Margo twisted her fingers together as everyone stared at her.

The quick flash of pleasure in Simon’s eyes melted away. His silvery blue eyes shuttered before he focused on the floor and dug his hands into his pockets.

“What the hell is this?” Nick asked.

Margo’s gaze snapped to Lila. Yeah, this wasn’t a good idea. What had she been thinking?

Lila folded her arms. “Have you checked your social media pages lately?”

Nick shrugged. “Me and Pix haven’t been doing as many videos since the Baby Brigade has taken over all conversations.”

“Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean we can’t do our videos,” Jazz said with a sniff.

“I just said we haven’t. Otherwise, why would I want to watch myself?”

“To see what’s working and what isn’t?” Lila pulled her iPad from her bag. She rattled off some numbers from the videos at the bar, from the release party, from some of the live radio spots.

“So, what, we’re not good enough on our own? We need a violin addition to the band?” Nick glanced at Margo. “No offense.”

She tucked her hands into her sleeves, but didn’t say a word. What the hell could she say? There was no rhyme or reason to why they sounded so good together, but they did.

Lila lifted a slim brow. “Of course not. I’m thinking strictly from a business sense.”

“You can take your business and sti—”

Donovan Lewis stood straighter and his shoulders stiffened.

Deacon held a hand up. “I think what she’s saying is that it’s just like any other tour that brings on another guitarist to layer in sound.”

“We have two guitarists. For fuck’s sake, we had three until we neutered Simon.”

“Nick,” Lila said in a warning tone.

“What? I don’t give a shit if God himself is here.” He glanced at Donovan. “I’ll say what needs to be said.”

Margo stepped forward, hiding her fisted hands in her sweater. “I can play a standup bass, a fiddle, the violin obviously, some piano, and the cello. I’m more than just a background player. It doesn’t take away from your sound, just enhances it. You can’t deny it, Nick.”

“For a one-off special gig, sure. But every night?” He crossed his arms. “Why the hell do we need to change?”

“Why does it have to be one or the other?” Simon asked quietly.

Finally, he said something. She’d been wondering if he was actually going to talk or just walk.

“Are you so set to get in this chick’s pants that you want her on tour with us?”

“Enough.” Simon’s eyes flashed. “You can be pissed off as much as you want about this, but for fuck’s sake, she’s standing right there. Don’t be that much of a dick. She’s a fucking artist same as we are.”

Nick’s mouth flattened into a line. “She’s not the same.”

Simon slashed his hand through the air. “She’s exactly the same. Just because she uses a bow instead of a pick makes no difference. This isn’t a done deal, right?” He swiveled his head to Lila.

“No. It’s just an idea. Since you’re in rehearsal, I thought it might be something different to try. If it doesn’t work, then no harm.”

“Exactly.”

Surprised that Simon would go to bat for her, she relaxed her fingers.

Nick cracked his knuckles. “Are you thinking with your dick?”

Simon’s nostrils flared. “For fuck’s sake. Is that really all you think I am? A walking cock looking for pussy? This band is just as important to me as it is to everyone standing here.” Simon glanced at Donovan. “Sorry.”

“I’m not the English Rose you people think I am,” Donovan said. “Look, take a few minutes and get acquainted with the sound system. Try it out with Margo. If it doesn’t work, then all we’ve lost is a few hours.”

“And what? She’s free?” Nick tucked his thumb into the belt loop of his jeans.

“No. I’m a hired musician,” Margo said.

“So now we’re cutting into the money end.”

Jazz stuck her hands on her hips. “Here we go with the money again.”

“I get paid for each day I’m on the tour,” Margo said. “Not a percentage. I’m not a member of the band.”

“No fucking shit.” Nick’s voice was low and dangerous.

Margo stalked forward. “I can rip apart a song and learn it as fast as you can.” She tilted her head. “Faster, I’d wager. I’m no amateur here. I’ve been playing the violin since before you got your first hair on your…” She looked down at him, then back to his arctic gaze. “Chin,” she finally said. “I don’t have to be here, but I thought we had something pretty amazing at the shows in New York and L.A. It’s different and stands out from the crowd. But if you’re too closed-minded to think out of the box when it comes to music, then you’re going to sink fast, Nick Crandall.”

He took a step back, his fists practically vibrating at his sides.

Margo’s chest heaved but she stood her ground. Christ, she’d never pushed like that in her life. But she wanted this. Wanted to be a part of that amazing sound that had lived in her since the studio.

