Blur (Changing Colors Book 2)

by Alcorn, N. A.

  And God, do I want my Brooke back.

  I want her long, wild curls bouncing around, begging for my fingers to slip inside and turn them into disarray. I want Brooke in her faded band t-shirts and cut-off jean shorts. I want Brooke and her favorite worn-in boots, highlighting her perfect stems. I want Brooke and all of her sass, arguing with me over Jimmy Page being more talented than Hendrix. I want to see those gorgeous honey-brown eyes of hers light up as she excitedly chats with me about music and books and everything in between.

  It’s not lost on me, that despite my disdain for this too conservative, too held back Brooke, I still want every version of her. I’m desperate for her that way, but I want my version most of all.

  “Yeah, he’s here now.” Her voice cuts into my thoughts. I glance up to meet her eyes. “Here, Jamie wants to talk to you,” she says, turning the screen in my direction.

  He grins at me like a man without a care in the world. Fucking twat. “Dylan! How’s it hangin’?”

  I shrug. “Can’t complain, mate.”

  “Listen, I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you before you get bombarded with news. Alistair isn’t always the best in giving a heads up when there’s been a new development…” Jamie continues, but I start to tune him out, eyes moving slightly above the phone that Brooke’s holding in front of me.

  She’s leaning against her desk, her waist at my eye-level. Long legs are crossed at the ankle, and I follow that gorgeous skin, all the way up to the edge of her skirt, where it’s shifted slightly, revealing the hint of silk and lace. Is she wearing a bloody garter belt? My fingers itch to slide up her smooth skin and caress every brilliant inch. The urge is strong, and I have to clench my fists to prevent myself from doing something I’ll probably regret.

  “…I’m not sure what this means for the band, but Alistair is pretty excited about it. He thinks this will help promote Careless Cockups. He’s adamant that it’s not a reality show, but more of a documentary.” Jamie grimaces. “Honestly, I don’t know what to call it, but I’m certain it won’t be a hindrance on your career. I think this might really help promote the album and get sold-out crowds for your pre-release tour.”

  Reality show? WHAT?

  I shake my head, confused. “Wait. What? Run that by me again.”

  Jamie chuckles, nodding his head. “No worries, I can understand the shock. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around what this could mean for you guys. Honestly, this is the first time we’ve ever considered doing something like this.”

  My eyes meet Brooke’s, and I see the uncertainty lying within their depths. “Did you know about this?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Don’t be mad, baby girl! It all just came out about a week ago, and you’ve been too busy in the studio for an update,” Jamie responds, speaking a little louder so Brooke can hear him.

  I grab the phone from her, standing up and pacing. “All right, explain this to me again.”

  “The cable network C&E has shown interest in doing a short series, between four and seven episodes, focused solely on Careless Cockups and their debut album. They want to film you guys in the studio, at a few of your shows, and slide in occasional clips that showcase your personalities. I’d like to sit down with you guys tomorrow and discuss it further. I’ve already told Alistair that we need to hear you out, understand if this is even a path you want to take, and if it is something you’re interested in, what your limitations are. I know this is a lot to take on, and a lot to process, but I think it’s a positive thing to consider.”

  “Will Alistair be at this meeting?”

  Jamie shakes his head. “I wasn’t planning on having him there. His focus is always on the monetary gain, if you catch my drift.”

  “Where’s your focus?” I have a hard time believing Jamie isn’t focused on the cash cow either. I mean, he is Alistair’s son. But then again, the odd exchange I witnessed at Bar Marmont, where his father mentioned multimillion-dollar trust funds in reference to Brooke’s ring, wasn’t a normal reaction I’d expect from someone who’s following in his father’s footsteps. If anything, Jamie seemed entirely pissed off and uncomfortable by what Alistair had said. He didn’t seem like a man whose sole focus is money. Hell, he couldn’t even bring himself to fake a smile.

  “Doing what’s right by you guys. Look, I know my father’s prick. Hell, I could go on about what it was like to live with that man for eighteen years, but he knows how to promote musicians. He knows his shit when it comes to the industry that way.”

