Wicked Serenade: a Lost in Oblivion Collection

by Quinn, Cari

  Simon lifted the guitar off his head and placed it around Nick’s neck.

  “You prick.”

  Unrepentant, Simon waggled his eyebrows. He downed half the bottle of water before burying his face in his elbow to cough.

  “You aren’t getting sick, are you?”

  Simon shook his head. “Just tried to reach too hard for the Steve Perry notes.”

  “You and your stadium rock.”

  Simon slapped his arm. “You love it. They don’t make guitar solos like that anymore.”

  Nick lifted a shoulder. “True.” He turned to the mic and tipped his head. “You guys know how to rock?”

  They screamed back an affirmative and Simon jumped off the stage.

  Nick leaned away from the mic. “Where are you going?”

  Simon turned around and mimed that he couldn’t hear him. His best friend’s eyes blazed fire and he held his arms out in the universal gesture of what the fuck.

  Simon did a thumbs up with each hand and Nick smiled weakly at the crowd. And because he didn’t have time to stress about it, the song took him over and Nick had the first verse of “Back in Black” pouring through the sound system before Simon escaped to the side exit.

  * * *

  Margo tucked her violin into her case and placed it under her chair at the back of the stage. She scanned the crowd, catching Simon heading outside.

  The frustration in his eyes tugged at her. She’d only seen him struggle with his voice once, but there was no doubt it was happening again. He’d covered it well enough by making the crowd sing louder and longer, but she knew the signs.

  She just wanted to make sure he was all right. Like any good musician would. Like any friend would.

  Not that she could exactly call Simon a friend. A few good orgasms didn’t exactly put them on a friendly basis. Not when all they did was walk away from each other after said orgasms.

  Fool.

  She pushed through the door marked deliveries and found an alley. No sign of Simon. The door shut behind her before she could catch it. “Dammit.”

  “Following me, Violin Girl?” The eerie blue of a phone lighting up cut the dark. Simon stood against the brick side of the building, his hawkish features and the shadows from the Fedora accentuated by the low light.

  “I wanted to see if you were all right.”

  “And why would you care?”

  The zing of danger in his voice caught her off-guard. Simon was usually sarcastic and playful. He was the definition of the guy who had walked in the bar with his T-shirt slogan, Pussy, the most expensive meal you’ll ever eat, emblazoned over his chest.

  Tongue-in-cheek.

  Nick was the guy who was more sardonic. His comments a little more biting.

  “Of course I care.”

  “Funny, I don’t ever get that vibe from you. The only thing you care about is my cock. Is that why you came out here? I’m in the same town as you so you want a bounce? Not sure you’d like what you got tonight, Violin Girl.”

  “That is not why I came out here.” Her clit pounded like a heartbeat at the tone in his voice. And that simply wasn’t allowed. She’d finally gotten herself back to an even keel since she’d played with Oblivion.

  Finally had been able to turn the sound down on her overactive dreams that included a mashup of stage time and Simon’s hands on her.

  Oh, they still came nightly. And even some nights she found herself with her hand down her panties to ease the ache, but she was dealing with it.

  “I’m in a dark mood tonight, Margo.”

  She closed her eyes at the way he said her name. Not the sly Violin Girl. No, this was his lips and rough voice curling around her given name. He used it so rarely that her system burned in reaction.

  “Why?”

  His phone light extinguished, leaving them in the dark. “Because I’m pissed that I still get hard when you’re within three hundred feet of me. Because I’m tired and miss my cat.”

  She huffed out a laugh. “Your cat?”

  “I miss my bed.” She heard the scuff of his feet over the debris of the alley. “I miss my sanity. I miss banging a random woman to ease the tensions of the day.”

  She frowned. What did that mean? She’d seen YouTube videos of his exploits in the towns he’d visited. A weakness she couldn’t seem to get a handle on, but seeing him in a video eased the late night visits in her dreams.

  As if her mind’s eye could be sated with a taste of him and let her rest.

  Sometimes.

  It didn’t always work.

  If she touched him again, she knew it wouldn’t work for a good long time.

  But she’d seen him with women. Seen his hands on them, his mouth—even right after he’d had sex with her, he’d had his mouth on another woman. This wasn’t a man that would ever be able to be faithful.

  It didn’t matter. She’d gotten what she needed from him and they’d both known it wasn’t going to be anything more than a few stray minutes on that catwalk.

  She’d gone after him because it felt wrong to end it like they had. But seeing him with that woman had sewn up her regrets and second thoughts.

  She’d been able to walk away again.

  This alley with him and that dangerous voice certainly would set her back for weeks. When Simon touched her, everything inside her came alive. She couldn’t deny that she wanted it again.

  But she could control herself.

  “I do believe that you could walk into that bar and get your wish.”

  “I can get a woman whenever I want, Violin Girl.”

  She clenched her jaw. “Then why are you bitching about it?”

  “Oh, the ice princess has a little fire in her belly.”

  “I’m not sure exactly who you think I am.”

  “I think you’re a well-bred, moneyed young woman who has been following a plan since she was in her…what? Early teens?”