It was the first time she’d felt any fire for music in so long, she just wanted a little more time with it. Before she had to find another audition for another symphony. Until she had to go back to what she’d been trained for.

She wanted to try something different, dammit.

Hadn’t known that was exactly what she wanted until it had been dangled in front of her.

Nick turned on his heel and tore down the stairs to the pavilion and to the back of the house before disappearing on the upper paths that led to the lawn seats.

Margo pushed her hair back and turned to the rest of the band. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Jazz came forward and grabbed her hand under the sleeve and twisted her fingers around Margo’s. “You really feel that way?”

Margo nodded.

Lila tucked her iPad back into her shoulder bag. “All right then. Get your gear situated. I need to go talk with Donovan for a few.”

“Well, I’m excited,” Jazz said. “This could be amazing.” She let Margo’s hand go and headed for her kit.

Gray smiled at Margo and hooked his arm around Jazz’s shoulder.

Deacon rubbed his huge hands together. “Did you bring all those instruments with you?”

“I did.”

“Awesome.” He linked his fingers with Harper. “I’m going to go do some research and be back in a few.”

And then there was Simon.

“Pretty passionate about joining a rock and roll band on tour there, Violin Girl.”

She stuffed down her pride and her instinct to hold things inside her. “I love this album. From the first song, I knew it was something special. And if it’s just those three songs that I’m a part of, I’m good with that. Disappointed at a lost opportunity, but proud of what I was a part of. But playing them live just…”

“I get it.”

“I never did until now. I love music, but I haven’t been in love with it for a very long time.”

Simon dragged his knuckle down her forearm before he stepped back. “Then what are we waiting for?”

She tucked her hands into the opposite opening of each sleeve and gripped her wrists. “I won’t stay if you’re not good with this.”

“Since when do you ask me?”

“Since this isn’t just a one-time thing.”

“Does that cover other aspects of what we do together?”

“Do you want it to?” God, her voice sounded shaky.

“Do we burn out or just fade away?” Simon asked with a smirk.

“I vote for burn out.”

His blue eyes widened. “Is that right?”

Margo looked around but they were as alone as they’d ever be. “What if I said I want the full tour experience?”

His eyebrow winged up. “What exactly does your backstage pass include?”

“Everything.”

“Oh, babe. You should never make that kind of blanket statement.”

Margo’s heart pounded in her ears, and in lower parts of her that only Simon seemed to engage. She swallowed. “An all-access pass. But when you’re with me, it’s just me, Simon.”

His gaze drifted to her mouth. “With that kind of bountiful offer, why would I want anyone else?”

“Good.”

His eyes bore into hers. “I hope you know what you’re in for.”

“No clue. That’s the best part.” She turned around before she could claw a new design into her forearms under her sweater. She had to go through her instruments and make sure they were tuned.

An hour later, she had a trunk for her gear set on the right side of the stage. Her latest acquisition, a Starfish cello, had been a gamble. As an instrument itself, it was gorgeous, but the electric cello wasn’t exactly huge in the studio. It would sound amazing onstage, though, and Lila’s advance had lured her into making a special request for it at one of the dealers she used.

She unlocked the case and pulled out the fragile-looking instrument. The open curves of the tulipwood frame made it much easier to manage than an acoustic cello.

The vibrant green and purple color was as edgy as a cello could look. It had been ordered by a band in Germany, but they’d defaulted on the payments. Their loss was her gain.

“Sweet shit. What is that?”

She looked down at Gray as he crouched in front of her.

“Electric cello.”

“Seriously?”

“Same company that makes my violin. She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

“Fuck yeah.” His storm cloud-colored eyes widened. “Sorry.”

“I said pretty much the same in my head when I saw it.”

He grinned. “That’s gonna be so cool. Can you give me a little taste of the sound?”

She shook out a cord and plugged it into the amp she’d been assigned. She pulled out her long bow and tucked the cello against her shoulder. After a quick tune, she drew her bow over the strings until the deep tones echoed into the amphitheater.

She didn’t look up. Didn’t want to see if it was boredom or indifference on their faces.

She closed her eyes and let the instrument breathe. The notes resonated with sadness for a turn through an adapted opening of “Finally” from the new album.

Gray came in on the song and his flawless playing layered over her own. Simon’s whisper-soft voice took up where the verse should go.

As the song built, so did their sound. Jazz brought in the piano accompaniment.

“Again.”

