by Tara Leigh
Lust spiked, sharp and insistent. Love softening the edges of my fierce desire. I knew it in my soul—I loved Landon Cox. Passionately. Wholeheartedly. Desperately.
Rocked by the realization, I was only vaguely aware of Landon dropping to his knees until he looked up at me like a starving beggar at my feet. Pressing a palm between my hip bones, he held me steady even as he dragged a leg over his shoulder, groaning as I opened to him. “So fucking perfect,” he growled in the second before his tongue dove between my folds, giving me a long lick, then circling that needy bundle of nerves, achingly swollen and wanting.
I was done pretending to be perfect. But right now, in Landon’s arms, this moment was nothing short of perfection.
I grabbed hold of Landon’s hair, holding on for dear life as pleasure surged between my thighs, moving up and out through every limb, every vein.
I was panting, adding a needy whine to the soundtrack of Landon’s grunts and groans as he devoured me with enthusiasm, his skillful, swirling tongue sending coils of sensation to wrap around me, pulling tight, so tight. Landon’s fingers entered my body, angled to reach a place only he had ever discovered.
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t think. Just when I wanted to scream from the intensity, the pressure broke, snapping entirely. Bliss rained down in jagged blades, ripping me open. With all the tension gone, I sagged against Landon as he kissed the tender skin of my inner thighs.
His grin was smugly sexy as I blinked at him. Landon set my foot down and rose to his full height, sweeping aside a tendril of hair that clung to my cheekbone. I wasn’t prepared when he spun me, gasping as he placed my hands flat on the rock and then pulled me up by my waist. “Curve that back for me, baby,” he groaned, dragging his fingers in a whisper soft caress along my spine. Goose bumps rose up to meet him, racing after the trail of his fingers.
I shivered, satisfied and yet wanting more. Wanting to feel Landon inside me. There was the rip of a wrapper and then the head of his cock dragging along my wet slit, leaving tingles. I thrust my hips at him, pushing my forehead against the inside of my arm. “Landon,” I whimpered. “Please.”
“You want me?”
I choked on a breath. “Yes, I want you. I want us.”
“Ah, Pips,” Landon exhaled, the press of his thumbs into the skin at my waist the only warning as he drove into me, filling me body and soul.
Hard and thick, he was the missing piece that made me feel complete. The fit was tight, leaving no room for anything else. Not doubt or hesitation. Not fear or shyness. Only Landon. All of Landon.
I ground my teeth together as he rocked into me, his hips like a piston on overdrive, snapping hard and fast.
There was a fever to our coupling, something hot and unrestrained. No pretense, no restraint. Just lust and want and need.
The slap of his skin on mine filled my ears, a desperate beat. One of his hands crept between my legs. I wanted to twist away from his fingers, the pleasure almost painful. “Oh, god.” I moaned, knowing what was coming but not sure that I could take it. But the choice wasn’t mine. My body belonged to Landon, and what didn’t break me would—
I screamed as he flicked his thumb over my clit, that wet slide shattering me completely.
Landon’s strokes turned wild, untamed. Dragging every last bit of rapture out of me, until an orgasm came for him too, and he roared like a hunter who’d finally caught his prey.
After a minute, his rapid breaths pulsing hot against my skin, Landon pressed a lingering kiss along my shoulder blade, and pulled out of me with a guttural groan. I straightened, twisting into his embrace and pushing my chin into the welcoming place between his shoulder and neck. I had no words. All I could offer was the beat of my heart.
Landon
The past three weeks with Piper had lulled me into a sense of complacency. Made me believe that my life was finally starting to come together…Until our damn label insisted on a preview of the new songs for our next album. I’d said things to Piper, implied things that went beyond words—how could I follow through on them if I didn’t get my grip back? Not merely enough to cut a steak or sign my name, but a grip with the kind of strength and precision our fans expected from a Nothing but Trouble performance.