  Margo took a step back.

  He advanced, his eyes glittering in the dim light from the street. “I think fucking a rockstar wasn’t in the plan, but you can’t help but want to slum it sometimes.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “Oh no?”

  “No,” she whispered as he caged her in with an arm over her head and one against the wall at her hip. He didn’t touch her—mostly. His worn pants brushed her knees and his belly grazed hers.

  “Tell me, Margo. Why would you come after a man like me in a dark alleyway if you didn’t want to fuck?”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t want to…” She swallowed. The words felt right and wrong at the same time. She wasn’t a prude, but she had been trained since birth to keep crass words out of her vocabulary.

  “Fuck,” he said with a hard K. “If you’re going to do that with me here and now, you best be able to say the word. Because there’s no gentle touches in me tonight.”

  Part of her wanted to know why. There was something there that he wasn’t saying, but she didn’t have any right to peek into that private domain. Not when they were only this.

  Sex.

  Fucking.

  Sinful pleasure that she’d never known before and would never know after him.

  Simon with his jagged edges and broken past.

  Just Simon.

  She slid her hand under his T-shirt and up to his chest. She pulled back as her nail skimmed over something metal.

  Simon groaned.

  Margo pushed his shirt up. Had she missed that before? He was always behind her, always pushing at her until she unraveled.

  And she loved it.

  It was raw and God, it felt good. But she’d seen him without his shirt many times before, and she would have remembered a piercing.

  He hissed as her thumb traced over the ring.

  “When did you do this?”

  “About a month ago.”

  She pulled her hand away. “Oh, God. Is it still healing?”

  “Yeah.” He held her hand over his nipple. “Feels good.”


  When he hissed again, she stopped. It didn’t sound like it felt good.

  “A little pain can feel good, Margo.”

  When his fingers tightened on her hips, she thought he might have something there. “What if I don’t want you to be gentle with me?”

  “Want to walk on the wild side with the bad boy from Oblivion?”

  She wasn’t used to his rough voice, or the sharper edge to it. Simon usually had a sleepy, sexy quality to his speech. Like he’d just rolled out of bed. This Simon was almost harsh. “I just want you inside me,” she said without preamble. “I want you, Simon.”

  “Jesus fuck.”

  His mouth was on hers, his arm around her back, crushing her to him until he’d emptied her lungs and taken all her air. He dragged her skirt up and found her pantyhose. He pushed it up higher until he could get both hands under there. The rending of material echoed to days past.

  That night he’d been impatient to get inside her as well.

  The cool night air kissed her inner thighs, then it was all Simon. His fingers pushing at her underwear as he cupped her.

  “This. Is this what you want?”

  “God.” She clutched at his upper arm.

  “Tell me, Margo. You want me to fuck you?”

  She whimpered when he slowly slid two fingers inside of her. She lifted her hips to give him better access, but he stopped.

  “Tell me, Margo.”

  “Yes. Yes, I want you to fuck me.”

  He growled into her neck. “That voice. That upper crust accent. I want you to fuck me, Simon.” He swirled his thumb around her clit. “Say it.”

  “I want you to fuck me, Simon.”

  He moved quickly. So fast that she didn’t have time to ready herself or her back for the brunt of his invasion. The zipper, the crinkle of plastic, then he lifted her knee up on his hip and levered himself inside her.

  And no, he wasn’t the least bit gentle.

  His fingers dug into her hips, his mouth sealed over her neck and the harsh suction of his lips with a bite snapped her closer to the edge. He’d marked her. She knew there would be something there, along with the tattoo of his fingertips on her hips.

  There would be reminders this time.

  She coasted her nails up his neck and pushed the Fedora off his head to get to his hair. And because she wanted him as insane as she was, she slid under his shirt again and found the piercing.

  “Ah, fuck.”

  Her shoulder burned where the brick abraded her skin, where the elastic of her panties dug into her, and at her neck where he kept scraping his teeth like she was going to give him something. But she was dripping. He took her without care or consequence. As if he was driving a demon out of himself and into her.

  Her leg shook and still he came at her.

  No flourishes, no laughter, just him battering into her until her skin was too sensitive to take anymore. She gripped his shoulders and cried out, surprised when the orgasm enveloped her like a black hole.

  “Yes.”

  His voice was raw and the friction built until there was nothing but darkness and Simon and an unending orgasm. She wasn’t built for this.

  Shattered.

  Broken open.

  Forever changed.

  Damn this man. If she hadn’t known, if she could have stayed blissfully ignorant, then nothing would have changed.

  He pulled out of her and she felt him doing something with the condom, but she was too frayed to care. Her leg dropped to the ground and she slapped her hands on the brick to stop the slide into a quivering mass on the pavement.

  She expected him to walk away. This is what she’d wanted, of course. She’d asked for it. But no, he came back and leaned into her, touching her forehead with his.

  He said nothing.

  Just stood there with her until their breathing evened and the night sounds intruded. Until someone opened the door.

