by RB Hilliard
Once we reached the foot of the bed, he dropped my hand and slid off his pajama pants. My eyes immediately dropped to his erection, and I licked my lips with anticipation.
He laughed. “You’ve had your turn, sweetheart. Now it’s mine.” He helped me settle onto the bed, before he lowered his head and devoured me with his naughty talking mouth. I came with a scream. Two things I made note of. One, facial scruff felt like heaven down there and two, he was really, really good with his tongue. My second orgasm hit fast, but not quite as hard as the first. After making sure my ribs were protected, I watched him slide on a condom. Before he entered my body, he ran his fingers over my necklace, and whispered, “Forever.” My breath hitched with love as he slid inside. We’d both been through so much, together and apart. One thing I’d learned was that Nash centered me. More than anything in this world I wanted to be his forever, and for him to be mine. Like a gentle wave he crashed into me, and I was swept away by the power of my feelings, the way he felt inside me, the rightness of the moment. Don’t get me wrong, I was tempted by his naughty talk, but this…this was perfection. As his blue eyes stared into mine, I knew he felt it too. This was it. I came with a gasp of pleasure, and he followed with a loud groan. Afterwards, we lay there basking in the silence. “Be right back,” he said, and I watched him dash for the bathroom. Right as he reached it, he turned back and said, “Don’t fucking leave.”
When he was back in bed and I was nestled in the crook of his arm, I turned to him and said, “I don’t want to be your roommate, Nash, because roommates don’t do this. Roommates don’t feel what I feel for you.”
“And what is that?” he huskily asked.
“Love.”
Closing his eyes, he dropped his forehead to mine, and whispered, “God, I fucking love you.” After a long pause, he pulled back and asked if I wanted pizza, and we both burst into laughter.
Over pizza in bed we talked about everything that had been happening in our lives since we’d returned. It was as if admitting our feelings had opened up something inside both of us. We were no longer anxious, walking on eggshells, or angry. I spoke more about Conor and Nash talked about Maeve. When I asked if he’d like to tackle her room, he hesitantly agreed, but only if we agreed to take it slowly. We talked about the band’s decision to fire Blane, Chaz’s strange relationship with Paula, and Evan’s pending separation. That morphed into Nash telling me about what happened in his hotel room with the woman he referred to as “intern Maggie,” the morning I called him from Conor’s apartment.
I bit into a piece of pizza, and asked, “What is it with you and crazy women?”
“Pot. Kettle. Black.” he laughed. “My crazies don’t hold a candle to yours.”
“Touché,” I replied through my laughter. “Oh, speaking of crazies, I forgot to ask about Nadine. In the hospital Garrett mentioned they’d found her, but I never got the full story.”
After Nash explained about LASH finding Nadine, in Wyoming, of all places, we made our way downstairs, where we cuddled on the sofa to watch movies. Halfway through the second movie it hit me what was different about the room.
“The chair’s gone!” I whipped around too quickly, and gasped as a jolt of pain shot through my ribs. Nash pulled me back into his arms and made sure I was okay, before he explained how my nightmare last night bothered him, so he decided to do something about it. “But it was your mom’s favorite chair,” I whined.
“Hell, all I did was haul it outside to the curb. If Mom were alive, she would have squirted kerosene on it, lit it on fire, and cackled maniacally as it burned to ashes.” In the end, I decided to let it go.
That night I made Nash dinner for the first time since we’d been home. He was worried about me spending too much time on my feet, but I assured him I was okay. I could tell that being downstairs in Maeve’s space was difficult for him. His refusal to deal with her death was weighing on his conscience, and I wanted to help him, but I wasn’t exactly sure how. The fact that he’d agreed to deal with Maeve’s room was a huge step in the right direction, but I was still worried.
Over dinner I asked him about the song he’d sung for me in the hospital. He explained how he’d been working on it for months, and how he’d been completely blocked until Maeve died and I was taken. How the words he’d been searching for so long were suddenly there.