Margo opened her eyes. Nick was at the back of the bowl of seats, his arms crossed as he leaned against the railing that bisected the seats from the lawn.

She rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck. Taking it from the top, she put a little more grit into the song, shuttling her fingers down the neck of the bass.

Gray grinned and spun out the guitar so he matched. Deacon’s bass complemented hers until she felt the sound in the middle of her chest.

But Simon’s voice was the capper. The song was all longing and pain at the start until it built to anger and hopelessness, finally ending in a raging Foo Fighters-like climax. Everyone—including Jazz’s drums—pounding out the loss of the narrator’s last hope until it dialed down to the sad bassline, aching guitar, and her cello’s reverberating tones.

Nick clapped slowly as he walked down the middle aisle and around the sound board. He didn’t even look at Donovan and Lila. His eyes were for the stage.

He climbed the steps and reached for his Gibson. “Again,” he said.

And they did.

Four more times until the song was nailed. Nick didn’t say a damn word. He just moved on to another song.

With methodical calculation, he and Gray broke down guitar parts. Deacon did some rearrangements and she made a few suggestions.

The sun was low on the horizon line when Harper came onstage and demanded for them to eat and rest their throats.

Even without running around the stage, the guys’ sweaty shirts were sticking to them. Jazz had stripped down to a tank and shorts.

Margo had lost her sweater on the third song, glad that she’d worn layers in deference to the temperatures of New York. May could mean cool and windy, or high seventies. And being from New England, she was used to the seasons here.

The California types were a little confused. One minute they wanted to peel off their clothes, the next Jazz was asking for a hoodie.

Margo followed them into the backstage area that Harper had set up with food, a mountain of watermelon, and a table full of drinks.

Margo frowned when everyone went to the table of watermelon first. Simon and Nick mowed through three pieces right at the buffet table before going to the cold cuts and salads.

Lila came up to her with a plate of cubed watermelon.

“Is this an initiation thing?”

Lila laughed. “No. It’s a Harper thing.”

She took the plate and popped one in her mouth. The sweet, juicy flavor flooded her tongue. Wasn’t a bad way to start off lunch.

“Cures dehydration,” Jazz said as she walked by with a bowl of melon and a plate of macaroni salad and two turkey sandwiches.

“Is that right?”

“Harper’s a genius when it comes to taking care of the band’s dietary needs.” Lila selected a blush red cube and took an elegant bite. “How’s it feel?”

“How does it sound?”

“You already know that, Margo.”

“It sounds like nothing that’s out there right now.”

Lila nodded. “In a good way.”

She chewed thoughtfully. “I think so. It’s not different enough to make people scratch their heads.”

“Good. I knew it was going to work.” Lila lowered her voice. “Nick just needed to hear it for himself.”

Her gaze found Simon at the edge of the group. She frowned. He was usually in the center of things. He drank a bottle of water between sandwiches and as soon as he’d cleared his plate, he thumbed off a candy or mint from a roll in his pocket.

Unsure if she should ask him if his throat was too raw, she stayed seated next to Jazz and Lila. Harper had finally joined the table to plow through her own plate of food.

Donovan came into the eating area. He held up his hand when Deacon started to stand. “Don’t mind me. I just wanted to let you know how amazing I think you’re sounding. These rehearsals were just what you needed to tighten up a few of the songs. Lila and I want you guys happy on this tour.”

“We’re getting an opener, aren’t we?” Simon asked.

“I’m glad you mentioned it.” Donovan dipped his hand into his pocket and checked his phone once before he settled it back without replying. “I’ve lined up two bands. One will follow you from the East Coast until Texas. About eight weeks, I’d say.”

Nick pushed his plate away and crossed his arms on the table. “Better not be a douche.”

“These ladies are not.”

“Ladies?” Nick’s head tipped back. “God.”

“Have a little faith, Nick.” Donovan opened his arms beseechingly. “I want this tour to be a success, remember?”

Deacon laughed. “You’re going to say Brooklyn Dawn.”

“Got it in one.” Donovan tucked his hands into his pockets. “Jamie and Lindsey are rising stars. They’re at the end of their run with their first album, but I want them to have some summer exposure. I think you’re a good fit for each other. Definitely a similar sound.”

Simon gave a thumbs up. “I’m down with some girls on tour.”

“You would be, Super Slut.”

Margo’s belly tightened. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that.

