Wicked Harmony

Chapter 13 | Sin

Chapter 13

Sin

W hat kind of idiot decides on a whim to run away with a bunch of rock stars they’ve just met and doesn’t expect to get turned into a skin suit?

This one right here. I’m the idiot.

It takes a surprisingly long time for it to kick in how lucky I’ve been. As in, we’ve traveled for three entire days across the country and I was fine. Totally cool as a cucumber and mostly focusing on how damn bored I was. But then we arrived at the band’s mega cabin in the woods.

They live out in the middle of nowhere. The cabin is surrounded by what looks like miles and miles of forest. And apparently, the nearest town is over twenty miles away and close to an hour by car.

Yeah, there’s definitely no one around to hear me scream.

But I’m midway through that first morning before it hits me. Right around the time I get an email to say that Grizz’s Little Oddities have finally noticed that I’ve not been at work for days now and they’ve accepted my resignation.

No more job. No more apartment. My ties to Willow Ridge are officially severed.

Well, shit.

For once in my life, I seem to have landed on my feet. The cabin itself is sheer fucking luxury. It’s massive and beautifully designed. And the band has taken me by surprise .

Someone carried me from the car and tucked me into bed.

One of them cleaned the workshop—or at least got their housekeeper or cleaning staff to tidy it up for my personal use.

And then Micah seemed so damn excited to give me the tour of their house. He was surprisingly cute about the whole thing and I wound up getting all the warm fuzzies when I rocked up for breakfast and they’d actually cooked.

I mean, it wasn’t good. But they seemed like they’d really made an effort.

I smile to myself as Micah gives me a jaunty wave and they head to their practice room. I make my way to my shiny new workshop and spend a couple of hours setting my station up before my phone buzzes with a million meeting requests.

Staring down at my calendar and the next four hours of my day, which are solidly booked with meetings.

Julia—the band’s manager, then one with Steve—the stage manager, followed by a meeting with Alex—the head of lighting, then another one with Julia.

By the end of it, I’m buzzing with even more ideas. I’ve also discovered why Iri wanted me here with them. He apparently likes to be involved in everything. Every little decision.

Seems like I’d better pull my finger out of my ass and get on with the work they’re paying me to do.

A FEW HOURS LATER, I glare down at my bare ass cheek and huff a frustrated sigh. Somehow, I’ve torn a massive hole in my favorite pair of overalls. It stretches all the way from the leg to the crotch, leaving my butt hanging out.

Damn door handles.

Stupid big pockets getting caught on the door handles .

There’s also a spreading coffee stain over my left boob where I threw it all over myself when I got my pocket caught up on the handle.

I’m still swearing down at my bare ass being on display when Cal walks in with a sandwich and a drink, coming to a sudden halt when he catches me mooning him as soon as he steps through the door.

“Uh, Sin?”

Fuuuck.

“Yeah. I know.” I’m torn between burying my face in my hands like that’s going to shield me from view, and checking on Cal’s reaction.

The second one wins out and I’m treated to the sight of a slight blush coloring the tops of his cheeks.

“Stay where you are,” he rasps. “Here. Food. Eat. I’ll be right back.” He hands over a plate with a sandwich on it and a drink and spins on his heel.

I’m torn between throwing myself out the window and digging a hole to hide in when my stomach growls angrily. I glance at the time and realize half the day has gone by and somehow I forgot to eat.

I have a massive pile of sketches ready to run past the band, though.

Cal’s attempt at a sandwich looks a lot better than this morning’s breakfast. I take a massive bite and am busy chewing when he returns with a little tin in his meaty fist. He opens it up, displaying a sewing kit.

“I brought you a t-shirt to change into as well, or I can do it while you’re still wearing your overalls.”

I blink at him, chewing and swallowing before I can answer. “Uh, do what?”

He raises an eyebrow. Like, do I really need to explain this? “I’m going to sew you up. It looks like a pretty clean tear. ”

He’s still blushing, and that’s distracting me from my embarrassment. I chew a bit more and swallow before mumbling, “You know how to sew?”

He chuckles, grabbing my hips and shifting me in front of him until he’s kneeling at my side. My stomach swoops, my grin fading as a jolt of electricity goes straight to my clit.

Shit, my ass is basically in his face... and I enjoyed him manhandling me a little too much.

I shift awkwardly on my feet and he growls a warning, steadying me with his hand on my thigh this time. His hand is so big, it covers my entire thigh, and I gulp.

Trying not to focus on the warmth of his palm on my leg, I twist my neck as far as it can go to watch him sew me up. He tugs the two pieces of material together and hums under his breath before pulling back and plucking a needle and thread from his little kit.

Holy hell, is it hot in here? My cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

“Where did you learn how to sew?” I ask, my voice hoarser than usual. He licks the tip of the thread and threads it into the needle, which looks impossibly tiny beside his thick fingers.

This giant Orc on his knees, taking care to carefully thread a needle. Yeah, for some reason, that really does it for me as well. I have to fight the urge to rub my thighs together.

