All Strung Out Read online

  Contents

  Summary

  Scene 1 ~ Sophie

  Scene 2 ~ Mark

  Scene 3 ~ Hondo

  Scene 4 ~ Sophie

  Scene 5 ~ Mark

  Scene 6 ~ Hondo

  Scene 7 ~ Sophie

  Scene 8 ~ Hondo

  Scene 9 ~ Mark

  Scene 10 ~ Sophie

  Scene 11 ~ Hondo

  Scene 12 ~ Sophie

  Scene 13 ~ Hondo

  Scene 14 ~ Mark

  Scene 15 ~ Sophie

  Scene 16 ~ Mark

  Scene 17 ~ Sophie

  Scene 18 ~ Hondo

  Scene 19 ~ Sophie

  Scene 20 ~ Mark

  Scene 21 ~ Hondo

  Scene 22 ~ Sophie

  Scene 23 ~ Mark

  Scene 24 ~ Hondo

  All Strung Out (Rock Your World #2)

  A new adult romance serial by Josey Alden

  Sophie Winter's world has been rocked again.

  After Sophie crosses the line of desire with Mark, Hondo moves out without a word. She's lost her best friend and closest confident, the one person she trusted fully. Leading with her body instead of her mind has pushed Sophie to the heights of pleasure ... but it's her heart that will be collateral damage.

  Mark Dillon is kicking his band to the curb for a fresh start.

  Sex with Sophie keeps his creative energy flowing. That's what Mark tells himself, anyway, as he plans to walk away from his bandmates to start a solo career. With Sophie accessible twenty-four hours a day, though, Mark is losing his focus … and possibly his sobriety.

  Hondo Farrer can't believe he's the boss now.

  With a cool two million in venture capital funding parked in the bank, Hondo and his business partner Jennifer Marin are building the tech company of their dreams. Something is going on with Jen, though, and Hondo can't decide if she needs help … until it's too late for him to make the call.

  ~ The Rock Your World serial will have five episodes of 75 pages/20,000 words each. ~

  Scene 1 ~ Sophie

  Hondo left me. No fight, no discussion, no goodbye, no calls. No communication at all.

  It's not hard to understand what he's telling me: I'm dead to him.

  Nicole Tate, the accountant who's been here trying to sort out my finances (a.k.a. Sophie's mountain of unopened mail), told me what she saw that day. I realized that Hondo saw Mark kissing me on the floor of my closet. Hondo didn't even bother to take the flowers he'd brought me. They sat on the end table for a week—a stark reminder of his absence—before I tossed the whole arrangement, vase and all, into the trash. I kept only the little handwritten card.

  I don't know why he would run away like that, though. It makes no sense. We've always talked things out. When Hondo told me outright that he still thinks of himself as asexual, I took it to mean he didn't consider our relationship anything more than a friendship. What if he did think we were more? Did he believe we could be exclusive to each other without ever making love? I remember clearly our last conversation about sex. He said that when he thinks of having sex with someone, it makes him feel more alone. If being physically intertwined with another person makes him feel lonely, then what the hell is he feeling now, on his own?

  This morning, I'm sitting at my freshly tuned piano in my studio, staring at the keys as if I've never touched them before. Mark paid the tuner for me. He knows how sensitive I am to it being out of tune. He also asked if I wanted any more keyboards. I said, no, twelve is more than enough. I'm starting to wonder just how much money this guy has in the bank … and when it's going to run out. If I've learned anything in this short, strange life, it's that the money always runs out.

  Mark comes into my studio through the sound control room that connects my space with Lang's. It's going to take me a while to remember that it belongs to Mark now.

  My father spent so many years in that room. Famous guitarists flew to Dallas just to play in Lang's studio. Filmmakers shot documentaries in that room. He never recorded a single album here, though. This was his playground, the place he went when he didn't want to feel the pressure of recording or performing. He never kept much in here besides his guitars. As long as he had an amp, why would he need anything else? Still, the room is so much him, it's hard to believe it didn't disappear when he did.