* * *

Simon escaped to the bathrooms as everyone said their goodbyes to Donovan. He’d have to do a little YouTube research on Brooklyn Dawn and see how they performed live.

Right now, he was more worried about his own performance. The damn pollen was going to choke him. His throat was on fire. No matter how much water he drank, it felt itchy.

He turned all the taps on full hot and prayed for a decent level of steam. He stood over one sink and breathed in the moist air.

His throat was damn happy about it. And the tickle he’d been fighting eased.

He was usually able to sing all damn day. How many times had they jammed well into the night on the last tour? And after a show, so it wasn’t like the three hours he’d been singing should have taxed him.

Fucking allergies.

Knowing he was pushing his luck, he stretched it to ten minutes before he shut off the faucets and drained the three liters of water out of his fucking bladder.

He washed his hands and opened the door to find Margo in the hallway. “Hello, Violin Girl.”

She frowned. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. Just needed to open up the pipes a bit.”

“Have Harper get you some ginger. Steep it in some hot water for a few hours. Tastes nasty, but my friend Siobhan swears by it.”

The urge to snap at her itched at the back of his throat worse than the irritant he’d been living with. He didn’t need her help. Nor did he want her to see him struggling.

“I’ll tell her.”

“Good.”

She tried to slip by him, but Simon curled his hand around her hip. “Tonight, at the fountain.”

Her dark eyes widened and the rosy blush under her cheeks hardened his dick. He wouldn’t be happy until her cheeks were scarlet with exertion.

He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “You want the experience, right? And nothing you’ve done before.”

She nodded.

He lowered his head, keeping their gazes locked as he tugged on her lower lip. He bit hard enough that it instantly plumped and darkened to raspberry. “The fountain at eleven.”

“What fountain?”

“You’ll know it.” He forced himself to walk down the hallway away from her. He wanted to suck on her lips until the hue was as deep as wine, but she already had too much control over his cock.

It was time to show her what would happen if she wanted the tour experience. Then maybe he could finally fuck her out of his system and move on.

Because right now he couldn’t see an end in sight to the want.

He climbed the stairs to the stage. Nick and Gray were in the middle of figuring out a longer guitar duel in “Ricochet”. With the time to fill on the setlist, they could finally work with the songs and let them breathe.

Simon loved a perfect four minute song. It got the crowd engaged and didn’t let them get bored. But sometimes the rest helped him with some of the grittier songs on the setlist. Letting Gray and Nick rock out to a three minute solo was welcome in the second hour.

As they hashed out the song, Simon moved out to the archway. It had been finished while they were having their lunch break. Tomorrow it would be sandblasted in cobalt blue and glitter-flecked silver.

He’d seen the designs, but the archway had originally been at the back of the stage. The fact that Lila had retooled it to be exactly what he needed warmed him and energized him.

He backed up and ran three steps before he vaulted up to the second tier of the arch. Hidden behind the artistry of their band name was a network of handholds for him.

Good goddamn, it was sturdy. It didn’t even sway when he monkeyed his way up to the crossbars and pulled himself up to sit.

“Fuck yeah.”

Nick and Gray moved under him. “Gonna be able to get down without help, asshole?” Nick asked.

“Yeah, but who would want to. I can see the whole damn pavilion.” Simon spotted Margo at the end of the lower section. She was on her phone, pacing. “It’s fucking gorgeous.” He peered down at them. “It’s going to be so goddamn awesome.”

“How about you get down and sing?” Nick asked.

Simon dove forward, his fingers catching the bar just as he flipped around and hung for a few seconds. “Oh, yeah. Awesome.”

“Just don’t forget to sing while you’re playing monkey, Pretty Boy,” Deacon quipped.

“Har-har.”

“Are you boys done with your solos?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gray muttered.

Margo jogged back down the main aisle and up the stairs. Her face wasn’t quite as happy and open as it had been all day. A new tension seemed to gather between her brows.

But before he could mention something, it was gone and she was lifting her violin to join in on “Undertow”.

Two hours later, Jazz begged for mercy because of swollen hands and feet.

“One more take of ‘Renegade’ and we’ll be good for the day.”

Jazz tipped her head back. “Thank God.”

Simon burned through another bottle of water and shrugged out of his soaked T-shirt. He cupped his hands around his mic and felt the build in his belly.

The bridge needed a good long vibrato, so he tried to relax his throat even as he felt that tickle nagging at him.

The song built and he held the note. As the guitars increased, he heard the break. He left his head thrown back and hope to shit that no one heard it, but he knew they did.

