CHAPTER TWO
“No, I’m not going to tell you what Simon’s like in bed. Quit asking.”
“Come on.” Bridget tipped her glass of champagne up, making sure everyone in the room could see just how big her rock was. How was she was going to hold her bow up with that? Bridget waved for the waiter. They were on bottle number three.
Were they supposed to pay for all this? She wasn’t used to having people to go out with. Since Simon was gone all the time, she’d ended up going out with the strings section after practice a few nights a month.
She liked the girls well enough. Bridget and Delia were transplants from Boston also. It seemed fitting they’d all glommed together. This orchestra was a lot different than Boston. Things weren’t so cutthroat and practice was actually fun.
Their conductor loved to throw a crazy song in the mix—sometimes it was a show tune, sometimes a rock song, sometimes it was Taylor Swift song. It certainly kept things a lot more fun than her last gig.
Gig.
Cripes.
Job.
A gig was Simon and the guys on a stage with Jazz keeping them pumped with a driving beat. The Los Angeles Philharmonic was not a gig.
She tried to remind herself to be thankful for the opportunity. She could be scrounging for studio work like some of her contemporaries. This was supposed to be the ultimate place for a violinist.
But lifting her bow to her Stradivarius had nothing on her Starfish lately. The purple violin, her crazy upright bass—those were the ones that sang for her. Not the chamber music. Even if Evan Bronson, their conductor, made it as fun as possible.
Her heart was with Deacon and Gray in the studio.
Her soul was on stage with her back to Simon as she soared through the chords, following his voice. Was she ever going to feel that again?
“Margo, you can’t sit there looking off into the distance like you’re having mental sex with that piece of male perfection.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” Bridget said.
They wanted the salacious and the dirty details of her rock-star-slash-model boyfriend. If they knew the truth, they’d be sorely disappointed.
Mostly.
Okay, so the caramel thing last had been inspired, but that was because she’d dripped ice cream on her thigh and things had gone…distinctly less innocent from there. She had just enough champagne in her that she smiled and Bridget pounced.
“Give.”
“We’re here to celebrate your impending wedded bliss. Why do you want to know about Simon?”
“Look, I love Brant…and I’m going to love being Mrs. Richmond, but that’s real life. You’re living every woman’s fantasy.”
At least she wasn’t a Bridget and Brant. Ugh. “Simon’s a regular guy.”
“No, I’m sorry. Regular guys are not on billboards,” Delia said and downed the rest of her glass.
When the waiter came by with another bottle, all three women held up their glasses. Margo definitely needed another drink.
No, if she was honest, being with Simon wasn’t normal. It wasn’t awful by any stretch of the imagination. Except when they tried to go to dinner and people constantly came up to the table. Or when they’d gone on a bike ride together to get out of the city, they’d still ended up with a fan chasing them down.
But there were the awesome things too. Her phone buzzed and she looked down. A text picture came through of the little Beanie Baby elephant that Simon had taken to bringing everywhere with him on his trips. She had a whole folder of the random pictures he’d taken with the smiling blue guy. This time it was sitting on Simon’s belly with the sheet rather low.
We miss you.
She snorted.
“Are you getting dick pics?” Bridget snatched her phone.
“Hey!” Not exactly a naked shot, but damn, it was a close one.
Bridget held it up, out of reach and angled it down. “Are you freaking kidding me?”
Margo leaned over and took it back.
“Why don’t I get to see?” Delia asked.
“Because the snapshot was for me.” Margo tucked her phone into her bag. She’d really wanted another peek, dammit.
“He’s got one helluva body,” Bridget said with a sigh. “Not that Brant is anything to sneeze about, but I’ll tell you right now, he doesn’t look like that.”
Margo shook her head. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure. Is he really packing an elephant trunk in his pants?”
Margo took a huge gulp of her champagne. “Next question.”
Bridget nudged Delia. “That’s a yes.”
“That’s a none-of-your-business.”
The two women just laughed and Margo poured more champagne.
“You’re way too light on the gossip,” Delia said with a pout.
Because there was more than enough of it in reality for her to want to discuss anything about her relationship with Simon. “Because there’s not much to tell. He works a lot, I work a lot—when we get to see each other…”
“You fuck like bunnies.” Bridget slid down in her seat a little. “God, I do miss that part. Brant’s been so focused on work lately that I barely get a fuck, let alone a nice long session where he actually goes down on me.”
