1984: Against All Odds (Love in the 80s #5)

by Rebecca Yarros

  Her grip lightened, and her eyes closed as I ran my tongue through her. I used every ounce of expertise I had to lick and suck her into a writhing siren, and when her head began to thrash—when she begged me in little whimpers never to stop—I kept going.

  I ignored the throbbing in my dick, the overwhelming need to slide inside her, and concentrated on the staccato beats of her breath, the arching of her graceful back.

  Just as I knew she was about to tumble over, I sucked her clit into my mouth, then pressed hard on it with my tongue and she came apart. My name had never sounded so good inside any venue as it did coming out of her mouth on a breathy cry.

  I put her panties back in place and kissed my way down her thigh, closing them as I sat back and looked at the flushed masterpiece I’d wrought. She was utterly magnificent, her dress around her waist, her eyes heavy with satisfaction.

  She was worth every moment of discomfort I was about to have with a giant hard-on in my pants.

  My hands sliding up her legs, I rose and kissed her glossed lips. “You taste like heaven.”

  “You,” she whispered, her fingers playing with my buckle.

  “No,” I said, grasping both her wrists in my hand. “That was for you. Thank you for trusting me.”

  “But you have to go on stage, and you’re…” she gestured toward my pants as she stood, shimmying her dress back down her supple thighs.

  “Hard as hell?” I forced a laugh and rearranged my dick so it wouldn’t be quite as noticeable.

  She looked in the mirror. “And I look like I just…”

  “Came on my mouth?” I suggested.

  She arched an eyebrow, but didn’t back down. “Yes.”

  I wrapped my arms around her waist and brought her against my chest, bare except for the open leather jacket. “I have no problem with the world knowing that I get on my knees for you. I’m the envy of every man on the planet.”

  Her lips parted and it was all I could do to not lift up her dress, put her ass on that vanity and take what she was offering. But the first time I got inside Brie again wasn’t going to be some rushed quickie in a dressing room. She wasn’t a goddamned groupie.

  There was a pounding at the door. “Hawke! We gotta go.”

  I kissed Brie softly, lingering on her bottom lip. “I’ll be there with you on stage. Just keep your eyes on me until you walk out, and take whatever you need from me while you’re up there. If it’s too much, just take my hand, and I’ll get you offstage. This isn’t Chicago, and I have your back. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “We have three songs before ‘Requiem,’ and then it’s up to you and Chad to show the world what you’re capable of.”

  “I wish it was you,” she whispered.

  “Yeah, me too, but that whole lead-singer thing is your department, not mine. Now kiss me for good luck.”

  Her arms wound around my neck and she kissed me like it was the last time she’d get the chance. Our tongues danced, mixing the taste of her and me, and that throbbing started right up again. “Shit, I have to go,” I said when Chad pounded again.

  “I love you,” she said, and backed away so I could get to the door.

  “Don’t forget it,” I said with a grin and headed out.

  Single-file, we walked through the halls to the stage, people touching us as we walked by. Everything faded out the closer we got to the curtain, and the music took over.

  One of the groupies rushed ahead and kissed Chad full on the mouth, and he simply kissed her back, whispered something in her ear and sent her packing with a pat on the ass.

  That was the shit that would upset Brie if it happened to me—when it inevitably happened. Shit, she had lines and rules, and I had no problem obeying them. I couldn’t even think of some random chick crawling up on me, not while I had Brie to come home to, but I had to make that clear, had to make sure that fuck-ups could never happen.

  In this life fuck-ups always happened.

  “Ready?” Danny asked.

  “Let’s roll,” I said.

  Chad nodded. “This is the big time, boys. Let’s enjoy it.”

  We ran onto the stage and the audience burst into thunderous applause. A roadie handed me Lily, and I slid her strap over my neck. Holy shit, we were actually playing a sold-out crowd at Madison Square Garden. The tiny garage band that had formed against all odds at a performing arts high school had actually made it, and knowing that Brie was finally with me again made it so perfect I could have roared.