“All right. We’re all toast.” Deacon raised his voice and the song died. “No need to push it. We’ll need all that for the tour.”

Simon hung his head and uncapped his water.

“Awesome job today, guys. We’re getting somewhere and Margo is definitely an asset.”

Nick crossed his arms. Instead of the sneer that had been his constant companion, he shrugged. “It doesn’t suck.”

Margo was smart enough to school her features, but Simon saw her fighting the smile. Winning over Nick was a trick in itself.

As everyone filed out, there was chatter about dinner and changing clothes. He was more than ready to wash off the sweat and steam out the dryness in his throat.

“Simon?”

He turned to Nick. “Yeah?”

“Everything cool?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Nick studied his face then mirrored his crossed arms and hip shot stance. “Everyone’s tired. No big.”

“You burning to say something, son?”

Nick rocked back on his heels. “You want to go there? I was just asking a question.”

“You were dancing around a question.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Pretty Boy. I’m just checking on you. We pushed your voice today.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Nick held his hands up. “Enough said.” He walked around him and to the stairs at the back of the stage. He stopped on the second stair down.

Simon braced himself, but Nick kept going. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Shit.”

Instead of following the rest of the band, Simon headed out to the seats and the walkway above the pavilion. It was a serious hike to the railing that delineated from paid seats and the lawn. And fuck if the lawn didn’t go on for forever.

It seemed as good a place to start the tour as any. The acoustics were certainly impressive. He couldn’t wait to hear the difference with a theater full of people.

As long as he took care of his voice during the day, he could get through two hours easily. Five hours was asking a lot for even the most seasoned musician.

He walked until he cooled down and even then he didn’t want to deal with anyone else. He circled the parking area and was rewarded with an empty bus.

Nick had already been there and gone. His dirty clothes were half in their laundry bin and half out, and there was a wet towel over the door.

His pocket buzzed.

Simple and to the point, that was Margo. He tapped the side of his phone. The park was a few miles off the beaten track. He and Deak had run around it on one of his marathon killer runs.

The text bubble started almost immediately.

He grinned.

She replied instantly again.

He sprawled on the couch.

She fired back a text in a moment

Simon closed his hand around his phone and tapped the top against his forehead. The idea of facing the pitying looks of his bandmates was far too much to deal with. He drew his feet up on the couch and blinked out.

When he woke, the bus was pitch black. He swore when he read the time on his phone. He plugged it into the charger and stumbled to the shower.

Ten minutes later, he was tucking a faded black T-shirt into an old pair of black jeans. He stuffed his feet into boots and was out of the bus and halfway down the path before he realized he should have gone with his crosstrainers.

He was going to have to hoof it the last mile to where the memorial was in the city park. But at least for the first mile and a half, he could take one of the golf carts out to the edge of the venue.

When he got to the main road of Saratoga, he stashed the cart next to an ice cream shop and took a shortcut through the side streets.

Thank you, Deacon for making me run my ass off.

He slowed as he found the back entrance to Congress Park and ducked through the trees to avoid the security cameras.

Just like old times.

How many backyards and parking lots had he sneaked through as a kid? Christ, he’d lost track after the age of fourteen. Of course by then he’d discovered beer and things had gotten blurry for specifics.

When he spotted the fountain, he slowed his pace. Moonlight shimmered off the shallow pond and the burble of the water softened the night sounds.

She stood in the center of the monument. The octagonal shape seemed even larger and more imposing now that it was just them and the night. The ivory stone glowed in the half moon’s light.

He slowly walked over the stone bridge and up the handful of stairs. Her hair was loose and rippled in the slight breeze. A dark skirt swished around her knees and a satiny blouse picked up the shafts of moonlight that teased through the columns.

So fucking beautiful.

On a night that was supposed to be about fucking, she looked like a cool, elegant dream. Something that would never belong to him.

The heat of anger bloomed in his belly. She didn’t deserve it, but it was there. Actually, she did deserve it. She’d walked away from him so many times and now she wanted him to bend to her.

It was time for her to do the bending.

He stopped a foot in front of her. “Did you listen to my directions?”

She swiped her tongue over her lower lip and nodded.

“Show me.”

Margo looked over her shoulder.

“Don’t worry about anyone else. Only me.”

She curled her fingers into the flowing skirt and inched it up over her knees, halting at her mid-thigh.

“Too much for you, Violin Girl?”

