Rock Me Deep (14 page)

Someone shoved Lola's guitar at her. She took it happily, transforming before my eyes. The instrument was a lifeline. It completed the picture, made her whole. Lola was lost without her music; it hurt me how similar we were.

Now the photos would make sense. They'd show a girl who was a masterpiece of talent, not a half-finished plastic replica.

My heart throbbed in empathy.

The shoot was over as fast as Brenda had promised. We'd driven a few miles with the van for the photographers following us. Tires squeaked, stopping the bus so the group could clamber off. They were efficient. I appreciated that.

“So!” Brenda whirled to face me, not stumbling on her spread feet when the bus took off violently again. “That went well, didn't it?”

“It went fast,” I said. Eyeing Lola, I noticed she wasn't looking at me. “You ready for a break?”

Peeking upwards through her rain-gutter of lashes, she hesitated. “Do we have time for that?”

She's worried about the show.
I was, too, but no longer for the same reasons. Lola was ready to play. As long as I held back from aiming my carnal need-to-fuck-her-raw-energy right at her, she wouldn't mess up.

She'd be amazing. Everyone would know her, and they would love her.

I was fucking terrified.

“We've got time," I said. "You won't do us any good if you pass out from hunger.” I glanced at Brenda. “We need more supplies. There's literally nothing here but alcohol.”

“I know, I know.” Messing with her hair, she pouted. “Think you guys can handle pizza today? I promise after the show tomorrow I'll pack this place full of goodies for the next hike.”

Porter stole more coffee from the box on the table. “I can eat more pizza if you promise to add some fruit to the next stock up.” Noting Brenda's squint, he bobbed his shoulders. “We can't live on sugar and fat alone. You want this band to make it another few years?”

“Actually, I don't know if I'll make it to tomorrow,” Colt groaned. He stumbled down the hall, his face looking like wet cheese. “Fuck, I really did drink too much.”

The sweet, shocking sound of Lola's laugh lit my ears up. She was sitting in the chair, one knee hugged to her chest. The blue in her eyes was glowing. “Sorry,” she said quickly, covering her grin. “You guys are hilarious sometimes.”

Tugging at the hem of my shirt, I sat across from Lola. “Pizza's fine with you?”

“Anything is fine right now.” She toyed with the ends of her hair, her smile fading. “Whatever they used made my hair super soft. I'll never replicate this.”

The tip of my fingers itched to touch the silky strands; to touch any part of her. “Wait till we get backstage at the show. You'll see some real crews for hair and makeup then.”

The bus seat opposite us creaked as Ported fell into it. “Yeah,” he chuckled. “And if you thought last night was crazy, the afterparty will destroy you.”

I didn't like his phrasing. My lips made a bloodless line.
The afterparties, where guys will be fawning all over the new guitarist of Four and a Half Headstones.
Now my fingers were aching to choke the throats of those imaginary men.

“I've been to afterparties.” She folded her legs, the tip of her boots almost brushing my knee. I felt the kiss of air like it was a lightning bolt. “I
was
following and helping Barbed Fire, remember? On the first leg of this tour, we ended up at this random girl's house. It was insane.”

Colt's chuckle was patronizing. “Right right. Like Porter said, wait till you experience a
real
afterparty.”

Her delicious mouth became an electric eel. “Fuck you, the parties I went to were great.”

“But you weren't famous,” Colt said. He folded his arms behind his head, leaning on a window nearby. “After tomorrow, you will be. Then you'll see.”

Then she'll see.

Looking up, I spotted Brenda on her phone. She had her back to us, standing near the front of the bus.
Ordering us some food. Good.
The longer I sat near Lola, the more I needed to put something between my gnashing teeth.

I worried I'd grind my molars down before this tour was done.

Lola

––––––––

T
he pizza fueled me enough for the next four hours of practice. That was good, I needed something in my stomach; it kept doing flips and pretzels the closer we got to the concert location.

I was relieved that I'd been able to make my hands listen to me as we played. Something had happened that morning.
It was like Drezden hid himself behind a curtain.
He still sounded the same, it was just the fuel in his emerald eyes had burned out. Whatever the change, not being on the end of his assassin style demeanor let me play to my fullest.