  I glance up at Brooke. “What’s your honest opinion on all of this? Do you really think this is what’s best? Putting our lives out there for the entire world to see? Sounds a bit drastic if you ask me.”

  “I’m not sure,” she responds in a quiet voice. “I don’t know all the details. It’s as much of a shock to you as it is to me.”

  Jamie chimes in. “That’s what the meeting tomorrow is for. Since your lives are the ones that would be most affected by this show, I think the six of you deserve the opportunity to discuss this without Alistair or any executives from C&E around.

  Brooke’s jaw drops. “What?” she asks, snatching the phone out of my hand. “What do you mean by that? How will this affect my life?

  Jamie smiles, eyes warm and genuine when they meet Brooke’s. “Calm down, sweetheart. Nothing is set in stone yet. But yes, this would affect your life, if it ends up coming to fruition. And you should know, the network is pretty certain about it, and antsy as hell to get a contract signed.”

  Brooke shakes her head. “This doesn’t make sense. Why would I be on camera? I’m not part of the band…”

  “Yeah, but you and Nigel are producing their album.”

  “I’m not sure I like this idea, Jame. I kind of hate it, to be honest.”

  “Baby girl, you know I wouldn’t allow anything to happen that you’re not onboard with. Don’t worry about it. Just focus on doing what you do best, producing kickass records, and I’ll handle everything else.”

  Christ, enough with the baby girl shite.

  “Okay.” She nods.

  “Sorry to cut this short after dropping that bomb on you guys, but I can’t be late for this meeting. Dylan, give the guys a heads up about this. I’ll coordinate with Nigel and Brooke, and plan on chatting this over when everyone is at the studio tomorrow.”

  “All right.”

  “Brooke, I’ll pick you up around seven tonight. Alistair made reservations at Nobu.”

  Brooke takes the phone over towards the windows, staring out towards the hills. “Nobu? Jesus, that’s just fantastic.” Her voice drips sarcasm. “No use in going to dinner unless there’s paparazzi to take your picture.”

  Jamie chuckles. “Believe me, I know, and I’m about as thrilled as you are. And don’t forget to wear something pretty, baby girl, you know how Alistair loves public appearances.”

  Maybe I’m just reading into things, but this conversation makes me feel like I’m missing something. Something big. Something that would give me a little insight into the kind of relationship Brooke and Jamie have, especially where Alistair Wallace is concerned. I find myself leaning forward, trying to catch any little comment that passes between them.

  “Okay, I really gotta go this time. Love you, Brooke.”

  “Love you, too, Jamie.”

  Bloody hell, never-fucking-mind. I slouch back into my chair, staring at the carpet like it’s about to do a goddamn magic trick. I’d rather gouge my eyes out than hear them exchange I love you’s or toss around pet names again. Yeah, I’m pretty certain there’s a list a mile long that I’d rather do—colonoscopy, getting a tooth pulled, use the bathroom after Jesse’s been in there for a half hour—than listen to Jamie call Brooke his “baby girl.”

  She makes her way back over to me, switching her phone off and setting it down.

  “Trying to distance yourself from the rest of the world?”

  Brooke shrugs, walking around h
er desk and leaning against the edge. “I’m trying to avoid being rude for the fourth time since you stepped into my office.” She’s back in the same position she was during Jamie’s initial call. Her ankles crossed, toned calves mocking my willpower. I can’t stop myself from raking my gaze across her body, finding that hint of lace and silk at the tops of her thighs.

  “Fourth time?” I question, slightly confused.

  “First Ember, then Lindsay, and then Jamie.”

  “Oh. Right.” I’m still a little speechless, too consumed with thoughts of her perfect skin and wondering if my bite mark on her inner thigh is still there.

  Christ, I want to touch her.

  I’m calling on the voice of reason here, but all I’m getting is his bloody voicemail.

  Before I can stop myself, I’m leaning forward, grabbing a pen from her desk, and sliding it underneath the hem of her skirt. It’s a bastard move, but I can’t help myself. My curiosity, my desperation to see her perfect skin again, is too fucking strong.

