by Franca Storm
But I’m too busy with what’s going on at the bar right now. I can’t take my eyes off the two of them. Axel and Nicki. She’s laughing hysterically at something he just said. I see him slide his hand up her thigh. She doesn’t tense or try to move away. She just lets it happen.
“She’s fucking smashed,” I mutter.
“What?” Mitch asks, stopping in the middle of his story.
Shit. All three of them are staring at me in confusion. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Too late. I ignore the stares from the girls and tell Mitch, “Nicki. She’s smashed. Look at her.”
“So what? She’s a big girl, John.”
“I know. It’s just…him.”
“Axel? What about him?”
“He’s a fucking player, that’s what,” I growl.
“And you’re not?”
Damn, he’s got me there. But the comparison to that fuck tart really gets under my skin. Despite being more than a little buzzed from the four scotches I’ve already put away, I feel that familiar anger burning just below the surface. I struggle to keep it down. But I can’t. Not while Nicki and Axel are flirting just a few feet away from me. Shit, I need to take a breather.
“I need a smoke,” I say, moving the blonde off my lap. I can’t even remember her name. I know she told me. Several times.
Mitch shrugs his shoulders at me and continues on with his story.
“Don’t be too long,” the blonde says.
Normally I’d be right on top of that—in every sense of the word. But this thing with Nicki is nagging at me so much that I can’t focus. A smoke will help. It’ll clear my head.
I push my way through the crowds of drunk college students messing around and some of them dry humping in the damn halls. Dry humping? What are we, still in high school? Get a room and get down to the real thing. It’s all or nothing otherwise it’s just a tease. And no guy wants that.
I blow out a breath when I finally make it outside. I light up fast and take a long drag. Ah, that’s the stuff. Normally the combination of fresh air, alone time and a good smoke can calm me right down. But for some reason it’s not working as well as it usually does. Why am I so bothered by her and that asshole?
I know why. I need to protect her. She won’t know how to handle him; won’t pick up on the red flags. Also, this is the first time I’ve ever actually seen her flirt with a guy. It never happens. Sure, guys come up to her. She’s gorgeous. But as soon as they take one look at me they back off and leave her alone. They can tell I’m a guy not to mess with. It’s the former boxer in me, I guess. They can sense it; the fact that I can fuck them up if I have to.
But tonight that didn’t happen. Axel ignored the warning look I gave him. What a piece of shit. Mitch is right though. Nicki is a big girl. She’s not stupid. She’s smarter than all of us. I need to let it go. They’re just talking.
Satisfied that I’ve managed to talk myself down, I take one final drag and then butt out my smoke. I walk back into the house, determined to focus on the blonde who’s made it clear she wants my cock tonight.
But then all that level-headed thinking turns to shit when I catch sight of Axel and Nicki in the hall. Axel has her pushed up against the wall, his tongue shoved down her throat; his hand fisted roughly in her soft dark-brown hair and his other sliding slowly up her thigh towards…no…no way is he gonna touch her there. Fuck no. I’m about to go over there and knock him out when Nicki does it for me. She pushes him and he stumbles back. She storms off and stops short when she sees me standing there watching her.
She holds up an angry hand and snaps, “Don’t, John. I don’t want to hear it!”
I nod, knowing her well enough to keep my distance when she’s pissed. I watch her storm out of the house and run to one of the cabs parked outside. Good, she’s headed home. Safe.
I brush past Axel roughly and give him a serves-you-goddamn-right look. He snarls at me and I can feel his eyes burning into my back as I walk over to the couches where the girls and Mitch are fooling around. I don’t give a damn. I kind of want him to make a move so I can justify smashing my fist into his face and breaking his goddamn nose. But he doesn’t. Just as well, because his frat buddies outnumber me twenty to one.
Don’t fucking touch my girl again. What? My girl? Nicki? No, no way. Stop it.
I take a breath as I reach the girls and push down my disturbing not-so-platonic thoughts about Nicki. Christ; how drunk am I?