Watching my drumsticks fly from my hands at the first slap of the cymbal was a brutal reminder that, although my grip had shown improvement when it came to some everyday tasks, it still had a hell of a long way to go before I was capable of playing a show.
Travis and the guys said I didn’t have to come, but there had never been a Nothing but Trouble performance without me, and even if I wasn’t on the stage, I was damn sure going to show up.
Shane clapped a reassuring hand on my shoulder as he passed by on his way to the stage. If there was anyone who understood how I felt right now, it was him.
However, when his arrest had forced us to cancel our tour last year, the charge stemmed from a dark night in Shane’s past. A tragedy. And when the charges were dropped, he’d been vindicated.
Sheer stupidity on my part had sidelined me tonight, a glaringly obvious difference that had me barely able to look Shane in the eyes.
I should have stayed home, I realized. I should have stayed in bed with Piper, buried myself in her body, filled my ears with her needy moans.
Because now I was watching someone else behind my drum kit. Someone else performing my songs, playing with my band, in front of my label.
It was just too much. Too. Fucking. Much.
Standing at the side of the stage, my hands curled into tight fists at my sides.
Actually, no. They didn’t.
In my mind, I was squeezing them so damn tight I should have popped a goddamn tendon.
The reality was, my left hand was balled up, but my right resembled a loose lobster claw—and was trembling from the effort.
Fuck drumsticks. My right hand could barely hold my own dick.
Piper came up behind me, standing as close as she could without pressing her body to mine. I felt the whisper of her skin along my arm, the press of her thigh against the back of my hand. I wanted to feel comforted by her presence. Knew she was trying to offer it through sheer proximity.
But instead of comfort—I felt only panic. My heart pounded against my ribcage, breath trapped inside my lungs. What if I never got my grip back? Was this going to be my life—standing just beyond the spotlight, envy and rage consuming me?
If I couldn’t perform behind my drum kit, who the fuck was I?
No one. I was no one.
What would Piper want with a miserable son of a bitch, too blinded by shame to even see straight?
Permanently losing the only thing I’d ever done well, the part of myself that had brought success beyond my wildest imagination, would be soul-crushing.
If I had to watch the light in Piper’s eyes dim as she lost respect for me…I couldn’t even imagine it. I’d rather be dead.
But right now, I was watching my band perform…without me. I’d been replaced. And it fucking sucked. I wanted it to be me on stage. Blood and oxygen pumping through my veins, exacting each rhythm with precision and power. A man worthy of adoration and accolades.
“How the fuck do you do this?” I barked, loudly enough to be heard over the music.
Piper looked at me in confusion. “Do what?”
Anger brewed, hot and thick. At myself. At fate. Spilling onto Piper, too. I pointed to the guy behind my kit, a talented drummer who would have sharpened his sticks and sliced me open for the chance to take my place permanently. Not that I could blame him. “Stand here, on the goddamn sidelines.”
Compassion softened her frown, turning it into something that felt a whole lot like pity. “Not everyone needs to live in the spotlight, Landon.”
But I did. I needed it. The lights were transformative. Magical, even. Made me something more than Landon Cox, fuck-up extraordinaire. Ruiner of love and lives. Turned me into a legend.
I craved the spotlight
on my skin more than I’d ever craved drugs or booze. It had brought me safety, security. Allowed me to take care of my brother, barricade myself behind iron gates. Kept my interactions on my terms. Kept people safe from my sins.
“I’m not everyone,” I choked out, pivoting away from her, needing space. Needing to get away from the stage before I fucking bum-rushed it and tackled the guy who had taken my goddamn place.
The doctors had warned me that drinking alcohol would slow down my recovery. I might have sold a kidney for a swig of liquor…but I wasn’t going to risk my chances of getting back behind my drum kit as soon as possible.
Instead I grabbed a water from the makeshift bar in one of the back rooms, avoiding eye contact with everyone in it, and shook out a few pills from the bottle in my pocket, then a few more.
