“Thanks so much for hanging with us on this gorgeous evening. We’ve got a special treat for you tonight. These guys were a late addition to the festival, but I bet you’ll give them a warm welcome. They’ve been chasing their own singles up the charts. Every song they put out is liquid gold on the radio these days. Please welcome Oblivion.”
Harper’s head snapped up and her eyes zeroed in on the stage. She hadn’t realized how long she’d been up in the stands. She was too far away to see them, so she turned her attention to the huge screens that flanked the stage.
Four stools and a stripped down drum set were huddled toward the front of the stage. First one out was Simon. The crowd whooped and catcalled, and Oblivion’s lead singer waved and made an exaggerated bow before settling in the center seat. Simon’s flashy leather and skin were curiously absent. Instead, he wore battered jeans and an ancient Chili Peppers t-shirt. His dark hair was a tousled mess around his shoulders, but the in-your-face rock star was replaced with a regular guy.
Nick followed him out wearing jeans that were probably black once upon a time, but now were gray as stone. He wore a black t-shirt that looked like he’d fished it out of the bottom of his laundry pile. He took the seat on Simon’s left.
Gray came up next with battered jeans and a black vest over a plain white t-shirt. A gray fedora sat low, shading his eyes. He went to the seat farthest to the right.
Her heart tried to punch out of her chest as Deacon’s wide shoulders came out of the dark. The faded Journey shirt he’d worn the first day she’d met him hugged his powerful chest and flirted with his low slung jeans. Tight notches of muscle along his hip bones peeked out, and the tips of her fingers buzzed in response.
She’d scraped her nails through the light thatch of hair there. She’d curled her fingers around the base of his cock and pulled him free from those same jeans.
Flashes of him inside her, over her, under her took her by surprise. Not because she had them, but because it felt just like he was there with her. His fingers digging inside her and hollowing out every nerve ending she owned.
And when he sat down on his stool and settled with his black acoustic, she had to close her eyes for a moment. Too much. She couldn’t possibly sit there and listen to him play. Not if she wanted to have a moment’s peace for the rest of the night.
But she did open her eyes. The five of them were clustered close together. Even Jazz was minus her usual glittery glow. Her tri-colored hair was loosely braided and she wore an off-the-shoulder shirt over simple cargo shorts. She’d pulled her stool away from her kit and sat between Gray and Simon on the left hand side of the stage. All of them with acoustic guitars and Jazz a tambourine.
The sweet tones of a band in perfect harmony filled the bowl and flowed out into the crowd. The murmurs softened, and Simon’s smoky voice gripped everyone by the throat. They’d slowed down their newest single until it was a whisper of sex over silk.
But Simon wasn’t the one that held her captive. He was a force and had the innate ability to hold the crowd, and still her eyes were drawn to Deacon. She knew just how soft those jeans were. She’d slid her palms over the stress lines at his pockets, along the zipper, she’d even pulled those jeans over his spectacular ass.
His wide shoulders were angled low as he curved around his black acoustic lovingly. Not a bass. She’d only ever seen him playing the bass, with a slap of fingers and almost spidery grace as he climbed his fret board. But this was different.
No pick. Just the tiny callouses at the ends of his fingers that she knew so well. He plucked out a layer of harmony to compliment Gray and Nick’s lead guitar. And then there was the voice. Husky and rough where Simon soared.
It was a short set, just a handful of songs, but the crowd paid attention. And as the sun blazed into the mountains, they played a cover song to show their love of music that had come before. “Simple Man” was so Deacon, it sliced into her like a scalpel. Before she realized it, she was bleeding out.
When the chorus started, Simon backed off and let Deacon shine. His eyes were closed as if he didn’t know he was on display. The cameraman zoomed in, and every emotion was caught. The reverence for the song, the lyrics pulling out of his soul, and the passion coasting through every note he played.
When he opened his eyes and realized they’d left him alone in the song, his dimple flashed before he let loose with a vibrato that made Simon rock back with a clap. The crowd followed, and they all finished the song together.
“We just wanted to thank everyone for all your support. We couldn’t have done this without the fans that make us feel welcome every single night. I know we kinda pussied out with the acoustic set tonight, but the night was so perfect, and the mountains were just calling out for a stripped-bare set. We’ll leave you with ‘The Becoming’.”
The crowd roared out and clapped.
It was like nothing she’d ever seen or heard. This was the reaction people gave to a veteran band with millions of fans. This band mowed down the unwilling and dragged them into the fold like a religion.
