The Dirty Dozen: Alpha Edition

by Kay Maree

  “Oh my God! You know what I mean.”

  “I do. I also know that’s exactly what went down, and so does everyone else who witnessed it. Anyways, don’t take my word for it, let’s carry on and see what the journalist has to say.” She continued reading.

  “Everything about the trio was mesmerizing, not just the way they played. While the two guys remained seated, or standing, but mostly stationary, Copeland glided about the stage, flitting between them, the entrancing strains of her violin, and the dulcet tones of her earthy voice, drawing their hungry eyes to her like a siren’s song.

  “They were so lost in her, that we, the audience, somehow felt like voyeurs, watching on as their torrid affair played out on stage before us. ‘Will they won’t they? Have they, haven’t they?’ As we were driven mad by this ever-present question, the music they created together took us on a complex journey of longing, lust, and love.

  “And when they launched into Thunder, the title track from their new live studio album, we finally got what we’d waited so patiently for. They did. The show ended with a bang, both literally and figuratively, as Copeland slid from her perch on the top of the white grand piano. Side note: who knew Ivanenko played like a maestro? It’s a talent he’s hidden from the world until now. Copeland landed loudly on the keys then slipped into Ivanenko’s lap, long lean legs astride him, rodeo style, before arching her spine, leaning back and kissing Kingston square on the lips.

  “It seems clear the trio are making sweet music on and off stage. Now, that’s a three-way I’d happily pay way more than the concert ticket price to see!”

  “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.”

  “I really don’t get what the problem is,” Deone deadpanned. Was she fucking serious?

  “What’s not to get? The entire world now thinks I’m fucking King and Rome.”

  “Which is an accurate summation of the situation.”

  “No it isn’t. I’ve fucked Rome. I’ve never slept with King.”

  “He went down on you while you came in his best friend’s hand, then, said best friend screwed you while you jerked him off in a hot tub. I think claiming you haven’t been with him is semantics, or a minor technicality.”

  “Whatever you want to call it, doesn’t take away from the fact that we haven’t slept together, and the three of us aren’t a thing.”

  “Then what in the living fuck is going on between you all? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you’re a thruple. Three people don’t have that kind of fire between them—it was so obvious, it was like a fourth person on stage—and not be bumping ugly behind the scenes.”

  “Well we’re not. But I think I’m falling for him.”

  “Rome?”

  “No, King. Rome’s a loose cannon. Pretty much everything you’ve ever read about him is true, and then some. Sex is a commodity to him. Actually, no, it’s not even as meaningful as a commodity. It’s just a bodily function like breathing, or blinking. It’s not something he gives a second thought to after it’s done.

  King is different. I mean, it’s weird, actually, because in many ways, they’re very similar. They’re both headstrong, stubborn and alpha to the core, but King is the thinker of the two of them. He’s calm, measured, and reasonable; whereas Rome’s all act now, deal with the repercussions later, if at all.

  “Anyway, King and I have been getting on really well, throughout the process, and have even gone on a few dates, I guess you could call them. He’s sweet, and charming, and funny. Also, despite his reputation, a total gentleman. He hasn’t tried to get into my panties since that night in the hot tub, even though I get the sense he wants to.”

  “Ya think? Whatever gave you that idea?” Sarcasm was Deone’s Love Language. “Could it be something to do with the raging boner straining through his tight leather pants the entire two hours he was on stage with you? Or how about the way the burning heat in his eyes when he looked at you could have set fire to an entire rainforest? ”

  “Ugh. This can’t end well. I’m so fucking fucked.”

  “You will be, if you’re lucky.” She burst into laughter at her own stupid double entendre.

  A knock on my hotel-room door startled us both, and Deone scooted to answer it before I could tell her not to.

  Moments later, the room that had previously been airy and minimalist, suddenly felt small and cluttered. King seemed to fill every available space, making me feel crowded in and flustered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  KING

  I charged into the room like the devil was on my back—which it had been ever since I’d met Quincy, urging me to push forward with her and take what I’d wanted, since the moment I’d laid eyes on her. I registered the shocked looks on the girls’ faces as I filled the space, my gaze seeking out Quincy’s like always, and finding hers seeking out mine in return.

  As well as surprise and confusion, I read the same heat that was always there when she looked at me. The same desire I knew was reflected in my own eyes whenever she was anywhere near.

  A small shuffling sound reminded me of her best friend’s presence—as ever, when I was focused on Quincy, everything else around me receded into the background. I shot Deone a look that I was sure conveyed my thoughts, What the fuck are you still doing here?

  “Oh, yeah. Ahh… I should get going, I just need to umm… sort out… yeah… anyway. Buzz me, Q.”

  I’d already turned my attention back to Quincy, who’d never moved hers from me.

  “Yeah, okay…” She didn’t even pretend to give her friend her full attention. Or any, for that matter. Before I heard the door click shut, I closed the gap between the two of us, keeping my gaze unwaveringly locked with hers.

  “I can’t fucking do this.” The sound of my voice surprised me. It was so heavy, and charged with emotion.

