Authors: Tabatha Vargo
Copyright © 2016 by Tabatha Vargo
All Rights Reserved. Printed in the United States of America.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events or real people are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Having Hope/Tabatha Vargo
Editing services provided by Editing4Indies
Formatting services provided by Tabatha Vargo
Cover Art by Regina Wamba/Mae I Design and Photography
No one’s promised tomorrow. And Chet Rhodes, the drummer of Blow Hole, is all about living for today. Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll ... anything to help him forget his deadly secret and keep him detached. But when he meets Hope, a bitchy brunette with sarcastic wit and a deadly right hook, his carefully constructed defenses break down. For the first time ever, he wants more than a one-night stand.
Hope Iverson holds a secret that could potentially destroy everything she's built. Hardened with a short fuse, her past has left her emotionally unavailable. That is until the charismatic drummer for Blow Hole bursts into her life. His smart mouth has the ability to make her smile, and his inked body makes her feel things she’d rather not. But scars leave you changed, and Hope isn’t sure there’s enough of herself left to give.
Love and Death are two uninvited guests. Nobody knows when they'll come, but both do the same work … one takes the heart and the other takes its beat.
A drunken haze settled over me, weighing me down and slowing my movements. I’d definitely had too much to drink, which wasn’t uncommon for me … especially at one of Finn’s weekend parties. I could drink like a fish, smoke all the herb my lungs could handle, and Finn would always let me crash in his guest room.
My belt and jeans clattered to the floor. With so much alcohol swimming in my system, I’d struggled for five minutes to get them off. I ripped my shirt over my head, and my naked body collided with her naked body.
The girl beneath me had been bare for a while, while I’d kissed and licked every square inch of her. My body melted with hers when my arms finally gave in, and I collapsed on top of her completely, my full weight pressing her small frame into the mattress. Her skin was warm and soft, her fingertips soothing as they caressed my naked back.
“Please, Chet,” she begged, her dark eyes looking straight into me.
I loved it when they begged, but her begging was different—more desperate—more frantic. She was both of those things because, unlike the rest of the girls, I’d taken my time to bring her close to orgasm and then let up for the last hour.
I didn’t usually prolong a girl’s release since giving pleasure was one of my favorite things to do. Hearing a woman moan and whine was probably the sexiest thing ever. But partying at Finn’s place meant I could get fucked up and have a place to crash. So that was what I did.
Thanks to my alcohol and drug-induced total loss of control, I was weak and sloppy, which meant I had no choice but to take my time. I was pretty sure I’d passed out twice while I made out with her, but my mind was so out of it I didn’t care. This girl was something special … something different, and I wanted to show her that.
It was more than that. It was the way she touched me. The way she’d treated me all night. She’d appeared out of nowhere because I’d never seen her at any of our parties. And she’d spent the night laughing and listening, not trying to stick her hands down my pants and grab my cock.
It was as if I was more than just a one-night stand for her, which would generally freak me out, but with her, it was different. She didn’t push to sleep with me in the beginning. Instead, she’d talked to me and really laughed at my jokes, different from the fake bullshit most girls pulled. And I could remember her looking at me like I was more than the drummer.
Most girls wanted to fuck me because I was the drummer of Blow Hole, and the hotter the band got around town, the faster the women were. It was getting out of control.
It was getting boring.
The chase was gone completely, but with her, I felt like I was chasing a bit. I felt like I was turning her on—like she wanted me for me—not because our band was on the verge of greatness. I liked the way she made me feel. I hadn’t realized how much I missed just being Chet.
My hard cock lined up with her center, and her wet heat teased the tip. I looked down at her face, but the room around me spun and I could barely see her dark hair and eyes through the blur.
She lifted her hips, and my body sank into hers. It was slow, and it felt beyond amazing, but it was harder to enter her than it should have been considering how wet she was. There was a barrier, and I didn’t miss her gasp when I finally pushed fully into her.
Something wasn’t right. She was too nervous, her inexperience suddenly a glowing beacon in the dim room. Earlier in the night, her innocent noises and unsure touches had been endearing, but now, things were starting to make me wonder.
Her behavior wasn’t the only thing that worried me. Her body gave her away. Regardless of how she’d been dressed at the party—her cleavage showing, her skirt short—her body told her secret. She was tight when I pushed into her. So tight and gripping at my cock that I thought I’d blow my load just by entering her.
“Are you a virgin?” I slurred.
I was drunk. The fact that I was even noticing these things was crazy considering I could barely see straight. That fact that I cared was even rarer.
“No. Don’t stop,” she whispered into the darkness.
I didn’t want to stop. She felt better than any other girl had ever felt. Maybe it was because she was so tight and wet. Maybe it was because we’d been touching and rubbing for the last hour. I wasn’t usually much for foreplay, but I was so drunk and weak that lying against her and rubbing was easier than getting undressed.
“Are you sure?”
I didn’t believe her. I hadn’t been with any virgins. At least not that I knew of. And while people say that you couldn’t feel the difference, I could. I could feel it in the grip of her body—the tenseness of her shoulders—the flashes of wide, nervous eyes that stared back at me.
She could say what she wanted, but she was definitely a virgin.
Still, if she wanted to pretend, then I could pretend, too.
“You feel so fucking good,” I mumbled as I entered her again. “So tight.”