  I haven't asked Mark what he plans to do with the studio. He and I haven't even talked about what's going to happen with the guitar collection. I should probably make sure he knows that the guitars did not come with the house. If he wants them, he will have to buy them from me for what they'd be worth at auction.

  Mark nudges me over on the piano bench so he can sit next to me.

  "You were jonesing to get that thing tuned, and I haven't heard a single note since you've been sitting here."

  I wrap my arms around my waist like I'm sick to my stomach. "I don't feel like playing today."

  "That's a shame," he says, massaging my shoulder as he pulls me closer to him. "I think it's a perfect day to play."

  Before I can respond, Mark settles his mouth on mine. He's calm at first, kissing me like we have all the time in the world. I close my eyes and focus only on this: the pressure of his lips on mine, the taste of him on my tongue, the heat of his body next to mine. As the minutes pass, his intensity grows. His hand is tight on the back of my neck, directing me where he wants. I have trouble breathing under the weight of his kiss. I'm relieved when he takes his hand off my neck to unbutton and unzip his jeans.

  "Hold on," he whispers into my ear as he stands up and pulls off his jeans.

  I no longer have to wonder what Mark looks like below the waist. His bottom half is in the same sculpted condition as his top half. He's well-endowed, but for a second, my mind flashes back to Hondo's perfect body. How many times did I share my bed with him, knowing we would never touch each other in the most intimate way? How many nights did I burn with desire next to him, feeling like every moment with him was somehow a tease that was becoming harder to ignore?

  I shake off the image. Hondo is not here, but Mark is. Mark is the one who stayed, the one who is here now. He straddles the piano bench, facing me, his erection at full attention, waiting impatiently for me to join him.

  I reach down and caress him, running a finger along the velvet edge of the head. He closes his eyes as his breathing quickens. I make a circle with my finger and thumb and slide it down the full length of him. A third of the way down, I can't keep the tips of my fingers together. He's thick, and he trembles under my touch. Thinking about how he feels inside me makes all of my nerves tingle with need. We moved past desire and want a few days ago. Now, my body demands to have him inside me again.

  I stand up and slip out of my clothes while Mark moves closer to the middle of the bench. I tease him, knowing I could push him over the edge too soon this way, but forcing him to endure the delay, anyway. I make my way around him with light touches and kisses all over his cheeks, neck, shoulders, and chest. My lips burn each time they touch his overheated skin.

  "Sophie," he whispers hoarsely, and I know I have to take him now.

  I straddle his thighs, facing him, and guide him into my body. Then, I lower myself slowly to his thighs, squeezing him deep inside. He moans and thrusts up against me. I don't let him run, though. I keep him reined in as I take three more leisurely trips up and down. Every inch of him pushes my pleasure to an almost unbearable place. My body shakes with anticipation.

  He then turns hard as iron inside me. This is my cue. I wrap my arms tighter around his shoulders, and he grabs my hips, taking control. Every time I reach his thighs, he thrusts up to meet me. Our cries are a duet now, growing louder each time our bodies lock together. I lose the boundary line between his body and mine as we slam to
gether toward release.

  He comes with a shout and clamps me down tight against his lap as his aftershocks roll inside me.

  Now, it's my turn. I untangle myself from Mark and then sink to the floor. I lie on my back, not worried about the mess we're making. I pull my knees back to make room for him between my thighs. When he kneels and goes down on me, he uses his tongue to massage my delicate folds. My back arches at the soft, insistent touch. He shows me no mercy as I writhe beneath him and call out his name. He holds my thighs tight with his hands, keeping me where he wants me. As the pressure mounts in my body, it feels like I will lose my mind before I come. I've lost all control as I moan and twist beneath him, his tongue orchestrating my every sensation.

  And then my body contracts, and I fall over the edge, with wave after wave of pure pleasure crashing into me. With Mark still hanging on, it takes me a few moments to finish. He knows how to keep my orgasm going to the very, excruciating end.