I had to admit, we sounded fucking great.

Porter and Colt squeezed out into the hallway, arguing over who was taking a shower first. When the curtain dropped, I became acutely aware that I was alone with Drez.
Relax, he isn't going to bite you.
I wasn't sure about that.

Tying my hair off of my sweating neck, I rolled my head. “Starting to get a muscle cramp,” I mumbled. Rubbing at the gap between neck and shoulder, I winced.

A shadow fell over me. “Is it bad?” he asked.

The inside of my throat was made from sand and ash.
Remember how he said to stop pretending to be tough. Just tell him!
“It's super tight, yeah,” I admitted.

Drezden settled next to me on the bench, straddling it so he could face me. He twirled a finger in the air, motioning for me to turn around. “Let me massage it out. You'll be stiff and useless for the show tomorrow if I don't.”

Is he right about that?
I'd never practiced so much in such a short time. If he was right, then all of this work would be pointless if I didn't let him help me. Flipping one leg over the bench, I gripped it between my thighs. “Fine, if you think it's necessary.”

He was a wall of heat against my spine, a volcanic explosion I couldn't run away from. I braced myself for the first touch of his hands.

Firm palms came down, clasping not just one, but both sides of my neck. Drezden used precision, rolling his fingers over the knots I didn't even know I had. The tension in me went beyond just my shoulders and neck.

Lowering my chin, I hid behind the curtain of my hair. He couldn’t see my face from where he was, I wanted any bit of protection I could find. The last time Drez had touched me, things had gotten crazy.

Far too crazy.

A shiver jolted down to my core as he rolled a thumb along my jugular. “You're tight as a rusty spring,” he murmured. I wasn't prepared for his breath to tickle the shell of my ear. Hot pin pricks danced everywhere, the hairs on my body becoming unbreakable needles.

Right away, I knew the inside of my panties were damp.

He's like a beacon of living sex.
Trembling harder, I dug my nails into the tops of my thighs. His motions were amazing, which made it even scarier. Drezden knew how to touch me. He rubbed away the soreness from playing, all the while leaving a new tension in its place.

Soon, my body rocked along with his rhythm. The ball of air in my chest threatened to shred my lungs. Solid steel touched my shoulder blades; his chest, he was leaning into me.

That alone would have been too much.

When the stiff, hot bulge of his erection bumped my lower back, I was done.

Gasping, I jumped off the bench. I thought he'd try to stop me, but he made no such effort. Breathing heavily, I stared at the singer with disbelief. The fervor in his eyes, the passion he'd been restraining while singing, was back.

“What are you doing?” I hated how breathy my voice sounded.

“Massaging you,” he said softly. The way he shrugged pissed me off. He wasn't
just
massaging me, he knew that.

I thought about what my brother had said to me that morning:
A guy like him has a poet's heart. It's why he's so good at what he does.

You should go ahead and try to steal some of that.

Blushing furiously, I looked away. “You were doing more than massaging me. Way more.”

The bench moaned, abandoned by Drezden's weight. His long legs carried him to me in a blink. Impossibly, his scent filled my nostrils all over again. “I don't know what you mean,” he said.

How could my heart handle this? The blood in my body was certainly magma by now. Lifting my eyes, I tried to stare at just his chin. Maybe then I could concentrate.
No, now all I see are his lips. His fucking smirking lips.
I spoke to them anyway. “You're going too far with me. I'm not a fucking idiot. I don't know what your game is, but...”

In a blur, he gripped my upper arms, pushing me into the wall and leaving me stunned. Vibrations rolled through my head, but nothing could muffle his words. “I don't know what game I'm playing either,” he whispered. “I only know the prize.”

My vision was constrained on his face. The hard edges of his teeth, the part of his smile that wanted to cut me open. Drezden had made his goal so overtly clear, it left me wondering why I'd thought to ask. He was a man with no fear. Nothing held him back.

And he wanted to have me.

I
was the fucking prize.

“Wait.” My single word was fragile. I tried again, bolder. “Hold on, I'm not yours.”

“No,” he agreed. Strong fingers slid down the insides of my arms, taking my strength as they crawled. “Not yet.”

