Sing to Me (Rock Me Book 3) Read online

  “What part of his heart is broken don’t you get?”

  “The part where he up and leaves you every goddamn day!” In two strides Drake’s towering over me. Strong hands cup my face, splay across my cheeks, and dig into my skin. I hate that I like the pressure of his fingers, that I crave the burn.

  Leaning forward, Drake presses his forehead against mine. It’s not gentle, it’s a literal butting of heads. “Everyone’s dealing with their own brand of fucked-up, princess. You, me, every lost soul on this planet. Doesn’t mean it’s right to treat anyone as less than they deserve.”

  “I know what I deserve.”

  His eyes shoot flames. “You don’t have a fucking clue.”

  My breathing is ragged. Our bodies, though warring, shift closer. Always closer. He’s the magnetic field surrounding Earth’s core, dragging me toward him. And, like gravity, I spiral downward. Despite wanting to clench my eyes shut, block out his blazing stare and my inevitable fall, I don’t. Can’t.

  It’s too late.

  I touch him because I have to. Caress his jawline because I need to. Trace his cheekbones because I want to. I gasp; he groans.

  The grip on my face intensifies, skirting the precipice of pleasure and pain.

  Good, I’m not alone in this.

  Without warning, Drake jerks away. He takes a few steps back, tugging on the ends of his hair while refusing to look at me. “You deserve more.” He glares at the sky as though it insulted his vocals. “So much more. One day you’ll realize it. And it’ll be too late.”

  I tip my chin. “That’s where you’re wrong, ace.”

  Agonized blue eyes meet mine. They bury themselves inside me, diving deeper and deeper between my ribs, refusing to resurface again.

  “I know what I’m worth.” Straightening my shoulders, I open up to him, just a little, wanting him to see my strength. “And it’s more than anyone’s given me credit for.”

  Dark lashes kiss the top of his cheeks on a slow blink, but other than that he’s motionless.

  Closing the space between us, I stretch up onto the balls of my feet so I can whisper in his ear. “The mechanics of music, the equipment that creates sound, will set me free.” Taking a step back, I arch an eyebrow, daring him to reply.

  He doesn’t. His jaw ticks, and his pulse thrums at the base of his neck, but other than that, he’s silent.

  Satisfied I’ve made my point, I drop to the rug and resume inspecting the speaker, hoping to God my shaking hands don’t betray my nerves.

  Chapter Six

  The remainder of the afternoon is spent pulling apart the speaker and inspecting the internals. It’s not easy focusing on the mechanics of the equipment with Drake lounging beside me. Seems he’s happy hanging with me until the tour bus rocks up. It’s weird. I mean, shouldn’t he be off partying somewhere? Sightseeing? Messing with the minds of impressionable women?

  Lying on his back, he rests one muscular arm behind his head. Drake’s eyes are closed, and I have to remind myself more than once not to take advantage. I can’t help it though. The trail of dark, downy hair peeking from beneath his T-shirt might as well be a flare. I swear, it’s begging me to take notice, to follow the path all the way down to—

  “Eyes on the prize, princess.” His lazy drawl snaps me from my reverie.

  My gaze darts to his face. Dammit. Crystal-blue irises are laughing at me, and the corner of his mouth is raised in the mother of all smirks.

  While I wait for the heat from my cheeks to incinerate me alive, Drake languidly reaches down and scratches his stomach, raising the shirt even further. It’s not by accident. “As much as I love the way you bite that bottom lip when you stare at my cock, I need the speaker fixed. Hundreds of panties are relying on my voice to make them wet tonight.” The hand rubbing his stomach shifts until it’s solemnly placed over his heart. “It’s my civic duty to soak them.”

  “Your ego is repulsive.”

  “Yet you want me anyway.” He smirks.

  “In an alternate universe, maybe. One where your head isn’t the size of Jupiter with a nut allergy.”

  His deep chuckle causes my heart to falter, then kick into overdrive. It’s a miracle he can’t hear it.

  With heated cheeks, I return my attention to the speaker’s components. However, it’s difficult gripping the equipment with the right amount of pressure. Talk of other women’s panties doesn’t sit well with me. It reminds me that Drake’s a public figure; he belongs to the masses, not to a single person. As much as it pains me to admit it, it makes my good fist twitch. I need to clear my head. I’ll break the components if I’m not careful.