***
“Oh God! Yes, John!” What’s-Her-Name screams as I pound her into my bedroom wall.
Her lips move to mine and I avoid them smoothly, flicking her right nipple with my tongue instead. Dammit woman, we’re fucking. No need for intimate shit. My hands knead her huge fake tits and she throws her head back in pleasure.
Thoughts of Nicki suddenly assault me. What the fuck?
I force my mind back to the present; my dick buried in the fake blonde wrapped around me, screaming out my name. I slap her ass hard to distract myself and she grinds down on me.
“That’s right. You like that, don’t you?”
Before she can answer I grab her hands and slam them above her head, holding them there roughly as I pick up my pace and fuck her even harder. I slide my free hand between us and brush her clit. She comes instantly, screaming shrilly as her pussy contracts around me.
Normally, that’s enough to push me over the edge, but all that’s shot to hell as an image of Nicki’s lips on mine flashes in my mind. It’s so damn vivid that it’s like she’s right here with me. And before I can stop myself my mouth crashes against the blonde’s, taking her in a desperate kiss. Taking Nicki in a desperate kiss as I allow images of her to flash through my mind, as though I’m actually kissing her and not this chick.
The mere thought of it has me coming hard all of a sudden as intense pleasure surges through me. Fuck, yeah. I roar out my release, cursing like a sailor and saying God knows what else.
As I pull out and put the blonde down, her hand comes at my face, slapping the shit out of my right cheek.
“What the fuck?”
“Nicki?” she demands, her hands on her hips, trying to look all pissed as she’s standing there naked and panting from her orgasm.
“What?”
“When you came, you screamed out another girl’s name. Nicki.”
I’m too shocked to respond. I did what?
“Who is she, huh?” she yells, getting in my face.
“Get. Out,” I growl.
“What?”
“You heard me. Get the fuck out.”
“You’re such an asshole,” she tells me as she snatches her thong off the floor and pulls it on.
I ignore her as I take care of the condom, dropping it in the trash can by my bed and fixing my pants. I throw open the bedroom door and leave without another word.
I storm into the kitchen, completely ignoring the fact that Mitch is sitting there wolfing down the jumbo-sized bag of chips in front of him. I grab a beer from the fridge, rip off the top and chug half of it.
“Fuck you, John!” What’s-Her-Name screams from the living room. A second later I hear the apartment door slam.
Mitch looks at me.
“What?” I snap. “What are you doing in here anyway?”
“I’m always hungry after a good fuck.”
“She’s in for the night?” I ask. I don’t remember the name of his girl either.
“Nope. Gone. She has an early class tomorrow,” he tells me. “What happened with you and Roxanne?”
Roxanne? So, that’s her name. “Nothing.”
“So she wasn’t pissed that you called out Nicki’s name when you were fucking then?”
“You heard that?”
“Yeah. You know how thin these walls are and she was loud, John. What’s going on, dude?”
“Going on?” I say casually as I chug more of my beer.
“Between you and Nicki?”
“Nothing.”
Mitch grins. “Y
ou want her.”
“Fuck you. You don’t know shit.”
He says something but I don’t hear it, because I’m distracted by my phone buzzing in my pocket. I fish it out and read the text. It’s from Nicki: One Last Breath—Creed. Oh shit.
Mitch snatches the phone out of my hand and reads the text before I can stop him. “What is it with you guys and your song title messages? What does this mean?”
I snatch it back from him and explain, “Think about the lyrics. She’s upset.”
“About Axel?”
“Kind of.” It’s more than that. “I have to go,” I say, putting the beer down on the kitchen counter and heading for the door.
“You might wanna take a shower before you go. You stink like Roxanne.”
“It’s not a booty call, asshole.”
“Fine. It’s your ass. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“She won’t care. We’re friends.”
“Sure. Friends always scream each other’s names when they’re fucking someone else.”
“It was an accident.”
