Drive Me Crazy

CHAPTER Thirteen


God, this woman was going to kill him. There was a part of him that had known it at seventeen and there was a part of him that was sure of it now. The only problem was, he just didn’t give a f*ck. Not now, when she was skimming her mouth closer and closer to his cock. Not earlier, when he was inside her, making her come. And not any of the other times either, even when his dick wasn’t involved.

He’d brought her here because he wanted to take care of her, but there was something about having Elise in his house, in his space, in his bed, that made him happy. Happier than he had been in a very long time. And yeah, he knew they had some shit between them—the whole mess she’d witnessed the day he walked away, the fact that he’d never contacted her, the fact that he hadn’t been good enough for her then and wasn’t good enough for her now.

But he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when Elise was in his arms where he’d wanted her practically forever. Not when she was in his bed, her pretty, pretty mouth inches from his painfully full cock.

“Lissy, baby.” Even he could hear the pleading note in his voice as she pressed kisses everywhere but where he wanted her most. He didn’t give a damn. He needed—

He moaned, arching off the bed as she licked a sizzling trail over his cock, pausing to swirl her tongue around the head a couple times, before she pulled away.

His hands tangled in her long hair—there were miles of the silky stuff—and tugged her closer. “Do it again,” he growled in a command he would have been more careful about issuing if he’d had even one functioning brain cell left. Elise had always been a little prickly about being ordered to do anything.

She didn’t seem to mind this time, though, as she did exactly what he said, again and again and again.

Quick little licks of her soft, sweet tongue over his dick. Longer, deeper swipes that were meant to inflame instead of satisfy, torment instead of soothe. He took it for as long as he could, until he was as close to begging as he had been since his seventh birthday.

“Elise, sweetheart, please.” He tugged gently on her hair, arched his hips, did everything and anything he could think of to get her attention.


She merely laughed, then circled her tongue around him so slowly that he thought he might actually spontaneously combust. “Damn it, Elise!” His voice was harsh, desperate, but she ignored him as she continued to tease. Continued to stoke his desire with light, deliberate touches that had him trembling with the need to bury himself inside her.

He fought the burn, struggled to hold on to some semblance of sanity. Tried desperately to stay in control so that he could take care of Elise, so that he could give her what she needed instead of what he wanted.

But she seemed to sense his reserve, his desire to be careful with her, and she was having no part of it. As if to tell him so, she dug her nails into his hips, hard.

He nearly came off the bed at the sharp bite of pain combined with the hot pleasure of her mouth. “F*ck, Elise!”

His hands tightened in her hair and he glanced down to see that he was leaking pre-come all over his stomach. He tried to rein himself in, but it was impossible when Elise swiped the clear drops off his abs with her tongue and made a low, approving sound.

And then she was there, pulling him into her mouth one slow, hot, excruciating inch at a time. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, wasn’t what he’d planned when he carried her up here. She’d been through so much, had so much more to face. He wanted tonight to be about her fantasies, about making her feel good. Instead, she was ripping him apart, making him feel good instead of letting him bring her pleasure. Giving to him instead of taking.

He wanted to stop her, had planned to stop her right up until she took him in her mouth. It felt so good, so incredibly f*cking amazing to have her mouth wrapped around him that he couldn’t protest. Couldn’t pull away. Couldn’t do anything but lay there and let her pleasure him.

Which she did. Oh, God, did she ever—hotter and sweeter than anyone else ever had. Sweat poured off of him as she taunted him, her tongue stroking over his balls, his dick, the sensitive spot behind his sac again and again, before she finally took his testicles into her mouth and began to suck.

At the first sweet suction of her mouth, he nearly came off the f*cking 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—

“F*ck!” 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 cock 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.

“F*ck. F*ck. F*ck.”

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*cking 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*ck. 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.

F*ck. 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*cking 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.”

Motherf*cker. Goddamn motherf*cking 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*cking way we’re kicking Wyatt out of the band. No f*cking 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*cked 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*cking skyrocketed.”

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

“I vote for going over there and beating the f*ck-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 a*shole.”