  After, he lies next to me on the floor, one leg over mine. I let my mind drift, still floating on the clouds of pleasure. Even though my eyes are closed, I know Mark is staring at me. I feel his breath against my cheek. As long as I'm warm, I'm content to stay there forever.

  But when the post-sex chill sets in, I start crying, softly, just as I have every time we've been together this week. This is when I have to confess that I know what Hondo means when he talks about being alone. Even with Mark inside me, I sometimes feel a deep hunger and a gnawing loneliness at the same time. I never felt that way with Hondo. He filled me with all the things I couldn't find for myself: love, humor, hope. I was the one who made sex a big deal, not him. Was it worth losing him?

  I can't stop wondering what Hondo meant when he wrote, "Sophie, welcome to our new life. Love, Ho."

  Scene 2 ~ Mark

  Sophie's been like this since the day Hondo left. She sleeps twelve hours a day. Her smart-ass remarks have all but dried up. She sits in front of the piano for hours, never opening the keyboard lid.

  I don't know what the hell to do with her. So, I screw her. I'm not being a selfish dick. Well, maybe a little. But she must feel better when we're together. Otherwise, she wouldn't come back for more, right? She obviously needs the sex that Hondo refused to give her.

  I definitely needed to let go like this. Trying to abstain from sex to fulfill some meaningless commitment was absurd. I have no plans to go back to rehab, and I don't buy the idea of sex addiction, anyway. It's not like snorting coke or drinking. The survival of our species depends on sex. It's perfectly natural. You can't put it in the same category as a substance. Do I think about it all the time? Of course. Do I masturbate a lot? Of course. Why should these things matter to anyone but me, though? I should have told the rehab counsellors on the first day to stay the hell out of my pants.

  After I clean up, I pull on a fresh t-shirt and my jeans and head to the kitchen. Nicole is at her usual spot at the kitchen island, still opening envelope after envelope from Sophie's pile. If I had to do that, I would have lost my mind by now, but she just keeps on opening, sorting, and logging every bit of information. I guess that's why she's an accountant, and I'm not.

  I wonder if she fucks like an accountant.

  "Have you found the millions that Sophie didn't know she had?" I say as I open the fridge.

  Nicole sighs. "No chance. This girl has so many outstanding bills, I can't believe she could keep the lights on. And these credit card balances are incredible. I didn't know companies would extend this much credit to someone."

  I smile because that's more than I've heard her say at one time.

  "Want something to drink?" I say.

  "Diet Coke?"

  "For you, anything." I pull a can out of the fridge, pop it open, and pour it in a glass over ice.

  "Thank you," she says, taking a sip. "How's Sophie doing?"

  "She'll be all right," I say.

  I wonder what Nicole knows, what she has seen of us. Does she hear when we're together? The thought of her witnessing our sex life makes a heavy desire uncurl in my lower belly. She's a little taller than Sophie, tanned, with light brown hair usually pulled into a tight ponytail at her neck. She always wears exercise clothes that highlight how tight her body is. Since the day she started working with us, I've been tempted to come up behind her and cup one of her generous breasts in my hand. How would she respond? Would she watch us, if we asked? Or even better, would she join us?

  "Hondo was a nice guy," Nicole says. "It's a shame he left."

  I try to keep my expression neutral. I can't believe she was paying that much attention. Hondo is not as wonderful as everyone thinks he is. In some ways, he's a real bastard. I have to hand it to him, though. He charms women without even breaking a sweat. I don't know how he does it. He's nothing. He doesn't even have money. At best, he's a pretty face. Sophie should have seen that he was leaching off her. He's obviously not loyal. The first chance he had, he ran.

  I hang around the kitchen for a few more minutes, but Nicole has turned back to her computer. She's back in the accountant zone. The only things worse than crunching numbers is watching someone else crunch numbers. Boring.

  I wander out to the pool, which is in the middle of it's own rehab. Before I saw this pool, I didn't know it was possible for one to look exactly like a huge bowl of pea soup. Sophie wouldn't let anyone touch it for months after Lang drowned here. The stench was beyond disgusting when I saw the property for the first time. By summer, though, it will look and smell new. No ghosts. No trace of death. Just fresh, white plaster and crystal blue water. It will be a sign that the people in this house are moving forward instead of dwelling in the past. We've got shit to do.

