Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
ICE
H e woke before her, as he’d expected to. While he’d always been something of an early riser, no matter how late they crashed, Silver could sleep well into the afternoon without issue.
So he woke before her and showered off the night before while he tried not to think about all the things he’d said to her. Words he’d wanted to give her for so long but had kept to himself for obvious reasons. Words he was trying his damndest not to regret now that they’d been said and couldn’t be taken back.
She’d just looked so fucking perfect standing there in the moonlight, something in him had broken. The part of him that had kept those words at bay for so long had snapped right in two at the sight of her.
Now the words had been said, and there was no point beating himself up about it. His energy would be better put to use making sure she had coffee when she finally dragged herself out of bed, and preferably something to eat as well.
Silver, he’d learned early on, was an absolute terror in the mornings if she wasn’t fed and caffeinated in an appropriate amount of time.
Unfortunately, his supplies were running low. So he made himself coffee, and ordered breakfast to be delivered before carrying his cup to the living room where his current morning read awaited him. It was a habit he’d started back when the band had been in their early days, waking up before everyone else to lose himself in a good book for a little while. There weren’t many moments of quiet or privacy when touring in a cramped bus with three other people, and unlike Ace and Crash, he needed his quiet time. Letting himself get whisked away to lands of dragons and magic, or tagging along with a grizzled private investigator as he hunted a killer was often the only way for him to find that quiet.
But today, the book wasn’t working. Every few sentences, he’d find himself staring at the bedroom door, waiting for Silver to emerge. When he realized he’d been reading the same page for over twenty minutes, he gave up and tossed the book aside.
Mug in hand, he walked out onto the large back deck. Bright blue skies greeted him, and he closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the day soak into his skin.
His imagination opened, letting in the memories of the night before. Silver, up on the St. Andrew’s cross, naked and ready for his discipline. Silver, wrapped around him, begging him to let her come as he’d fucked her up against that same cross.
Silver, with her hands in his hair, sobbing his name as he’d teased her into a frenzy. The way she’d seemed to light up the night with the flush of pleasure on her cheeks as she’d grinned down at him. And then her on her back in his bed, writhing under him and screaming herself hoarse as he’d eaten his fill over and over again, until his tongue had practically gone numb.
Fuck .
Restless with wanting her, he stomped back into the house and drained his coffee. He needed something, anything to take his mind off Silver and his out-of-control libido, even if just for a few moments.
His gaze landed on the old acoustic guitar tilted against an empty corner in the living room. He hadn’t brought much of his equipment with him, but that guitar, the one Ace’s dad had given him the day Deviant Whispers had signed their first recording deal, went with him everywhere.
Picking it up, he carried it over to the couch and settled with it. Softly, in the hopes he wouldn’t wake Silver, he strummed an old familiar tune, one he remembered Ace’s parents dancing to in the kitchen when he’d been too young to realize the strength of what they had.
Had he been too young, or had their love simply been so foreign to him that he hadn’t known what to make of it? He remembered so clearly watching them with a kind of awe, waiting for the moment the spell would be broken.
But it never had been. Even when Richard had spun his beautiful wife in a circle and she’d accidentally knocked an entire pitcher of lemonade on the floor, showering them with the sticky sweet liquid and shards of glass, he’d only laughed and helped her clean up. There’d been no screaming, no swearing, no raised fists like in Ice’s house.
Now, thirty-plus years old and in love with a woman he could never really have, his throat ached with the remembering. How could a couple who loved like that raise a man who treated his woman the way Ace treated Silver? There was no doubt in his mind that if Richard had any inkling of how bad things had gotten between them, he’d have some choice words for his son.
Thinking about Ace had his thoughts drifting back to that night at Black Light. When Silver had sworn so fiercely she was done with Ace, for real this time. Unlike all the other times before, he’d been compelled to believe her.
He still didn’t know what, exactly, had gone down between them. But he was damn sure going to find out before he got on that plane back to California.
The songs changed as his mind wandered, one flowing into another. Some were hits he’d helped other artists write, some were those old ‘dancing in the kitchen’ songs. And, eventually, the music was something altogether new. He paused, just long enough to jump up and grab some paper and a pencil.
It took him a while to sketch it out, to get the sound right. But it did what the book and the ocean had failed to do, and he lost track of the world around him as he let the music take him under.
Silver
She couldn’t remember the last time she woken up feeling so well and truly rested. Like all the stress had been drained from her body as she’d slept. Even with the aches and twinges making themselves known in various muscles, she felt good. Really good.
