Owned (Rockstar Romance) (Lost in Oblivion Book 5) (31 page)

“God, yes. Please. It’s been so long.”

Questions burned in his head, nearly crowding out the heat caused by her frantic bounces against his dick. At the rate she was going, he wouldn’t make it inside her. But her pussy was sucking at his finger, her clit a stiff bead under his touch, and he couldn’t focus on anything but the wetness coating his skin.

One yank on the piercing and another stroke on her clit and she shattered underneath him. He’d never seen her come so fast in his life.

And she wasn’t done. When he would’ve given her a moment to recover, she grabbed his hand and pressed it down harder between her legs, wordlessly making a demand he was all too happy to fulfill.

He pressed two fingers inside her, sliding them deep enough to rip a cry from her throat. Slowly, he pumped them in and out, drawing her up on her knees as he used his other hand to probe between her ass cheeks. Her excitement had dripped there too, and he used the small bit of lubrication to push into her ass. She always balked at first, soon becoming pliant under his strokes.

This time, she quivered for more from the first thrust.

“I want you here too. Everywhere.”

She nodded, bumping his chin. “Yes. Fill me up. You’re all there is.”

“No, we’re all there is.” He twisted his fingers inside her and nipped at her shoulder, soothing the sting with kisses that belied the fierceness of his movements. He wasn’t sparing her anything.

She said she was ready. He was ready too. To find one more space in the center of insanity that they could carve out for their own.

Her orgasm caught him by surprise, stealing through her with an intensity that forced her forward to brace her hands on the mattress. Locking his arm around her thigh, he rubbed her pussy hard, as hard as his fingers opened her up for his invasion from behind. She didn’t shy away from any of it, quaking without cease.

Before she’d stopped shaking, he moved to the nightstand and the things he’d stashed in the second drawer.

She’d probably found them before. If so, she’d never said. The vibrator was long and slim, the lube the kind that warmed upon touch. He removed both, set them at her side. Her gaze slid over them and her head lifted, her eyes searching for his in the darkness. Even though he could only make out the tiniest hints of her face—the whiteness of her eyes, the gleam of her teeth as she licked her lips—he knew the expression she’d be wearing.

Wolfish. Hungry. Just like his.

He shed his own clothes. Shoes, jeans, shirt, boxers. Watching her watch him all the while.

Climbing on the bed behind her, he gathered her long, sleek hair in his hands and put his mouth to her throat. “How many times can you come for me?”

“Tonight?” She took a shaky breath. “I don’t think I can count that high.”

“Let’s make sure you can’t.” He licked the side of her neck. “Open the lube. I want you to get yourself ready for me.”

If she fumbled, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he heard the cap click open on the tube, then felt her slick fingers slide over his cock. Getting him ready first. He was so hard, so impossibly eager that with one glide of her hand, he was hissing. On the second downstroke, he bit the back of her neck.

Her moan was his reward.

A breeze wafted over his length and he felt the loss of her hand as acutely as a slap. What made up for it was her thumb reaching back to trace over the head of him while her index finger painted that taut little pucker that would soon be his.

Every part of her he would claim. Her heart, most of all. If any chamber of it still locked him out, he wouldn’t give up, wouldn’t stop until he owned every inch.

“Mine,” he breathed against her shoulder. “Tell me you belong only to me.”

If they were just words, he would make them prophecy. She would be his as he was already hers. As he’d been hers since the first time she’d stared him down and put him in his rightful place.

On his knees, worshipping her from head to toe.

“I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.” She grabbed his hand and squirted the lube into his palm. The warmth started immediately. “Take what belongs to you. Give me what’s mine.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Glazing that spot between her cheeks with the heated liquid, he prepared her slowly. Carefully. He covered her, coated his erection. Drenched the vibrator in the slippery substance that would bring her to even higher heights. And when he would’ve pushed her down to her shoulders, facedown, she shook her head and reminded him that his spot would always be at her side. Not on top, not below. Not in front. Not behind.

Always side by side. Connected as one.

She rolled to her side and lifted her leg over both of his. Offering her trust so easily and simply that if he’d had breath left, she would’ve owned that too.

He filled her with the vibrator first. One inch at a time. He hit the root and flipped it on, keeping his hand there to trap the sensations inside. And together, with her fingers tangling with his, they brought his cock between her cheeks.