  I plan to overhaul everything about the Winter mansion. I've left L.A. for good, so it's time to make Dallas my real home.

  The only business I have left in L.A. is to tell my old bandmates to fuck off. I'm going solo.

  Scene 3 ~ Hondo

  I unlock the front door of the office at six-thirty Monday morning and walk in. The suite is in a reconditioned old factory in Deep Ellum, and it still has the original wood floors and interior brick walls. Black-painted pipes and ductwork snake around the ceiling. Hundreds of twelve-inch square window panes line the top half of three of the walls, revealing a panoramic, third-floor view.

  Today, the office is empty. Pure. Waiting for us to fill it. And I've never seen anything so beautiful and full of opportunity in my life.

  I sit on the floor, pull out my laptop, and tether it to my phone. I've worked toward this day for months, but the person I love most has no idea what today means to me. It was so close. Sophie and I missed each other by the narrowest of margins. When I think of how we parted, I feel sick. I never thought someone could slip between us so easily. I still don't know how we let it happen.

  What I do know is Mark is to blame. I can't believe I was the one who convinced Sophie to take his absurd offer on the Winter mansion. If there's anything I could take back, it would be that. Bringing that self-absorbed asshole into our lives ruined us.

  But I have to stop ruminating about Sophie. Today is about business. It's all on me, now. I can't afford to be distracted by drama, no matter how real and painful it feels.

  Someone knocks on the front door to the suite. Grateful for the interruption, I jump up and let in the furniture delivery guy.

  "I have five desks, five chairs …" He continues reading off the list of objects that will turn this bare space into the new You4D headquarters.

  I spend the next hour showing the guys where each piece of furniture goes. I'm guessing at this point. I don't know where the wires for electricity and network will go. Somewhere, we have to build a server closet. I have to-do lists miles long.

  After all the new furniture is in, I have to laugh at how little floorspace we've used. I think we leased more space than we need by a factor of three.

  Around eight, Jennifer Marin, my business partner, comes in. She has long, blue-streaked, blonde hair. Unli
ke Sophie, whose tangled blonde curls are legendary, Jen's hair is naturally straight. She wears glasses and drapes clothing on her too-thin frame, not really worried about how she looks. Clothes are merely functional to her.

  Yes, she's a geek through and through, and I've never met someone so smart. She's the one who sold the You4D concept to the venture capitalists. By the end of her presentation, they were practically throwing money at us to start the company. We had our choice of offers.

  Jen gives me a quick hug. "Desks. Chairs. Awesome. We're totally legit now."

  I smile so big, I'm sure I look like an idiot, but I don't care. Anyone standing here in my shoes would be just as thrilled as I am. Even though it's only the two of us now, the possibilities are endless.

  The basic concept of our company is simple, but the execution is a bit more complicated. You4D is a personal portal where users can connect and manage all of their social media in one place. Once you've authorized each site, you don't have to log back in to the individual sites unless there's a significant change on that site. You4D also hosts your web site and blog. In short, it manages all dimensions of your online life, making it much easier and faster to post updates or remove outdated content. You4D keeps your information synchronized across the board. You can also manage different types of information, such as personal versus small business, and use any smart device to access your account.

  Jen is doing all the foundation coding, and I'm creating the design for the site. We have to hire at least two more people pretty quick. It's way too much coding work for one person.

  Jen and I sit in two of the new chairs in the middle of the small gathering of desks. My phone rings, and it's Sophie. For the sixth time this morning. I set the ringer to vibrate and toss the phone on my new desk behind me.

  "So, what do we do now?" Jen says.

  I smile. "We get to work."

  Scene 4 ~ Sophie

  After Mark leaves, I go straight to my closet. I've been on a cleaning kick, sorting and organizing all of the things that have dwelled on the floor in here for months. I even started a pile for donations. I'm letting go. That's my new mantra. Letting go of the ghosts.