  We ripped into the first song of the set, and I lost myself in the music, becoming one with Lily, stroking her neck and caressing her strings. This was what it was all about. Not the fame, the girls, the money…it was about the roar of the crowd, the music that drove us to the place where nothing else mattered. The woman who inspired it all.

  And in two more songs, we’d find out what she was made of.

  He was incredible, there was no other word to describe the way he played, absorbed in the music. His fingers flew through the solo, his melody cutting through the noise of the crowd and wrapping itself around my heart.

  As the song ended, the crowd erupted, screaming for them—screaming for Hawke. He was every fantasy come to life, a rock-n-roll god preaching to his subjects, and their voices rose with Chad’s a sweet communion of music and bliss. Hawke bent over Lily as the next song came on, rocking with the beat, lifting his head with a grin that transformed him from the broody guitarist to the delicious slice of sex that he was.

  And he was mine.

  As if on cue, he looked over at me off stage and winked, then sank into another solo. He’d always been talented in school, but even as blinded by love as I’d been, I’d never imagined that he’d be this good, this dedicated, this phenomenal.

  The genuine passion he displayed with that guitar made me feel like a phony, like a puppet that had her words stuffed in her mouth and told to dance.

  But ‘Requiem’… that was different. Those were our words, our hurt, our souls. ‘Requiem’ was me cutting the strings and standing on my own.

  The crowd burst into applause again and again until it was time to go on. My heart started to pound, a clammy sweat making my palms slippery when Heather handed me the mic.

  “You’ve got this,” she promised. “This is your music. Just focus on that.”

  I concentrated on evening out my breathing, centering myself inward, and when that didn’t work, I thought about Hawke.

  “Ladies and gents!” Chad called out. “We’re so glad you let us crash this party! We’re the Birds of Prey! That’s Danny ‘the Vulture’ Castle on drums, Len ‘the Dove’ Richards on bass—”

  “You know that’s not a bird of prey, right, Len?” Hawke said into the mic.

  “Shut the fuck up, doves are majestic,” Len answered, and the crowd went wild.

  “I’m Chad Ravens, and this fucker is the one and only Hawke Owens.”

  Hawke let a chord rip, and the audience lost it again. “So we have a surprise guest for you, New York,” he said, locking eyes with me offstage. “She’s just as sweet as she is gorgeous, and she’s lending us those incredible pipes for a little duet. Do you guys want to be the first to hear it?”

  The roar rose to an almost deafening level, and I checked the mic in my ear. We were still good. My heart sped like a galloping horse.

  “Then here she is, Sabrina Caroline!” Chad called out.

  I’d thought the crowd couldn’t get any louder—I was wrong.

  With shaky legs, I walked on stage and flashed my smile, waving at the massive crowd. So many. There were so many of them. All waiting to judge this song, and by association, the love I had for Hawke.

  “You okay?” Chad asked quietly, hugging me close.

  I couldn’t swallow past the lump in my throat, couldn’t speak. I wanted to be okay. There was nothing to be scared of really. I’d already fallen off a stage once, how much worse could it be?

  But my body wouldn’t listen, and
I trembled in Chad’s arms.

  “Hawke,” he called behind me.

  The lights swirled, bright and almost invasive despite their familiarity. I felt Hawke’s embrace, caught his scent, and as his hands smoothed down my back, the lump dissipated. He’d never let anything happen to me. “Just look at me. Only me,” he whispered before pulling away.

  “You know, Sabrina,” he said into his mic. “You’re hotter than sin, but I just think you might not be dressed right for this kind of concert.”

  I looked down at the skin-tight dress Heather had put me into. “Well, I’m not sure there’s much more I could remove.”

  “Nawh, you’re just missing something…I know.” He handed Chad his mic and took off his leather jacket. “Yeah, if you’re going to rock out, you have to look the part,” he said with a grin.

  The girls went wild at his bare, carved chest, the tattoo of the Hawk standing out in stark relief against the tan expanse of smooth skin. He gave me a smile and licked his lower lip, which only brought up the image of him on his knees before me, his head between my thighs, and that tongue…God, that tongue. Great, first I couldn’t speak, and now I can’t think.