I crushed them between my teeth, savoring the gritty, bitter taste like it was caviar. A few minutes later I felt the buzz I’d been craving, my limbs loosening as the tension drained from my muscles. I knew I needed to go back to Piper and apologize for taking out my piss-poor mood on her. She didn’t deserve it. That girl was the best thing that ever happened to me.
“You didn’t have to come tonight.” Travis appeared at my side.
“I know. But I’ve never missed one of our shows.” My lips felt thick and uncooperative, like they didn’t want to form words. “Didn’t want to start tonight.”
He glanced down at my hands. “I could have gotten them to reschedule for when you’re better.”
“Yeah, Trav? When’s that gonna be?” I asked angrily, vaguely noting that my voice sounded distorted, like there was an echo in the room.
Travis didn’t back off an inch. “I bet on you guys a long time ago, and I’ve yet to pick a loser. Stick with your rehab and do everything the doctors tell you to do. You’ll get back behind your drums, Landon. I have no doubt.”
I ran a tongue over my teeth as I watched Travis walk away. If it was possible to get strength back in my hands just by sheer force of will, I’d be killing it in no time. Tossing my empty water bottle into a bin, I pushed off the wall and glanced around for Piper.
There was a flash of blonde hair by the bathrooms. Good. I had to take a fucking leak.
But when I got to the door, the blonde I saw was an obvious dye job. Not my Pippa.
She looked up as I brushed past her, her eyes widening in surprise. “Landon Cox,” she breathed.
I forced a grin. “Hey there, doll.”
“H—hi. Oh my god, I love you.” Sure she did. They all did.
“Love you, too.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. I loved all my fans. Showed many of them just how much. A few months ago, I would have shown this one, too. But right now I just wanted to fall back into bed with Piper.
“Can we take a selfie?”
“Sure.” Somehow I managed not to flinch when she wrapped an arm around my neck and planted a kiss on my cheek while she snapped a few pictures. Not because my neck was still sore, but because the girl wasn’t Piper.
Afterward, I slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind me, grabbing for the top of my sweat—
Fuck. I wasn’t wearing sweatpants. I was wearing jeans for the first time since waking up in the hospital. Jeans Piper had closed for me and I couldn’t unbutton myself. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Hunching my shoulders, I pushed my thumbs behind the band, trying to press my fingers against the opposite side. Trying until my shoulders were shaking from the effort, sweat breaking out on my forehead and dripping into my eyes. “Fuck!” I yelled, slamming my back against the wall.
The bottle blonde poked her head through the door. “Hey, there.”
I swiped my forearm across my face and dredged up a sheepish smile. It was bad enough I wasn’t on stage, I didn’t need some chick selling a story about me throwing a tantrum in the goddamn bathroom. “Hey.”
“Want some company?” she asked, a hopeful look on her face.
Chapter Seventeen
Piper
I think our boy needs to go home.”
I arched an eyebrow at Travis. “Landon’s no boy.”
“You’re right. He’s a client and it was a bad idea for him to come tonight.”
“Is he okay? What happened?” Anxiety leached into my voice.
“He’s fine. But I think seeing someone take his place on stage is messing with his head.”
The pain radiating from Landon when we were standing side by side had been painfully obvious and knowing there was nothing I could do to ease it had been excruciating. He’d stormed off a few minutes ago and I purposely hadn’t gone after him, thinking he needed space. Had I been wrong? “I’ll go find him.”
Travis’s suspicious glance stopped me before I could turn away. “Is there anything between you two I should know about?” he asked.
Nope. I schooled my face into a nonchalant mask. Inside, I was busting at the seams to tell Travis about Landon and I. But I didn’t want to do it here, tonight. I had a lot on the line, and I didn’t want to burn any bridges by not putting a lot of thought into my delivery. Besides, Landon was in an understandably foul mood tonight. I didn’t have the bandwidth to face off with an irate Travis, too. “He’s a client,” I said, repeating the party line.
