36. Afternoon Blowie

36

AFTERNOON BLOWIE

SOPHIA

If it were legal to sue someone for barging into your life with a backpack of anarchy, Near Death Records would hire the best attorneys money could buy.

At least, that's how I feel when the rest of the Kings of Jupiter tour gets canceled because of our run-in with Caddell. This time, there's no rescheduling the last couple of shows. Which means there's no big check waiting for me from the label since the stipulations were clear, the tour had to come to full completion— meaning all shows being played. I don't need their money, especially not now since Julian Caddell's existence has been wiped off the planet.

Keeping tabs on Knox's recovery hasn't been as important as it should be. In the last month since the incident on the rooftop occurred, I've been left with haunting nightmares. Almost to a point that they're debilitating. My mind is a constant reel of intrusive thoughts. Him making a full recovery and taking over his uncle's business are a problem for another day though .

My main concern, my only concern, is coaxing Cannon Rhodes back to full health. It's the single most important task, and I woke up with it on my mind this morning.

"What the hell?" I almost topple over when my steps falter just as I slide into Cannon's bedroom.

The rail of the hospital bed that was delivered for Cannon to recover in, is lowered. I don't have time to appreciate Cannon's bare, muscular arms because my eyes dart to my other boyfriend, who is sitting in a chair next to the bed—though sitting isn't the right word. He's hovering over it. His jean-clad knees are bent, back arched.

Oliver is going to town, deep-throating Cannon's impressively thick shaft, like my sudden presence hasn't affected him in the slightest. There's zero modesty in the air between the three of us.

"Anyone could have walked in."

"I'm happy it was you, baby," Cannon answers a little breathlessly. "Want a turn?"

"The doctor said no sex."

I'm determined to remain immune to the deep groan that leaves Cannon's lips.

He swallows a moan before smiling innocently. "He didn't say anything about getting a blowie. Did he? Shit. I didn't read the discharge papers, baby. Too much medical jargon."

"A blowie, really?" My chest rises with laughter. "You've been hanging out with Ollie for far too long."

Oliver's retort comes out garbled, due to his mouth being occupied and all. "Ollie is right here."

"I came in here to give you your afternoon dose of pain meds and your antibiotic." A glint of humor is laced in my tone. "It looks like you're giving Oliver the peen-icillin right now. Is he sick too? "

That gains the guitarist's attention.

Pulling his mouth off the large shaft he was sucking, Oliver says, "Really? You came barging in here with jokes during this pitiful man's afternoon blowie?"

I offer a dip of my shoulder.

"Well, get in line, Fireball. Did you see the statue of Cannon's dick?"

My eyes roll into the back of my head as I refuse to laugh at his nonsense.

"I just erected it."

Oliver and I spend the next hour taking turns slowly torturing Cannon with nothing but our mouths. Smothering him with enough pleasure that we have him ejaculating one second, then drifting into a deep sleep the next. His mind and body have been through the wringer.

Rest is what the doctor ordered.

It's easy to feel at home when we're back in Tampa in Mazen's lavish mansion. The band decided it was best for them to be under one roof. Excluding the newlyweds that used the tour ending prematurely to their advantage. They took off for Alaska a couple of days ago. I guess when you were born and raised in the Sunshine State, the solitude of a cabin in the snowy woods with your new bride does sound rather appealing.

When the plane landed, Lacey chased her own normalcy and hightailed it back to our studio and into Devon's arms—our hired security guard at the tattoo studio. Half laughing, half crying, I thought about the two of them doing sinful things in the bedroom next to mine in our small apartment, and I was more than willing to accept Mazen's offer to bunk with them for a while.

The band has more security than I can count on both my hands and toes since that night. I shouldn't have been as shocked as I was when Ashton offered to escort her to our apartment, claiming he needed some time to recoup his spirit —his words, not mine.

I'd hate to think that Lacey wasn't getting tag-teamed and railed every night since we got back to Florida. She's in testosterone heaven. I can't even be mad about it. Truthfully, my sister was a trooper while we were on the road. Hence why I feel so strongly about her finding happiness too. If this whirlwind of a job has taught me anything, it's to not judge anyone's kinks.

"Have you decided what organization you want to donate to?" Oliver scoots next to me on the outdoor couch I've been nestled on for the better half of thirty minutes since we agreed not to linger and watch Cannon sleep.

We're all a little obsessed with one another. Can you blame us? We've fought like hell to not only be together but for the peace and quiet Mazen's large house provides.

The best part of his luxurious pad is that the tall fence only hinders his view of the ocean from the first floor. That's why the third-floor balcony is my favorite place. I've come up here often to sit and think. Consider what tomorrow might bring since I'm no longer running from Caddell or my past.

It's where Oliver and I escaped to, undiluted laughter filled the staircase when he was doing his impression of our sleeping drummer snoring.

