by Quinn, Cari
Deacon laughed. “You’re going to say Brooklyn Dawn.”
“Got it in one.” Donovan tucked his hands into his pockets. “Jamie and Lindsey are rising stars. They’re at the end of their run with their first album, but I want them to have some summer exposure. I think you’re a good fit for each other. Definitely a similar sound.”
Simon gave a thumbs up. “I’m down with some girls on tour.”
“You would be, Super Slut.”
Margo’s belly tightened. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that.
* * *
Simon escaped to the bathrooms as everyone said their goodbyes to Donovan. He’d have to do a little YouTube research on Brooklyn Dawn and see how they performed live.
Right now, he was more worried about his own performance. The damn pollen was going to choke him. His throat was on fire. No matter how much water he drank, it felt itchy.
He turned all the taps on full hot and prayed for a decent level of steam. He stood over one sink and breathed in the moist air.
His throat was damn happy about it. And the tickle he’d been fighting eased.
He was usually able to sing all damn day. How many times had they jammed well into the night on the last tour? And after a show, so it wasn’t like the three hours he’d been singing should have taxed him.
Fucking allergies.
Knowing he was pushing his luck, he stretched it to ten minutes before he shut off the faucets and drained the three liters of water out of his fucking bladder.
He washed his hands and opened the door to find Margo in the hallway. “Hello, Violin Girl.”
She frowned. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. Just needed to open up the pipes a bit.”
“Have Harper get you some ginger. Steep it in some hot water for a few hours. Tastes nasty, but my friend Siobhan swears by it.”
The urge to snap at her itched at the back of his throat worse than the irritant he’d been living with. He didn’t need her help. Nor did he want her to see him struggling.
“I’ll tell her.”
“Good.”
She tried to slip by him, but Simon curled his hand around her hip. “Tonight, at the fountain.”
Her dark eyes widened and the rosy blush under her cheeks hardened his dick. He wouldn’t be happy until her cheeks were scarlet with exertion.
He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “You want the experience, right? And nothing you’ve done before.”
She nodded.
He lowered his head, keeping their gazes locked as he tugged on her lower lip. He bit hard enough that it instantly plumped and darkened to raspberry. “The fountain at eleven.”
“What fountain?”
“You’ll know it.” He forced himself to walk down the hallway away from her. He wanted to suck on her lips until the hue was as deep as wine, but she already had too much control over his cock.
It was time to show her what would happen if she wanted the tour experience. Then maybe he could finally fuck her out of his system and move on.
Because right now he couldn’t see an end in sight to the want.
He climbed the stairs to the stage. Nick and Gray were in the middle of figuring out a longer guitar duel in “Ricochet”. With the time to fill on the setlist, they could finally work with the songs and let them breathe.
Simon loved a perfect four minute song. It got the crowd engaged and didn’t let them get bored. But sometimes the rest helped him with some of the grittier songs on the setlist. Letting Gray and Nick rock out to a three minute solo was welcome in the second hour.
As they hashed out the song, Simon moved out to the archway. It had been finished while they were having their lunch break. Tomorrow it would be sandblasted in cobalt blue and glitter-flecked silver.
He’d seen the designs, but the archway had originally been at the back of the stage. The fact that Lila had retooled it to be exactly what he needed warmed him and energized him.
He backed up and ran three steps before he vaulted up to the second tier of the arch. Hidden behind the artistry of their band name was a network of handholds for him.
Good goddamn, it was sturdy. It didn’t even sway when he monkeyed his way up to the crossbars and pulled himself up to sit.
“Fuck yeah.”
Nick and Gray moved under him. “Gonna be able to get down without help, asshole?” Nick asked.
“Yeah, but who would want to. I can see the whole damn pavilion.” Simon spotted Margo at the end of the lower section. She was on her phone, pacing. “It’s fucking gorgeous.” He peered down at them. “It’s going to be so goddamn awesome.”
“How about you get down and sing?” Nick asked.
Simon dove forward, his fingers catching the bar just as he flipped around and hung for a few seconds. “Oh, yeah. Awesome.”
“Just don’t forget to sing while you’re playing monkey, Pretty Boy,” Deacon quipped.
“Har-har.”
“Are you boys done with your solos?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Gray muttered.
Margo jogged back down the main aisle and up the stairs. Her face wasn’t quite as happy and open as it had been all day. A new tension seemed to gather between her brows.
But before he could mention something, it was gone and she was lifting her violin to join in on “Undertow”.
Two hours later, Jazz begged for mercy because of swollen hands and feet.
“One more take of ‘Renegade’ and we’ll be good for the day.”
Jazz tipped her head back. “Thank God.”
Simon burned through another bottle of water and shrugged out of his soaked T-shirt. He cupped his hands around his mic and felt the build in his belly.
The bridge needed a good long vibrato, so he tried to relax his throat even as he felt that tickle nagging at him.
