Very Twisted Things
Page 55

“Are you kidding me? I like you like that. I need it. It reminds me that I’m alive, Sebastian.”
He leaned into me. “V, I l—”
“What is it?”
He took a deep breath. “I—I need you. Now.”
And then his mouth hit mine and thinking was over. We collapsed down on a patio lounge chair, and I straddled him, working his thickness inside me.
He cupped my face and showed me how he felt without words, by kissing me like he needed me to breathe. He showed me love in his own way, and we went there together, over the edge.
“My life had followed a strict plan for five years. Until V.”
—Sebastian Tate
AROUND THREE IN the morning, we collapsed in V’s bed while Tater rested in her basket next to us, grunting and snoring. V did her own fair share of snoring, her body curled into mine. To be honest, I’d have slept much better in my own damn bed, but when it came to V, sleep was not on my list of priorities.
I couldn’t seem to close my eyes anyway, too keyed up about us. I had to figure out a way to get her used to the press, because they would be after us. Sure, we could stay inside all the time, but I didn’t want a life like that.
The sun peeked in through the window, illuminating her face. She looked like a rock and roll angel, her purple hair spilling out over my arm, long lashes resting on pale cheeks. I curved my hand around her hip and inhaled her scent. Rightness filled me. This. And for a moment I got a glimpse of what our future might be, countless mornings of us waking up together, nights wrapped in each other’s arms.
She stretched her luscious body and then turned to me, eyes sleepy.
I smoothed the hair out of her face. “I don’t know who snored louder, you or Tater.”
“Ladies don’t snore.”
“My love, you are no lady. Not after the things we did last night.”
“Oh, yeah?” She bit her full lips. “Then what am I? A groupie who bagged the lead singer?”
I kissed my way up her neck, paying special attention to her collarbone. “All you got to know is this … you’re mine,” I growled, lifting her leg over my hip, positioning myself to take her. Own her.
I pushed the word love out of my head.
I COOKED V breakfast in her huge kitchen while she told me about her parents.
“I didn’t have a normal childhood. I mean, yeah, we were rich, but they didn’t focus on that. So when I moved out here, it was to run away, but in the back of my mind, I was planning the orphanage as a way to honor them. To show them that I could carry on their work in a small way.”
I planted a kiss on her lips. I loved how she thought of others. “I still get goosebumps when I think that we might have been at the orphanage at the same time.”
“Yeah. I met this great kid there. Kevin. You need to play for him. I can tell he’s special.”
She smiled as I slid a cheese omelet to her. I even went to her pantry, found her cheese puffs and sprinkled some on the side. “You can have some of these, but now that I’m here, you need to start eating better.”
She rolled her eyes, but didn’t give me grief. Her mouth was already stuffed with food.
Spider and Mila showed up at the back door, and I ended up cooking for the entire crew. Even Tater got a piece of bacon.
Spider watched me quizzically as he nibbled on a piece of toast. “What I can’t understand is why you bought her a dog. Isn’t Monster enough of a handful?”
“Practically an engagement ring from a fecking Tate man,” Mila chimed in.
I laughed nervously and glanced at Mila, and maybe it was the ring statement that got to me, but mostly I noticed that Mila didn’t look like herself. Her normal cheerful banter seemed faked and her headband slightly askew. It worried me.
And the day went downhill from there.
Later that morning, I was on my way out the door, back to V’s after my shower, when a messenger dropped off a package from Blair. I stared down at the brown manila envelope.
A script? A love letter? Not likely.
I tore the envelope open and what was there made my heart bang in my chest.
Photos of me and V—photos of me and Blair.
With growing horror, I flipped through pictures obviously taken last night of V playing for me in the nude and us making love. Lastly, there were pictures of me and Blair in my bed—selfie style—taken by Blair as was obvious from the angle from which she’d held her cell phone. The tops of her boobs were visible, and I appeared asleep, my head turned to the side on the pillow.
I pulled out my phone and checked to see if I’d even drunk dialed her that night.
No record of it.
Feeling like I might pass out, I sat down.
A note was taped to one of the selfies.
I jerked up and called her and got nada but her voicemail.
Bitch! I called again. And again, working myself up to a fever pitch until my head pounded.
Finally, I called Harry’s office to talk to him—anybody—but his secretary said he was out of the office. I lost it. I told her to tell him that his ass was fired. If I could manage my own band, I sure as hell could find my own damn movies.
V.
Had to warn her of the shitstorm that was coming.
I gathered the photos up, my fingers hesitating over the ones of Blair and me. Fuck! I dreaded V seeing me with her, but it had to be done. I tucked them under my arm and went to her house. When she didn’t answer the front door, I eased around to the back and went in through the patio, calling her name.