God, that excuse even sounds dumb to me. Damn. Whatever. I’ve just had too much to drink; that’s all. It always happens after a gig. I’m always soaring on one hell of a high after a performance and it takes a lot to calm me down. That’s where the booze and sex come in.
Mitch starts laughing at me. I glare at him and then walk out.
“If it’s not a booty call, you might wanna put a shirt on!”
I growl inwardly and ignore his advice. I know what I’m doing for fuck’s sake. I haul open the door and walk down the hall to the apartment at the far end. Nicki’s apartment.
During our first year of college we all lived in the dorms. Chloe still lives on campus. She’s part of some sorority. I have no idea which one. I never did understand all that shit. Mitch and I found this great apartment off campus and hooked Nicki up with the one remaining bachelor in the building. It’s been great having her close for songwriting purposes. While Mitch and Chloe just play, Nicki and I are the collaborative force behind the band.
I knock gently on the door. Nicki hates aggressive noises. I take a deep breath and try to push Mitch’s comments out of my mind.
A moment later the door opens. Oh fuck. I swallow hard at the sight of her. She’s wearing tiny blue pajama shorts and a matching tank top with no bra. The material is so thin that I can make out her nipples underneath. Her hair is all mussed up from lying in bed. She’s so hot. Shit. Stop it. What the fuck is wrong with you?
I force my gaze back to her face. Her deep blue eyes are big and wide and flashing with fear. It’s then that I know for sure that she’s had another nightmare. Whenever something jogs the memory of that awful day a few years ago, she suffers from horrifying nightmares and is afraid to fall asleep. And I suspect what happened between her and Axel tonight did just that. It’s why she never lets herself get involved with anyone—why she normally doesn’t let anyone touch her in a sexual way. She can’t handle it.
She steps aside and lets me in. I lock the door behind me and take her hand. She silently leads me into the apartment, towards her bed in the corner of the room. She climbs in and I join her. I pull her against my chest and hold her, stroking her hair.
“It’s okay. You can sleep now. I’m right here, sweetheart,” I whisper softly in her ear.
I feel her relax against me. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her hot breath warming my chest.
“Always. Sleep now.”
Chapter 3
~Nicki~
I open my eyes slowly. My head is thundering with the aftermath of my very bad decision to drink one too many cheap frat house beers last night. Damn, what a mistake. But I’d been so nervous after Chloe had thrown me into Axel Craven last night, that I’d just kept knocking back plastic cup after plastic cup until I’d lost my inhibitions. And that takes a lot to achieve. It’s pretty deep-rooted for me. It sucks. But it’s just the way I am.
It takes me a moment to get my bearings. And that’s when I realize John is pressed tightly against me, his arms wrapped around me. One is snaked around my waist and the other is…oh my God…on my right boob. My first reaction is to bat his hand away. But I stop myself. It feels so…warm. Nice, actually. I glance at his tattoo on his left upper arm. It’s a Gibson Les Paul guitar with the words Rock ‘n’ Roll encircling the neck. He’s had that one since before I’ve known him. He got it when he was a teenager around the same time he got the actual guitar, which he still uses to this day. He has another one on his chest, over his heart. His incredibly ripped chest and toned abs. Just like the rest of his body, it’s the result of years of boxing when he was in high school. He’s incredibly cut—all hard muscle. His body is definitely drool-worthy. Well, it would be if I was looking at him in that way. But I’m not. We’re friends; strictly friends.
Back to the tattoo…a gray wolf. He got that when I got the black phoenix on my right arm. He told me it represents fierce determination. And that is totally John Kingston. He never lets anything stand in his way. That can’t be seen anywhere more so than the way he is with the band. He’s the commander-in-chief. The leader. The front man. The manager. He wants us to make it big. He’s dreamed of nothing else since he first picked up a guitar as a kid. He cares about the band and our music above all else. Nothing will ever trump that.
He shifts suddenly in his sleep and I gasp as I feel his erection press into my butt.
