Wicked Serenade: a Lost in Oblivion Collection

by Quinn, Cari

  “That’s right. Gray and Jazz go, you can bet your ass that ‘The Becoming’ will go with them.”

  “That’s not our only song,” Nick said darkly.

  Deacon watched Simon’s face go blank in surprise. Simon put a hand on Nick’s arm before he could get back in Deacon’s face. “Ease back, man. Seriously.”

  “What? It’s not.” Nick’s whole body vibrated with anger.

  Harper flexed her fingers around Deacon’s, and he forced his shoulders to relax as he stepped back. “I’m heading out.” He looked down at Harper. “Can you leave?”

  She nodded, her other hand coming up to cover their linked fingers. “I’m good.”

  Deacon glanced at Snake. His gaze was focused on his beer and the wrapper he was slowly shredding. Deacon swallowed hard. How many beer bottles had he returned with only half a label over the years? There had been a lot of good times with Snake, but they didn’t outweigh the bad.

  He turned away from his friends—his brothers for all intents and purposes.

  “You’re just leaving?” Nick accused.

  Deacon rolled his shoulders and kept walking. If he said anything else, it would end in bruises. Nick had a shitty temper at the best of times, but now with that last ultimatum, he was going to be ready for an all-out war if Deacon pushed.

  He had to believe that they would make the right decision. Or they were fucking doomed before they even started.

  Harper slid an arm around his back, pressing herself against his side. “I bribed the girls into letting me take the car.”

  Deacon pasted a smile on his face. “Yeah?”

  “Show me your place,” she said softly.

  “Yeah.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Twenty-Five

  September 13, 10:59 PM - How the Other Half Lives

  The ride into Los Angeles was a quiet one. The Greek Theater was on the edge of the city, but the traffic was brutal as she followed her GPS. Deacon stared out the window, obviously deep in thought.

  The scene backstage had left everyone buzzing. The crew, both catering and road, were chewing on gossip like it was a juicy steak after a hunger strike. They’d all come at her for details, and for the first time, her loyalty had been to someone other than the staff.

  She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that. It had always been an us versus them situation. The bands had been people to cater to, not get involved with intimately. And that wasn’t even the sex part. She’d sat with Jazz and Deacon for movie nights, she’d taught Jazz how to make spaghetti and meatballs, she and Jazz had giggled through giving Simon lessons in the fine art of eyeliner. How many hands of gin rummy had she played with Gray and Jazz to get through the night as Deacon stretched out on the couch to read?

  Hell, she even got a kick out of Nick’s sarcasm laden diatribes about the meet and greets he had to endure. Especially since she knew he truly loved interacting with the fans, just didn’t like the crazy that came along with it.

  They were more than clients. They’d become her friends. It was almost as scary as how she felt about Deacon.

  As she made the turn onto Wilshire Boulevard, she took a deep breath. Manicured trees were boxed into the cement sidewalks and framed the mix of skyscrapers and businesses that made up the swanky part of Los Angeles. She understood Sunset and the pier. But this?

  She peered up at the endless mirror-like finishes of the buildings, the bright bank signs, and coffee shops that catered to the moneyed and famous. Part of her wanted to drop Deacon off at whatever swanky penthouse he lived in. Because there was no way he lived modestly on Wilshire.

  She could go back to her small life, her food, and her tiny bunk in the Food Riot crew bus. When the GPS told her to make a left, she jerked the car to a stop.

  Deacon finally looked her way. “There it is, home sweet home.”

  The windows were an inky black sheet until the top floors, where they were broken with wrap-around balconies that shouted money and status.

  “This is your place?”

  Deacon leaned forward and brushed a kiss over her mouth. “For now.”

  Suddenly, her little Honda Civic felt wildly out of place. Just like her. In the midst of the tour and life on the bus, she’d conveniently forgotten just how different his life was from hers. The nomadic life of a tour suited her. Everything she cared about could be packed into the battered army duffle she’d found in a thrift store when she was sixteen.