  She gasps, but doesn’t say a word. Eyes locked on the trail the pen is making up her thigh. Up, up, up her skirt moves, baring that gorgeous skin.

  My eyes widen when I find my initial guess was right. A garter belt holds up nude lace-top stockings. Sheer knickers finish the seductive display, covering her tight, toned arse. Her legs are brilliant in this get-up, paired beautifully with heels showcasing a tiny bow at the back.

  “Fuck,” I groan, running the top of the pen from one inner thigh, slowly grazing across her pubic bone, to the other thigh. The pen hovers over the bite mark. Glorious splotches of yellow and purple are spattered across her skin.

  And I can’t stop myself from asking, “Did he see this?”

  She shakes her head, uncrossing her ankles and opening herself to me. The cool air urges goose bumps to form on her creamy skin. Brooke inhales a shaky breath, still watching, still standing before me and letting me torture the hell out of myself.

  “Who are these for, love?” The pen slides across the silky material of her knickers.

  I hate to think this is what she does for him, dresses like this for another man, for someone who isn’t me. A fierce surge of possessiveness invades my senses. I forget about everything else, solely motivated by this strong desire to remind her of why she’s with the wrong man. This need, this intense fucking need, clutches hold of my chest, strangling my breath. I want to show her why she’s wrong. Why she shouldn’t be engaged to someone else. Why we’re right. Why we’re fucking perfect together.

  She doesn’t answer, and it makes me crazy. I grab her hips, pulling her between my spread thighs and pushing her skirt up past her waist. The pen hits the floor. My hand slides her knickers to the side, baring her pussy to my ravenous gaze. “God, you’re beautiful. Why are you so fucking beautiful? It’s killing me, Brooke. You’re literally killing me. Every day, I have to see you, but I can’t touch you. Can’t feel you. Can’t make you come.” My fingers slide through her arousal, eyes watching in rapt attention, ears honing in on the ragged moan that releases from her lips. “Do you want this, Brooke?” I ask, looking up at her.

  Her teeth snag at her bottom lip.

  “Tell me, sweet Brooke. Tell me what you want me to do.”

  “T-touch me. Please, touch me.”

  Yes. Fuck yes. “Like this?” My thumb brushes her clit. Her hips thrust towards me in response.

  “More. I need more,” she demands, golden gaze lighting on fire. I rub her clit, massaging the tight bud in tiny circles. Her head falls back, hands going in to my hair. “Fuck,” she moans.

  I grin, loving the fact that I’m doing this to her, can always do this to her. Two fingers slip inside, savoring the feel—wet, warm, and clenching against my hand. My cock twitches in response, straining against the zipper of my jeans.

  She whimpers, my name a mumble from her lips.

  Desperate to hear her beg again, I still my fingers, pressing against her clit to heighten her need.

  Her slender hand wraps around my wrist, urging me to continue. “No. Please, no. Keep going. Don’t stop, Dylan. God, don’t fucking stop.”

  I lean forward, savoring the scent of her, damn near mad to press my mouth against her and make her come against my tongue. “Tell me how bad you need this.”

  She lifts her hips—up and down, up and down—riding my fingers in a blatant, “I need to come right now” kind of way.

  “Is that what you want? You want to ride my hand?”

  She groans when I slide my hand away, placing it palm up on my thigh. Her golden gaze is liquid honey. “How many fingers, love?”

  Brooke starts to step away from me, but I grip the waistband of her skirt, yanking her back. Her nipples strain against silk, visible through her shirt and bra. “I’m only asking you one more time, how many fingers do you need?”

  “Three.” She shuts her eyes, body trembling in pure wantonness.

  “Why three, Little Wing?”

  Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. “I need it to feel as thick as your cock.”

  Well, fuck. My cock damn near punches its way out of my jeans. I hold three fingers up, pulling her over my thigh. “Fuck my hand, Brooke. Fuck my hand while you think about how nothing will ever be as good as my cock.”

  She slides down onto me, slowly taking all three fingers inside. Her hands grip my shoulders as her hips lower and rise. Her arousal soaks my hand, dripping down my fingers, letting me know just how badly she wants this, needs this.

