Maybe that wasn’t the friendliest text he’d ever received, but whatever. This was serious shit. I programmed his number into my phone and waited.
A few minutes later, it rang.
Matt.
“Hey,” I answered.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s up.”
Like he didn’t know what was up.
“Did you delete that photo?” I demanded.
“Yeah,” he said, but it took way too long for him to say it. Long enough for him to ponder his lie and if I was gonna buy it.
Nope. Not buying it at all.
“You better delete it,” I told him. And yes, I knew Liam could hear this, but I knew he wasn’t the nosy type. If he was, Cary wouldn’t keep him around. “It is not cool to keep a picture of a woman’s privates on your phone that she did not mean for you to receive.”
“I get that.”
“And it’s also not cool for you to lie about it.”
“And you’re not lying?”
“What?”
“I know it’s not you, Taylor,” he said, and I realized he sounded a little drunk himself. It was Saturday night, after all. Oh, God. Was he drinking with Ash right now? “I can see Danica’s rings. You know, her wedding ring and such?”
Oh, Christ. Her fingers were in the photo.
Was she really spreading herself open? I did not need that mental image in my brain.
But worse, she sure as hell didn’t need it on Matt’s phone.
“Delete the pic,” I said, in my I’m-not-fucking-around voice. “This is not Cary Clarke’s assistant speaking to you right now, you understand? It’s Danica’s best friend. And Danica is mortified.”
“Okay. Consider it deleted.”
“Good. Then consider yourself off my shit list. And let’s never speak of this again.”
“Fine by me.”
I hung up on him, wondering if Liam would say anything, and he did. “Everything okay?” he asked me, sounding like a concerned father, which I supposed he was.
“Yup. Sometimes a girl’s just gotta put the boys in their place, you know?”
“Agreed,” he said. “And good for you.”
He didn’t say anything else for the rest of the drive.
When Liam dropped me at the house, I found Cary in the studio. He got to his feet as I staggered in. He’d been playing guitar on the couch by the window, with the drapes open, but he set the acoustic aside as his eyes drank me in, head-to-toe.
“You. Are. In. Trouble,” I said, shedding my purse and my shoes as I crossed the room.
“What? Why?”
I walked past him, heading straight for the alcove and his bed. “Because you should never tell a drunk girl to send you a pic of her pussy.”
He smirked, following my drunken, weaving path across the room as I squirmed out of my dress. “Why the hell not?”
“Because then she tells her drunk best friend to do the same thing.” I tossed the dress at him. I vaguely remembered that I had no panties on, which meant I was now naked except for my bra.
“Uh, you asked Danica to send me a picture of her—”
“No. I told her to send one to her husband, obviously.” I stopped at the bed and spun to face him. “But because she’s too drunk to properly operate a device as complicated as a phone right now, she sent it to the wrong man.” I plunked down on the bed.
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah. Oh, shit.” I started wrestling with my bra, trying to take it off. “And now she’s mortified and you are in trouble.”
He stood in front of me, watching me fight with the bra and lose. It had a halter back and for some reason it was completely besting me right now. “How is this my fault?” he inquired.
“It was your idea.”
“Hey, I never told Danica to send a picture of her pussy to anyone,” he said, sounding way too amused. “That was all you, babe.”
“Ugh.” I slapped a hand over my face, giving up on my bra.
He sat down next to me. “Can I help? Who did she send it to? Can we intercept it somehow?”
“You know text messages are instant, right?”
“Yeah, but I’m a secret spy, remember?”
I smiled at him.
“Maybe I can pay Dean to climb in his window,” he said, “and steal his phone, erase it, and put it back before he’s ever the wiser.”
“That’s kinda sweet,” I said, sighing. “But it’s too late. He already saw it. I called him and told him to delete it. Do you think he will?”
“Uh. Honestly… I don’t know.”
“Why would a guy keep an unsolicited pic of a woman’s pussy on his phone that she sent to him accidentally??” I practically shouted.
“Hey, I don’t know. I’m just saying. Guys are pigs. We like pussy. And… finders keepers, right?”
My jaw dropped.
Cary grinned. Then he started laughing.
“Is this funny to you?”
“Maybe. Who did she send it to, anyway?”
“None… of your… business…” I said, poking him in the chest with each word, driving him back until he fell back on the bed. I climbed over him. “You… are… naughty…” I poked my way down his stomach toward his pants as I straddled him.
“You… are… naked…” he said as I unbuttoned his jeans.
“No, I’m not. I couldn’t get my bra off. It’s impossible.”
“Let me help you with that.” He unhooked the bra and peeled it off over my head.
“That was very sober of you.”
He grinned.
“You’re very smiley tonight,” I told him.
“Come here.” He tugged me gently toward him and I leaned down over him so our lips could meet. I was naked on top of him and he was still dressed. I didn’t like it.
I squirmed, trying to shove his jeans down enough to get at his cock. I slid my hand down over the smooth head and gripped his hard shaft.