  “Wha—”

  “I can’t sit around playing Mr. Nice Guy any more, pretending I don’t want to nail you to the wall every time I see you. I can’t act like I’m okay with the fact that Rome has been with you fully, twice, while I haven’t. The truth is, that knowledge is eating me alive with jealousy. I know it’s stupid and wrong to feel so torn up about you—it’s not like you’re the first woman we’ve… but with you, it’s different. It’s fucking killing me.”

  “But I thought you wanted to take things slow.” I struggled to assimilate the new information he was raining down on me.

  “Hell no! I wanted you the moment I saw you at that meeting, but I knew I needed to give you time to get to know me, and to think of me as something other than what you’d read in the press. But I swear to God, seeing you in Rome’s lap like that tonight was the last fucking straw.”

  I’d never been possessive of a woman before now, and it was a feeling I hated. God damn. I wanted to junk punch myself. In what parallel universe was blurting out all that lame shit even remotely okay? Way to fuck up a good thing K. Any sane woman would throw themselves out of the fiftieth floor window of their hotel room rather than be stuck inside with that level of lameness.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean this.” I pulled her hard into my body, noting the surprised look on her face as she registered what I was doing. As her lips parted into a startled “O”, I crashed my mouth to hers. She stiffened momentarily, before melting into me, her body instantly meshing with mine.

  I marveled at the way we seemed to fit together, as though we’d been created for one another. I couldn’t remember what it was like with other women, I just knew that nobody had ever felt as right as Quincy did, and I didn’t want to try anyone else for size, ever again.

  The thought sent a tidal wave of arousal and adrenaline coursing through my veins, and I lowered my head at the same time as I slipped one arm around Quincy’s waist and pressed her into my throbbing erection. I slid the other hand into her mess of thick curls, already disheveled—I guessed from a recent shower—and about to become a lot more so if
I had my way, which I fully intended to.

  My tongue invaded her mouth, seeking out hers, and staking my claim. Quincy didn’t hold out. She opened herself up to me, there for the taking. I loved the way she tasted, smelled and felt. Every inch of her was beautiful, and I wanted it all to be mine.

  As I felt her nipples harden against my chest, I moved my other hand up to stroke, then tweak each in turn, loving the way her body jerked at my touch, as though electrified with one thousand volts. You and me both, baby.

  My desire for her increased exponentially, and I tried my best to keep myself in check, resisting the urge to unleash my inner Neanderthal, and screw her until I was the only man she could ever recall being with, and ever wanted to be with for the rest of her life.

  Instead, I brought both hands down to her butt, and lifted her gently off her feet. Following my lead, she immediately bent her knees, wrapping her legs around me, as I carried her across to the bed at the far end of the large room.

  “I need to fuck the memory of Rome out of you.”

  “What?”

  Shit. I hadn’t even realized I’d spoken aloud.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long I don’t even know how or why I’ve waited.”

  I placed her gently on the bed, then flipped our positions—so that I was under her— then I lay back, “Get naked, I want to watch you ride me.”

  She was almost as good as naked already—the flimsy silk cami and short pajamas she was wearing left almost nothing to the imagination, though I appreciated the way the delicate fabric skimmed back and forth, emphasizing the swell of her tits, and the way her nipples stood at attention, announcing her arousal.

  Quincy wasn’t the only one. I was hard as rock, straining against my jogging pants—the sole item of clothing I was wearing. I was so desperate to be with her, that after my post-gig shower, I’d left my room a fired up man on a mission, without even shoes on.

  She looked at me, heavy-lidded with desire, but I sensed some lingering hesitance, as though she was carefully considering her options. Without shifting my focus from her, I reached inside my pants, and grabbed my dick. I squeezed hard, and brought it out from under the soft gray fabric.

  My body bucked with arousal, which seemed to snap Quincy out of her trance. She dropped her gaze down to my dick—swollen and angry in my hand, straining for more action—and a small wry smile graced her lips. She tugged at the hem of her cami top, dragging it off over her head, then reared back to pull off her shorts.

  Holy. Fuck.

  I’d seen her naked before, that day at the club, but I had a feeling that no matter how many times I did, it would never get old. Besides, this time, unlike the last, I could concentrate on nothing but her, and how hot she made me, rather than being eaten up by jealousy with Rome in the mix. It was irrational. He didn’t want to be with Quincy—or anyone for that matter—as with everything in life, he was in it for a good time, not a long time, and he’d already had that with her.

  Quincy met my gaze again, smiling a little wider this time, before reaching down and grabbing my dick.

  I swear to God, I saw stars.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ROME

  Whoever said alcohol didn’t solve problems was a fool, or never drank vodka, because maybe that shit didn’t fix things, but if you drank enough you sure as hell forgot whatever the fuck was bothering you.

  When we finished the first concert, I walked off stage without looking left or right, or even stopping to congratulate the other two on what was a fucking-phenomenal show. We slayed it, then brought it back to life so we could kill it again. The crowd ate it up, they couldn’t get enough, and the vibe everywhere—on and off stage—was electric.