Rolling onto her back, she grinned up at the ceiling. If this was life with Elias Turner, sign her up.
But even as she thought it, a pang of guilt followed the words. Last night had been a one-time thing. Well, a two-time thing if she counted Roulette. Getting tangled up in him, wanting more than either of them were able to give, was a recipe for heartbreak on all fronts.
And now it was morning, which meant their time together was over. Time to get back to the real world.
Even if the real world kind of sucked right now.
Music drifted in through the slightly cracked bedroom door, pulling her from the bed as guilt and worry gave way to curiosity. She knew every song Ice loved to play, and she could almost always pinpoint his mood based on which song he was strumming.
Dressed only in one of his t-shirts, she made her way out to the living room, her caffeine-deprived mind struggling to place the tune. Almost haunting in the melody, she knew it wasn’t one of theirs. Ace would never go for something so tragic and lovely.
The song ended abruptly, interrupted by Ice muttering something under his breath she couldn’t hear as he leaned over and scribbled on the piece of paper in front of him.
Ah. That was why she didn’t recognize the tune. It was brand new.
Entranced by him, she held back, watching as he shifted the guitar on his lap and began the song over again. The music snuck inside her, wrapping sneaky tendrils around her heart and squeezing until she wanted to weep. Even without words, the song spoke of love and loss and longing.
The words, she knew, would come later. Where Ace preferred to write the lyrics first and then add the music later, Ice worked in reverse. It was how they’d worked for years, a seamless team blending their talents with hers and Crash’s, to make some of the greatest music the world had ever known—if she did say so herself.
What would become of them if their band split up? She assumed that, as most did, they would each find their own way. Ace would find someone to give him the music and Ice would find someone to give him the words. But the magic they’d made, that was lightning in a bottle. And she couldn’t see a path where splitting up led to anything good.
Because it made her ache even more than the song had to think of it, she crossed the room to stand in front of him, amused when it took him a moment to notice her. The only time Ice ever seemed oblivious to her presence was when he was deep in his music.
She might have felt guilty for interrupting him if it hadn’t been for the smile that curved his lips as his gaze traveled up from her bare legs, to the hem of his shirt just barely covering her pussy, all the way up to her face. “Morning, Daddy.”
She hadn’t even meant to continue using the title. But she couldn’t regret it, not when his eyes turned to molten pools the moment the words left her lips.
“Morning. Come here.”
He grabbed for her before she had a chance to react, and in a heartbeat she’d taken his guitar’s place on his lap, straddling him as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Pushing aside her worries about what would happen after they returned to California, she grinned and draped her arms around his neck. “Hi.”
“Mmm.” His hold on her loosened, but only so he could grip her ass in his hands, squeezing and kneading the flesh. Little flashes of pain reminded her of the paddling she’d received, how thoroughly she’d been punished, and amusement quickly turned to need.
“I like you like this,” he said, leaning in to brush a kiss over her lips. “All rumpled and soft. And wearing my clothes.”
“I’d look even better out of your clothes. You should come back to bed.”
His hands were making her want things. Things she had no business still wanting in the bright light of day.
“I could…” His voice trailed off on a wicked chuckle. “But you haven’t begged, yet.”
Humiliation heated her cheeks as his hands traveled up her body, teasing her with too-soft touches as he pushed the shirt up over her tummy. But right alongside the humiliation was want and desire, that slow, steady awakening of it as his thumbs traced little patterns over her flesh. “Ice, come on.”
“You know how to beg prettier than that, baby,” he scolded with another of those low laughs. Now his thumbs moved higher, brushing against the swell of her breasts. “If you want Daddy’s cock, you have to beg me for it.”
There were times she didn’t mind begging for a cock. Like when she was tied to a cross in the middle of a club, with an audience watching her thoroughly humiliate herself for her man.
But here on this pretty couch in this pretty little house, with the beautifully tragic music he’d been creating still ringing in her ears, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. “I’m not begging you to fuck me, Elias.”
In a heartbeat, she was on her back, his shirt shoved up over her breasts, baring her to his hungry gaze. “We’ll see about that.”
And then his mouth was on her, feasting on the tender flesh of her breasts, tugging at her hardening nipples. With every touch of his tongue, every nip of pain from his teeth, the need between her thighs grew more and more urgent.
Until she was on fire with it, every inch of her body inflamed from the inside out as she arched up, offering herself to him on a silent plea. “Ice, please.”
“So close, baby. So, so close. Try again.”