Margo’s eyebrows shot up. She was used to the language and way too much sharing from the tour bus, but not here in a swanky L.A. club. And not the clubs she’d been in on the Strip. More like the moneyed and the elegant. For God’s sake, they were sitting on a curved booth in a pearl grey velvet that could be in her mother’s sitting room in Boston. All right, so the curved was a bit much, but it was still classy.
“Don’t give me that look.” Bridget pointed at her with her glass. “You’re twenty-six, not ninety-six. There should be wild details about you wearing strap-ons at sex clubs.”
“The chances of me wearing a strap-on are about as slim as me giving you details on my sex life.”
Delia’s eyes bugged out. “Oh my God, does he suck in bed? Is he a total shit? Like, you know, selfish?”
“God, no.” The quick denial put a smile on both Delia and Bridget’s faces. Damn. “Look, I’m hardly unhappy in the bedroom, but I don’t know why you want the details.”
Both girls tipped their heads to the left and stared at her. “Seriously?” they asked in unison.
“He’s just like any other guy.”
Bridget poured another glass. “So, he’s just like any other guy you’ve been with?”
“Well, no.” Definitely not. There were hardly a handful of men that she had to compare Simon to. And in all honesty, there would never be another man like Simon. Period.
Mine.
Mine right now, she corrected herself.
Delia elbowed Bridget. “See that look. That’s an I-get-an-orgasm-every-time look.”
“You don’t?”
“Oh, God.” Delia thumped her head against the back of the booth. “See? Magic dick to go with those magic, unreal eyes. Tell me, are they really that blue? Or does he wear contacts?” When Margo opened her mouth, she held up her hand. “Never mind. I don’t want the fantasy ruined. You’re doing a well enough job, girl.”
Margo sat up and refilled her glass, gulped it down and refilled one more time. Just one more. “Eyes are not enhanced and his cock is spectacular. I once came four times and actually blacked out.”
“Sweet Jesus. No way!” Bridget lifted the bottle and refilled her.
“No, I’m…” She trailed off. Okay, so maybe a little bit more. She was feeling warm and a little spin-ish. It’s not like she was driving. “If I read any of this in Star Magazine or Music Life, I’ll kill you.”
Bridget laughed. “God, no. I just want the details.”
“He has the most amazing hands. I can’t even describe what he can do. And the nipple rings?”
“You have nipple rings?” Delia leaned forward. “No way.”
Margo frowned. She had been thinking about it, especially with the way Simon reacted when she tugged on them with her teeth. “No, he does.”
“Obviously, I need to look closer at pictures,” Delia muttered.
“Yeah, the first time I was with him, he didn’t. But then we kinda got back together and they were there. And wow. Just…the look on his face when I—” Startled, Margo broke off. Kinda got back together? She heard his deep voice saying, “I love you,” in her ear every night.
“What? Keep going.” Bridget gestured for her to continue.
Margo shook her head. “They’re sensitive,” she said absently.
“Look at her, she’s all in her head. She’s probably having a residual orgasm right now.” Delia slumped down in the booth. “Can I tell you the last time I had a decent orgasm? Not even a good one—a decent one.”
“Not sure I want this answer,” Bridget said.
“It’s depressing for sure.” Delia held up her hand. “Yes, that would be five fingers.”
“That better be months,” Margo said.
“It sure isn’t days.”
Bridget patted Delia’s arm. “I’m sorry, honey.”
Margo peeked into her purse for her phone. “Fourteen hours for me.”
“I hate you.” Delia gave a little whine and fell sideways.
Margo lifted her glass and pointed to the bar. “You could have any guy at that bar. They’re looking at us.”
Delia blew raspberries and sat up. “Of course they are. You’re the Bond Girl of every guy’s dreams and Bridget is the Ice Queen with a dirty smile.”
“Thanks, babe.” Bridget leaned on her shoulder. “That’s so sweet.”
Bond Girl? No. She was the fat friend. Not that Simon ever made her feel like that. But she certainly didn’t shop at the low end of the size charts. But compared to the two girls she was sitting with, tiny wasn’t the word for her—and definitely not Bond Girl.
“See? That guy is coming over here because you flagged him.”
“Well, then go get him, girl,” Bridget said to Delia.
“He’s not coming over here for me.” Delia sat up straighter though and pushed out her perfect size B cup breasts.