  And that was the problem. When Quincy dropped into my lap like that at the end of Thunder, I was seconds away from ripping her clothes off and fucking her, right there on top of that piano in front of thousands of fans, and the world’s media. I really gave zero fucks who saw, all except one person. King. The only thing that had stopped me was the fact that I knew it would crush him.

  So, although I knew Quincy was aware of my erection—she was more than aware, as she kissed King, she pressed her heat down onto it, rotating against it so subtly, that I was the only one who’d known—I’d restrained myself, and not made a move. Putting King’s feelings first was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do—which was saying something, given the shit I’d done to survive—but I owed it to him to do exactly that.

  I couldn’t bear to be in the same space, breathing the same air as the two of them, after that, so I grabbed a full bottle of vodka from the backstage rider, and put it straight to my lips. I’d downed most of it before I’d made it out of the labyrinth of tunnels and halls in the concert venue, and out into the waiting car.

  “Take me to the nearest club.”

  I wanted to get fucked up, and I wanted pussy, and lots of it. Other than that, I didn’t give a damn what the place looked like, or even what the pussy looked like, for that matter. I just wanted to drink, fuck, and be merry. And repeat.

  Paris didn’t disappoint—not that it ever had. The driver was obviously well-versed in the city’s nightlife, and within minutes, had dropped me at a decent club that was open around the clock. Perfect.

  Although I went in incognito and settled in a dark booth at the back of the room—content to watch the action go on around me as long as the vodka kept flowing—it wasn’t long before someone recognized me, and after that, I was never short of company for the night.

  It was a good thing I’d thought to shove a bunch of condoms into my pocket before leaving the gig venue. There was no way I’d go bareback under those circumstances, like I had with Quincy in the hot tub.

  ***

  I woke up with a start, to my face being slapped and someone calling my name. It was a few seconds before I realized where I was and what the hell was going on. Kind of, anyway.

  I was in a club. It was late, or early, depending on how you looked at it, and I’d seemingly passed out in my booth, mid-blow-job. At least, that would be the best explanation for the fact that there was a chick sucking my dick as King shook me back and forth yelling my name.

  Fuzzy though my head was, I marveled at the fact that I could apparently maintain a hard-on even, if I couldn’t maintain consciousness. I laughed maniacally at the thought. If the murderous expression of the multiple versions of King I was seeing was anything to go by, it was the wrong reaction. I guessed I needed to take the situation a little more seriously before he lost his shit.

  I made to sit up, shaking the girl who was still eagerly blowing me by the shoulder.

  “Umm… thanks… it’s been… great, but you can stop now.” I had no idea if she even spoke English, or how long she’d been down there, but it was clear that she was just as sideways as I was. She gave me a wonky grin, looking at me with unfocused eyes, before wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. She slowly got to her feet, then wobbled away unsteadily.

  King towered over me, rage seeping from every pore as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

  “Man, I swear to God. You need to pull your shit together, or—”

  “Or what?“ I interjected loudly. “And by the way, if you ever slap me like that again, I don’t care why, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

  “That so?” He glared at me.

  “Goddamned straight.” I stood up—only slightly steadier on my feet than the chick who’d been sucking me off—and squared up to him. It had been years since we’d had a physical fight—back when we were testosterone-fueled hotheads at the Con—but even in my booze-addled state, I was in the mood to destroy him.

  “Jesus, Rome. You fucking reek. Seriously what the hell are you doing? We were worried about you.”

  “I’d say it was pretty obvious what I was doing. Receiving an unconscious BJ. And ’we’ were worried. We who?”

  “Quin and I.”


  “Quin...?”

  “Quincy. You know who I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “When we got down to lobby call and realized you weren’t there, we tried your room a bunch of times, then called your phone, but it went straight to voicemail. In the end, the tour manager contacted the car company, and found out where your driver had dropped you, and here we are.”

  “Well ‘we’ don’t need to worry your pretty little heads. I’m a big boy, and I can take care of myself. You know that better than anyone.”

  “You say that, but we were all supposed to be at the airport an hour ago, so ‘we’ had every right to be concerned.”

  “No you didn’t. That’s the tour manager’s job.”

  “You know what? You’re right. I should have just left you here to rot, and enjoyed my time in bed with Quincy.”

  “Fuck you. Both.”

  “Ditto.” He turned on his heel and walked away, the steady, even pace belying the anger I knew he felt. He wasn’t alone. It was all I could do to resist tearing the place apart with my bare hands.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  QUINCY

  Six weeks later

  “I can’t do this.” I had to rise onto tiptoes and place my mouth right by King’s ear to make myself heard over the din of pounding music in the club.

  “It’s still early. Are you okay? Is it a headache, or something you ate? Do you want to go back to the hotel?” King yelled right back, it was the only way to converse amid the pumping techno music.

  “No. I don’t mean the club.” Although I really didn’t want to be there.

  “I meant us, the tour, all of it.”

  “What? What the fuck, Quin? Where’s this coming from?”

  I shrugged.

  “You can’t just drop a bombshell like that, then shrug it off like it’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing, it’s just I…” It’s just that I couldn’t trust myself to speak without crying, and I really didn’t want to fucking cry.