Like a lovesick fool, I sighed. “I love it when you sing for me.”
His mouth tilted up into a sexy smile. “Oh yeah?” He stood up and pushed his chair back. Then he held out his hand, and said, “Come.”
“The dishes,” I protested.
“Can wait until later,” he finished, and wiggled his fingers at me. “Come on.” I placed my hand in his and he led me into his music room. “Sit.” He pointed me to the sofa, while he grabbed his acoustic guitar from the other side of the room. He turned and smiled at me, and a wave of lust whipped through me. “I don’t believe we’ve ever talked music before, have we?” he asked as he lowered himself onto the coffee table. I was afraid if I opened my mouth drool would fall out, so I just shook my head, no. “Hmmm, what kind of music do you like? Wait, I vaguely remember passing by your room one day. I’m pretty sure I heard you singing this.” He began playing one of my favorite Melissa Etheridge songs, and I sat there completely stunned by how amazing it sounded coming from his lips. I clapped when he finished, and he smiled. “Another day, I think I might have heard this.” He launched into Thomas Rhett’s song, Die A Happy Man, and I slapped my hands over my mouth. Memories of the day he busted me dancing around my room singing this song made me laugh. God, I was so embarrassed.
“I don’t know whether to be mortified or impressed,” I claimed, once he’d finished singing the song.
“Now this…this might be my favorite.” He started picking the chords to Blind Faith’s Can’t Find My Way Home. This was one of mine and Gavin’s favorite songs, and hearing Nash sing it completely gutted me. He stopped halfway through the song, but I tearfully motioned for him to continue. He finished playing and made a move to put his guitar away.
“One more,” I called out.
He lifted his eyebrow in question. “You sure?” This was a side of Nash I’d never seen before, and I wanted more.
“Please?”
“How about I do a song that reminds me of you,” he suggested, and laughed when I vigorously nodded my head. “Too easy,” he joked, and ducked when I tossed a coaster at him. He lifted his guitar, and the hairs literally stood up all over my body as he began to play Iris. As his voice filled the room I had to bite my lip to keep from crying. The Goo Goo Dolls were good, but Nash… there were no words for what I was hearing. His voice was gripping and his talent spellbinding. I was captivated beyond all reason. He finished the song and had just enough time to set the guitar down before I all but tackled him.
“That was amazing,” I whispered as I straddled his lap.
He pulled me in tight. “Yeah? How amazing?” His sly, sexy tone added fuel to my already burning-hot fire. I pushed against his chest. After a moment, he relented and released his hold. Slowly, I extracted myself from his lap. He tried to pull me back, but I slapped his hands away. When I unbuttoned his pants and began tugging at the waist, he got the message. Once he had them off and kicked to the side, I spread open his legs and carefully dropped to my knees. “Fuuuuuuuuck,” he drawled, when I took him in hand and lowered my mouth to his very eager cock. His fingers found purchase in my hair as I slowly sucked him between my lips and deep into my mouth. I could tell by his jerky movements that he wanted to thrust, but was holding back. I wanted all of him. Every. Last. Drop. “Ro” he groaned as I plunged my mouth up and down his shaft. I could tell he was close by the continual hitch in his breathing. I sped up the pace, but right as he was about to explode, he grabbed my hair, and said, “Stop.”
“No,” I hissed as I jerked my head back and glared up at him. Pushing his chair back, he stood from the table. “What are you doing?” I gasped.
“What? No! I wasn’t finished.”
“Stand,” he repeated.
“So bossy,” I complained as I gingerly pulled myself up from the floor. My question from before was answered when Nash began jerking my leggings down my body. With a half-hearted huff, I stripped them the rest of the way off. While doing this, he slid on a condom. Once the condom was secured, he pulled his shirt over his head and demanded that I take mine off as well. Then he turned us both around, sat with his back against the spine of the sofa, and said, “Ride me.” I thought about arguing, but then took one look at his clenched jaw and rock hard cock and changed my mind. His breath hitched as I straddled his lap. I could tell that he was barely hanging on by a thread, and loved the fact that I could make him feel this way. Right before I lowered myself onto him, he whispered, “I love you, beautiful girl.” God, I was so crazy gone for this man, it wasn’t even funny.