  She followed the circular drive to the signs for parking. Expecting to take a ticket, she simply stared at the man that came to her door. Starched white dress shirt, a tie, and a snappy navy uniform gave her a clue, but still she stared.

  Deacon climbed out from his side of the car. “Hi, Mike.”

  “Mr. McCoy.”

  “We’ve talked about this,” Deacon admonished.

  “And you know I have a deep and abiding fear of Abigail,” Mike answered. He opened the door for Harper. “I’ll take care of that for you.”

  “I—” she gulped and had no choice but to take his hand and let the valet help her out of the car. She’d lived in New York City for three months and hadn’t seen more than a bellhop open a door for the rich.

  This was so out of her league.

  “Uh, thanks.”

  Without a word, or even a sneer at her dusty blue car, he climbed in and nodded at Deacon, then disappeared into the parking structure.

  “You live here,” she said numbly. Hadn’t she already said that? But still, it needed to be repeated. He wasn’t even a headliner yet. What in the hell?

  “I stay here,” Deacon corrected. “The record label owns it. We’re just bunking here.” He came up beside her. “Wait until you see the lobby.”

  With his hand at her back, he opened the door for her. She went through the wide, spotless wall of glass that was a front door, and her jaw dropped open. The waiting area made the Beverly Wilshire look like a dated movie set. A geometric pattern flooded the floor in black and gray leading to a huge seating area of leather and chrome with more glass for the end tables. A huge glass sheet bisected the seating area full of magazines and mini-laptops.

  The crazy patterned floor led up to a winding staircase in blood red carpeting that showcased a chandelier that had to be made of moonbeams. The translucent light sparkled along the crystal edges making it look like perpetual rain.

  They passed a bank of empty terminals to the elevators. The doors were as opulent as the rest. Acid-etched metal in a rich paisley design that didn’t dare have a fingerprint on it.

  Deacon drew a card out of his wallet and slid it into a reader. It hummed, flashed green, and the door opened. Inside was more of the vibrant red, this time in plush soundproofing.

  The car was dead silent as the doors slid closed. Not a squeak or a clang of metal for this place. This was how the rich lived? In silence and perfection?

  Deacon curled an arm around her, dragging her flush into his side. The kiss was startling. He’d been silent the entire ride in. She couldn’t blame him. From the little she’d heard, it wasn’t a simple band disagreement. There was a very real chance that life would be completely different for everyone by morning.

  She cupped his face, trying to tell him with her lips and her breath that she was there for him. That she’d be anything he needed tonight. She blocked out the jarring luxury lobby that had freaked her out, the lavish elevator car, the moneyed scent of perfection, and focused on him.

  On his cedar scent swirling with the ocean, on his unique taste that flooded her with need and confusion, on the feel of his bearded cheeks under her palms and the firm muscular wall of his body. Tonight, she’d let him lead.

  His kiss turned urgent, driving her own needs up and out of the quagmire of worry. He lifted her, opening her until her legs had no choice but to wrap around his hips. The doors opened and he walked through with her in his arms.

  She didn’t have time to look around to see where they were,
or where they were going. There was only Deacon. His insistent tongue and gripping fingers. Distantly, she knew they were going up stairs, but only because he held her tighter, and each jostling step bounced her lightly against his straining cock.

  The slam of a door closing and then a welcome silence. An empty space that was just them. No giggles from Jazz, no mockingly funny lyrics from Simon, no snide huffs from Nick. Just them.

  His fingers dug into her jean clad bottom as he laid her across the bed. A soft duvet caressed her body as Deacon crushed her down, down, down. The press of his more than ready cock, his fingers tangled in her hair, and his mouth trying to swallow her whole ratcheted up the moment.

  And suddenly, he stopped, looking down at her with eyes so wild and fierce that she knew it wasn’t just about the freedom to screw his brains out tonight. For the first time, it wouldn’t be about sneaking away from work or passing the time. Not that it ever really had been.