How the hell was she supposed to think with him torturing her like this? “You’re killing me, Ice. Please just fuck me already!”
Shifting his weight, he slid a hand up her thigh to where she was already slick with want. “Still so close.” His fingertips brushed her soaked lips before pulling away again. “And yet so far away.”
She growled low in her throat as she grabbed his wrist and tugged. But he was immovable, and all her efforts earned her was a raised eyebrow. “Let go, Silver, before I decide to revoke your orgasm privileges for the rest of the day.”
Because she had no doubt he meant every word, she immediately released his arm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just… Ice, please . I need you. I need you so fucking bad.”
“Who do you need, baby? Who am I to you?”
“Daddy!” she cried as he speared her with his fingers. “I need you, Daddy, please! Please, fuck me!”
He shifted again, now to shove his sweatpants down his hips, and a moment later he was inside her, stretching her just as he had the night before. Only now there was the lingering soreness from being so thoroughly used, combining pain and pleasure in a cocktail designed to drive her out of her mind with need. Digging her nails into his back, she clung to him, desperate for some kind of anchor as the waves of her own pleasure threatened to drown her.
“That’s my good girl,” he crooned, flexing his hips and driving deeper into her core. “Beg for me, pretty girl. Beg for Daddy’s cum to fill your sweet pussy.”
Whatever pride she’d had was long since scattered on the floor around them. “Please, Daddy. I need you… I need your cock inside me. God, please, please fuck me. Harder,” she gasped when he rocked again, the thick length of him threatening to split her open.
“Greedy little girl,” he scolded with a strained laugh. “I’m trying not to hurt you.”
“Hurt me, please. I’m begging you. I don’t care how much it hurts. I need you.”
Her words seemed to snap something inside him. Gathering her wrists in his hand, he pinned her to the couch as he drove the rest of the way into her aching pussy. Pain and pleasure swirled together inside her, until all she knew was him and what he was doing to her body.
“Is this what you want, my greedy little slut?” Still pinning her in place, he fucked her with slow, forceful thrusts. “You want Daddy to ruin this sweet pussy for any other man?”
“Yes, god, yes.”
“Then you better fucking come for me, baby, or the next time you take my cock inside you it will be your ass taking me instead. Come for me, Silver.”
Helpless against his commands, against the waves of pleasure he was forcing on her, she came with a cry, her entire body shuddering with the force of it as he continued fucking her with those steady, deep strokes.
“That’s my good fucking girl. Goddamn, baby, that’s it. Squeeze Daddy’s cock with that tight little cunt.”
Another orgasm racked her, wrecked her. She was blind to anything that wasn’t him, wasn’t the pain of him stretching her pussy, wasn’t the pleasure of being so taken over by a man she couldn’t see straight.
And then he filled her one final time, his already impossibly huge cock swelling inside her as his seed spilled into her. Together they collapsed in a tangle of sweaty limbs and shuddering breaths as he rolled, pulling her on top of him.
As their breaths slowed, he brushed at a curl that had come loose from her now even messier bun. “Good morning, baby.”
Delighted by him, by them, she laughed and snuggled into his chest. “Morning, Daddy. What’s for breakfast?”
As if she’d magically conjured said breakfast, the doorbell rang, and Ice groaned as he nudged her to the side so he could stand. “There’s a local place that makes really great waffles. I ordered us some. And bacon. Coffee’s in the pot.”
Sitting up, she reached for the shirt he’d pushed off her and rose up onto her knees to watch him pad to the front door, dressed in nothing but those low-slung gray sweatpants. “I could get used to this.”
Ice opened the door and chatted briefly with the delivery guy before turning back to her, food in hand and one eyebrow raised. “Get used to what?”
“Being spoiled. Taken care of. Ace never…”
Shit. One look at Ice’s face, now a blank mask, told her she’d said exactly the wrong thing. As usual. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Waffles, you said?”
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating before he finally turned away. “Yeah. Waffles.”
Goddammit, Silver. You dumbass. “I’m, um, going to go put some pants on real quick.”
Without waiting for an answer, she hurried back to his bedroom where she managed to dig up a pair of sweatpants that actually fit over her hips. Another point for Mr. Elias Turner , she thought bitterly as she tied the drawstring around her waist.
Shoving open the French doors leading out to the back deck, she closed her eyes and drank in the sun and salt air. Let it settle her, the way little else could. When she was finally feeling steady again, and not like she might burst into tears at any given second, she made her way back to the kitchen.
And ate her waffles in complete and utter silence.