I didn’t fuck slow, but knowing deep down that I was the first to break her barrier, I didn’t want to hurt her.
That was definitely the vodka talking. Chet Rhodes didn’t care about stupid shit like that, but with her, and after our drunken night together, I cared. I didn’t want to hurt her. I wanted to make her feel as good as she was making me feel.
After an hour of making her body beg for release, it was the least I could do. Of course, I always made sure the ladies got off. It was the biggest reason they came back for the seconds I wasn’t willing to give.
Otherwise, feelings reared their ugly heads, and I had nothing to offer anyone in that department.
She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, and then she dragged her nails down my back and pulled my hips to her. I sank into her tight passage again, and a moan rumbled up my throat.
“Fuck.” My body went weak and fell fully on top of her, my face buried into her neck.
She smelled sweet—like honey and vanilla—prompting me to lick her soft skin and taste her.
“Oh God,” she breathed.
I moved into her, feeling an orgasm tease my balls. And when I was able to lift my head again, all I could see was the little blackbird inked into her ivory skin. I spent most of the night with my gaze glued to it. I couldn’t look her in the eye because I knew I was drunk, so instead, I looked at the tat.
The blackbird moved with me, jumping with each thrust, taking flight with each of her deep breaths.
“Please don’t stop, Chet,” she begged.
I wasn’t sure I could give her what she wanted. Already my shaft was hardening and preparing to unload. I wanted to come so badly, but at the same time, I wanted her to come, too.
I picked up my pace, my body still weak with vodka and everything else I’d downed during the night. My hips knew by memory what to do, so I continued to fuck her. The sensations were amazing.
“Come for me, baby.”
What was her name?
How could I not remember her name?
She’d be Blackbird from that moment on out.
My eyes stayed on the blackbird, and I picked up momentum the faster its wings seemed to flap. Her nails dug into my skin, and moans slipped from her lips with every breath. And then her body tightened around me, tugging sweetly at my throbbing flesh until I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Oh my God,” she said in shock, her eyes wide and unbelieving.
Obviously, no one had ever made her feel the things she was feeling. It was a major boost to my ego and only pushed me harder to make her come.
“Yeah! Oh, yes!”
She cried out, her orgasm spilling from her body and gathering between us. The slapping sounds of our bodies coming together grew louder, echoing with the added moisture. The extra slide added to my pleasure; the sounds picked up as my drunken mind took the back burner, and my body’s memory took over. My hips knew what to do. My body was in charge as I pounded into her, looking for my own release.
I fucked her hard and fast, filling her balls deep with each thrust. My spine went straight and stiff when the pleasure tightened my sack. And then I let go, coming inside her so hard no noise left my mouth. So hard my body went still as if I was being electrocuted by so much sensation. My mouth hung open. My eyes glued to the blackbird as it became still.
Afterward, I rolled off her and pulled her to me so I could spoon her from behind. I wasn’t a snuggly guy. Honestly, most nights I asked them to leave, but with Blackbird, I wanted her next to me—holding me to the Earth and soothing me while I slept.
She moved, but I latched my arms around her and held her to me.
It was my voice. I’d asked her to stay. I could hardly believe it, but I knew what I wanted, and I wanted her. She melted into me, her body relaxing in the afterglow of our sex. I kissed her shoulder blade and ran my nose across her soft skin. Then the night moved over me, and I slept deeper than I had in months.
The next morning, I woke with a splitting headache. My eyes were glued shut, and I was afraid to open them. The room spun behind my lids, and my stomach roiled with old vodka and beer.
Then the memories moved over me.
My night with her rushed through me, filling me with so much pleasure that I smiled through my throbbing brain.
We’d made out all night. I hadn’t made out with a girl … ever. We’d kissed and flirted—touched and teased—all the things I never did. We did all of this before going to the spare room at Finn’s where I spent an hour driving her crazy with my mouth and hands—prompting some of the sweetest noises I’d ever heard from her pouty lips.
Once she was squirming and begging for more, and once I wasn’t sure I could hold myself together any longer, we moved past the foreplay and proceeded to have the best sex I’d ever had.
She was so tight—so wet—so perfect, and I knew I wasn’t letting her out of my sight until I had her again. I wanted her over and over again. It wasn’t like the other girls. She wasn’t like the other girls. She was unique … my little Blackbird.
She wasn’t leaving the bed until I got a long sober look at her face, found out her name, and even snagged her number. She was different, giving herself to me in a way none of the other girls ever had. There were no sloppy seconds. I was the first, and strangely, I thought that maybe I’d like to be the last where she was concerned.
I’d never felt that way before, but my Blackbird had somehow chained me to her during our night together, and the thought of being a one-woman man for a bit didn’t scare the shit out of me.
I rolled onto my side, reaching out for her soft skin, ready to pull her to me and hold her close. My fingertips met blanket and blanket only. I patted at the sheets, reaching out farther, thinking that maybe she’d slept on the far side of the bed, but no one was there.
My eyes popped open as I sat up quickly. Nausea washed over me, and my head throbbed so hard I flinched. But worse than the nausea and the pain was the realization that my Blackbird had taken flight at some point during the night, leaving only a tiny spot of her virgin blood on the sheets.
I couldn’t remember her name.
I couldn’t remember her face.
But I wanted her.
And if it was the last thing I did, I’d find her and make her mine again.