We both groaned as I took him inside me. “I love you,” I whispered back to him, before slowly beginning to move up and down his rigidly hard cock. Nash’s hands were on my hips, his mouth on my breasts. “I love you,” I said more harshly as I picked up the pace. My ribs were taking a beating, but I didn’t care. I was past the point of giving a shit. I was in ecstasy and heading straight for euphoria. “I love you!” I shouted as my orgasm barreled toward release.
“Fuuuuuuuck,” Nash growled as his orgasm hit. Like a freight train, mine followed directly after.
“I think maybe you love me,” he rasped, and we both laughed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Good Things to Come
Nash
Three mornings before the band was due to start recording at Grant’s house, I jerked awake after having a whacked out dream about my mother. It was the third one that week. I tried to go back to sleep, but couldn’t. As I snuggled into Rowan’s warm, naked body, I considered fucking the dream out of my head, but since I’d kept her up late last night doing just that, I knew she needed the sleep. So I threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and headed downstairs for coffee.
Two hours later, Rowan found me sitting outside on Mom’s bench staring at the herb garden she and Rowan had planted.
“You’ve been out here a while. I thought you might want this.” Rowan held out a travel mug filled with fresh hot coffee. I took the mug and scooted over for her to sit down. “Want to talk about it?” she asked.
“I don’t know if I can live here anymore.” Although I didn’t mean to blurt the words out, damn it felt good to finally say them out loud.
Rowan whipped her head around, and began to choke on her sip of coffee. “What do you mean you can’t live here anymore?” she wheezed as I patted her on the back.
“This house, Mom’s room, her memories,” I arced my hand through the air, “her ashes. It’s like she’s everywhere but nowhere. She’s gone, Ro, and I feel as if I’m waiting for her to return. No, what I feel is like I’m a stranger in my own fucking home. If I’m honest, it’s a home that was more for her than for me, yet now that she’s gone…”
“You feel stuck,” she finished for me. “So make it yours.” I arched a questioning brow at her, and waited for her to explain. “Seriously, Nash, this house is amazing, but you’re right. It’s much more hers than yours, so why don’t you make it yours? You’ve yet to enter her room. That’s your first step. I can help you clean it out. It will take us a few hours, max. We can donate the hospital bed. With new furniture and a fresh coat of paint, the room will make a perfect guest bedroom. If the rest of the downstairs bothers you, simply paint and redecorate. You know,” she shrugged, “make it your own.”
I thought about it for a minute, and realized that Rowan was right. My refusal to deal with Mom’s death was seriously affecting me. I was stuck, not just in this house, but in the past.
“What if I change things…redecorate and shit, and still feel this way? What then?” I asked.
“You move,” she flippantly replied. For some reason her answer bothered me. It reminded me that she still had yet to sign the papers on the house, that she still had the ability at any moment to walk out the door. Just the thought of her leaving pissed me off beyond all reason.
“You make it sound so easy. What about you? Do you move with me, or do you move on?” I snapped. Hurt flashed in her eyes, and I instantly wanted to take the words back.
“If you have to ask that, then you really don’t know me at all, do you?” I grabbed her arm as she stood to leave.
“What’s the real reason you won’t sign the papers, Rowan?”