She lifted her chin and pressed her lips together as she raised it farther.

The shadow of her cleft left his dick as hard as the stone that surrounded them. “Higher.”

Her chest rose and fell a little faster than it should and her nipples jutted against the shiny fabric. She liked it.

The white noise in his brain pushed out any sense of caution. Here, he had control and she was a willing playmate. Just how far could he push her?

She gathered the material to her middle and the low light highlighted her milky skin. A small triangle of dark hair ended above her slit.

“Are you wet?”

She nodded.

“Show me.”

Her mouth worked, but nothing came out at first. “How?”

“Touch yourself.”

Her fingers flexed on the material but she drew her right hand down and tentatively slipped a finger along her pussy lips.

“Two fingers. Around your clit, then deep inside until they’re coated.” His voice was raspy with recovery from singing all day.

“Simon, I…”

“This is what you want, right? The dirty side of sex. The kind that doesn’t end with candles and five-hundred thread count sheets?”

She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. “I do.”

“Then show me how wet you are.”

The elegant line of her throat and the tease of cleavage under her blouse pulled a groan from him. “Like that. With your eyes closed. Tell me how wet you are.”

“I thought you wanted to see.”

“First tell me.”

Her breath hitched. “Soft and warm.” She moaned. “Sensitive.”

He watched as she circled her clit. Was that how she pleasured herself? Under the covers in her bed where no one could see her? “Now deep inside, two fingers, Margo.”

She tucked her forefinger and middle finger through her folds and pumped lightly.

“Fuck.” His voice was little more than a whisper on the breeze.

With her head tilted and her hair flowing down between her shoulder blades, she sawed her teeth through her lower lip as her hips rotated lightly.

“Now take them out.”

She sighed and withdrew. The moonlight caught on the silvery wetness.

“Come here.”

She dropped her skirt and he took her hand when she was close enough. He watched her face as he drew her fingers up to his mouth.

Her lips parted and her tongue fluttered over her lower lip.

He sucked her damp fingers into his mouth and curled his tongue around each digit until he had every bit of her taste transferred from her skin to his greedy mouth. He pulled them free with a pop and painted the pads of her fingers across his lip before he bent to taste her. She drew in a shaky breath.

“Want to taste yourself?”

“I…” Her tongue touched her top lip and her thick lashes veiled whatever she was thinking or feeling.

“You taste like cool honey that needs to warm up on my tongue. The kind of taste that lingers and buzzes over taste buds.” For fuck’s sake, he hadn’t even touched her yet and his dick was so hard he couldn’t think around the wanting of her.

He touched the tip of his tongue to hers lightly before she sweetly sucked him inside her mouth. And that was where the sweetness ended. She went up on her toes to eat up the last few inches that separated them and the kiss went flame-hot.

Lips and tongues twined around each other even as their arms didn’t. Chest and breasts brushed, knees bumped, but it was only their mouths that lost control. The cool night air urged him to drag her in, but he knew that was the quickest road to him pushing her over the thigh-high plaques that covered every space between the eight columns.

There would be time for that.

But this, here and now…he wanted to string it out. Wanted to control this one thing between them. Where they weren’t screwing like rabbits without the ride up. Zero-to-sixty was too easy.

He cupped her jaw and turned her head to take him deeper. He felt her moan vibrate through his tongue, into his throat, and arrow to his cock. He tasted it, swallowed it, owned it.

Her nails scraped his wrist as he took everything. She fisted his shirt and held on as breath became a commodity in their kissing war. She tore her mouth away and panted against his neck and down to his breastbone.

“Go lower.”

Her hand moved to his belly and scratched through the narrow line of hair to his buckle.

“Suck me.”

When she paused, he wondered if he’d found her end. When the commands would be too much for his Violin Girl.

“God, yes,” she said against his throat and sucked on his Adam’s apple until his eyes crossed. Her tongue swirled around the shadow of a few days of beard that he hadn’t bothered to scrape off.

When she did that to the head of his cock…

Fuck.

She lifted his shirt and trailed open-mouthed kisses along his ribs down to the flat muscle of his lower belly. She crouched in front of him and looked up, her face in shadow save for the thin slash across her cheek and lips. The clink of his buckle and slow tick of teeth separating as she peeled open his jeans were almost drowned out by the drumbeat in his head.

He honestly wasn’t much of a blowjob guy. He liked the feel of a woman clenching around him, not just a warm mouth.