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

“Damn f*cking straight it is.”

“So, what are we going to do?”

Ryder shook his head. “I’ve got no f*cking 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*ck 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*cking 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*cking door. There’s no way we’re going to start over. No f*cking 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*cking cliff, I’m not f*cking 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*cked 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*cking kidding me? Are you f*cking f*cking f*cking kidding me?”

Knowing Ryder was too far gone to listen to him, Quinn didn’t say anything. Instead, he sat back and waited for Ryder to wind himself down. It took a while.

“He’s the a*shole who got a big head and started acting like a total dick. He’s the a*shole who f*cked around with his band mate’s fiancée. And he’s the a*shole who f*cked with Wyatt’s head when he got out of rehab last time. And we’re supposed to pay him. Like we’re the ones who did something wrong. No way. No f*cking way.”

Ryder paced around some more, muttering more curses and threats than Quinn had ever heard him use—which was saying something. He couldn’t help being glad that Elise was still asleep upstairs—she wasn’t the delicate flower that her father and so many others liked to think she was, but that didn’t mean she was ready to deal with Ryder at his angriest, either. Especially considering the guy currently looked like a berserker in a rage.

But eventually he wound down, as Quinn knew he would, and he sank into the chair next to Quinn’s.

“Let me see the email from the lawyers.”

Quinn slid the tablet over to him.

It wasn’t that long of an email, but Ryder must have read it over a few times because it was close to ten minutes before he opened his mouth again. “You’ve been talking to them since you got this.”

“Yeah.” He tried not to think about the agonizing hours he’d spent on the phone trying to wrap his own head around the f*cking unfairness of it all before he brought it to Ryder and the others.

“How much do they think we need to give him?”

“They suggest we start with a flat amount, three million dollars, and then negotiate up to one-fifth of our net profit from the next album—”

“One-fifth? We have to get a new bassist, so that’ll be more than any of us make—”

“And ten percent of what we make from tour.”

The list of obscenities that fell from Ryder’s lips was long and vile and more creative than anything Quinn had heard in quite a while.

He waited a few minutes for Ryder to wind down, but when it didn’t look like he was going to, Quinn interrupted. “It’s the best thing to do. I know it sucks. I know it’s not fair. I know you’d rather throw the guy under a f*cking bus than do this, but the lawyers and I have wracked our brains for the least messy way to do this and I swear to you, Ryder, this is it.

“We need this to be over. The band needs this to be over. Jared can’t take a long, drawn-out battle with that f*cker right now and Wyatt…Wyatt’s already beating the hell out of himself for the mess we’re in. Add this to it, and I don’t think we’ve got a chance in hell of keeping him sober when he gets out of rehab.”

Jaw clenched, Ryder poured himself another shot of whiskey and tossed it back. Then he nodded. “Yeah, all right. Let’s just get it done. Then we can start looking for a new bass player and put all this shit behind us.”

“Okay. I’ll call the lawyers as soon as they’re open.”

“Yeah. Do that.” He paused. “When are we going to tell the others? We won’t be able to do this without their okay.”

“It’ll be better for everyone if we get things started. If the balls are all in place, then it’ll look more like a fait accompli. They’ll bitch and moan like you did, but they’ll fall into line.”

Ryder watched him with narrowed eyes. “You planned this whole f*cking thing.”

Quinn looked at him like he was crazy. “You’re the one who broke into my house at five in the f*cking morning and woke me up. How could I have planned anything?”

“I don’t know, but you did.”

He shrugged. “Dude, I just presented you with the options.”

Ryder snorted. “Yeah, and the Titanic was just a boat.”

“It was. And not a very good one, as history has proven.”

Ryder laughed. “That’s what I like about you, Quinn. You’re always thinking. Always f*cking thinking.”

“One of us needs to be.” He pushed back from the table, put the scotch away, then poured himself another cup of coffee. “So, are you going home or are we going to get to work on this album?”

“Work on the album, of course. It better be f*cking brilliant if we’re going to make up for the amount of money we have to pay that a*shole.”