Here, with the music in its most basic form, and on a perfect night, she saw the beginnings of a future that promised only more of the same.
Jazz scrambled behind her kit, finally, and the driving beat was like a heartbeat. Harper had heard the song a million times on the radio, had even caught them playing it a time or two. But not like this. Layers of guitars where there was usually only Deacon’s bass. It was beautiful and haunting. Especially when there was one set of chords playing over and over thanks to Deacon’s constancy. That metronome of unwavering notes could only be him.
Like when he touched her. Never stopping, even when she thought she was going to burst with release and insanity. He never wavered. He held on. She wasn’t sure when she started working her way down the stone steps. The crowd was on their feet and cheering for the band.
She blazed her way through the streaming people. Her only focus was Deacon. She caught a glimpse of his smiling face as they took their bows. The five of them, a unit, linked hands and soaked in the fan outcries.
She pulled her all-access pass out of her shirt and slipped past the barricades. More people blocked her way. Fans with VIP access, concert promoters with clipboards, roadies pulling down one stage set up for another, bands of every fandom, all of them held her back.
Then she saw him. Head and shoulders over most people, he was easy to pluck from the crowd. A circle of reporters tightened around them with Simon and Jazz holding court. She bypassed all of them to get to the back of the pack. All the while, Deacon’s shoulders were in her sights.
She snaked through security until finally, his warm skin was under her hands. He didn’t immediately recognize her touch. How could he? Constantly pawed at by fans and security pushing him from section to section back stage, he had to be immune to skin on skin contact.
But then he stilled, and his wide palm covered hers. He laced his fingers through hers to hold her hand against his lower belly. She pressed her nose into his back and drew in the healthy scent of him. Warm, clean sweat and the ocean. God, she’d missed being near him.
He lifted his arm to pull her forward, but she tugged him backwards until every firm line of him was pressed up against her.
She slid their linked fingers along the loose waistband of his jeans. His groan of understanding was exactly what she was hoping for. She rose on her toes and got as close to his ear as possible. “Come with me.”
He looked around. She could taste the indecision on him. Responsibilities were such a large part of Deacon. Just as she was going to tell him no, not to leave his band right now, he hooked his arm around her waist and turned her into the backstage area.
Years of touring had netted her a few tips when it came to the inner workings of a festival. Wordlessly they circumvented the small backstage to the rockface that butted up to the back of the amphitheater.
She dragged him around the still sunbaked, nature-made wall until the sounds of
people faded. He crowded into her back, his hand above her head on the rocks. His chin brushed along her neck. “I’ve missed you.”
Harper closed her eyes as his lips coasted up her neck, groaning when he nipped her earlobe before brushing his nose around the shell of her ear.
“I can’t wait, Deacon.”
He stilled behind her. “Here?”
She nodded. His music inside her and now his skin behind her. She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to pick apart the why they should, why they shouldn’t. She just wanted him to fill the ache. She rubbed her ass along the front of his jeans and stepped into one of the crevices in the boulder in front of her. She gained a few precious inches in height.
Cripes, she probably looked like a groupie in heat, but right now she didn’t care. She was a groupie in heat. She was his groupie. And she wanted him to use her, plunge inside her with all that raging energy from the stage.
When his fingers slid around her belly and up under her shirt, she moaned her thanks. She wanted him inside her with the murmur of people around them and yet apart from them at the same time. With the stain of rock chalk on her hands and him inside of her, she might be able to breathe again.
His touch was soft where she wanted impatient. She wanted to ride the madness crawling inside her. She dragged his head down to hers in a hot, open mouthed kiss. She searched out his tongue to tangle with hers. The bite of his grip on her hip fueled her. She knew it was inside him. As gentle as he always wanted to be, she knew the fire. She’d felt the fire before. And she wanted it now.
Tension transferred from his body to hers and his grip tightened. Breathless at the thought of his fingerprints on her hip she ground herself against his cock. He dug his chin into her neck and she reached up for a handful of his hair. She pressed her cheek to his. “Hard,” she whispered brokenly. “Fast.”
He groaned into her mouth, jerked up her skirt, and his fingers slid into her panties. “You’re fucking dripping.”
Her vision blurred when he dipped two fingers inside her. She rolled her hips in time with his thrusts wanting more. Needing more.
His name was a stunned whisper as the first orgasm choked her. He dragged her against him, his relentless thumb that same metronome from the stage, steady pressure with no end in sight. She strained up on her toes, her back arching as the flash of pleasure sizzled into a sweet pain she couldn’t breathe through.