Slow. So slow. Lifetimes passed in the beat of her heart against his mouth, where he’d pressed it to the pulse beating frantically beneath her jaw. In the low keening moans that first were hers, then his. Combining into a music that could never be replicated.

She quaked around him, inside out. Anchored her leg over his, a steel band that would never break. Opening herself up to every deep, dark thrust he gave her, daring her to the edge of her endurance and then over.

There was no end. Just beyond. Just more.

When he finally bottomed out inside her, she cried out and the sound was like a christening. Whatever had stood between them couldn’t be more than this. She loved him. He loved her.

Her thighs shook, signaling her climax. His hold on the vibrator faltered and it slipped out of her, falling away. Hand trembling, he slid upward to touch as much of her as he could. She was so damp, so soft and full. Her body rounded in all the places his was angular. Giving in the places he was hard and straining.

He cupped her belly and for an instant, something moved through him. Knowledge. Recognition. Something he couldn’t define. Then the same wave that swamped her drowned him, and he could only bury his face in her hair and hang on.

Her fingers laced with his. Tight. So tight. And linked, he finally let go.

T
he next time
she decided to visit the studio, she was going to drive somewhere else. Anywhere else. A doggie daycare at feeding time would be preferable than listening—and watching—the assorted whining, complaints and bitching this group did on a daily basis.

This time, Simon wasn’t the problem. Oh no, he was actually being focused. Too focused, as far as Nick was concerned. He must be up to something.

Must be planning to overthrow the band or God knows what.

Their sniping was reaching migraine levels, but the good news outweighed everything. They actually had a couple of songs in the can. Fully finished, completed,
amazing
songs. More were under way. They didn’t have an album’s worth yet, but every day, more work was being done. They were carving away at the lyrics, the melodies, fiddling with arrangements. Sometimes as a group, more often splitting off into their comfortable factions. Usually Deacon with Jazz and Gray, Margo with Simon, and Nick with…well, his notebook and the cigarettes she couldn’t get him to stop sneaking into the studio. But they were making progress.

She was making progress too. She’d called her OB/Gyn and explained she needed an earlier appointment. February 1
^st
was just too far away, although they were flying through the month of January at warp speed. But at this point, unless she’d been kidnapped and implanted with an alien in her sleep, she pretty much knew she had to be pregnant.
How
she had no idea, but that wasn’t the point.

Of course she knew how, she just didn’t know the specifics. She’d faithfully taken her birth control. It wasn’t unheard of to get pregnant while taking them, but for God’s sake, it had taken her nearly a year to get knocked up with no protection with her husband when she’d been at her most fertile. Now she’d managed it while on the pill?

It was probably a good thing they’d used condoms for so long. If not, this could have happened last winter, and wouldn’t that have been perfect timing. Martin had a new baby already but that was different. She would be viewed through a much different lens.

Her earlier appointment was in a few days. She’d gotten lucky that her doctor had a cancellation, because she was notoriously hard to book. But her doctor had given her a number of instructions in case—such as to stop taking her birth control, which she’d done in December. She’d known she was taking a risk but she’d been fairly certain she was pregnant. She’d been pregnant before.

Though she’d never felt quite like this.

Cut down on caffeine—done. She was down to herbal tea. She wouldn’t even drink decaf coffee in case her habit came roaring back.

Get plenty of rest. Doable, since all she wanted to do was sleep.

Limit the stress—which was a joke, but necessary with her history of miscarriages. She’d been trying. Mostly unsuccessfully. She didn’t know what else to do. She’d been doing enough yoga to send her stress levels into negative levels and yet she still kept getting the headaches. Still kept feeling dizzy.

The nausea and hunger she knew were part of how it all worked. But the lightheadedness and relentless headaches were making her start to worry. Hence, the moved up appointment.

Freaking out about Nick’s response didn’t help, of course. She’d tried to open that door the other night when they’d finally had sex after what felt like forever, but he’d shut her down so fast. She didn’t know what he thought she’d been keeping from him, but she had a feeling it wasn’t baby-related. Even knowing that, she hadn’t felt adept enough to tackle the subject. To reassure him and try to find the words to say the impossible.

My doctors told me I might have trouble getting pregnant again, but surprise! Not only pregnant, but pregnant on BC. You must have super sperm.

They couldn’t even blame the babymaking room at her parents’, since the deed had already been done.

Last night she’d awakened in the middle of the night. She’d gone to bed before Nick, which wasn’t anything unusual lately. But while he’d sawed them off beside her, she had searched online for help.