  Determined to remain focused, I hold up one of the internals to the sunlight. Turning it this way and that, I observe every inch. I move it, mimicking the action it would produce if music were playing.

  A smile forms. “Got it!” Dropping the equipment, I clap my hands. Yeah, I look like I’m channeling my inner fangirl at a boy band concert, but fuck it. I’ve figured out the cause of the distortion, and I’m too proud of myself to care. “Damn, I’m good.”

  “I could’ve told you that.” Drake winks. “But I’d be referring to your ability to picture me naked.”

  I roll my eyes. “Would you quit thinking about yourself for once? This is important.”

  “Can’t. I’ve tried. Saddest eight minutes of my life.”

  “Shut up already. I know why the speaker isn’t working.”

  “Yeah?” Long fingers scratch his jaw.

  The rough stubble scraping against callused skin makes me wonder what it would feel like rubbing the inside of my thighs. Dammit, Har. Focus.

  “So, what did your sexy ass find out?”

  “My sexy ass had nothing to do with it.” I tap the side of my head. “It was all this.”

  “Let’s agree to disagree.”

  “Let’s agree you’re a pervert.”

  “Done.”

  Picking up the internal part, I point to it. “Check it out, it’s the spider.”

  “Spider?” I swear, Drake’s impersonation of a three-year-old girl sucking down helium is on point. His voice is four octaves higher at the very least. Scrambling to his feet, he jumps clear into the air. After landing on the furthest corner of the rug, he frantically scans the worn material for any and all arachnids. “Where? Where’s the spider?”

  I laugh.

  Oh, how I laugh.

  I laugh until tears roll down my cheeks, my stomach cramps, and I can barely breathe. “Jesus!” I wipe my face with the back of my good hand. “Your face!” I burst into another round of hysterics. “You should’ve seen—” Falling onto my back, I clutch my middle, succumbing to the mirth that is Drake Stone’s phobia.

  The man in question crosses his arms, eyebrows furrowed.

  I barely notice, I’m too busy trying not to die from merriment.

  “Are you done?” he growls.

  “No.” Gasp. Giggle. Snort. “Not even close.”

  Without warning, a large body slams into me. It’s heavy, warm, hard. My wrists are wrenched above my head and clutched together in the viselike grip of a massive palm. Strong arms land on either side of my head. They’re propped up on elbows, caging me in. Eyes the color of bellflowers in a rainstorm stare into mine.

  I still. And it’s strange because my breathing slows yet my heart hammers against my ribs.

  “What about now?” Drake rumbles. The deep tenor of his voice echoes inside me. I’m surprised he can’t feel it resonate against his abs. “Are you done laughing at me now?”

  I’m frozen. For the life of me, I can’t speak. I can’t look away, can’t do anything but stare. He settles his hips between my thighs, spreading them apart. I suck in a quick inhale as he nestles against me. My breathing feels forced, like I’ve forgotten how my lungs are supposed to work. I fill them to capacity but am unsure what to do next.

  “Not so quick to laugh now, are you, princess?” With his lower body flush against mine, he rolls
his hips.

  Sensation floods my core. It’s quick to build, growing stronger, more forceful with every repetition. My eyelids flutter closed, and despite trying to swallow it down, a whimper escapes. “If you’re doing this to prove a point, you need to get the hell off me.” Damn, I was aiming for assertive, but my voice came out reed-thin.

  “And if I’m not?”

  I blink, staring into the face of a fallen angel. His gaze is transfixed on my parted lips. “You need to get the hell off me.”

  “Is that what you really want?” Drake grinds against me, his cock hardening, his biceps tense, his lips mere millimeters from mine. Instinctively, my legs shift further apart, and I suppress a moan when his hard tip hits me right there.

  Now would be a good time to internally smack myself upside the head, douse myself with frigid water, run fifty miles in the opposite direction. Anything.

  I. Don’t. Move.

  With a dark chuckle, he traces my neck with his nose. “Didn’t think so.”