  But she’d convinced herself that it would be easy to walk away from him. There would be an indelible mark on her, no matter what. A Deacon tattoo that branded her heart as his.

  She drew her thumb across his cheek to his lips. He bit down on the pad, the pressure of his teeth on the nail gave a zing of appreciation to the moment. Careful Deacon would always be there, but the wilder part of him that she normally had to coax out was close to the surface tonight.

  Her skin tingled as if the air was full of lightning. The width of his chest blocked out everything else in the room, dragging Deacon into a pinprick focus. When he pushed her shirt up, she couldn’t process the fire racing over her senses.

  He broke the intense stare down and refocused on her flesh. Open-mouthed kisses on her belly and scraping teeth at her ribs had her arching off the sensual feast of a bed. He tore at her jeans, bra, and panties until the snap of material pushed her from passive girl to active participant.

  Both of them fought to be the dominant aggressor. She wanted him naked and straining. She wanted her mouth on every inch of him, she wanted his sweat to mingle with hers.

  Clothes went through the war of wills and she wasn’t sure any of it would be salvaged. She wasn’t sure she’d fare any better. And finally, there was just Deacon. She drew him down on top of her until every line and curve of him was pressed into her. And still, it wasn’t enough.

  Her fingers dug into the powerful ridges of muscle at his back, and she opened herself up to him. Madness clawed inside her, singing every surface he touched. She felt the silky head of his cock at her entrance and gloried in it. This—yes, this is what she needed.

  “Just you.” She reached between them and dragged the tip of him through her wetness. “Only you inside me.”

  “Are you sure?” His brow furrowed, even as he rocked against her.

  Dying to feel all of him, she nodded. “I’m on the pill.” She was drenched with the wanting of him and the captivating moment that was only theirs. Six weeks of sharing him with the world, his bandmates, her job, the bus.

  This was just for her.

  Just for him.

  Just for them.

  And only now did she realize how much she needed this. The thrill of the chase, the outdoors, even the muffled excitement of his bunk, paled in comparison to this simple bed and the quiet.

  “Harper.”

  His voice was thready with need and hope. She needed this as much as he did. Maybe even more. She lifted her hips until she sheathed him in her heat. The stretch of him inside her with no barriers fired up the blood between her ears until the room was nothing but white noise and Deacon.

  He tried to pull back, his eyes widened in realization and in an awesome pleasure that reverberated inside of her. She dug her fingers into his flanks and moved under him.

  “Deacon.” His name was a shuddering cry that didn’t seem like it could have been her voice. It was choked and rough with the wanting of him. But it was enough. He seemed to understand that she was giving herself to him as selflessly as she could.

  He looked between them, at his cock driving into her, and then he looked up and into her eyes. The brutal beauty of his straining body over her shaved off any hope of holding back from this man. She folded herself around him and took every punishing thrust. He held onto her so tight, she knew there would be bruises over her shoulders and back. She knew the insides of her thighs would scream and still she took him.

  She surged under him as all of her muscles locked, and her brain winked out, leaving nothing but pleasure and scent behind. The ocean scent of him rolled her under, and what remained was a hollowed out woman. Surely, she had nothing else to give him.

  And yet, when she managed to peel her eyes open, she saw him smiling above her.

  “I’m not done with you yet.”

  Every nerve ending inside her begged to differ, but he simply pulled her leg from around his hip until he could stack it on the other. He lifted her knees higher on the bed until they both groaned at the deeper pressure.

  She closed in on herself as he rocked inside her. He lowered his mouth to hers, muttering nonsensical things about how tight she felt in that growling timbre that he usually saved for the stage. But some nights, she got to hear a taste of it.

  He scored his teeth down her exposed throat then to her shoulder. He bit the crest of her clavicle and then found her nipple, sucking strongly. He pounded into her faster until nothing mattered but where they met. The position was friction and power, and the glory of this man with a savagely beautiful body hurtled her into a wall of pleasure.

