Hard Rock Tease: A Rock Star Romance (Darkest Days Book 1)

by Athena Wright

  "He got me into poetry," he admitted.

  "You had a Oh Captain, My Captain moment?"

  Noah snorted, looking almost amused. "Are you really referencing Dead Poet's Society?"

  "Robin Williams at his best." I gave him a small smile. "So you got into writing poetry first? Then the music came later?"

  "It was an outlet, of sorts. A way to deal with all the shit I was going through."

  I opened my mouth to ask exactly what kind of shit that might be, but stopped myself. I'd listened to his lyrics enough times to guess. There was something in his past that caused him pain, that caused him grief. Something that made him feel angry and guilty and alone. I didn't want to open up that Pandora's box. We weren't quite ready for that. Not yet.

  "My teacher convinced me to go to some poetry readings," Noah continued. "That's how August found me."

  I sat up straight, getting excited. There was little information online about how the band had formed. "August saw you at a poetry reading?"

  "He was looking for a lyricist. August can compose music but he's no good with words. Then he approached me and found out I could sing, too. That's how it all began."

  "I never knew. There's not much about you guys before you burst onto the scene."

  Noah shifted uncomfortably. "None of us want people prying into our past. Our personal lives."

  "I'm sorry," I said automatically, suddenly ashamed. "I don't want you to think I'm prying. I just really think knowing more about you will help me."

  "And what about you? Don't I deserve to know about you? And don't say you've got nothing. Everyone's got a story to tell."

  I hesitated. I didn't know how much to share.

  "It was my mom," I began slowly. "My mom used to play piano professionally when she was younger. She's the one who got me into music. I have a lot of good memories of sitting next to her on the piano bench as she taught me scales. We used to—" I paused to clear the lump in my throat, forcing myself to continue. "We used to write music together. It feels like I've been writing and playing forever."

  "Tell me about your first."

  I flushed, my mind immediately jumping to all sorts of connotations.

  Noah noticed and smirked.

  "Your first instrument," he clarified. "Although if you want to tell me about the other, I'm all ears."

  "My first instrument was the piano, just like my mom," I said, ignoring him and moving on. I didn't need to start thinking about sex and Noah and all the various ways I'd like to have sex with Noah. At least the sexual frustration was helping disperse the spike of pain radiating from my chest. My purse with the letter was only a few feet away on the sofa. I could practically feel the thin paper between my fingers. Could see the fancy handwriting on the envelope.

  "But you also play other instruments, right?" Noah asked.

  "I like to experiment," I said, turning my attention back to our conversation. "You know what they say, jack of all trades, master of none."

  "You don't think you've mastered anything?"

  "Like I told Naomi, I play well enough to get by. Although I suppose I'm not bad on the hammered dulcimer. That one's my favorite."

  He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "That's different."

  "Maybe that's why I like it. No one else at my music academy plays it."

  "Does it matter if you're the only one who plays it?"

  "I suppose not." Even though it was a lie, I wasn't going to bare all of my insecurities to Noah, that was for damn sure. "So that's how I got into music."

  We both went silent for a few moments. I had a feeling this was as much as we were ready to share about ourselves with each other.

  "And did all this sharing help you?" he asked. I could tell he was trying to sound sarcastic, but I catch a hint of real curiosity.

  "Let's get back to work and see, shall we?"

  We continued working on our song, talking things through and hashing it out. All the while, I tried to hide my elation.

  Even though it required me sharing more of myself than I'd wanted, I'd finally gotten Noah to open up to me.

  Chapter Eight

  "No. No. Stop."

  Noah growled and halted his playing, hands hovering over the piano keys. "What is it this time?"

  "You're doing it wrong."

  "You're going to tell me that I'm doing it wrong?"

  "Yes. If you're doing it wrong, I'm going to tell you. Shove over." I hip checked Noah out of the way and took his spot at the piano.

  "You could say please," he grumbled as he slid off the piano bench, barely catching himself before he hit the floor.