  Drake’s free hand skims the length of my arm. Clenching my jaw shut, I tip my head back, desperate to remain silent. I don’t want to let on how much he’s wreaking havoc on my insides. How my head and erogenous zones are locked in a battle of wills. Each is determined to become the victor and neither care what will be forfeited to emerge triumphant. It’s my heart that’s the sacrifice, and it’s jackhammering against his chest, wanting out of this situation.

  Despite knowing I need to stay away, that it’ll end in disaster and I’ll end up as one among the possibly hundreds of girls he’s fucked and forgotten, I want Drake Stone. It’s only been twenty-four hours since he crashed into my orbit, and I’ve already opened up to him more than anyone. What a disaster.

  Not that I have long to ponder my conundrum, because a dexterous hand slowly trails across sensitive skin. Goose bumps erupt, leaving tingles and shivers behind. The wandering hand caresses the side of my breast, grown heavy with want, and splays over my ribs. The touch is possessive, masterful, controlling.

  My core throbs to the point of pain.

  “Your body was made for sin,” Drake growls. There’s a slight tremor as fingers burn my flesh. There’s a tightening on my wrist, a quick expansion of his chest that speaks of coiled tension so tight, it’s on the verge of snapping.

  I’d love to see Drake lose control. I wonder if he ever has. Has he succumbed to a brutal animalistic fervency with any of the girls he’s fucked? I hope not. And then I hate myself for hoping not, for wanting him to lose control in the first place.

  Drake’s not mine. He’s not the type of man I want. This very situation is the reason why I stay the hell alone. It’s based on surface-level attraction and immediate gratification, nothing else. There’s no long-term commitment. Hell, there’s not even a promise of tomorrow. There’s nothing but heartbreak if I continue down this road.

  Distance. Distance is what I need. I’ll lose myself otherwise. “Drake?” My voice is a plea-wrapped warning.

  Another thrust. Groan. “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry I laughed at you.”

  “If it means I end up fucking your pussy, laugh all you want.”

  I still. Drake pauses. Our eyes meet. He must notice the lust, doubt, and confusion in my expression. No doubt it’s an epic movie reel, perfect for an angsty teen blockbuster. With a muttered curse, he sits up and rakes tense hands through his hair. He grips the ends and tugs.

  “Drake, I—”

  With eyes glued to the rug, he holds up one finger, stopping me. “Don’t. Just give me a minute.”

  This is why I keep to myself, why I’m no good with people. I have no idea how to traverse the rocky slopes without slipping and landing far from where I’m meant to be. There’s no guidebook for how to begin a healthy, functional relationship complete with emotional growth and unswerving trust. Though, even if there were, it wouldn’t apply to Drake and me. Besides, I’d struggle to read the damn thing anyway. I’d need clearly labeled diagrams or some shit. Limited text, lots of images. It’s only then I’d be able to figure it out. Not that it matters, because I genuinely don’t think connections like that exist anymore. They died with my aunt.

  Ignoring the pinch in my chest, I nibble my bottom lip and wait.

  Drake glances over his shoulder at me, no doubt shocked by my lack of sass. I don’t have it in me. Apart from a throbbing heart and screaming core, there’s not a lot left to offer. When he sees me sit upright, hugging my legs to my chest with my chin resting on my knees, his expression softens. Shifting closer, he wraps a long arm around my shoulders and pulls me to his side. I inhale the scent of sandalwood as his cheek rests against my head. “Princess, this is nothing on you. I’m not pissed that you wanted to stop.” He sighs. “I’m pissed that I got so wrapped up in your sexy-as-fuck body, I forgot where we were. I was about to strip you bare and sink into you right the fuck here.” I can feel him gritting his teeth. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of public fucking. Some of the hottest sex of my life was out in the open.”

  “Seriously?” Pushing him away, I narrow my gaze. “What’s with you recounting your sexploits? Newsflash, I don’t want to hear them. Makes me want to throw up in my mouth.”

  He smiles like he’s got a secret he’s not telling me. It’s annoying, and I’m torn between teasing it out of him or punching him in the junk.

  “Princess, what kind of hypocrite would I be if I said you deserved more and then owned your sweet ass on this rug? We’re next to a parking lot, for fuck’s sake.” He nods in the direction of my van. “Check it out, that piece of shit is held together with gaffer tape. Not really adding to the ambiance, is it?”