  I slipped my arms inside his jacket and wrapped myself in leather and his scent. Maybe it was the heaviness of the jacket, or the subliminal reminder that I was Hawke’s, but my throat cleared, my lungs open, and my heart steadied its rhythm.

  “I think it might look better on me than it does on you,” I said into the mic, and the guys cheered. “But I’m not arguing with what you’re wearing, either,” and the girls joined in. I turned back to the crowd as Hawke brought his guitar over to where I stood next to Chad. “What do you say, New York City? Can we play you a song?”

  The approval of the crowd warmed me where I’d been cold, and as the opening of ‘Requiem’ sounded, Hawke made sure to flank me on one side, close enough, that if I wanted to touch him, I could.

  Chad and I took to the mics and sang our hearts out. It wasn’t the same feeling as when I’d sang it with Hawke, but the crowd didn’t know that. We hit the highs, lingered at the lows, and brought down the house.

  The rumbling I felt vibrating through me was the sound of the crowd, screaming out their love for ‘Requiem.’

  I looked up into those green eyes, and all I could think of was my love for the man I’d written it with…the man I’d written it for.

  Hawke ushered me past the paparazzi that nearly blocked our way to the stretch limo that waited at Madison Square Garden.

  The band filed in after us, then Oscar and a few of the girls who followed him. Hawke wrapped his arm around my waist and tucked me into his side as more women giggled their way into the limo, taking whatever seat was available or lap not occupied.

  “Is it always like this?” I asked, my lips against Hawke’s ear.

  “Sometimes worse,” he answered, brushing his lips against my forehead.

  I looked around the limo that was packed like a sardine can. Thank God Heather had wanted to visit some extended family. “How could it be worse?”

  “They all still have their clothes on,” he answered easily.

  “Oh.” From the look of the blonde with her hand going up Oscar’s shirt, that wasn’t going to last long.

  Even though Hawke and I worked in the same industry, his world was galaxies away from mine. I giggled.

  “What?” he asked, his voice low as he squeezed my hip.

  “I was just thinking that things like this little orgy-in-the-making don’t happen to me, and how different my life would look with guy-groupies.”

  “I’ll be your groupie,” he growled. “I will spend hours worshipping at the altar of Sabrina Caroline, seeing to your every need, granting your every desire.” The promise in his voice hit low in my belly.

  “Hawke?” Chad called out, offering a bottle.

  Hawke shook his head. “Not tonight.”

  “Not drinking?” I asked.

  “I want to be sober the first time I slide inside you,” he whispered, pulling my earlobe gently with his teeth.

  Heat washed over me. “And you think that’s going to happen tonight?” I asked.

  “I’m not taking any chances,” he answered.

  He was practically dripping sexual need, and though my body responded to his call, I couldn’t help but notice that the entire limo felt that way, and this was normal in his world. Finish a show. Get laid.

  “And if I said no?” I asked playfully, but the tremble in my voice caught his attention. Would he find someone else? Go back to his routine? What about the shows when I wasn’t around?

  “Then I’ll pray you’ll just let me hold you tonight. The rest of this,” he motioned to the rest of the limo, where there were more than a few hot and heavy open-mouthed kisses going on, “doesn’t matter. Not to me.”

  The limo stopped at the hotel, and we all climbed out, walking into gilded luxury as the doorman led us into the Waldorf.

  “Hey now, we’re at the Waldorf,” Oscar reminded one of the girls, smacking her butt loudly. “Save that talk for upstairs. Then I’ll have plenty of use for that mouth.”

  What. A. Pig.

  The staff was courteous, but their smiles were tight as our obnoxious party headed for the elevators.

  “Could we have some champagne sent up?” Oscar asked a random staff member. “The good stuff.”

  “Absolutely, Mr. Oswald.”

  Oscar and the band crowded into one elevator, the women laughing as they were squeezed in. “Come on in, Hawke, there’s room for you and your tidbit,” Oscar called out.

  Tidbit? My mouth dropped open.