Her preferred Google term had become
how to tell your significant other you’re pregnant
.

Naturally the ideas centered on cute things like buying tiny shirts that said
guess what
? Or getting a book on pregnancy and putting a bookmark on a relevant page, then leaving it on his pillow. Or her favorite, circling the possible due date on a calendar with a heart and hanging it above the bed.

Her favorite if she hadn’t been terrified at his reaction.

Besides, she didn’t know her due date. She’d done some calculations and her best guess was August, judging from the periods she’d missed and when she’d started feeling weird. She tracked everything about her health, so short of an apocalypse, she had a good idea of what had begun when. Stress could cause a lot of funky things, and she’d used that excuse for a long time.

She wasn’t using it anymore. Her expanding waistline had put the kibosh on that. Handy, since it went with her rapidly growing boobs.

Like…seriously rapidly. She’d had some breast swelling the first go-round, but nothing like this and she’d been further along when she lost the baby.

Just the thought made her press her hand to her head. Her
aching
head. She couldn’t go through that again. She could handle anything else, but not losing another child.

It would kill her.

So she had to tell him and soon, because it wasn’t just herself she was protecting now. She had a baby to keep safe. She hoped with her whole heart that he could deal with her speeding up this part of the plan. There was no doubt he loved her, and she knew he’d try his best to accept the rushed timetable. It was the disappointment she feared seeing in his eyes that kept her silent. He’d already proven he was attempting to open his mind to the idea of a family, but somehow they’d screwed up the timeline. Feeling guilty for something she wanted more than anything seemed ridiculous, though she did.

She felt so many damn things, and not having anyone to tell was driving her crazy.

The other day she’d come so close to spilling everything to Margo. Her friend would keep her secret. She had no concern there. What had shut her down was that Nick should know first. Scared or not, she owed that to him.

So she told no one, and suffered alone. And also rejoiced alone, because with every passing day, she felt that light inside her burning stronger. Glowing brighter.

She truly wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Sure. I’m fine.” Lila glanced up at Jazz and let her hand drop from her head, tucking it under her hip.

She was in her usual observing spot in the studio, one of the big cushy club chairs in the corner. She had a lot of tasks that filled up her day, most involving meeting with clients and music bigwigs and making myriad phone calls, so her time in the studio was usually limited at best. But she enjoyed watching their crazy, chaotic process, at least when they weren’t making her nuts.

“Positive about that? You look like you have a headache.”

“Nothing new there.” Lila gave her a weak smile and gripped the pad in her lap. “How are you? Not that I need to ask. You’re glowing, full of energy, and yesterday there was that little moment I witnessed in the booth.” She circled her finger and Jazz grinned.

“Oh, you mean the one where I was on Gray’s lap? Yeah. Well, you know, horny times. Preggo hormones and creativity go hand in hand with wanting to jump him at every moment.”

“It’s really nice to see.” Lila smiled and hoped she didn’t sound as wistful as she felt.

On the love score, she had no complaints. Nick loved her without reservation. She just didn’t know if he’d love their baby. Or worse, if he said he did, and she always had to wonder if it was true.

It wasn’t all his fault. He’d been very open with his lack of role models growing up. He’d seen nothing that made him want to procreate merrily. Their upbringings couldn’t be any more opposite.

She didn’t blame him for anything. She just didn’t know how to bridge the gap.

“I’m lucky. So lucky. It was a long road getting here, but once you get where you’re going, it makes all the steps worth it.” Jazz sat on the arm of Lila’s chair and touched her hair. A year ago, Lila would have shied away from the contact. She had to maintain her boundaries with the bands she worked with.

Now she wanted to hug Jazz tight.

“Hey, you can talk to me, you know. I know I’m not Margo, and she’s your person and all, but if there’s something…if you need a friend, I love you too.”

Lila bent her head, but not fast enough to hide the tears that escaped.

“Hey. Hey. What is it?” Jazz tipped up her face. “Is it Nick? Do you want me to kill him? I know pressure points that can bring him to his knees.”

In spite of the lump in her throat, she laughed. “No. We’re fine.”
For now
.

That was the part that she always circled back around to. It was so much harder to be afraid to lose something wonderful and perfect than it was to let go of the farce of her first marriage.