He glances up at me with a little shy smirk. “Look at me, Sin. Do I look like a guy who can buy clothes off the rack?”

Huh, I guess not. “That doesn’t mean you would have to sew your own clothes, though. Most people pay money for someone else to tailor them.”

“One of my sisters does it for a living.” He shrugs and I watch the thick muscles in his neck shifting with avid interest. “She makes all my stuff, but my mom was the one to teach all of us to mend our own clothes. I can still do emergency repairs when they’re needed.”

“Handy skill to have. ”

He chuckles. “You might not believe it after this morning, but my dads also taught us how to cook. I have four dads and they’d all take turns cooking when we were growing up, so there was a big variation in skill level.” He grins up at me. “We’d go from having a basic grilled cheese that was on the wrong side of burnt one day to a three course roast dinner the next.” Another shrug of his big shoulders as he makes neat stitches in the material.

It’s engrossing, watching him focus all his attention on my overalls. His eyes don’t stray to my ass once, even though it’s right there in all its pasty glory. He gets this little furrow in his brow and my neck aches from the awkward angle I’ve got it twisted at. The stitches he makes look impossibly small considering the size of him, I never would have thought he could make them look so uniform and neat.

A few minutes later, he lets out a satisfied grunt, which causes my belly to flip over itself. He sits back on his haunches, admiring his work, before patting my ass and getting to his feet. Once he’s at his usual height, towering above me, Cal adjusts himself... including the bulge in the front of his pants.

Guess he isn’t so unaffected after all. I’m burning up slightly and my underwear is uncomfortably damp, I can feel I’m slick between my legs.

“Eat all that sandwich,” he says. “You need the fuel.”

He then nods to himself, turning on his heel before heading out again, with his sewing kit tucked under his arm.

Ho-ly fuck. I think I just came.

There’s something about quiet confidence that clearly revs me up.

Either that or it’s all the pheromones in the air from living with rock stars. We might only have been in the cabin for a day, but we’ve spent over half the week in very close quarters.

That’s the kind of environment that’s always going to lead to one of two things: fighting or fucking .

Here’s hoping for the latter.

Wanton slut.

The words come from out of nowhere. Accompanied by an unwanted memory of the Herald pulling me to one side after I had a conversation with a cute guy at a coffee shop that lasted longer than he thought appropriate.

I was seventeen and his reaction fucked my brain up for a good long while. Whenever I got a little too close to anyone, even someone who wasn’t an outsider, he’d get this look on his face and I’d instantly retreat.

It was like he had me trained like a damn dog. And it took me a long time to train myself out of that after I left The Path.

I shove that nasty voice to the back of my brain, where it belongs.

It takes me a second to realize I didn’t thank him for his help. Suddenly regaining the use of my legs, I trip out of the workshop after him, with my plate still clutched in my hand.

Cal’s nowhere to be seen though, and I still don’t know my way around the house as well as I’d like.

I head down the hallway leading to their practice room, but there’s no sign of Cal here either. Continuing along until I reach his bedroom, I find that to be empty, too.

There’s a noise in a room at the other end of the hall, so I carry on in that direction. But, instead of finding Cal, I stumble across a sweaty Micah wearing a welding mask. He’s working on what looks to be a sculpture made up of strips of metal all twisted together. It’s six-feet tall and stunning. I’ve never seen anything like it.

This must be his workshop. It smells like ozone and something sweet and the walls are lined with tool benches and neatly displayed tools. I stand in the doorway, staring as he continues to work for another couple of minutes before shutting off his blow torch and pushing his mask off his face. He pulls off his protective gloves, turning to me and rolling up his sleeves, displaying forearms covered in a sheen of sweat.

My mouth goes dry. Holy fuck, what is happening in this house today? It’s like between him and Cal, I’ve stumbled upon my own personal porny fantasies.

He shoots me a massive grin and wipes his sweaty forehead. “Sin!”

I swallow a few times before my dry mouth allows me to speak. “Wh-what are you making?”

“Ah, nothing useful, I’m afraid,” he says, his expression turning bashful.

My damn heart cannot handle him. Nope. It’s not possible. He’s too fucking cute.

“You’re an artist?”

He shrugs. “I’ve tried a bunch of types of sculpting before, but I like the metal ones best. They’re this perfect mixture of harsh beauty—hard material and soft lines.”

Aand now I’m sweating. Not just because it’s hot in here, either. I try to fan myself subtly, but there’s not a lot of give in the ol’ overalls, so I don’t do too good a job of it.

“Sin? Are you all right there?”

“Hmm? Yes, right, fine. I’m fine. All good here.”

I avoid looking directly at Micah, like that’s going to help things. He’s like the sun, better in my periphery unless I have protective eyewear.

I thought I was too jaded and guarded to feel any sorts of fuzzy feelings for anyone, but Cal and Micah are equally showing that’s not the case at all.

These guys might not have any secret skinsuits in their closets—or at least none that I’ve found yet—but that doesn’t mean I’m entirely safe in this secluded cabin in the woods.