  He arched his back, and his huge hand branded itself into her hip as he held on. Fascination burned through the red haze of lust as she watched his corded neck flex and his face turn to bliss. She’d never had a man inside of her without protection, so the actual feel of his release was like a wash of heat inside of her.

  His hips undulated against her again and again as her body clasped him tighter, refusing to let go. And like an aftershock, the sprinkle of contentment blanketed her in shivers of awe.

  Instead of pulling out of her, Deacon curled around her and lightly pulsed inside of her, his arms warm around her waist and his chin in her neck.

  “Deacon, I…”

  “Shh. I know.”

  He knew what? She didn’t even know yet. Everything was jumbled inside of a ball of ecstasy and warmth. And as she slipped into sleep, she held onto him so very tight.

  * * *

  Dawn crept into his room on a whisper. They’d spent the night wrapped around each other. He’d woken to her soft touch in the cover of darkness, and again with an insistent hand that had ended in a shower during the dead of night.

  Exhaustion dragged at him, willing him back to sleep, but he’d forgotten to close the curtains last night and he was too used to the coffin blackness of his bunk on the bus. Even the stillness of the bed felt a little weird to him. He was so used to the overnight travel and close quarters.

  They had a king-sized bed to themselves and still, Harper was sprawled over him like a blanket, her cheek against his chest and her hand riding low on his hip. She shifted, and he hissed as her fingertips brushed his morning erection. Last night should have sated him, but he already hungered for her again.

  Morning biology was only part of his discomfort. He didn’t want the night to end yet. Harper had been so open and free with her touches. Every time with her was exciting, but last night had been different. She’d held nothing back.

  She’d been completely his. Body, heart, and mind.

  He didn’t want to see her pull back again. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to push down the pain if she tried to make excuses or ignored the very real love that had surrounded them last night.

  “Deacon?”

  He stroked a hand down her back. “Hmm?”

  “I don’t want today to be the last time I see you.”

  His hand stilled and his heart slammed. “What are you saying?”

  She levered herself up. “If you were serious, I think we can
try and make the long distance thing wo—”

  Deacon rolled her over onto her back and squeezed her tight.

  She tapped his shoulder, laughing. “All right, Big Guy. Breathing isn’t an optional thing.”

  He pressed their lower bodies into the mattress, propping himself up on his forearms. He couldn’t stop from threading his fingers in her hair. “We’ll make it work. I promise.”

  She smiled up at him, her perfect sky blue eyes shining. “I think you’re insane, but I’m in. How am I supposed to give up all these awesome orgasms?”

  He lowered his mouth to hers. “The sex is definitely in the stratosphere.”

  She wiggled until she could get her legs around his hips and let her roll them over. Sunflowers and warmth curtained him with her golden hair. “It’s not only the sex.”

  The little niggle of doubt cracked in his chest and he breathed in deep. “It’s a really good side benefit though.”

  She laughed. “Damn skippy.” Her arms slid around his neck and she hugged him tight before propping herself on her hands over him. “This is new territory for me, Big Guy.”

  “For me, too.”

  “Good. We can blunder through it together.”

  He lifted her up and fit himself along her warmth, sighing when he found her so very receptive to him. Her eyes fluttered shut as he lowered her on his cock. “Show me just how good we are together.”

  She moved against him with a soft sigh, her body opening for him instinctively. Her hips moved in time with his easy strokes, and when her eyes slitted open, she let out a soft cry that ended in his name. When she rose above him, he barely managed to swallow down words of wonder.

  Shining blonde hair haloed around her as she rode him with the sun kissing her skin. He reached up to cup her generous breasts, leaning forward to catch a tip in his mouth. She wound her arms around him, dragging his mouth to hers, and he swallowed her cries of surrender.

  Clasped around him, she milked him into a mind-numbing orgasm that almost let him turn off his mind. With her warm and cuddly at his side, he drifted off.