  “Unbutton your blouse. Play with your tits while you ride my hand.”

  Her fingers tremble, fumbling with her shirt. Within seconds, the flushed skin of her chest is bared. Her breasts bounce softly as she continues to move against me. She tweaks her nipples, plucking them until their straining against her own hands.

  My tongue licks across the top swell of her breasts. She smells so fucking good—a hint of floral mixed with the enticing aroma of her need. Christ, it’s a perfect mixture. I’m damn near high from it.

  “Yes. God, yes,” Brooke whimpers.

  “I’m going to make you come so hard. And the only name you’ll be able to think, much less say, will be mine,” I growl against her skin. My mouth latches onto her nipple, sucking it deeply into my mouth.

  Circling her hips, she grinds against my fingers, both thighs locking around mine. I’m coming undone just by witnessing her take what she wants. She wrecks me. Fucking destroys me.

  Brooke gasps as I curl my fingers. Her body arches, highlighting the slenderness of her neck and thrumming of her pulse. I grip her tight arse, guiding her hips as she rides towards her orgasm.

  “Oh God, I’m so close.”

  My hand wraps around her nape, pulling her neck towards my lips. I latch onto the pulse at her neck, licking and sucking and inhaling her heartbeat. She tenses around me, fingers digging into the skin of my shoulders, damn near scratching holes into my shirt. No doubt, she’s leaving her mark on me again. A bite mark, a scratch mark, the gaping hole in my chest—she’s always leaving a reminder.

  Brooke cries out, my name a mantra on her lips, as she comes against my hand. I watch her skin flush cherry, her lips parting as each orgasmic wave consumes her. She’s shaking and trembling and quaking against me.

  I grip her breast with my free hand, pulling her pert nipple into my mouth, prolonging the intensity of her climax. Her eyes are glazed over, every never ending drowning in euphoria. And despite my better judgment, I suck a bruise into her skin, mere inches above her straining nipple. Let him see my mark. Let him know that you’re mine.

  Mindless and sated, she sighs against my body, relaxing against me.

  As her pants morph into quiet breaths, realization clouds her eyes. I witness the very second the guilt of what we just did filters into her mind. She disentangles her body from mine. Fingers fumble with the material of her skirt, covering herself back up.

  “We shouldn’t have done that,” she whispers, tears fogging her vision.


  My eyes stare at the palm still resting against my thigh. The pain of her immediate denial is a hot branding iron to my heart. Bloody hell, her come is still warm on my fingers, and she’s already spouting off her regret. Does she even realize how ridiculous she sounds? Mere minutes ago she was begging me, fucking pleading me to get her off. And now, she’s standing in front of her office windows again, palms gripping the windowsill and shoulders hunched over in shame.

  Screw. This.

  I push to my feet. The leather chair wobbles behind me, nearly falling on its side. “Yeah, I’m not going to hang around here while you berate yourself for what just happened. I refuse to be a participant in this insanity. I refuse to watch you convince yourself that what just happened was wrong. Because, Brooke, it’s the furthest thing from it.”

  Her back goes ramrod straight, but she doesn’t turn around.

  I head for the door, gripping the knob. “You’re such a fucking coward.”

  That grabs her attention. She whirls around, fists clenched at her side. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  A harsh laugh escapes my lungs. “You know exactly what it means. Do you want me to spell it out for you?”

  “Please, spell it out for me, Dylan. Because obviously, I’m missing your point.”

  “You and I both know that what happened a few minutes ago, what happened outside Bar Marmont, didn’t happen because you’re just fucking around on your fiancé. This,” I snap, motioning between us with my hand. “This keeps happening because you want me. You want me so badly that you can’t see straight, love. You want me just as much as I want you. It’s just a bloody shame that you can’t get your head out of your arse and realize that you made the wrong choice. He is the wrong choice. What we have isn’t going to just disappear because you said yes to the wrong man. This won’t go away. As long as you and I are both alive, this undeniable pull, this intense force will continue to stream through our veins, beat within our hearts, it will always be there.”