  “Oh, man. How long were you out here, guys?” The waiter lit a cigarette and drew in a deep lungful of smoke. He jammed his foot against the door to keep it open. “Aren’t you glad I came when I did?”

  “Yeah, man. Thanks.” Simon bent to pick up his hat.

  The crash of piano and horns, the guitars and screams penetrated the moment, reminding her that nothing about this was right time, right place. She let Simon hold open the door for her, and she held her head up high as she sailed down the hallway.

  “I need to use the ladies.”

  Simon nodded. “I have to get back to the hotel.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  He curled his fingers into a fist. “This is stupid.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and he crowded her. “Margo.”

  “What?”

  He traced his thumb over her shoulder. “Fuck. Did I do that?”

  “It’s nothing.” She pulled her hair forward.

  “Dammit, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was a willing participant, Simon. Everything you did to me I wanted.”

  “You wanted to bleed?” His face was incredulous as he crushed his hat between his hands.

  She tipped her head. “I wanted someone to want me like that.” To see her as a woman, not just an instrument. Not just a tool. A woman.

  “Someone?”

  “Do you need to hear that it was you?”

  Simon’s eyes glittered.

  “The millions of adoring fans aren’t enough. Do you need to hear that one more woman can’t resist you?” Angry at him, at herself, and the fact that she couldn’t feel this way with anyone but him, she pushed at him. “You. It needed to be you.”

  He curled his hands around her upper arms and drove her back into the wall.

  She winced and he tried to back up. She could see the horror on his face. She gripped his belt loops. “You’re right about me. I had a plan. I’ve always had a schedule, a goal, an endgame. And now I’m starting over. And I like this feeling.” She brushed her thumb over the rigid muscles of his belly and the ultra-soft line of hair above his zipper. “I’m not ashamed to want more of it.”

  He cupped her face, his fingers twining in her hair. His eyes blazed a silvery blue that haunted her dreams. Seeing them again, the way he looked at her—it would follow her for days. “You make me fucking nuts.”

  “I like when we’re nuts.”

  He brought his other hand up to frame her face. “Then come back to my hotel.”

  She twisted her fingers into his suspenders. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why? Because that would make it real?”

  “Actually, that’s pretty much it.”

  His nostrils flared and his brows snapped down. “I’m good enough to fuck in an alley, but not a bed?”

  “I’ve had guys in a bed. I want this.” She knotted her fingers into his shirt. “I’m tired of being traditional.”

  Simon blew out a breath. “And I’m your ticket to non-traditional, huh?”

  “Golden ticket.”

  “At least there’s that.” He leaned into her. “Well, if you’re not going to use my bed for some exceptional gymnastics, then this is goodbye.” He coasted his mouth over her chin and to her neck. He skimmed down to the vee of her shirt and flicked his tongue over her cleavage. “Goodbye perfect boobs.”

  She pushed him back. “Pig.”

  He looked down at his chest then stuffed his hat back on his head. “This is obvious.”

  “The shirt is a bit much.”

  He shrugged. “I like the expressions on people’s faces when they figure it out.”

  “You would.”

  The smirk she’d been missing slid across his face as he hooked his thumbs into his suspenders. “Never a dull moment, Violin Girl.”

  The warmth in his voice when he said that made her tuck a hand behind her back to steady herself. Simon could make anything feel like a sexual innuendo, even playing with a pair of suspenders. “You guys are almost done with the promo stuff?”

 
; He nodded. “A few more days then we’re off to someplace in upstate New York to rehearse.”

  “Where?”

  “Gonna come find me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Just wondering.”

  “Someplace with an S. Horses—lots of horses are there or from there. Something.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Saratoga?”

  “Yeah.” He frowned. “How did you pull that out of your head?”

  “Saratoga Racetrack, and it’s one of the most famous outdoor venues for the ballet and orchestra.”

  “Ah. Violin Girl knows her classical.”

  “That I do.”

  “Then if you get a wild hair to visit the venue, you know where I’ll be.”

  She snapped his suspender. “You never know.”

  But she did know. This was one more goodbye, but at least this one was civil. He turned on his heel and headed toward the crowds and the music, to the streets of Boston that wanted him and his band.

  Watching him go shouldn’t leave her ready to chase after him.

  But it did.

  Eleven

  Margo skimmed her email as she sipped from a wide red mug of French roast on her back terrace. Three possible jobs and a message from her mother that she was studiously ignoring were the only things worth reading.

  Summers were notoriously busy for her since that was when she made most of her money with the studio work. So she could ignore her mother for a few more days, thank God.

  When her phone chimed, she debated ignoring it. For the first time in weeks, she was actually enjoying her solitary cup of coffee. No restless night to recover from, nothing on her schedule. A day to herself.

  She didn’t want to examine the fact that Simon and last night’s impromptu concert had a large part to do with that. She simply wanted to enjoy her afterglow.

  When a second message popped up, she sighed and glanced at the phone.

  Please don’t be Mother.

  Lila Shawcross.

  What did she want?

  She frowned and picked up her phone

  Are you home?

  Are you alone?

  Margo thumbed back a yes. Almost immediately there was a reply.