Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(44)

Tongue-in-cheek.

Nick was the guy who was more sardonic. His comments a little more biting.

“Of course I care.”

“Funny, I don’t ever get that vibe from you. The only thing you care about is my cock. Is that why you came out here? I’m in the same town as you so you want a bounce? Not sure you’d like what you got tonight, Violin Girl.”

“That is not why I came out here.” Her clit pounded like a heartbeat at the tone in his voice. And that simply wasn’t allowed. She’d finally gotten herself back to an even keel since she’d played with Oblivion.

Finally had been able to turn the sound down on her overactive dreams that included a mashup of stage time and Simon’s hands on her.

Oh, they still came nightly. And even some nights she found herself with her hand down her panties to ease the ache, but she was dealing with it.

“I’m in a dark mood tonight, Margo.”

She closed her eyes at the way he said her name. Not the sly Violin Girl. No, this was his lips and rough voice curling around her given name. He used it so rarely that her system burned in reaction.

“Why?”

His phone light extinguished, leaving them in the dark. “Because I’m pissed that I still get hard when you’re within three hundred feet of me. Because I’m tired and miss my cat.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Your cat?”

“I miss my bed.” She heard the scuff of his feet over the debris of the alley. “I miss my sanity. I miss banging a random woman to ease the tensions of the day.”

She frowned. What did that mean? She’d seen YouTube videos of his exploits in the towns he’d visited. A weakness she couldn’t seem to get a handle on, but seeing him in a video eased the late night visits in her dreams.

As if her mind’s eye could be sated with a taste of him and let her rest.

Sometimes.

It didn’t always work.

If she touched him again, she knew it wouldn’t work for a good long time.

But she’d seen him with women. Seen his hands on them, his mouth—even right after he’d had sex with her, he’d had his mouth on another woman. This wasn’t a man that would ever be able to be faithful.

It didn’t matter. She’d gotten what she needed from him and they’d both known it wasn’t going to be anything more than a few stray minutes on that catwalk.

She’d gone after him because it felt wrong to end it like they had. But seeing him with that woman had sewn up her regrets and second thoughts.

She’d been able to walk away again.

This alley with him and that dangerous voice certainly would set her back for weeks. When Simon touched her, everything inside her came alive. She couldn’t deny that she wanted it again.

But she could control herself.

“I do believe that you could walk into that bar and get your wish.”

“I can get a woman whenever I want, Violin Girl.”

She clenched her jaw. “Then why are you bitching about it?”

“Oh, the ice princess has a little fire in her belly.”

“I’m not sure exactly who you think I am.”

“I think you’re a well-bred, moneyed young woman who has been following a plan since she was in her…what? Early teens?”

Margo took a step back.

He advanced, his eyes glittering in the dim light from the street. “I think f*cking a rockstar wasn’t in the plan, but you can’t help but want to slum it sometimes.”

“That’s not it.”

“Oh no?”

“No,” she whispered as he caged her in with an arm over her head and one against the wall at her hip. He didn’t touch her—mostly. His worn pants brushed her knees and his belly grazed hers.

“Tell me, Margo. Why would you come after a man like me in a dark alleyway if you didn’t want to f*ck?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to…” She swallowed. The words felt right and wrong at the same time. She wasn’t a prude, but she had been trained since birth to keep crass words out of her vocabulary.

“Fuck,” he said with a hard K. “If you’re going to do that with me here and now, you best be able to say the word. Because there’s no gentle touches in me tonight.”

Part of her wanted to know why. There was something there that he wasn’t saying, but she didn’t have any right to peek into that private domain. Not when they were only this.

Sex.

Fucking.

Sinful pleasure that she’d never known before and would never know after him.

Simon with his jagged edges and broken past.

Just Simon.

She slid her hand under his T-shirt and up to his chest. She pulled back as her nail skimmed over something metal.

Simon groaned.

Margo pushed his shirt up. Had she missed that before? He was always behind her, always pushing at her until she unraveled.

And she loved it.

It was raw and God, it felt good. But she’d seen him without his shirt many times before, and she would have remembered a piercing.

He hissed as her thumb traced over the ring.

“When did you do this?”

“About a month ago.”

She pulled her hand away. “Oh, God. Is it still healing?”