“John!” I whisper harshly.
He doesn’t stir so I slap his arm.
“No. Back to sleep,” he murmurs, entwining his legs with mine so that his feet are no longer hanging out of the bed. My bed is queen-size, but it’s oddly short in length and for someone like John who’s over six-foot tall, it’s really not long enough. I’m a foot smaller than him so I don’t have that problem.
Him shifting his legs has the effect of his thing pressing more tightly against my butt. It’s so…hard! Oh God! This is too much.
“Your…thing is…misbehaving,” I struggle to utter. Okay, this is awkward.
He chuckles and moves back a little so his erection is no longer touching me. But he doesn’t remove his arms. And part of me doesn’t want him to.
“My thing, huh? You mean; my cock,” he teases.
I flinch at his bluntness. He must feel it, because he whispers in my ear, “It’s just morning wood, Nicki. It doesn’t mean anything. Relax.”
The ridiculousness of the situation hits me and I laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
I turn into him. “The fact that you slept in your leather pants. Who does that?”
“Hey, I was trying to be a gentleman.”
I press my finger to his lips and tell him, “I’m not done.”
He grins against my finger. And then his tongue darts out and licks it. I pull back, startled. “John! Disgusting!” I chastise him as I wipe my finger on the duvet.
“Disgusting?”
“Yeah, I have no idea where that tongue’s been.”
“Just in some groupie’s pussy.”
I launch myself at him and slap his chest.
“Ow! Fuck, Nicki! I was kidding!”
He wrestles with me until he’s on top of me, straddling me and pinning my hands down at my sides so I can’t slap him again. “Are you done?” he asks, smiling down at me.
I nod and laugh.
“Good girl,” he says, but doesn’t release me.
I smile up at him. “Thanks for staying with me…again. Did I interrupt anything? If I did, I’m sorry, I—”
He releases my hands and presses his finger to my lips this time. “Shh. It doesn’t matter what the hell I’m doing. If you need me, I’m here. You know that. Okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” His striking hazel eyes flick down my body. It’s only a second’s glance but I catch it. And then he zones in on the right side of my neck for some reason. I see his jaw stiffen, his eyes narrow. He suddenly climbs off me and return
s to his side of the bed.
“What?” I ask, confused by his sudden change in mood.
“Nothing,” he says as he climbs off the bed, his back to me.
“John. What?”
He turns back to me and points to my neck. “You should cover that up. If he sees it, he’ll think you’re proud of it and want to belong to him.” He notices my confusion and adds, “A hickey.”
I slap my hand to my neck. “Oh my God,” I breathe, embarrassed. “I didn’t realize.” It takes a moment for what he just told me to sink in. “Belong to him? What the hell does that mean?”
He looks away and runs his fingers through his mussed up shaggy brown hair and tells me, “Guys like him—members of that frat—mark their women to let all other guys know that you’re off limits to everyone but him. It’s a mark of possession.”
I can’t help it. I burst out laughing. “Come on, John. You’re screwing around, right?”
“No,” he says harshly, finally looking at me and roughly rubbing the days’ old stubble on his chin in obvious frustration.
“You make them sound like animals.”
“They are animals, Nicki. And Axel is the worst of them. At least Blake shows some restraint, some decency.” His tone is harsh and angry. I can see him fighting himself, trying to rein in his infamous temper.
“Why are you so mad? It’s ridiculous. The whole thing. Just alpha-male posturing. Who cares?”
“I do!”
He has my full attention now. He cares? The look in his eyes tells me that there’s more to that statement than purely platonic intention. Oh my God. What is going on here? Does he…does he like me? No, impossible. This is John. My best friend. My confidant. My protector. “John?” I press.
“Look, I need to take a shower. See you in class,” he says, tersely.
Before I can say anything else, he storms to my apartment door. He stops, his back to me and says in a pained whisper, “You deserve better.”
And then he walks out, leaving me staring after him in confusion and disbelief. What on earth?