“You keep asking me this. Look at you, Nash. You’re a rock star. I’m…nobody. If I sign those papers, then we legally jointly own this place. What happens if we break up? What happens if you decide I’m not what you want? Choose me because you want me,” she slapped her hands on her chest, “not because I trapped you.” She turned to leave, and I let her go. It was not because I agreed with her reasoning, but because I needed to think about my next step. As my mother used to say, there was more than one way to skin a cat.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I walked back into the house, but it wasn’t to find my mother’s door wide open and music pouring from her bedroom. Curiosity getting the better of me, I stepped up to the door to see what Rowan was up to. On her tiptoes with her back to me, dressed in a white tank top and jean shorts that barely covered her tight little ass, was Rowan. Apparently, she was in the process of opening all of the windows in Mom’s room. Cold air swept through the room, but Rowan seemed impervious to it. Her hair was on top of her head in a bun, which precariously swayed from side to side as she shook her head to the beat of the song. Her questions from earlier played through my head. Her fear that I was going to walk away was laughable. Rowan filled something deep inside of me. I wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was she.
Rowan startled when she saw me standing in the doorway. With a sly smile, she waved me in and put me to work. The more time we spent around Mom’s things the more comfortable I became. I even found myself laughing over pictures and sharing memories of my childhood with her. While the pain was still there, it suddenly felt more manageable. When we were done cleaning out Mom’s drawers and had finished with the few items remaining in her closet, Rowan suggested shopping for furniture.
“Hop on,” I ordered as I turned and presented my back to her.
“Yeah, right,” she snorted.
“Come on, don’t be such a chicken.”
She narrowed her eyes at my taunt before not so gracefully jumping onto my back and landing with a loud “Umph.”
Trying to suppress my laughter, I craned my neck around, and asked, “Your ribs okay?” Her arm was completely healed, but I could tell that her ribs were still giving her some trouble.
“The ribs are fine. Go horsey!” she called out as she kicked her feet against my ass. She shrieked in surprise when I took off so fast that I almost unsaddled her. We both howled with laughter as I bounded up the stairs. My initial plan was to carry her upstairs, have shower sex, followed by lunch in town and furniture shopping, but when I set her down outside the shower and saw her watching me in the mirror with those sexy green eyes, I had a much better idea. As if sensing my sudden change in mood, her lips turned up into a seductive smile. I stepped up behind her and pressed my hard cock against her sweet ass. Her smile turned carnal. Just like before, I placed both hands on top of the vanity, on either side of her body. Her eyes flared with understanding. Here we were again. Only, she was no longer hurt.
“You say you don’t want to trap me, but what if I want to be trapped?” I quietly asked. I lifted my hand from the vanity, snaked it around her waist, and pulled her snug against my chest. Her mouth opened in a silent “Oh” of pleasure as I slowly unbuttoned her shorts. “What if I want you to share this place with me?” I lowered her zipper, and slid the shorts off of her body. As usual, she wasn’t wearing any panties. Her body called to me. I was obsessed. Better y
et, I was in love. I brushed my beard across her neck, and smiled as a shiver rolled through her. She smelled like heaven…Rowan…mine. Her head dropped back onto my shoulder as I licked a path from her ear to her collarbone. A groan escaped from her lips as I slid my fingers down her stomach and nestled them between her thighs. Oh so slowly, she parted her knees to let me in. Green eyes, filled with lust, love…emotion, stared back at me through the mirror and I was lost. Totally and completely lost. I thought I’d loved Rachel and that her death was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I’d closed myself off, refused to feel, but nothing…nothing in this whole fucking world could touch what I had standing in front of me…staring back at me…filling up my heart, my mind, my soul. With my eyes locked on hers, I divested us both of our remaining clothing and slid on a condom. “Hands flat on the vanity,” I instructed. A gasp of excitement seeped from her mouth as I pressed my front to her back, and whispered in her ear, “I choose you.” Then I lined myself up and filled her to the hilt. “Watch what you do to me,” I growled as I pulled out and slammed home again. “I fucking love you, Rowan Burns,” I growled through gritted teeth. After several more punishing thrusts, she got that look on her face. The one that said she was close. I was closer. I needed her with me, so I slid my fingers between her legs to help her get there faster. “You.” Slam. “Are.” Slam. “Mine,” I growled, and with one last thrust, she screamed out her orgasm as I planted myself deep inside her body and shouted my release.