The song built and he held the note. As the guitars increased, he heard the break. He left his head thrown back and hope to shit that no one heard it, but he knew they did.
“All right. We’re all toast.” Deacon raised his voice and the song died. “No need to push it. We’ll need all that for the tour.”
Simon hung his head and uncapped his water.
“Awesome job today, guys. We’re getting somewhere and Margo is definitely an asset.”
Nick crossed his arms. Instead of the sneer that had been his constant companion, he shrugged. “It doesn’t suck.”
Margo was smart enough to school her features, but Simon saw her fighting the smile. Winning over Nick was a trick in itself.
As everyone filed out, there was chatter about dinner and changing clothes. He was more than ready to wash off the sweat and steam out the dryness in his throat.
“Simon?”
He turned to Nick. “Yeah?”
“Everything cool?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
Nick studied his face then mirrored his crossed arms and hip shot stance. “Everyone’s tired. No big.”
“You burning to say something, son?”
Nick rocked back on his heels. “You want to go there? I was just asking a question.”
“You were dancing around a question.”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Pretty Boy. I’m just checking on you. We pushed your voice today.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Nick held his hands up. “Enough said.” He walked around him and to the stairs at the back of the stage. He stopped on the second stair down.
Simon braced himself, but Nick kept going. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Shit.”
Instead of following the rest of the band, Simon headed out to the seats and the walkway above the pavilion. It was a serious hike to the railing that delineated from paid seats and the lawn. And fuck if the lawn didn’t go on for forever.
It seemed as good a place to start the tour as any. The acoustics were certainly impressive. He couldn’t wait to hear the difference with a theater full of people.
As
long as he took care of his voice during the day, he could get through two hours easily. Five hours was asking a lot for even the most seasoned musician.
He walked until he cooled down and even then he didn’t want to deal with anyone else. He circled the parking area and was rewarded with an empty bus.
Nick had already been there and gone. His dirty clothes were half in their laundry bin and half out, and there was a wet towel over the door.
His pocket buzzed.
What time?
Simple and to the point, that was Margo. He tapped the side of his phone. The park was a few miles off the beaten track. He and Deak had run around it on one of his marathon killer runs.
Fountain at the War Memorial. Midnight. No panties.
The text bubble started almost immediately.
If you get me arrested, there will be retribution.
He grinned.
Afraid?
She replied instantly again.
Fuck no.
He sprawled on the couch.
Oh, now you can swear?
She fired back a text in a moment
I’m learning that I might like a lot of things I never used to do. See you at the memorial.
Simon closed his hand around his phone and tapped the top against his forehead. The idea of facing the pitying looks of his bandmates was far too much to deal with. He drew his feet up on the couch and blinked out.
When he woke, the bus was pitch black. He swore when he read the time on his phone. He plugged it into the charger and stumbled to the shower.
Ten minutes later, he was tucking a faded black T-shirt into an old pair of black jeans. He stuffed his feet into boots and was out of the bus and halfway down the path before he realized he should have gone with his crosstrainers.
He was going to have to hoof it the last mile to where the memorial was in the city park. But at least for the first mile and a half, he could take one of the golf carts out to the edge of the venue.
When he got to the main road of Saratoga, he stashed the cart next to an ice cream shop and took a shortcut through the side streets.
Thank you, Deacon for making me run my ass off.
He slowed as he found the back entrance to Congress Park and ducked through the trees to avoid the security cameras.
Just like old times.
How many backyards and parking lots had he sneaked through as a kid? Christ, he’d lost track after the age of fourteen. Of course by then he’d discovered beer and things had gotten blurry for specifics.
When he spotted the fountain, he slowed his pace. Moonlight shimmered off the shallow pond and the burble of the water softened the night sounds.
She stood in the center of the monument. The octagonal shape seemed even larger and more imposing now that it was just them and the night. The ivory stone glowed in the half moon’s light.
He slowly walked over the stone bridge and up the handful of stairs. Her hair was loose and rippled in the slight breeze. A dark skirt swished around her knees and a satiny blouse picked up the shafts of moonlight that teased through the columns.
So fucking beautiful.
On a night that was supposed to be about fucking, she looked like a cool, elegant dream. Something that would never belong to him.
The heat of anger bloomed in his belly. She didn’t deserve it, but it was there. Actually, she did deserve it. She’d walked away from him so many times and now she wanted him to bend to her.
It was time for her to do the bending.
He stopped a foot in front of her. “Did you listen to my directions?”
She swiped her tongue over her lower lip and nodded.
“Show me.”
Margo looked over her shoulder.
“Don’t worry about anyone else. Only me.”
She curled her fingers into the flowing skirt and inched it up over her knees, halting at her mid-thigh.
“Too much for you, Violin Girl?”
She lifted her chin and pressed her lips together as she raised it farther.
The shadow of her cleft left his dick as hard as the stone that surrounded them. “Higher.”