  I was beginning to lose my patience. Noah had an idea of what he wanted the song to sound like, but it wasn't working. I'd tried to explain a hundred times that his way of attacking the problem was the wrong approach. I would just have to show him.

  "Here. Like this." I put my hands to the keys and began playing, softly at first, then with more passion. I hit the keys harder as the bridge came to an end and exploded into the chorus. I closed my eyes and let the music wash over me. I could see the color of the notes in my mind's eye, could taste the flavor of them on my tongue. All my senses were engaged.

  The song came to an end with a clash. I opened my eyes slowly and found myself breathing heavily from the exertion. That often happened when I played, when I lost myself to the music. I hadn't let it happen in front of Noah yet. I looked down at my hands and flushed, uncomfortable with how I'd gotten carried away.

  "Like that," I said quietly.

  "Shit."

  I cringed. Noah hated it. Of course he hated it. I shouldn't have even tried. Now I'd embarrassed myself in front of him. He was going to realize I had no idea what I was doing.

  "That was fantastic."

  I glanced at him, surprised. "Really?"

  His eyes burned with intensity. "Why do you do that?"

  "Do what?"

  "Doubt yourself like that."

  "Noah, come on. You're you, and I'm me. You don't have to lie to stroke my ego."

  His narrowed his eyes at me. "You think I care about stroking anyone's ego?"

  "No. I guess not."

  "So quit it. If I say you're talented, you're talented."

  My spirits lifted a little. Whenever Noah Hart said it, I couldn't help but feel that maybe he was right.

  "Move. I'm going to try it that way."

  Noah took his place again and tried to repeat what I'd played. My mouth twisted in contemplation as I listened. When he finished the song he sat there, still and quiet.

  "That was…" I trailed off.

  "It was trash," he said flatly.

  "A little."

  "Shit."

  Noah buried his hands in his hair and stared blankly at the piano. "I can't do this. I'm never going to be able to write this goddamn song and make it not sound like garbage."

  "We just need to keep working on it."

  "August composes entire albums in days. I've had months. I can't fucking do it."

  Despite the pain in his eyes, a small part of me was thrilled. Noah was slowly opening up to me. Instead of frustration and irritation, he was beginning to show his insecurities. His vulnerabilities.

  "Yes you can. We've only been working together for a short time. We just need more inspiration. It's like I said before. If I keep on learning more about you, we'd have a better chance of writing the perfect song."

  "You go first," he said grudgingly. "I shouldn't always be the one spilling my guts."

  I paused, thinking about what to say.

  Noah gave me a pointed stare. "And tell me something real. I don't care what your favorite instrument, or your favorite color, or your favorite food is."

  I wanted Noah to open up to me. If I wanted him to share something real, I supposed I would have to be willing to, as well.

  "My mother had depression," I blurted out before I could second guess myself. "My father was away for work all the time. I think he was having affairs. I had to ta
ke care of my mom when she couldn't take care of herself. Hearing me play music was the only thing that made her happy."

  I clapped my hand over my mouth, appalled that I had told him so much.

  "Sorry," I whispered. "I didn't mean to unload on you."

  I waited for Noah to make fun of me, to make a snarky comment, but he was silent, watching me with those unreadable eyes.

  "It's fine," he murmured. "I wanted something real."

  "That was too real. I don't want to bring us down."

  "I've heard worse."

  "Have you?" I asked tentatively. "I don't mean to pry. But from the things you write in your lyrics, I can't help but wonder…" I hesitated, not knowing how to articulate what I wanted to say without scaring him off. "I wonder if maybe you've got stuff that you feel is too real to talk about, too."

  Noah was eerily silent for long moments. I was about to take back everything I'd said and tell him never mind. He flicked his eyes quickly to mine.

  "My drug addict mom left when I was barely a teenager."

  A pang of sympathy ran through me. I knew what it was like to have mother issues. "I'm so sorry."

  "I was sent to foster care. It sucked." His voice was devoid of emotion.