“Yeah, Taylor,” he groaned. “Touch me. Show me what you want…” He kept talking dirty as we made out and I peeled his clothes off to get at all the good stuff. His hard chest. His lean abs. His sexy hips. I licked the lines of his long, lean muscles as I went. “Yeah… fuck… I want to slide deep inside you and fuck you slowly, until you come all over me…”
Usually, he was pretty vocal and bossy during sex. I liked it.
I kinda noticed though, even drunk—or maybe especially because I was drunk?—that he wasn’t all that vocal about much else. Music; he was vocal about that. But we never talked much about his issues.
I tried not to let it bother me, but it was bothering me more and more.
Maybe that was unfair of me, though.
Maybe we didn’t need to talk about his issues? Maybe they’d work themselves out, with time and patience and…
Love.
Cary grabbed my hips and tried to guide me where he wanted me so he could fuck me, but I pulled myself back, just out of reach.
“Come back he—” I silenced him by shoving my tongue deep in his mouth. After I’d kissed him into submission and he stopped trying to yank my pussy to his dick, I broke the kiss and looked into his eyes.
“What if I want to be the boss this time?”
He absorbed that, his eyes all hazed up with lust. “Have at it.”
“Yeah? You can handle that? A woman… ” I slid my hand down over his dick again, which flexed under my touch, hungry. “Giving you orders…” I squeezed him and he groaned. He was insanely hard. “Telling you what to do and how to do it…”
“Please,” he hissed, right before I kissed him again.
Then I slid my hips up to his and lifted, placing myself directly over the head of his cock. I pointed him where I wanted him, then pressed my hips down, taking him inside me. When I’d pushed him deep enough that I could let go with my hand, I grabbed both his wrists and pinned them above his head.
“No touching,” I ordered.
Then I sank my hips down, taking him deep.
His mouth fell open.
Yup. He liked it when I was the boss.
“You… are so… bossy…” I told him as I rode him slowly. “Tonight, it’s my turn…”
He didn’t seem to have any problem with that, so I stretched out, pressing into his wrists to hold him trapped beneath me as my hips did the rest. I rode him as slowly as I wanted to, and then faster, just watching his beautiful face.
“Kiss me,” he said.
“I’m giving the orders. Shut up and fuck me.”
His eyes flashed with pure lust. He lifted his hips, grinding into me with each undulation of my hips. I met each thrust as his movements grew more impatient, more hurried. I could see him getting close to losing it. I could hear it in his stuttered breaths.
“Now, I’m gonna come,” I told him. “Be a good boy and don’t come until I’m peaking. If you go soft before I’m done, there’s gonna be trouble.”
He’d been watching my body move up and down, mesmerized. But now his eyes met mine. He choked out a strained laugh. “You’d better hurry.”
I started fucking him harder and pressed one hand over his mouth, silencing him. Then I got serious, working my hips against him so the pressure built, working myself closer and closer to orgasm.
“I’m gonna come,” I told him, right before I went off.
His hips had stilled, and I took my time, grinding my clit against him as I tumbled over the edge. I wasn’t gentle about it. I slammed against him with unbridled, drunken enthusiasm, with everything I had, and I probably smushed his face with my hand. He didn’t complain or push me off or anything. When my orgasm peaked—sending tremors shooting through my body—I slackened my hold on him, crying out.
He slammed his hands down on my hips, holding me tight against him, and fucked me, hard and fast. A few quick thrusts, and he exploded inside me with a groan.
I rode him slowly as he came, his body shaking beneath me, until he squeezed, his fingers biting into my hips. “Ah… slow down,” he gasped. Then he added hastily, “Please.”
I smiled and flopped down on top of him to kiss his lips. “You’re so cute when you’re polite.”
“You’re so hot when you’re fucking me.”
“Only when I’m fucking you?”
“Especially when you’re fucking me.”
I kissed him again, then kissed my way over his jaw and down his neck while he panted. “Holy Christ,” he groaned. “That was… I’m spinning. I can’t move.”
“And you’re not even the drunk one,” I said, flickering my tongue over his nipple before I tumbled off of him. I stretched out on my back with a grin.
His wide, honey-colored eyes gazed at me as he panted. “I can’t feel anything but the blood pounding in my cock. You’re like a cock vampire or something.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Doesn’t it? There’s no blood left in my brain.”
I giggled.
The room spun a little, but not totally in a bad way. I wasn’t even sure which way was up. But it didn’t even matter. I just closed my eyes, reached out and took Cary’s hand, lacing my fingers through his. Because I was falling, right?
I was totally falling in love with this man.
And you know what? I’d changed my mind about fighting it. Or avoiding it. Or promising myself not to do it.
Maybe I was drunk right now… but wasn’t it a better idea to fall head-over-heels in love with him instead, and live happily-ever-after together?
Yeah.
Much, much better plan.
Chapter Twenty
Cary
Everything Is Automatic
Take that and get some sleep.
I woke up in a cold sweat. I was covered in it. The pillowcase was soaked through beneath my head.
Stay here in my room so no one knows where you are.
I rolled onto my other side, trying not to wake Taylor. I was in bed with her in the poolhouse and the nightmare was fresh, like I’d just stepped out of it. Like it was there in the next room. Like if I got up now, in the dusky dawn light, I’d find him sitting in the chair in the living room, smiling at me.