Oh what Margo wouldn’t give for smaller boobs some days. Well, until Simon had his hands and mouth on them. Then they were just about perfect. Her nipples tightened in memory of how he’d painted them with caramel the night before. And just how thoroughly he’d licked them off.
She hadn’t been aware that she could have an orgasm by Simon sucking on her nipples. Nothing else, just his patient and endlessly talented mouth. Then this morning when he’d woken her up with a lazy spooning that had turned her into a spineless heap of shuddering moans.
No, she and Simon definitely didn’t have any problems with the sex part of their relationship.
“Excuse me?”
Margo blinked out of her thoughts at a deep voice. “Hi.” She looked up at at a guy that looked like he was an extra on the set of The Kardashians. His suit was a bit too fitted, too slick, and his hair didn’t move.
“I’m Todd.”
“Of course you are,” Margo replied. She tamped down the urge to slap her hand over her mouth and put her champagne glass down. Obviously, she’d had enough of that.
He cleared his throat. “Right, well, I couldn’t help but notice you flagged me over.”
“No, I didn’t.” Wow, her manners to champagne ratio were in the minus column.
“Okay, well maybe that just gave me enough of a reason to come over.”
“Why?”
Bridget snorted. “What my friend means is, she’s very flattered, but her boyfriend wears a better suit and has better hair, so you should scram.”
Todd’s eyebrows snapped down. “This suit is Armani.”
Delia laughed. “If Armani had an off the rack section, maybe. Either that or you inherited it because the one you’re wearing doesn’t fit in the shoulders and the pants are too short.”
Margo squinted at Todd. His suit wasn’t perfectly cut for his body, but most men couldn’t afford that. At least not like Simon’s suits. Every yard of fabric, each button and zipper—all crafted for his exceptional body.
Todd took a few steps back. “Okay. Well, I’m going to go.”
Margo opened her mouth. She should try to make the guy feel better about himself and diffuse the insults coming from both girls, but couldn’t summon the energy. All she could see were the obvious differences between Simon and any other man in the room. Her Simon.
She stood. “Congrats, Bridget. I know you and Brant will be very happy, but all this talk about my boyfriend’s cock and orgasms has made me very thirsty for something other than champagne.”
Delia laughed and clapped her hands.
“Brant better be up when I get home,” Bridget said with a sigh.
“We want all the details you can remember tomorrow.” Delia opened her clutch.
The room spun a little when Margo leaned over for her purse. She dug inside for money and left it on the little table. She pulled her phone out and advised Simon to be awake and ready. Leaving the girls with a little wave, she cursed the stupid heels she’d found in her locker and decided to wear. She was tall enough not to wear the damn things, even if they did make her calves look awesome.
Definitely not suitable for drunk walking. She checked her messages—nothing—and opened her car app. Ten minutes later, a cab came up. She didn’t even have to tell him where to go. God bless app designers. She stuffed a tip through the slot and thanked the driver.
The drive home had taken forever. Stupid touristy area that they lived in. But the view was well worth it. Especially when Simon had superior insulation and windows. They didn’t have to hear the endless traffic, they just got the view of the pier and the ocean.
She stuffed her coded key into the elevator and it shot up to the penthouse apartments.
To Simon.
She flipped off her shoes when she got to the carpeting on their floor and used the wall to keep her upright. The champagne she’d been downing like iced tea slapped into her about halfway home. Her head felt light and a giggle kept brewing in her chest.
Would the elephant still be on his belly? Or would George have replaced the stuffed animal? George usually liked to sleep above their pillows, but occasionally would crawl down between them.
A cat. Their cat.
She’d never had a “their” anything.
And now she had two things. An apartment and a pet.
Not to mention she was a “they”, which was just weird. Margo and Simon, Simon and Margo. When people said her name—outside of the symphony—that’s what happened. His name came with it. And she liked it.
So much.
Too much.
She got to their door and slapped a hand on the panel. What was the number? His birthday. That’s right. Not very original, and probably stupid, but she could remember it. Oh-eight-oh-nine. The bolt shot open and she pushed the door open.
The room was dark, save for the eternal lights that came in from the huge windows. He liked the life and the beat of Venice Beach. The windows were unadorned and they both had adapted to it never truly being dark in their bedroom. She unzipped her skirt as she walked across the living room and it puddled around her ankles. She stepped out of it and unbuttoned her blouse, letting it fall as she walked through the master bedroom doorway. Simon was sprawled out on the bed with the elephant tucked under his hip.
She’d taken too long.
