Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 55769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Luke was dealing with a lot too.
And he had one particular way he worked that kind of feeling out when it was about Ava.
So she was on her back and he was on top of her in half a second.
“I want you to fuck me, honey, but I’m not sure about doing the business on hardwood,” she whispered.
So he was up, she was tossed over his shoulder, and he stalked to the bed.
He threw her down on it, caught her ankles, flipped her to her belly, then jacked her toward him and up to her knees at the edge of the bed.
“Luke,” she breathed.
He yanked her panties to her thighs.
“Luke!”
He slid his fingers through her wet.
Soaked. Always. For him.
He shoved his shorts over his ass and drilled in.
Her head flew back.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Oh yes.
He fucked her in a way she’d never call it hanky-panky again.
And after, once he’d cleaned her up, repositioned her panties, and had her held close to him under the covers in their bed, was when he spoke.
“You were the first girl I loved and the only woman I’ve ever loved, Ava. Know it. And don’t forget it.”
“I won’t, baby. I think you just drilled that in so deep, me forgetting that would be impossible.”
“Good,” he grunted. “Go to sleep.”
“So bossy.”
“As if you don’t like it,” he muttered.
She pushed closer. “Oh, I like it. All of it.”
Fuck.
His woman.
His Ava.
He held her tight, and finally she shut up and fell asleep.
Which meant so did he.
Track 6
Rock Chick Reckoning
Just in Case
* * *
Mace
* * *
Mace returned from his run, wandering through the lush foliage that led to the bungalow he shared with Stella at the Chateau Marmont.
The band had a day off from the studio.
This was because they were on fire. Dixon Jones and the swinging dicks at Black Fat Records were beside themselves. The tracks were great, and Stella and the boys were laying them down like pros.
Mace had to admit to feeling shock about this. He thought there’d be antics. Tantrums. Fights. Groupies hanging out in the booth, distracting the process.
But there had been none of that shit.
He looked right, where the path opened up to head down to the pool, and he stopped dead.
Pong, his body glistening with oil, a tiny neon-green Speedo covering his narrow ass, a thin gold chain winking in the sun around his waist, was lying flat out on his stomach on a lounger, arms dangling down the sides to rest on the pool deck.
He looked passed out.
This could have something to do with the two women on the loungers on either side of him, one laying on her back in a barely-there bikini, the other on her stomach, no top to speak of and a thong hiked up her ass, both also looking passed out.
The Gypsies were a no-name band here in LA, and they’d only been in town for three weeks. Most of that time, they’d been working. They hadn’t even played a gig.
Still, Pong scored himself some groupies.
Mace felt his lips twitch as he continued moving toward the bungalow.
He let himself in and saw Stella and a mug of coffee at the table by the back window.
Her shining, thick, long, wild hair was sexy messy, her beautiful face still held a residue of sleep.
Her gaze came direct to him. It took in his body slicked with sweat, and a hungry look pushed out the sleep on her face.
He took that hungry as an invitation.
And he accepted.
“Get in our bed,” he growled.
Her eyes shot from the tee plastered to his chest, up to his face, then she got off her sweet ass and hightailed it to bed.
Sprawled across the white sheets, Mace watched Stella come out of the bathroom after cleaning up.
She stopped long enough to pull on some baby-blue panties and a tight white tank that didn’t quite meet the waistband of the underwear before she put a knee to the bed and crawled into it to collapse half down his side, half on the bed.
Mace shoved a hand under her, curled it up and rested it on her ass.
She stacked her hands on his chest and took one of what had become many surveys of his face during their time in Los Angeles.
“I’m fine,” he murmured, giving her ass a squeeze.
He could answer her unspoken question because he knew what was on her mind.
Tiny had lived in LA, and Mace had spent a lot of time in LA when she did.
She also died in LA.
Stella knew all this, and his woman was worried it was going to get to him.
She was right to worry.
It was getting to him.
Then again, he’d never get over losing Tiny. He just needed to fight his way to understanding that it was natural, an honor to her memory, what she deserved, and maybe that would help him live with it.