  I'd heard enough horror stories to not need any more detail. "I can imagine how hard that must have been."

  "It wasn't a fucking walk in the park," he muttered.

  He tugged on the hair at the back of his neck. Without thinking, I put my hand on his and pried his fingers from their grip.

  "You can talk to me about it, if you want. I'll listen."

  His eyes met mine. I halted, my hand still on top of his. I should have pulled back instinctively. Maybe if it had been days or weeks earlier I would have. But I saw something in his gaze. Just like the simmering frustration I was used to seeing, there was now a simmering heat.

  Noah pulled back, looking away. I tried to squash the disappointment in my chest.

  "Whatever," he said. "I'm over it."

  "Are you?" I asked quietly.

  He gave me a sardonic look. "Are you over your depressed mother and absent father?"

  Fair point. "I suppose that explains some of your sad lyrics."

  "They're not sad." He frowned, looking almost insulted. "They're sorrowful. Melancholy. Tragic."

  "That's why you're the poet."

  "It's not like all my lyrics are bleak. I write other stuff."

  "I know. Fiery passion, wistful longing, painful heartbreak. You've got a gift for emotional range. Which is ironic."

  "Ironic how?"

  "The only emotions you ever show are irritation and impatience."

  "I show more emotions than that."

  "Like what?"

  A dark smirk appeared on his face. "Deviant lust."

  I let out a nervous laugh, until I saw the look in his eyes. They were half-mocking, but there was something deeper there. The pupils of his eyes had dilated, turning his dark eyes almost black.

  His eyes flicked to my lips. I parted them without thinking.

  Was he was going to kiss me?

  My stomach quivered, all my inner muscles clenching, throbbing.

  I wanted him to kiss me.

  I wanted him to do more than kiss me.

  A shiver ran through me. Without thinking, I placed my hand on his leg. He stared at me, unmoving.

  I pulled back and ducked my head, embarrassed. Why had I touched him like that? I must have misread all the signs. He was probably just teasing. He probably thought I was an infatuated fangirl.

  I cleared my throat and brought my hands to my lap. I had to bring this back around to business.

  "Now that we know a little bit more about each other, why don't you tell me about your usual process?" I fought to keep my voice from shaking. "What do you do to get your muse talking?"

  Noah's eyes flared with heat as they held my gaze. I found myself wetting my lips unconsciously. His eyes narrowed as they focused on my mouth.

  "Surely you don't just sit down with a pen and paper, waiting for inspiration to strike?" I asked, now filled with nerves.

  His gaze fell to my chest, that heat turning scorching hot. My nipples peaked, turning hard underneath my shirt from arousal.

  "You want to know my process?"

  "Y-yes," I breathed, nervous anticipation flowing through me.

  His fingers twitched at his sides, his lips parting. I wanted those lips on me. On my skin. Sucking and kissing and licking.

  "You want to know how I get my muse talking?" he murmured, dark and low in his chest.

  I could see the bulge in his pants twitch, beginning to fill out. I felt the sudden urge to reach down and touch it, to unzip those jeans and pull out his stiff cock. I wanted to wrap my hand around it and feel the heat of it against my skin.

  I lifted my eyes to meet his. The burning desire I saw in his gaze was no doubt reflected in my own.

  I knew exactly what Noah Hart was going to do next. Shivers wracked my body, nerves and excitement and arousal clashing together, making me tremble.

  "Show me," I whispered.

  His eyes flashed with a dark heat as he crushed his lips to mine.

  Although I'd been expecting it, the kiss still caught me by surprise. Noah's lips were firm and insistent. His tongue immediately flicked at the seam of my lips, demanding entrance. I opened for him and he slipped inside, stroking his tongue against mine.

  I molded my body against his, moaning into his mouth as the shock dissipated. He growled and fisted my hair in his hand, angling my head back to take more of his kiss. Our tongues tangled together, slick and hot.

