Something Awesome (The Three Graces Book Five) by Nia Farrell
Length 21,103 words. Release date October 1, 2018.
Free with Kindle Unlimited
Amazon Universal link http://mybook.to/TG5
Amazon US https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07H1FXLLB/
Jackson Thomason is a triple platinum recording artist who performs with his twin brother Jacob as No Mercy. Unhappy with their current contract and hungry for something better, they dream of an independent project that speaks to their part-Comanche blood. They contact American Indian composer and flutist Nico White about collaborating, but it’s his writing partner Anna James who’s responsible for putting the twist in his tribal music. The songwriting sessions heat up, and the purple-eyed goth-haired gamer girl goes down on her knees, submitting to the darker side of passion in a rock star interracial MFM ménage BDSM romance.
Written for Ages 18+.
“We know your work,” my brother tells them. “We like it. A lot. We’ve had a project in mind for a couple of years now, but our label won’t touch it. It’s important enough to us, we’ve decided to tell them to fuck themselves and do it ourselves. It’s a concept album with a tribal theme. We want to return to our roots. Not musically, but ethnically. We may be only a sixteenth Comanche, but we’re related to Quanah Parker. We cut our teeth on the stories of his life, his family, our people. We want to express those stories in song, and we’d like your help to do it.”
Nico stays silent, considering. When we approached him about working with us, he didn’t ask for details. He knows that teaming with No Mercy will give him exposure that he might never achieve on his own. And Anna? She looks like she’s having a songwriter’s wet dream.
“And how does that work,” she asks, “doing a record while you’re still on tour?”
It’s a good question. Fair enough. We had wondered that ourselves. Had worried about it until we figured out just how we could make it happen.
Thank fuck for hi-speed WiFi.
“We’ve got ten days before our next gig,” I tell her. “After that, we can hook up over the internet. Nico says his connection will let us Skype.”
She’s used to her weekly one-on-ones with Nico, sharing space, feeling the energy, tapping into the same creative flow, but to co-create over the internet? She hugs her Fender to her heart, clearly skeptical.
Jacob keeps talking about his ideas for the album as a whole and for individual tracks. While he uses his powers of persuasion, I let my hands speak for me. I pick up my guitar, a Master Classic Pacific with curly maple sides and a Sitka spruce top, and touch the strings, exploring. My fingers find chords, random at first, slowly gathering form. Anna turns on a digital recorder when patterns start to emerge.
I hold back a smile when she lowers the neck of her guitar to playing position. Her fingers move, her strings dueling with mine, until suddenly we’re in sync, creating melody and harmony. Nico weaves his flute around us. Jacob adds rhythm on the djembe.
By the time we’re through, we have the musical equivalent of a manuscript’s first draft.
“This…this…is why we’re here,” I tell them, pumped as hell. I don’t say that we’ve memorized every fucking track that Nico’s ever recorded, and all the best ones were co-written with AJ McPherson. We knew that we needed them both. Being here, playing with her, makes me want Anna even more.
Jacob catches me staring at Anna and smiles. He knows where my mind is, knows that my stirring cock wants to follow. Anna throws ice water on it when she starts breaking down. “Sorry, guys. I need three hours of sleep or I’m toast at work.”
What. The. Fuck?
The mantle clock reads four in the morning. She’s fucking leaving, and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it. Nico sees her off, then comes back into the living room. I debate packing up, too. He nods when he sees that our guitars are still out.
“Sorry, guys,” he says. “I know you’ve had some surprises today. I needed to see if Anna could handle this—could handle working with you. She’s never written with anyone but me.”
I take a breath, think about what I don’t want to say, which is anything that will jeopardize our working relationship. “You didn’t tell me she has a job.”
He shakes his head and crooks half a smile, like I should have known. “Writing doesn’t pay her bills. Not yet, anyway. Little sister works at a gaming store in Charleston. Castle Keepers.”
“Wait. She’s a gamer?” This, from Jacob, who plays rings around anyone else on our team, comprised of us and a few of our roadies. Chances are, if we’re not writing music in our downtime, we’re playing games or watching porn.
“Big time,” Nico says. “Whatever you play, you do not want to go against her. She’ll only smile and kick your asses.”
Fuck that. We’ll add her to the team.
“Wednesday is her one guaranteed day off work. That’s why I had you guys come tonight. I went behind her back and asked her boss if there was any way she could get off work, but chances are slim to none.”
Which means he didn’t totally diss it.
“Give me his name and number. I’ll see what I can do,” I tell him.
“Yes, Sir.” There’s a shit-eating grin on Nico’s face when he flicks on his laptop and finds the contact information for Anna’s work. Such a switch. But he’s smooth, he’s smart, and he clearly cares for the gamer girl he calls “little sister.” With that scene he arranged in the diner, I suspect he wanted to see how well Anna can handle us on every level, beyond fame, beyond music, beyond words. I suspect that he’s researched us, enough to know our tastes. Jacob and I do our own version of tribal with a twist, and after the grueling first half of our concert tour, with the almost mindless, meaningless sex that happens on the road, I’m ready to bring something better into our mix.