“Then what is it? I know it’s been tense in the studio, and you’re under pressure from Donovan and the record company. You have a narrow line to walk. Dealing with temperamental artists, facing down corporate sharks.” Jazz brushed Lila’s hair away from her cheek, another of those casual, tender gestures Lila had loved so much growing up and had learned to do without.

She’d been on her own for so many years. A lone wolf, just like Nick. Separate out of self-preservation.

She’d eventually convinced herself she didn’t need to be held or kissed or touched. But when Nick had come into her life, and the band itself, she’d been like a sunflower in the sun. Yearning for so much.

“Can I touch your belly?” Lila whispered.

Another woman might have shifted away. Even for Jazz, who probably let just about anyone steal a snatch of her joy and rub her ever-expanding belly, it was an intimate thing

“Sure.” Jazz didn’t hesitate to grab Lila’s hand. “Most people don’t ask, just go in for the grab. Of course it’s hard to miss.”

The instant Jazz placed her hand on that mass of warmth, of life, Lila’s tears ran freely.

“Goddammit,” Nick shouted from across the studio, followed by a crack that was probably his hand on a table. “I told you that bridge needed work. Fucking idiots never listen to me. We need another take.”

Jazz sighed. “No wonder you’re crying. You’re a strong woman, Lila Shawcross. I mean Ronson.”

Lila’s lips twitched. “He’s a little possessive of the music.”

“Just a tad. Look, we can go for a walk, if you don’t want anyone to overhear—”

“No. I’m okay. I’m okay.” She dashed away the tears and leaned back until the pinprick lights in the ceiling swam in and out of focus with the pounding in her head.

The pain reminded her quick that she had no time for sentimentality. As did the insistent buzz at her hip. She wasn’t surprised that Donovan was calling. He’d been surprisingly quiet and given Nick the requested space. But the weeks were passing, and he had budgets to make balance and his own people to answer to.

As did she.

“I have to take this. It’s Donovan,” she said apologetically to Jazz. “But thank you. I needed a Jazz-and-baby break.”

“Anytime. My babies are your babies. You can take them anytime you want. Preferably when Gray and I can shack up somewhere and defy the laws of gravity.”

Lila laughed and squeezed her hand, then waited until Jazz headed back into the lunacy before taking the call.

“Donovan.”

“Lila. How are you?”

Hot. Exhausted. My ankles and hands are swollen, and my head is killing me. Oh, and I think my skirt may be cutting off my air. Otherwise, peachy, thanks.

“Good.” She blinked away the last of the wetness in her eyes. “I assume you want a status report.”

“I do. In the old days, the ones where you were not intimately involved with Oblivion’s lead guitarist, I could be assured of having those reports on a regular and timely basis. Now I find they often don’t appear unless I remind you of their importance.” He waited a beat. “Consider this your reminder.”

She rattled off a sanitized version of where they were progress-wise on the album. Donovan was no dummy. He’d been in bands himself in days of yore, so he knew how it worked with most creative teams. Every step forward was marred with shouting and insults that hopefully never made it outside the box.

With Oblivion, one could never be certain.

“So then the opportunity I was presented with today will mesh perfectly with all this forward momentum. Glad to hear it.”

Her stomach pitched. Not terribly shocking, since she might’ve guessed she was on a rocking ship if not for the fact her low heels were planted firmly on the floor. But she couldn’t tell if she was nauseous or hungry or just sick. Talking to Donovan was not helping.

She needed that doctor’s appointment to happen fast.

“What opportunity?”

He outlined plans for a rooftop concert in March at a building in downtown LA. Some photography contact of his wanted to make a big splash, and what better way than to have his favorite band playing their first concert on top of his building?

On top of his building. In mid-March. Welcome to California.

“That’s not long from now.” A month and a half, give or take since January was nearing its end.

“No. But Oblivion will be ready. From that report you just gave me, they’re making epic progress.”

She shut her eyes on her view of Simon holding up his hand in Nick’s face inside the booth across the room. She didn’t want to know if Nick decided to break any of his best friend’s fingers.

Ex-best friend. Current best friend. Who even knew anymore? Not her.

“They are. I’ll tell them.” Quickly, because it looked like she’d be taking a few hours of comp time this afternoon. She tried to flip through her mental database of what she had scheduled but it was like trying to decipher hieroglyphics. The dates and times she always had memorized—her lifeblood—just weren’t there. “Is there anything else?” she asked, gripping the arm of her chair until her knuckles were white.