"I'm thinking a jellyfish organization." There's a twinkle in my eye that I hope he catches.

He palms the bulge forming in his pants at the mention of the word jellyfish . "Fitting. Who knew your artwork would be the beginning of something special?"

I turn to face him on the couch. "Oh, I knew. I thought to myself, If I can just convince him to let me tattoo an epic jellyfish on his cock, I know I'll win over his heart ."

The smile he gives is irresistibly devastating.

"Did it work?" I scoot closer toward him.

"Yeah." His expression grows hungry and lustful. "It worked."

Leaning forward, Oliver captures me in a kiss that has me forgetting about everything that still plagues my mind.

The fact that Knox is still alive. The loss of getting paid from the label, though it was promised to Caddell anyway. Back to Oliver propositioning me to be his band's live-in employee that started this whole traveling tattoo artist companionship in the first place. Though, I didn't finish out the tour working for him. I finished it as his girlfriend. As girlfriend to all of them. Which meant there was no way in hell I was accepting his check when he tried to pay me. Even if it meant my dream of opening a second studio was extinguished.

You guessed it. Oliver wouldn't take no for an answer.

So, I decided to donate the money. That was something he couldn't argue with.

In all honesty, my dreams changed as soon as I allowed my heart to thaw and accepted the love that overwhelms me from Oliver, Mazen, and Cannon on the daily.

The studio can wait. If I've learned anything from falling for my boss … bosses, it's that creating a future with them can't.

Gathering me in his arms, Oliver breathes me in, savoring my scent. "You have the best-smelling hair I've ever smelled."

"It's Mazen's expensive shampoo. I hope you don't go around sniffing him like you do me."

There's a glint of curiosity on Oliver's face. His features become more animated, and the bulge in his pants goes from zero to a hundred on the hardness scale.

Using the arousal high he's on to my advantage, I push a topic that's plagued me for weeks. "I've never had a foursome before the one we partook in." I tiptoe into the water. "Was it bad or something?"

"What makes you think it was bad? Did you not enjoy yourself?" He seems genuinely concerned.

"I loved what happened. I just don't know why it hasn't happened since."

Recovering from my admission, Oliver bites his bottom lip, a sorry attempt to stifle his groan. "It wigged Mazen out."

That has my beautiful, stenciled brows rising. "What do you mean by that? He was disgusted that I allowed you guys to use me like that?"

Recollections of the day Mazen called me a whore rings loudly in my mind. Is that what he thinks I am? A whore? Sue me for feeling cherished, adored enough to allow the three of them to ravish me like my body is the fuel they need to survive.

"Quite the opposite. I think he wigged out because he liked it a little too much."

Shock flies through me around the same time the balcony door slides open to reveal the man of the hour himself.

"What's up?" Mazen casually strolls from the doorway to the couch, plopping down on the other side of me .

I'm the ice cream in this sandwich, nestled between two rock stars, and I've never wanted to be eaten more in my life. My face creases into a wide, mischievous smile.

Momentarily speechless by his appearance, Oliver takes the lead. His dazzling smile mimicking my own. "Soph was telling me that she wants to have another foursome."

"Does she?" There's an unmistakable spike in the pitch of his usually reserved voice.

"She does. Would you like to be with us … together, again?" I take a quick breath, then hold it, waiting for his reply.

Death changes a person. I know watching his father die forever transformed Mazen Wilde's view on what matters most in the world. I'd like to think the small changes he's made within himself are for the better. He's choosing happiness, and we're choosing him.

"The better question is, when can we make it a reality? I want to please you seven ways to Sunday, Rosella. You too, Ollie. If you'll let me." Mazen's tanned cheeks turn a rosy pink. It's a stark contrast to the confidence that just poured from his lips.

Silence hangs between the three of us, almost unbearably long. Long enough that our phones buzz simultaneously, alerting us that we have a new message on our group thread.

HempDaddy: Where's everyone at?

Ollie: 'Bout to suck Mazen's dick.

HempDaddy: Soph is? That's hot. Send pics.

Oliver's eyes dance with delight. He's edging Cannon in the worst way, knowing that he's downstairs, bedridden. The three of us burst into a fit of laughter, knowing that this isn't a joke, but toying with Cannon is.

Ollie: Sry. Can't take a pic of myself.

My phone rings.

"Hello?" I answer, too chipper for my own good.

"Is this really about to go down?"

Looking left toward Oliver, then to my right toward Mazen, I know with certainty by the wanton need furrowed in both men's brows that something sexy is brewing. "Maybe." I hedge on the truth. "I honestly don't know where things are headed. A woman can only hope it's leading to pound town."

"I do." Cannon's voice is still gravelly from sleep. "I can hope." I can tell he's talking from behind clenched teeth. "The three of you'd better be headed downstairs right now. I know you're on the third floor. Discuss the logistics of how this is playing out on your way."

The phone disconnects.