  The taste of him, the smell of him, tough leather and spice, made me dizzy and lightheaded. I clutched his shoulders to keep myself balanced. He placed his hands on my hips, pulling me until I was practically in his lap. His fingers burned my skin even through the fabric of my dress.

  He sucked on my bottom lip. My brain fogged over at the thought of him sucking other parts of me. My back arched, my breasts pressing against his front. Shivers ran through me as my stiff nipples found delicious friction.

  With one smooth motion he gripped my thighs, forcing one leg over his lap until I was straddling him on the piano bench. My dress rode up to my waist. I let out an embarrassing squeak as I found myself pressed against the front of his jeans.

  His cock felt impossibly hard, even through the fabric of my cotton panties. Panties that were quickly becoming damp with arousal. I could feel the outline of his cock straining against his zipper.

  I remembered my earlier desire to touch him and placed my hand against that bulge. I explored the shape of him through his jeans. He let out a groan. I flushed with pleasure. I made him that hard. I made him desire me that much.

  He shifted his grip on my hips until he had one hand free. He reached under my sundress, sliding his hand up the soft skin of my inner thigh. My whole body shook with anticipation. He reached the apex and pressed a thumb against my clit. I let out a sharp whimper as pleasure shot through me.

  He slipped a hand underneath the elastic of my panties. My stomach muscles clenched. He dragged two fingers between my folds. I bit my lip to suppress a moan, my every limb trembling.

  "Your pussy is soaking wet already," he murmured against my lips. "You want this bad, don't you?"

  I inhaled a sharp breath and gave him a nod.

  "Tell me what you want," he demanded.

  "I—" My breathing was almost too shaky to speak.

  "I'm not going to give it to you unless you tell me exactly what you want."

  "Please," I said, trembling. "Inside me."

  He thrust one finger into me, his callused skin almost rough. I moaned, my head tipping back as my eyes closed shut.

  "Look at me."

  I lifted my head, struggling to keep my eyes open. He slowly pumped that finger in and out, keeping his gaze locked on me.

  "I want you looking at me when you come on my hand."

  I moaned as Noah
added a second finger. I couldn't believe this was even happening. Although it had only been a two weeks since I'd run into him in the piano room, it felt like I'd been waiting my whole life for Noah Hart to put his hands on me. In me.

  Now I was finally getting what I wanted. It was glorious and terrifying and overwhelming. It was almost too much to take, and yet I wanted more.

  I shuddered and clutched at his shoulders even tighter. My thighs squeezed his hips in an unconscious, rhythmic motion. He moved inside me faster and faster, sending me spiraling upwards.

  "Close, aren't you?"

  I could only whimper and squirm on his lap.

  "Come for me," he ordered. "Come while I fuck you with my fingers."

  I struggled to take in enough air into my lungs as he increased the speed and force. I rocked my hips against his hand, trying to get friction where I needed it.

  He pressed his thumb to my clit, rubbing in small circles. I let out a muffled shriek, my eyes squeezing shut against my will. Pleasure exploded outwards, singing through my every vein. It coursed through me, wave after wave of it. He continued playing with me throughout, sending shockwaves up and down my spine.

  When the pleasure finally subsided I slumped against his chest, breathing heavily. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. One hand stroked my hair.

  "Did you come?" he murmured in my ear.

  I nodded weakly.

  "Good girl." He fisted my hair and pulled my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. "But you didn't look at me like I told you to."

  My breathing became shallow at the intensity of that look.

  "What do you think happens to naughty girls who don't obey?"

  I let out a shaky, nervous laugh. "Are you going to punish me?"

  His gaze burned brighter. "Would you like that?"

  Yes. I would. I wanted everything and anything this man chose to give me.

  Biting my lip, I nodded silently.

  His eyes flashed with a dark heat.

  "Follow me."

  Chapter Nine

  I tugged the hem of my dress down my hips and pulled my panties back into place as I climbed off Noah's lap. My limbs were still trembling. Noah stood and pulled me against his side, guiding me through the living room and down a hallway.