His face was half-hidden under one of the half dozen pillows on their king sized bed. The dais had been part of the apartment layout and lifted him up like a damn prince. But all she cared about was that he was gloriously naked. The sheet was low on his hip, showing half of his very tanned butt. When they’d gotten home from the island, he’d had to go tanning to even out his skin for photoshoots.
Even Simon, with his less than modest gene, wouldn’t go naked sunbathing.
Never knew when the camera was around.
She shrugged out of her camisole and sighed when she flicked the strap of her bra open. Strapped down for symphony practice. Not the pretty bras she’d started wearing for Simon, or for the stage. She’d unearthed her former wardrobe. Minimizers and boring skirts and tops. Her underwear and hose also had those lovely suck-it-in features. She peeled it down and left it behind.
Stumbling a little, she made it up the two stairs to their bed and knelt on the end. She pulled the sheet lower, wanting them skin to skin. He truly was one of the most beautiful men she’d ever known. It was disconcerting how gorgeous he was. Even now, with his hair in a twisted inky mass. He’d clearly climbed in bed fresh from the shower. The sheets under him might still be damp.
She crawled up the bed. He shifted onto his belly and dragged the pillow over his head.
Guilt should have nagged at her. He had to get up early for a shoot, and she had to be in the studio. But she didn’t care. There was more than enough alcohol swimming in her veins to drown the guilt. And because Simon couldn’t drink, she rarely did. She dragged her breasts over the backs of his thighs. The hair was soft and a little coarse, tightening her nipples.
The higher she went, the greater her urge to cover him and make sure every inch of her skin touched his. Not for sex. No, sex was so easy. Okay, some of it was for sex. She loved the way he made her feel.
No, she just wanted to be close to him.
It felt like they were forever passing each other in the hallways and in the kitchen. Desperate hands in the dark when either of them woke. He always left her breathless and laughing. But it seemed like he was always leaving her these days.
Part of her wanted to just curl along his side and just hang on to him.
But the other half of her was buzzing with champagne and need.
And the need was winning. Liquid with wanting and brave on alcohol, she rested against his thighs and drew her lips up his spine. She heard the low moan that made her crazy and rubbed her breasts into his lower back as she moved her way up between his shoulder blades.
She slipped her hand under him and grinned as he grew against her touch.
“Simon,” she whispered.
“Are those my favorite breasts pressed into my back?”
“They better be the only breasts pressed into your back, buddy.” She nipped his shoulder and curled her fingers around his shaft.
He groaned and the vibration passed from skin to skin like an echo. He tried to roll over and she only let him up enough to get a good handle on his…well, his handle. He was so hard. The familiar terrain of his cock and how perfectly it filled her hand pushed the purring lust into another sphere.
He propped himself on one arm and she curled her other arm around his shoulder. God, so hard. His whole body was a masterpiece these days. On the road, he’d always been in shape from monkeying around the steel rigs and running up and down the aisles. She was fairly certain he had a death wish.
Now? His body was different. He was honed from the trainer he worked with because of the modeling as well as the voice coach who doubled as a trainer in odd ways. She wasn’t entirely sure which she liked better.
It was weird to feel so many muscles under her fingertips.
Especially when she was so soft in comparison. He seemed to like that part of her if the fingertip bruises along her hips were an indicator. And she loved that he wanted her. Needed to feel that right now.
His breath hitched as she twisted and pulled tighter like he preferred. Right down the line his muscles flexed to keep his hip off the bed so she had access. She bit the slope of his shoulder to neck. “God, you feel good. So hard.”
“Hard for you. Always for you,” he said in a low voice.
“For me,” she echoed. He turned his head to meet her lips. The kiss was messy and raw.
“Jesus, you taste like champagne.” He flicked her hand away from him and twisted until she straddled him. His fingers went into her hair and the kiss deepened. He sucked her tongue and she had no choice but to hold on.
He brought one hand between them and slid inside of her. She sighed and eased for him. Their bodies were meant for this, meant for each other. She’d never fit like this with anyone, both in heart and body. She curled her arms around his neck and held on, pressing her cheek to his bearded one as he slowly moved inside of her.
The sweet sounds of his pleasure vibrated through her. God, she’d missed those noises when he’d been on vocal rest. She cupped the back of his head and raked her fingers up into his hair. She shook as the drenching pleasure took over. Her hips undulated against his and each roll shot her closer to the silence.