I love you, brother.
I dreamt about it often. About the last time I ever saw him. I still had the dream, at least once a month or so. But I never dreamed about him more than I did on this day. On this fucking day.
My birthday.
I flipped the wet pillow over, then flopped into it. I rubbed my hand over my face and wondered if I could fall back asleep. If I wanted to risk another nightmare. Or just get up and get on with this fucking day.
Neither. I didn’t want to do either of those things.
I should’ve known this time it would be no different. Even with Taylor at my side.
This was always, always a very bad week for me.
We’d spent the last six days in and out of the studio, as usual. Working. Eating. Going for jogs. Together. Taylor even got me doing yoga with her, as threatened.
We swam in the pool.
We had sex.
We talked and listened to music and laughed.
Everything was a distraction. I’d managed to barely think about it.
Barely think about Gabe.
But the nightmare would find me when I fell asleep. After he died, I’d barely slept for months. I couldn’t stand to see him in my dreams.
Turn off your phone. I’ll wake you up in time for dinner.
It was the worst day of my life: the last birthday I celebrated with him. Because it held my last happy memories of him. The day before I said those words, and then failed him.
It was the worst fucking week of my life, playing out again and again.
So much shit happened this week.
No. I had to stop and remind myself: it already happened. It was all in the past.
I was born.
Gabe died.
Joseph Fetterman, the man who was held legally responsible for his death, died, too.
All history.
But my birthday, it just kept coming, year after year, to remind me.
And all I could do was try to focus on something else. Try not to fall apart, as my best friend’s last words to me would replay, over and over, in my head.
I love you, brother.
He trusted me.
He counted on me, like I counted on him.
That was the part I could never quite see when he was alive. Could never quite see past all my own shit to understand how much he needed me, just like I needed him.
He trusted me, and I let him down.
“Hey.” Taylor’s hand slipped over my hip. Her body shifted as she pressed against my back. She felt warm and soft and inviting, and I practically shuddered with sudden need. It was all consuming, like smothering flames, as the goosebumps rippled across my body.
Someone’s walking over your grave.
That’s what Gabe used to say when I got those strange goosebumps as I overheated, just before a panic attack. When I told him I had nightmares about performing onstage, and about the cold sweat that accompanied the dreams. When I got those hot/cold chills, as the anxiety threatened to pull me under.
Someone’s walking over your grave, man. It’s just the clock ticking.
It was his way of reminding me that one day I’d die, so right now I should live while I could. Fear and anxiety be damned.
We’ll sleep when we’re dead.
I rolled toward her in the dusky light and reached for her. I saw her full, bruised-looking lips. The dark, layered depths of her eyes. Tidal pools. Shadows stirring in the deep. Restless things with too many questions, wanting answers, unable to forget.
Some things just wouldn’t die, even when you wanted them to. They lurked in the dark, waiting. Looking right back at you.
Why did it always feel like I was drowning when I reached for her? Right before I touched her…
“Hey, it’s okay,” she said softly, just before I kissed her. Could she tell I was h
aving a nightmare?
My hand slid between her thighs and found her wet center. I slipped a finger inside her and she shivered, gasping into my mouth. Her hips pressed closer to me. My cock was already thudding and I rolled over her, pinning her down and shoving myself between her legs. My knees dug into the mattress. The head of my cock stretched her open. I plunged my tongue into her mouth, my teeth scraping hers.
I thrust into her and she clutched at my hips.
I pulled her hands off me and pressed them down on either side of her head, kissing her until I thought we might suffocate and I didn’t even care. I fucked her in long, determined strokes, grinding my pelvis against her. She whimpered as her orgasm crept up. I could feel it pulsing around me where she squeezed me, her hips jerking against mine. She moaned, sucking on my bottom lip.
Then her teeth bit down on my lip, and I came so hard my brain did a somersault through the blackness. The whirlpool sucked me under.
Don’t take too many of those.
I jerked back, blinking my eyes open. “Don’t….”
“What?” Taylor reached for me as I pulled away. I pulled out. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head, clearing out the darkness. The remnants of ghosts and memories and whispers in the dark. The ones that told me I was at fault. It was my fault.
I gave him the sleeping pills.
I collapsed next to her and buried my face in her pillow, smothering myself in her scent. My heart was thudding too hard. I needed to breathe. “Sorry,” I croaked. “That was intense. I was half asleep, I think.”
She laughed softly. “What a way to wake up.” Her hand trailed lightly over my back, raising goosebumps across my skin. “Happy birthday,” she sighed.
She barely had the words out when I kissed her again. And I kept kissing her so she wouldn’t say it again.
I hated this fucking day.
I never would’ve even told her it was my birthday if she didn’t find out on her own. From my sister. Either way, I didn’t want to talk about it. About this day or anything it meant to me.
She smiled as I pulled back and looked in her eyes. When she looked at me like that, it was like tendrils of light slithering out of the dark to wrap around my heart and squeeze. I still couldn’t breathe.
Lovely Madness: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 4) Page 31