At the first sweet suction of her mouth, he nearly came off the f**king bed—and would have if it hadn’t meant that she would stop doing whatever wicked thing she was doing. “Jesus, Elise.” His voice was hoarse, more animal than human. Lust was a driving force within him and he was clinging to control with his fingertips. He wanted to grab her, to pound himself into her, to make her take every inch of him as he came down her throat.

But this was Elise, fragile, injured Elise and he needed to be careful, needed to—

“Fuck!” He watched, wild eyed, as Elise slid her uninjured hand between her thighs and dipped a finger inside of herself. He wanted to protest when she pulled it back out—watching her touch herself was one of the hottest things he’d seen in his life—but he was too busy freaking out about the fact that she was sliding that same finger against his perineum and then up, until she was pressing against him.

“Elise—”

“Shh,” she murmured as she once again sucked his c**k into her mouth. At the same time, she pushed gently inside of him, her slender, delicate finger curving at just the right angle to stroke against his prostate.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Pleasure swamped him, took him over until all he could think or feel or see was her. Until all he wanted was her.

He clenched his teeth against the ecstasy of it all. He was so close, so f**king close, and it would be so easy to let go. But at the same time he wanted this to last forever, this moment when Elise was taking him every way she could and he felt so incredibly close to her. Like every part of them was in tune, completely in tune.

Desperate to see her, to look into her eyes, he lifted his head off the pillow and watched as Elise sucked him off. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen, her raspberry lips closing around him as he thrust between them. Her eyes open and glazed with a need that shot straight through him, a need that brought him closer and closer to coming. What was it about this woman with the wary eyes and delicate build and indomitable spirit that took him places he’d never dreamed of going?

He didn’t know and in that moment, he didn’t give a f**k. All that he was, was held in thrall by Elise and what she was doing to him.

His teeth clenched and his jaw locked as the moist, sexy heat of her mouth drew him in deep. Her tongue ran in circles around his throbbing cock—up and down and around until all he could think about was coming in her mouth while she milked him with her lips and tongue and throat. At the same time, she continued to stroke inside of him, the pad of her finger pressing against his prostate with each gentle movement she made.

Suddenly, it was too much, way too much. “Elise, sweetheart, you need to stop.” The words were so low and guttural that he barely understood them himself, but she seemed to know what he was saying. She refused to stop, though, her lips and mouth and tongue and finger working him over so completely that he could barely think, barely breathe.

Still, he tried. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, tried to pull her up, but she only sucked harder, drawing him deeper and deeper into her mouth.

“Lissy, I’m going to—”

She hummed deep in her throat, a sound of need and approval and care. That was all it took to slam him over the edge of oblivion. And then he was coming, spurting inside her, his cum jetting furiously into her mouth as the most intense orgasm of his life ripped through him.

She took all of it, all of him, and still it wasn’t enough. Still he wanted more. More pleasure, more of Elise, more of everything that was between them. He wanted to take her apart as she’d done to him, wanted to put her back together—put them both back together—in a way that took everything she had to give but that gave her everything of him as well. It was a terrifying idea, but as she crawled up his body and pressed her sweet, fragile length against his own, he knew it was one he wouldn’t—couldn’t—shrink away from.

…

“Quinn, wake up.”

He jerked awake at the voice, and the rough shoulder shake that accompanied it. Sitting up in bed, he looked around wildly as he tried to figure out where it had come from.

“Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Ryder was crouched down next to the bed, his hands raised in silent apology as Quinn looked at him in disbelief.

“What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep and I figured we needed to talk, so…”

“You didn’t think to call?”

“I did. You didn’t answer.”

Which should have been a clue that he was either asleep or busy. He almost said as much, but Elise moaned and he turned to find that she had rolled over onto her injured arm when he’d jolted up in the bed.

With a muttered curse, he gently scooped her up and settled her on her back again. She grumbled a little, but thanks to the painkiller he’d insisted she take before bed, she settled back into sleep again as he stroked her hair.

When he was sure she was out, he swung his legs off the bed. “What time is it?”

“Five thirty.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Sorry, man.”

“No, it’s fine.” He started to stand up, but then realized he was completely naked. Admittedly, Ryder had seen him that way before—on a tour bus, there was no such thing as privacy—but still. “Hey, can you give me a minute? Go put on some coffee, or something.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

As Ryder left, Quinn rubbed a weary hand over his eyes and tried to prepare himself for what was to come. Whatever Ryder wanted to talk about couldn’t be good, otherwise he’d be at home, tucked up in bed with Jamison.

Wyatt? he wondered as he stumbled toward the bathroom. Or Micah? It had to be one or the other or Ryder would have waited until ten, when they’d been set to meet on the new album anyway.