My boss gave a slow blink, his gaze penetrating. “See that you remember that.”
Walking away on legs that were less than steady, I realized I was putting everything on the line for Landon. My heart. My job. The reputation I was just beginning to build. He was worth it, I knew that. But it didn’t make the risk any less scary.
Landon wasn’t in the main reception room, where some industry bigwigs were holding court. Or in any of the dressing rooms. I noticed a blonde slipping into the men’s room and fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Have you seen Landon?” I asked one of the security guards.
He jerked a chin. “In there. But he might want privacy.”
Privacy? My pulse sped up. What the hell?
Grabbing for the door handle, I poked my head through the opening.
“Hey!” The blonde spun around, eyes blazing with anger, a smear of lipstick on one of her front teeth. “We’re busy!”
I felt Landon’s eyes on me, a corner of my brain noting that the woman’s hands had been clutching the band of his jeans.
What. The. Fuck.
I threw open the door completely, glancing back at the security guard. “I think someone needs help finding the ladies’ room.”
“I do not,” she squeaked. “We were just about—”
The burly man stepped forward, silencing the woman with a glare.
With a last huff of outrage, she tottered off on a pair of Lucite heels. The bouncer followed, leaving Landon and I alone. I turned my attention back to him.
“Piper, I—”
I lifted my hand. “Save it.”
“But I didn’t—”
I could barely look at him. Had our conversation the other morning meant anything at all? “You didn’t what? You didn’t think I’d mind if you—”
“I just had to take a leak, okay,” he blurted out, lifting his shirt to expose a flat strip of inked muscle and a still closed button. “But I can’t even fucking do that!”
A stab of empathy cut right between my ribs, draining some of my wrath. I exhaled, my shoulders loosening slightly as I crossed the floor. I’d help Landon with his jeans and then we’d leave, put this night behind us. Tomorrow we could hash things out, discuss what we really wanted and expected from each other. Catching him behind closed doors with some groupie was not on my list.
Warm skin brushed the back of my knuckles and the familiar thrill of contact raced up my arms. I glanced up at Landon’s face, and he stumbled just a bit, his back sliding against the wall. Instinctively, I caught him by his shoulders, scrutinizing his features. His eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them, and I realized his pupils were so dilated that only the thinnest rim of chocolate covered them—like candy-coated truffles.
I jerk
ed away from him. “How many pills have you had?”
Landon’s expression tightened and he gestured at the urinals. “You wanna watch?”
Disgusted, I left the bathroom. What the hell was wrong with him? The man had turned the act of self-sabotage into an art. Every cell in my body wanted to leave, head back to my own place and cool off. Reassess the situation once I put some distance between us.
But Landon wasn’t my stoner boyfriend. Right now, I was working and Landon was my client. And my boss, who had assigned me to keep Landon out of trouble, was somewhere in the building. I didn’t have the luxury of allowing our personal relationship to impact my professional reputation.
My stomach was churning, a relentless cycle of uncertainty that gnawed at my intestines and had me feeling nauseous. I closed my eyes, trying to breathe through it.
A heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder. “What’s going on?”
I swear my boss had a sixth sense for trouble. Quickly straightening, I opened my eyes to find Travis peering at me intently. “Nothing. Just waiting for Landon to—”
The door opened and Landon lurched through it. “Oh, hey Trav.”
Travis’s stare became a scowl as he picked up on the slight slur to Landon’s words, the almost imperceptible slackness of his expression. He turned to me. “You’ll take him back to the house.” It was a command, not a question.
I would have agreed, but the nausea I’d been fighting to hold at bay surged forward with a vengeance. I darted past Landon, making it to the toilet just in time.
When I was done, Travis was waiting for me by the row of sinks. “You okay?”
I turned on the tap, swooshing water in my mouth and washing my hands. “I’m fine.”
He grunted. “I’ve sent Landon home with one of the security guys. Go back to your place and don’t breathe on any of my clients until whatever bug you have is gone.”