I couldn't handle this. There were many things I considered myself; smart, capable.

Strong.

No one had ever walked into my world and toppled me so easily. Why was Drezden so good at it? What made him invade my mind and body with rapid speed? Cotton swaddled my brain. My tongue was useless, it held no arguments.

I found myself on the verge of collapsing, or running, or slipping away mentally. It felt like I'd been cornered by a rabid tiger. He was going to consume me, he'd said himself that he wanted me. Didn't he realize I wasn't able to cope with that?

Maybe I wasn't as tough as I thought. Maybe my act was backfiring.
He thinks I'm tough enough to take him on. That's my own fault for calling him out in the damn tub last night.

Drezden Halifax was a passionate being full of fire and acid and pure stars. He
was
a star. A fucking poet, as Sean had said.

And I was no one.

Not just no one, I'm a fucking virgin. Rock stars aren't virgins. Holy shit, he'll leave me in pieces. We're on entirely different levels. Different worlds!

He bent down, all lips and smoky smirks. The seconds slowed. I knew he was going to kiss me. Instinct kicked in—fight or flight. In a great flex of muscles, I kicked a leg upwards. My knee landed solidly in his stomach, thudding on his sculpted abs.

Grunting, he let me go and backed up. His eyes were as wide as they could get. “What the fuck was that for?” he growled.

Suddenly I felt... really stupid. “You were—the look in your eyes, I just...”

“Just say
no
next time! Or stop! Jamming a knee into my guts is kind of over the top. Fuck.” Rubbing his shirt, he looked me up and down. I caught the humor in his sideways sneer. I hadn't injured him, he wasn't even upset. “You really don't want me near you, do you?”

Guilt dug in with its sharp fangs. “It's not that! I actually think you're—”
Stop, stop talking!
“This just isn't a good idea, for either of us.”

“Why isn't it a good idea for me?”

My lips parted, hesitating. I didn't know why it was bad for him at all. “Fine. I'm being selfish, okay? This is a bad idea for
me,
for my career.” His grimace was brief, but I saw it. “If it goes bad between us... the band might not recover.”

I was the newest member. If push came to shove, they'd cast me aside and get someone to replace me. I needed this too much.

Sean's face commanding me to realize what an opportunity this was filled my head until my skull twinged. My brother knew how important this was. He'd encouraged me for a reason.

I couldn't bear letting him down when things inevitably went sideways.

Drezden filled my world again. He slid upwards, chest grinding on mine. I gasped, then clenched my jaw. His hands crept down to hold my hips possessively. “So you
have
thought about us hooking up.”

“No!”
Yes.
“Never!”
Since I listened to you sing during practice yesterday.

That wasn't right—my interest had a longer tooth. I'd had a crush on Drezden Halifax since the first time I'd played his CD. He'd kept me company before he knew my name or my face.

Now, that very man was so close I could rub my nose on his if I just bent forward. “Tell me, Lola,” he sighed, claiming my waist, pulling up the shirt I still wore from the photo shoot and showing off my navel. “Why are you fighting this? I could tell last night that you wanted me.”

Images of his hard body holding me down in the porcelain tub flooded me. “I just told you!” My voice was rising, gaining volume with my confused energy. “I don't want to fuck up the band!”

“But you do want to fuck me," he chuckled darkly.

Ignoring the pulse between my thighs, I said, "I figured you'd care about the band, too.”

He didn't shout over me. He didn't need to. “You think I'm not worried about the band?” The texture in his throat was raw and wet and it begged me to hear him say
anything
. I was addicted to his voice. “You think I don't
care?
Lola, it's not about that! It's about being willing enough, strong enough, to take a damn risk!”

Barely standing, his hands were all that kept me on my feet.
Take a risk?
I knew what it meant to take risks.
Sean accused me of not being ready for this band. He goaded me into going to the audition, made me see I was going to miss an opportunity otherwise.

But this wasn't the same thing.

There was noise in the hallway. Drezden released me, backing up and heading for his microphone. I stayed against the wall, my fingers half-bent, my lips hanging partially open in shock. If my mind could have been pulled out, put on display, it would have looked even more disheveled.