  “We’ll take the next one. Catch you guys later.”

  The doors shut and I shook my head. “Gag me, please.”

  “Yeah, he’s a little tough to take, but the guy is a legend.”

  I pulled his leather jacket tighter around me, thankful that he’d put on a shirt before we left. The last thing I wanted was any of those other girls ogling him, not that they already hadn’t. Hell, some of them had probably already had him.

  “Do you mind if I skip out on the after party? I’m kind of peopled out.”

  “Not in the least,” he said as our elevator opened. We walked in, and Hawke punched in the floor with our rooms.

  As soon as the door closed, he had me pressed against the back of the elevator, hard and heavy against me. I groaned as his tongue swept inside my mouth at the same moment his hands framed my face. Despite the orgasm he’d given me earlier, my body cranked to life, that low-level hum spreading through my core.

  “I’d much rather stay in with you,” he said with another kiss.

  It was too soon, too much, too wild, but it was also Hawke, my Hawthorne, and nothing had ever felt so right as his lips on mine. “I want you,” I said as he kissed my neck.

  “Feeling is more than mutual,” he answered.

  We kissed our way down the hallway, uncaring who walked down the hall behind us, or who we accidentally bumped into. Once we reached Hawke’s room, he fumbled with the key, but got the door open despite doing my best to distract him.

  Once the door slammed behind me, I found my back against it, Hawke’s mouth hot and insistent on mine. The kiss was openly carnal, blatantly sexual, and I took everything he gave, rubbing my tongue against his, raising my leg to wrap around his hip.

  “Fuck,” he groaned in my ear, running his hand up the back of my thigh to cup my butt. “You feel incredible.”

  With his other hand, he drew the neckline of my dress down until one of my breasts popped free. “Perfection,” he whispered before closing his lips over the tight bud.

  My back arched off the door when he sucked at my nipple, my fingers tunneling through his thick hair to hold him to me. His tongue laved, tortured, adored me, and I was already rocking back into him by the time he lifted his head. I dropped my arms and his jacket, and backed him toward the bed. As he sat on the king-sized monstrosity, I climbed onto him, straddling his lap.<
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  “Tell me what you want,” I said. He’d had more lovers than I even wanted to think about, and I wanted to make sure this time stood out to him—that I wouldn’t fade into the faceless horde

  “You. I want anything you’re going to do,” he answered, then kissed me. He let me control the kiss, taking him deeper, then retreating, waiting for him to pull me back to him in frustration. I drove him mad with my lips and hands, slipping under his shirt to run the ridged lines of his abs. He broke our kiss, and removed his shirt, then brought me back to his mouth.

  His skin was hot, so very smooth, and not enough. I wanted it all, needed to feel him against me with nothing between us. “The dress,” I ordered, and he obliged, tugging the zipper down in the back.

  I stood, and slowly peeled the dress down, leaving me in my underwear and heels.

  His hands fisted in the covers. “You are fucking perfect.” He reached for me but I shook my head and stepped back.

  His eyes widened, heated to nearly molten as I stripped away the strapless bra, freeing my breasts. “Brie,” he begged.

  “Not yet,” I said. The way he looked at me—like I was something he’d die without consuming—was just as much of a turn on as his hands, his mouth. I reveled in the simple power of revealing myself to him in my own time, under my own control.

  I wiggled my panties off my hips and then slid them down my legs. It took every ounce of my self-control not to cover myself, but the way he almost lunged forward was worth it. “You’re killing me.”

  I simply smiled, and stepped out of my heels one at a time. The instant my bare feet hit the floor, I felt human, no longer the woman that eighteen thousand fans had been screaming for, not Sabrina, but just Brie.

  Just Hawthorne’s Brie.

  “Now,” I said.

  Before I could move, he was on me, his mouth finding mine as his hands lifted me by my ass. “I’ve waited forever for this,” he said, and laid me down on the covers.

  A few quick movements, and he was naked, each line of his body chiseled and strong, each muscle defined with a purpose. He crawled across me, and the contact between us set me on fire.