Everything about them was so filled with sound and music, life and heat, but the closer she got to pleasure the more pinpoint and focused she became. As if she traveled into the center of a flame and a single movement would burn her alive.
He pulled back enough to look at her. Those eyes. The same as that center flame blue. The hazy pleasure lowered his lids, but he was deceptively lazy. No, there was so much more there. A watchfulness as he shifted for her, ready to adapt to anything she needed. Always what she needed.
When her nails bit into his shoulder and scalp, he hissed and worked his hips faster, harder. She threw her head back, needing to get away from the intensity.
“Margo,” he growled.
She arched and he dragged her back down on his cock. His other hand went to her hair and forced her to face him, to meet his gaze. Her eyes flooded as her body shook.
“I love you.”
The fierceness of his tone ended her. Tears spilled over—there was no way she could hold them back now. “It’s always been you,” she whispered. “Will always be you.”
Salty kisses and shudders were all that was left between them as he met her stroke for stroke. His gaze locked on hers then a wash of heat filled her until she couldn’t breathe around it. Knowing and experiencing Simon without any barriers should’ve been part of her normal at this point, but it always felt huge. Like she’d never quite get used to sharing herself so completely.
His mouth covered hers as he held her down tight against him. The low groan rumbled out of his chest and through hers.
That’s all she needed. Him holding her, loving her, needing her. She came so hard that the light show behind her eyelids could have been fireworks. They slowly came down, the kisses lighter, their hearts synching up so the racing turned to a steady beat.
She pressed her forehead to his. “Being out with the girls tonight made me realize just how much I’d rather be with you.”
“As it should be.” He brushed his lips over hers. “This bed was mighty lonely without you. And who else would watch The League with me?”
Margo giggled. “You know Nick would.”
“Nah, it’s sports. He’d just sneer at it.”
“I don’t like sports and it’s hilarious.” She tipped her head. “You don’t care for them all that much either, pal. I know you don’t have a fantasy football league.”
“Yeah, but you have an evil sense of humor laced with a mean streak. I didn’t know you had it in you, Violin Girl.”
“Remember that if you think about breaking my heart.”
His smile slid away. “Never.”
“I’m just kidding, Simon.” Her heart picked up.
“I hate when you say shit like that.”
“I didn’t mean anything. It was a joke.”
He pushed her hair back and around her ear. “It never sounds like a joke. It always sounds like you’re waiting for something to happen.”
“No. That’s silly.” She slid off of him, instantly feeling empty. Not even a few moments of sweet cuddling and they were on this topic again. She rolled off the bed and crossed to the bathroom. She hated when he got all serious like this. Why couldn’t he just take things as they came?
He followed her. “Oh, really? Then why is half your stuff still in Boston?”
“May I pee in peace?”
He sighed and backed out the door. She shut it.
“I don’t care if I have to talk through the door.”
She took care of business and cleaned up, then dragged one of his old concert shirts over her head before opening the door. “Why do we have to talk about this at all?”
“Because you still haven’t totally moved in. It’s been months, Margo.”
She tipped her head back. “Why can’t you just leave it alone? I moved everything I need in here.”
“Not everything. You keep going back there, don’t you?”
She crossed her arms. “To work.”
“No, you work in New York. There’s no reason to go to Boston except to check on your house.”
“It’s my house. I have to check in on it. Get the mail.”
“For fuck’s sake, Margo. You didn’t even forward your mail?”
“Of course I did.” Sort of. If she sent her bills here, then what happened if something went wrong? It was easier to just have them go to her house. She paid everything online anyway.
“Really? The only thing I’ve ever seen come in the mail for you is a lingerie magazine and that’s probably because I signed up for it.”
“What does it matter? I’m here, aren’t I?” She swiped her hair out of her face, the room tilting slightly.
“Are you? Or are you just waiting for me to fuck up?”
“Of course not.” She wanted to bite her tongue off. Dammit, she’d said it way too fast.
His eyebrows shot up. “Is that it?”
“No. I just…” She huffed out a breath. “I’ve had to take care of myself for a long time, Simon. My grandmother left me that house so I’d never have to rely on my parents for anything.” Being beholden to them was dangerous. Her mother was always working an angle. The Reece name was far more important than anything else.
Simon stalked over to her. “And what? Being with me is that risky?”
“No. That’s not it. I just can’t…” Her voice cracked as it trailed off. She couldn’t stand it if he got tired of her.