Her chest rose and fell a little faster than it should and her nipples jutted against the shiny fabric. She liked it.
The white noise in his brain pushed out any sense of caution. Here, he had control and she was a willing playmate. Just how far could he push her?
She gathered the material to her middle and the low light highlighted her milky skin. A small triangle of dark hair ended above her slit.
“Are you wet?”
She nodded.
“Show me.”
Her mouth worked, but nothing came out at first. “How?”
“Touch yourself.”
Her fingers flexed on the material but she drew her right hand down and tentatively slipped a finger along her pussy lips.
“Two fingers. Around your clit, then deep inside until they’re coated.” His voice was raspy with recovery from singing all day.
“Simon, I…”
“This is what you want, right? The dirty side of sex. The kind that doesn’t end with candles and five-hundred thread count sheets?”
She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. “I do.”
“Then show me how wet you are.”
The elegant line of her throat and the tease of cleavage under her blouse pulled a groan from him. “Like that. With your eyes closed. Tell me how wet you are.”
“I thought you wanted to see.”
“First tell me.”
Her breath hitched. “Soft and warm.” She moaned. “Sensitive.”
He watched as she circled her clit. Was that how she pleasured herself? Under the covers in her bed where no one could see her? “Now deep inside, two fingers, Margo.”
She tucked her forefinger and middle finger through her folds and pumped lightly.
“Fuck.” His voice was little more than a whisper on the breeze.
With her head tilted and her hair flowing down between her shoulder blades, she sawed her teeth through her lower lip as her hips rotated lightly.
“Now take them out.”
She sighed and withdrew. The moonlight caught on the silvery wetness.
“Come here.”
She dropped her skirt and he took her hand when she was close enough. He watched her face as he drew her fingers up to his mouth.
Her lips parted and her tongue fluttered over her lower lip.
He sucked her damp fingers into his mouth and curled his tongue around each digit until he had every bit of her taste transferred from her skin to his greedy mouth. He pulled them free with a pop and painted the pads of her fingers across his lip before he bent to taste her. She drew in a shaky breath.
“Want to taste yourself?”
“I…” Her tongue touched her top lip and her thick lashes veiled whatever she was thinking or feeling.
“You taste like cool honey that needs to warm up on my tongue. The kind of taste that lingers and buzzes over taste buds.” For fuck’s sake, he hadn’t even touched her yet and his dick was so hard he couldn’t think around the wanting of her.
He touched the tip of his tongue to hers lightly before she sweetly sucked him inside her mouth. And that was where the sweetness ended. She went up on her toes to eat up the last few inches that separated them and the kiss went flame-hot.
Lips and tongues twined around each other even as their arms didn’t. Chest and breasts brushed, knees bumped, but it was only their mouths that lost control. The cool night air urged him to drag her in, but he knew that was the quickest road to him pushing her over the thigh-high plaques that covered every space between the eight columns.
There would be time for that.
But this, here and now…he wanted to string it out. Wanted to control this one thing between them. Where they weren’t screwing like rabbits without the ride up. Zero-to-sixty was too easy.
He cupped her jaw and turned her head to take him deeper. He felt her m
oan vibrate through his tongue, into his throat, and arrow to his cock. He tasted it, swallowed it, owned it.
Her nails scraped his wrist as he took everything. She fisted his shirt and held on as breath became a commodity in their kissing war. She tore her mouth away and panted against his neck and down to his breastbone.
“Go lower.”
Her hand moved to his belly and scratched through the narrow line of hair to his buckle.
“Suck me.”
When she paused, he wondered if he’d found her end. When the commands would be too much for his Violin Girl.
“God, yes,” she said against his throat and sucked on his Adam’s apple until his eyes crossed. Her tongue swirled around the shadow of a few days of beard that he hadn’t bothered to scrape off.
When she did that to the head of his cock…
Fuck.
She lifted his shirt and trailed open-mouthed kisses along his ribs down to the flat muscle of his lower belly. She crouched in front of him and looked up, her face in shadow save for the thin slash across her cheek and lips. The clink of his buckle and slow tick of teeth separating as she peeled open his jeans were almost drowned out by the drumbeat in his head.
He honestly wasn’t much of a blowjob guy. He liked the feel of a woman clenching around him, not just a warm mouth.
But the ultimate focus on her face as she pulled him free was enough to convert him. Even if it was the worst head he’d ever had, he’d gladly let her do whatever she wanted to him.
She dragged her tongue under the length of his shaft and hugged her lips around the head until she took him deep into her mouth, until the head of his cock bumped the back of her throat and then beyond.
“Jesus fuck.”
Then she coasted back and focused on the head, with tongue and suction and a talent that went way past skill. It was as if she’d downloaded a blueprint from his brain on what he wanted.
He cupped her cheek to slow her down before he came by her sheer force of will. She looked up with her puffy lips holding his cock hostage.
The first sound out of his mouth was a strangled, ragged groan.