Fuck. He dragged clothes on, then went to the bathroom to splash water on his face and brush his teeth. He really hoped it was Micah. The guy was a total dick, but he’d rather deal with his shit than have anything else happen to Wyatt. The guy had been through more in his life than anyone should ever have to handle.

Finally, bleary-eyed but awake, he made his way down to the kitchen. Ryder was just pouring cream into a cup of coffee, and he took it gratefully when his band mate offered it.

“Jared coming?” he asked.

“Nah. I wanted to talk to you without him around.”

Micah it was, then. “What’d that shithead do now?”

“He’s pitching a fit about us trying to force him out. Just like we expected.”

“How big a fit?”

“Big, man. The label wants us to get together, see if there’s some way we can work this shit out—”

“No way, man. No f**king way. Jared’ll never be able to get on stage with that rat bastard again.”

Ryder smiled grimly, toasted him with his coffee cup. “That’s what I told them.”

“I assume they didn’t take it well?”

“You could say that.”

“What do they want?”

“They say the only way they’ll invoke the morals clause and kick his ass out is if we get rid of Wyatt, too.”

Motherfucker. Goddamn motherfucking piece of shit bastard son of a bitch.

Quinn shoved back from the table and walked into the pantry, grabbed the bottle of Macallan 55 he had squirreled away there. He dumped a healthy shot into his coffee cup and then did the same to Ryder’s.

“Hey, where’d that come from? You don’t have anything that good in your bar.”

“It’s a twelve thousand dollar bottle of Scotch. You’re damn right, I don’t.”

“Shit, in that case, make it a double.” Ryder pushed his cup back toward Quinn.

He took a long sip of the coffee, which went down pretty damn smoothly considering the amount of alcohol he’d just spiked it with.

“There’s no f**king way we’re kicking Wyatt out of the band. No f**king way.”

“I know that,” Ryder said, taking a healthy sip of his own drink.

“And there’s no way Micah’s staying, not after he f**ked Jared over like that.”

“Agreed.”

“The label’s not backing us.”

“Nope.”

“And neither is management.”

“Nope. They think Wyatt’s a risk and you can understand why. Tour insurance just f**king skyrocketed.”

Quinn nodded, took another drink. “So what are we going to do?”

“I vote for going over there and beating the f**k-all out of Micah. Make him see the light, so-to-speak.”

“Yeah, well, a good beat down is your answer to everything.”

“That’s because a good beat down cures most of the world’s ills. And if not, it makes me feel better, so…”

“Yeah, until you end up in jail and broke ’cause Micah the douche sued you for everything you’ve got.”

“Which is why I’m here, with you, not over there ripping his spine out of his as**ole.”

Quinn poured them both another shot. “It’s a good image, though, isn’t it?”

“Damn f**king straight it is.”

“So, what are we going to do?”

Ryder shook his head. “I’ve got no f**king idea.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Quinn pushed back from the table, walked into the family room and picked up his tablet. Then he headed back into the kitchen, pulling up his email as he went.

“I’ve been talking to the lawyers, trying to figure out what to do about this situation.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ryder looked cautious. “What do they suggest?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“I already don’t like it. What the f**k else is new?”

“According to them, we’ve got three options. We finish the tour and album as contracted, with all five of us—”

“That’s not a f**king option!”

“I am aware of that. I’m just telling you what they say. Or, we break the band up completely and reform under a different name with the four of us and a new bassist.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” Ryder exploded away from the table and started pacing, hands in his hair. “We’re there, man. We’re right there, knocking on the f**king door. There’s no way we’re going to start over. No f**king way, not when we’ve worked as hard as we have to get here.”

“Which leaves us with the third option.”

“Yeah, well, if it doesn’t involve throwing Micah off a f**king cliff, I’m not f**king interested.”

Quinn took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes for what felt like the millionth time. It wasn’t easy being the voice of reason in this damn band, especially since it wasn’t his normal role. Not to mention the fact that he wanted to throw an even bigger fit than Ryder right now. This was bullshit, total and complete bullshit.

But somebody had to be the grown up here and while that role was usually filled by Jared, their guitarist was currently too f**ked up to do much. Especially about this situation. Goddamn Micah and goddamn Victoria, the cheating bitch.

Clamping down his own anger, he turned the tablet toward Ryder. “We buy him out.”

Ryder froze, his eyes wide with incredulity. “Excuse me?”

Quinn shrugged like it didn’t make him burn, didn’t leave a bad taste in his mouth. “We pay Micah off, get him to sign a non-disclosure agreement and leave the band quietly.”

“We pay him off.”

“Yeah.”

“We pay him off.”

“Pretty much.”

“Are you f**king kidding me? Are you f**king f**king f**king kidding me?”