Anna James, before we leave, you will be ours.
Anna gets here at half-past eight, hauls in, sets up. J.T. has Grace in the playroom. The way the thermostat is kicked up, I’m guessing there’s some nudity involved.
By the time Anna finishes, she has sweat beading on her face. A rivulet forms, tracking down her chest and disappearing between her luscious breasts. Jacob and I take mental notes, not bothering to hide our interest. She resists as long as she can, then says, “Fuck it,” and sheds her sweater. She’s wearing a pink camouflage camisole underneath that technically covers her breasts, but every fucking detail is there if you look hard enough, and I do.
I grab my guitar and grind out a riff of stripper music. Jacob gets theatrical and peels off his tee, swinging it overhead and letting it fly.
Anna’s jaw drops when she sees his inked torso. “If I had you guys in my bed, I’d read myself to sleep every night….”
When Nico snorts, Anna realizes she didn’t just think it. She fucking said it out loud.
I look at Jacob. He’s thinking the same thing I am.
Maid service on the sheets tomorrow.
“Well, well.” I lock my gaze on Anna’s purple fuck-me eyes. God damn, she’s hot. I set down my guitar and lose my shirt, revealing my tats and my pierced nipples. Her mouth goes dry. She licks her lips and looks away, dropping her gaze to the keyboard she hauls in but never touches.
Nico leans over, whispers in her ear. Anna picks up the battered Gibson she brought tonight and starts playing, letting the music weaving itself in her head flow through her fingertips, stringing chords that shouldn’t go together, finding what makes them work. It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard. When Nico adds his flute, our jaws drop.
Magic. Pure magic.
“Damn, little sister.” Nico turns off his digital recorder. Thank fuck at least one of them got it.
Jacob is at a loss for words. “Anna. That was… wow.”
I rub my chest, still feeling her music touch me like a lover. When she goes to the kitchen for a chilled bottle of water, I follow her.
She reaches inside the refrigerator, grabs one of the reusable glass bottles, and closes the refrigerator door. She can’t help but feel me behind her, a foot taller than her sixty-three inches and radiating heat like a fucking furnace. I bend down; my nose, with its small silver hoops, nudges the rings that rim her right ear when I whisper into it. “I don’t know where you went, but I sure as hell hope you go there again—and take us the fuck with you next time.”
She inhales a shaky breath, exhales, catches herself when she starts to lean back against me. “Do you two do everything together?” she asks, still facing the fridge. She doesn’t deny her attraction, but she’s not quite ready to let me see it, either.
“Yeah. Pretty much.” I lift my hand—the one that has L O V E tattooed on my fingers—and stroke her arm, leaving pebbles in its path. “If you know our music, you know us. It won’t be gentle, and it won’t be quick, but I can fucking guarantee we’ll give you the best sex of your life, gatita.”
She cocks her head, tempted to look. “Kitten?” she asks. “You want to tell me where that came from?”
“Ever try to catch a feral cat?” I slide my hand to her small shoulder and flex my fingers around it. “Even a kitten will shred you to ribbons. But you’ve got the spice to go with the claws, don’t you, gatita?”
Anna twists the lid off her bottle and slams back a mouthful of cold spring water. “Fuck fuck fuck!”
Brain freeze, not funny. I chuckle anyway, because it’s like she’s reading my mind. “That’s the plan.”
“Since when?” She stops rubbing her forehead long enough to throw a look over her shoulder and fucking bats her eyelashes at me, revealing her inner dirty, flirty girl.
“The diner,” I admit. “You gave as good as you got. You sounded like you could handle us.”
When I say us, she doesn’t blink. The thought of a threesome doesn’t scare her shitless. If anything, she seems intrigued by it.
Thank you, Jesus.
“Mmm. My hooker voice. And how did I look?”
She’s fishing. We both know it, but I’m feeling generous and goddamn if we’re not about to get lucky. “Like you’d dare anything. Risk anything. You were… hot,” I rumble. “Fucking hot. I wanted to drag you into the back and bend you over a sink and—”
“Is that what you want, brat?” I underscore the last word, slapping her sassy little ass, my tone full of menace, my mind alive with possibilities.
Anna shivers. Her thoughts follow where mine are leading.
“Ah,” I say. “Then here’s a word of warning. A little sass gives us an excuse to get creative. Disrespect us, or anyone else, and we’ll keep you on the edge so long, you’ll be begging us to put you out of your misery. No Mercy,” I whisper, turning her to face me.
She stares at my ink like she’s mesmerized by it. Appreciates it.
Like she wants a taste of it.