodded toward his crotch and giggled.

  "No. Be honest."

  "I miss how you let me let go," I whispered. His presence even now made me feel safe and warm and free, all at the same time. I was just there with him. Present. The rest of the chaos of my life was a distant thing when we were alone.

  "Mmm. Want to let go a little right now?"

  I glanced around us. "What do you mean?"

  "Let go of your panties. I want a souvenir."

  I grinned. Where I should have argued, hemmed and hawed and hesitated and refused, I grinned and began to plot my way out the tiny thong.

  It was quiet in the area directly around us. There were only a few guests in the VIP area and they were concentrated closer to the bar. I am officially out of my mind. I shifted over so that the bottom half of my body would be shielded by the glowing cube table. Vaughn watched, his eyes glinting with amusement, as I slid a thumb up the side of my dress and wiggled around, trying to get the elastic of my panties to let me go.

  I giggled when they finally popped over my ass. I tugged them down my legs, all while trying to demurely make it seem like I was simply adjusting my dress. Then I was gracefully leaning over to fix something with my shoes. Then I shifted back over next to Vaughn.

  He laughed as I discreetly passed him the wadded up ball of material. "I was going to let you do that in the bathroom but that was so much hotter."

  My cheeks flushed. Of course, the bathroom! "Well I've never done anything like this before," I said, "I didn't know that was an option."

  "It's not anymore," he said, stuffing the wadded up panties into his jeans pocket. "Now tell me what had you so upset earlier."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Pauline mentioned something about you needing a drink. And you were so jumpy when I found you backstage..."

  "Oh come on," I joked, "You should know better than to surprise a girl like you did." He didn't joke back, he just waited patiently for me to go on. I sighed. The man was good at making a point using only his face, I had to give him that. "Camden is up to usual bullshit, that's all. I think I'm going to need to tell him off again." I clenched my fists as I spoke about him, bubbling with anger at the mere thought of his face.

  Vaughn rubbed my back. "Did he threaten you?"

  "No. He just keeps sending those fucking flowers." I leaned into his touch and felt the rage drain out of me. "Let's not talk about him, though."

  "Good," he said. He studied my face. "I'm glad that you can let go of that anger. It isn't good for you."

  "Well, you help me with that, somehow," I said, gently resting my head against his shoulder. "I wish I could help you let go, too."

  He tensed. I knew that his own painful past was an off-limits sort of subject, but I also knew that he still carried a lot guilt around with him. Hell, I suspected half the reason he'd taken a job in Rhode Island was to avoid having anyone recognize him while the tabloids were at the height of their frenzy over us. Still I pushed, though I tried to dance around the subject as best I could, because I meant what I'd said.

  "If you ever want to talk about it-"

  "I know."

  Well there I'd gone and ruined the mood. Great job, Zenaida. "I'm sorry," I said, "I don't mean to be pushy. It's just, I'm not really the bottle-it-up type. At all. So it's hard to relate."

  "A boy died in my charge. The circumstances aren't important. That's the only fact that matters."

  That was the most he'd said on the subject yet. Normally all I got out of him were mentions of karma. "What happened after?" I whispered.

  He shrugged. "Nothing. The mother wanted to press charges but nothing stuck. And I was deployed right after." I ran a hand along his ribs, remembering the scars that lay beneath his shirt. "It's in the past. All of it."

  But then he shifted away from me. It was only a hint, a fraction, but it may as well have been a mile.

  He wasn't getting away that easy. I grabbed the collar of his shirt. "If I can learn to let go of my anger then you can learn to let go of your guilt. Now, kiss me."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?" His voice was dangerous - this was a man that didn't take orders from anyone, after all.

  "Seal the deal. That's what we're going to do for each other. Kiss me."

  He struggled with it for a moment. But finally, he leaned in a and softly pressed his lips to mine. I savored it - his taste, his closeness. Finally. I slid my lips along his and hoped that he'd gotten the message. We can be in this together, now.

  He sent a different sort of message though. He suddenly grabbed my hair, tugged it back, and his kiss became scorching. We're in this together but I'm taking charge. I melted into him with a soft gasp.

  Somebody nearby cleared their throat. We broke apart, though I continued grasping his arms with trembling hands. I'm gonna kill whoever's interrupting us.

  I turned to face the waitress. My lip was already curling into a snarl. I took a deep breath and prepared to chew her out.

  "The paparazzi know you're here, Miss Zenaida," she said, her voice deliberately soothing, "Our manager just wanted us to let you know in case you needed to call for more assistance when you go."

  "Thanks," I snapped. What I wanted to do was demand who had leaked my location. But Vaughn was pulling away and standing up.

  "I should go."

  "What? Why? Because of a few cameras?" I stood with him and grasped his arm. "Vaughn-" He glared back. Anger and sadness clouded his eyes. He's afraid of them. He's afraid of what they'll say. "Vaughn, if we're going to do this, you can't be afraid of a few asshole asking questions. It's part o
f the package. You just have to ignore them."

  He shook his head. "I have to go." He left the VIP area and walked down the steps to the main lounge, heading for the front exit instead of the way we'd come in. They'd be out there, too, but hopefully less of them.

  My heart sank to my shoes. A step forward, a step back. I hoped this wouldn't be enough to drive him away permanently, but how could we be together if he was afraid to be seen, afraid of what people would say?