  I poke him in the pec with my good index finger. “Hey, that’s my RV you’re bitching about. Don’t go dissing my wheels. I’ll have you know it’s reliable, has a killer mini fridge, and has traveled more of this country than you ever will.”

  His eyes widen. “Wait, that rusted beer can is yours?”

  My glare is huge.

  “But you borrowed money. Surely you got yourself a decent van out of it?”

  I cross my arms.

  “Where’d it all go?”

  It’s like a titanium door slams shut. On Drake, the conversation, everything. “None of your damn business.”

  “But—”

  “I said”—my voice is jagged glass. I’m surprised his throat isn’t slit and blood doesn’t seep from the wound—“none of your damn business.” Taking a calming breath, I square my shoulders, refusing to think about my dreams dripping between my fingers one whiskey at a time. “Now, do you want to know about the problem with the speaker or what?”

  Drake searches every inch of my face. It’s as though he’s trying to read between the words, to line up the gaps next to each other so he can interpret my silence. I keep my expression impassive and mouth shut. Less chance of him figuring it out that way.

  When he realizes I’m not going to say a word about the money, he scrubs one hand across his brow and nods. “Sure, whatever.”

  “You don’t have to sound so happy about it.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Feigning excitement, he clasps his hands together, batting thick black eyelashes. “Please, Harper. Can you explain how the speaker’s been fucking with my sound? I’d be ever so grateful.”

  “You know what? Screw you.” Collecting the equipment, I go to leave.

  A strong hand clasps my wrist. His fingers and thumb could almost circle my narrow limb twice. I pause. “Sorry, okay? I just….” He dips his head, shakes it, then peeks up at me, his expression rueful. “I’m sorry.”

  Grudgingly, I nod.

  He releases his hold, pushes hair off his face, and gestures to the deconstructed speaker. “Talk away. Hell, you can even lord it over me if you want. Throw in a condescending smile, I don’t care. You figured it out, you deserve your moment in the sun.” He grins. “Just squeeze your tits while you do it. Tug your nipples. You know, whatever. I’m not picky.”r />
  “I’m not squeezing or tugging anything.”

  “You sure? Because if you want my attention, that’s a surefire way of getting it.”

  My gaze narrows. “How about I talk and you listen?”

  “Boring.”

  Crossing my arms, I glare. “Or I could put the speaker back together without fixing it? You survived one set with muddy sound, you can do it again.”

  He holds up large palms in surrender. “Okay, okay.” Exhaling a deep breath, he shakes his head. “Fucking ball-breaker, you are.”

  I give him a sickly sweet smile. “I’ve been called worse.” Then, picking up the spider, I drop the act and get down to business. Pointing to the piece of equipment, I ask, “What do you see?”

  Squinting, Drake takes in the paper shaped into a cone. The base of it is molded so it has the same shape as accordion bellows, the part that expands and contracts. “Not a lot. Why?”

  “Look here.” I point to the cracks in the treated paper.

  He glances from me, to the paper, and back again. Raising his eyebrows, he says nothing.

  My finger taps against the brittle surface. “There are cracks.” Bringing it closer to his face, I trace them. “See? Tiny fractures in the adhesive have weakened the paper, causing fissures. This is why you noticed a murky sound.”

  “Princess, you need to rewind and start again.”

  After pinching the bridge of my nose with my free hand, I take a deep breath. Releasing my hold, I go back to basics—Internal Components 101. “A spider and the surround acts as the speaker’s suspension system.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s made of treated paper coated with an adhesive glue to help keep its shape.”

  “Right.”

  “It’s like an accordion. When distributing sound, it moves forward and backward. See?” I imitate the motion the speaker is meant to follow. “The spider needs to shift seamlessly, like this.”

  “Okay.”

  “But this one is cracked in a few places. Meaning, rather than being projected forward, the sound is lost as it seeps through the gaps.” Once again, I mimic the trajectory of the spider, pointing out the cracks along the folded seams. “So, the reason the tone is muddy is because the sound isn’t pure. It’s being distorted every time the spider moves.”