But the ultimate focus on her face as she pulled him free was enough to convert him. Even if it was the worst head he’d ever had, he’d gladly let her do whatever she wanted to him.

She dragged her tongue under the length of his shaft and hugged her lips around the head until she took him deep into her mouth, until the head of his cock bumped the back of her throat and then beyond.

“Jesus fuck.”

Then she coasted back and focused on the head, with tongue and suction and a talent that went way past skill. It was as if she’d downloaded a blueprint from his brain on what he wanted.

He cupped her cheek to slow her down before he came by her sheer force of will. She looked up with her puffy lips holding his cock hostage.

The first sound out of his mouth was a strangled, ragged groan.

There was a knowledge in her eyes that brought him back to the moment and away from the path to a drooling idiot hellbent on coming. “Touch yourself.”

Her eyes widened.

“I can’t be the only one feeling this.”

She widened her knees and slid her feet farther apart for purchase. Under the cover of night and the black material, she could have been doing anything. He wanted to see, wanted to smell the arousal that waited for him.

“Lift the skirt, Margo. I want to see your fingers, see how you please yourself. I want the combination to all your locks.”

She paused with her fingers hidden, her secrets still shielded from him. And again he wasn’t entirely sure if she was going to follow his direction or exploit his weakness, which she held onto with a powerful jaw.

But she folded back the material and sidled her way to a larger beam of moonlight until her silver-kissed thighs revealed her raspberry red slit. Angry and flushed with arousal, it matched her lips.

He trailed his fingers down her neck to the buttons of her blouse. He flicked them open and found the half cup bra under the satin. Her breasts were too full for it, so he knew she’d worn it for him.

To please him.

And his balls tightened with the idea that she’d want him enough to dress for him, to come here in the dark. Whether she was reckless or searching out a new experience, he didn’t really care.

Because tonight she was his.

He smoothed the blouse aside, tucked his finger under the cup of the bra and plucked and rolled her nipple until it was tight and moonlit-kissed.

She hummed around his cock until he inhaled deeply, praying for strength.

“Are you wet? Does it get you off to suck my cock?”

She groaned with a mouth full of him. She wasn’t innocent, but did she know just how much she was pushing him?

She pulled back, bobbing over his head with her wicked tongue circling again and again. The teasing flutter along the underside was the last straw.

He drove his fingers into her hair and dragged her up against him. Her lips abused and so dark he couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

He lifted her, wrapping her legs around his hips. The stone pillar was textured and scraped the shit out of his palm, but she wasn’t going anywhere. He pinned her there with his hips and dug into his pocket for a condom.

“You want this? Here? Now.”

She nodded, her eyes gleaming in dark. “So much.”

“Hold onto me.”

Her heels dug into his ass as he adjusted his loosened jeans.

“Sweet fuck,” he muttered against her neck as he sank inside her neverending heat. She rolled her hips with each of his thrusts, her heels and nails digging into him with equal measure. The sounds, though…that was what drove him to the edge.

Her heartfelt moan was a memory and a revelation. She took him stride for stride, thrust for thrust until there wasn’t much left of him. His throat burned with the need to shout out his release, but he tamped it back.

This woman knew too much.

Saw too much.

Their lips fused as he took her cries and swallowed them down with his own. The night sounds disappeared, his pain faded away, and there was nothing left but her taking him so goddamn deep.

She tore her mouth away and pressed her cheek to his. He swiveled his hips as much as he could to get the friction she needed. She was there with him, but he could tell her release was just out of reach.

“Tell me.”

Her voice was barely a whisper wrapped in a whimper. She gripped his hair, his shoulder, his back—always moving and changing in her restless search for something else. “I can’t…”

He twisted with her in his arms and dropped to one of the huge stone blocks with the bronzed plaques. There was barely enough room to get her knees on either side of him, but it was what she needed.

“God, yes.”

“Margo,” he growled into her chest, nosing into her bra to suck on her breast as she slammed down on him. With her astride him, she took him even deeper. She arched back until he almost dropped her, but her hips never wavered. She never stopped slamming down against him.

He sucked harder, drilled deeper, held her closer. Watching her burn and sway above him held him at the peak. He couldn’t let go. Not now. Not if it meant he’d miss this woman coming all over him.

She sobbed out his name and he gripped her hips, holding her down around him as he came viciously. The orgasm yanked out of him from his spine and out the top of his head.

The shout that tore from him left fire in his throat but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but her shattering around him.