The snap of latex reverberated in her chest. “Yes. Yes, now.”
He brought his arm around her waist, and then the blunt end of his cock was pushing in between her thighs and finally where she needed it. She clamped down on him as he crouched behind her.
Damn height difference.
His thrusts were too shallow. She lifted one foot and found another crevice in the rock face. There. “God, yes,” she moaned as he finally filled her. “More,” she sobbed. “I need...”
He slapped his hand against the wall beside her neck and lifted her off her toes. His arm braced her as he slammed inside her again and again.
The scream built inside her so fast she couldn’t find breath, words, or a way to hold it back. She turned her cheek in and found his forearm. She hoped to God his skin muffled some of it, but at that point, she just didn’t care.
He enveloped her, railing his cock into her like they were made to come together like this. Power and strength, matched in ways she’d never thought were possible. He curved around her, his shoulder jammed up against the wall as he cradled her but he never stopped.
And when his fingers found her, she let herself fall. She tipped her head back against his chest. The night, the lights, the ocean scent of him swirled inside her until she felt as bright as the stars above them.
A moment later, those fingers dug around her thigh and held her open for him. And he followed her. Her world slowed, the stars winked into her vision, and Deacon’s arms never let her go.
He slid up her thigh, brushing his knuckles across her still throbbing pussy before he wrapped both arms around her, his cheek resting against hers. Life intruded with voices and music, lights, and the hiss of hydraulics. But she couldn’t quite give up the closeness.
Not yet.
Thank God he didn’t seem to be able to either.
* * *
He was pretty sure he had the exact outline of the rock face embedded into his hand and hip. Her cornsilk soft hair slid around the neckline of his t-shirt and he was still buried inside her.
Hell, he was hardening again. The wildness of her and the outdoor arena paired with the almost two days they’d been apart left him off balance. Just once, he wondered if he could be gentle with her.
A whisper from Harper that she needed more, and he lost his fucking head. For fuck’s sake, he’d nailed her into the goddamn rock face. And the worst part was he didn’t want to step back.
A shimmer of a voice in the back of his head prodded for more. To see if he could do it again, push her harder, demand more.
He slid his palm along her velvet soft belly, sliding his pinkie back down into the crease of her pussy. He stroked around the distended flesh just under her hood. His cock hardened further as she shuddered.
With teeth grazing against her jaw and his cock already on board for round two, he wanted to follow her down the rabbit hole again. Because there was nothing but madness when he got inside of Harper Pruitt.
And he was certainly grinning like the Cheshire cat when he was done with her.
Rational Deacon reared up and knocked. Condoms were for one use, rocks weren’t a bed, and they could be found out by the reporters that were slinking around. He wanted to ignore all of that.
He wanted to rip off the fucking condom and take her bare. He wanted to feel every tissue inside of her open and sliding around him. He wanted to bury himself in her heat until there was nothing left of him.
He slid out and then back inside her. Her moan buzzed through his chest and his pinkie had yet to stop stroking her. Barely aware of the fact that his body was attuned to her, he could have massaged around her clit for an hour.
“Deacon.”
Her broken whisper should have brought responsible Deacon back out, but it just stuffed him down further. Instead, he curved his fingers down and opened her wider so he could tap the top of her clit and circle it rhythmically. She was the perfect sheath for him.
Each time he tapped, she jerked and her teeth bit into his arm. The haze of lust had faded and he simply enjoyed her without the violence crowding his brain. He found the spots that pleasured her and circumvented the places that gave him no response.
The harder he pressed, the more she bucked. The deeper he plunged, the more she urged him for more. He gritted his teeth as her pleasure clasped around him.
Her head rolled along his chest, and her body bowed until he almost slipped out of her. He pulled his hand off the rock and used his shoulder to shield her. Need flooded his brain, and he gripped her hip to angle her for the best fit.
She gripped his neck and his hair, dragging him down to her neck. Hiccupping cries turned to an outright sob, and he held her tighter.
Her nails bit into his wrist as she tried to stop his fingers.
“Too much,” she said shakily.
He pulled her flush to his chest even as his thighs burned at the angle he had to find to get inside her. She soaked his hand, and he knew if he looked down at where they were joined, her lips would be the same hectic color as her cheeks.
Fuck, he wanted a bed to splay her out on and lick her for hours. He wanted her thighs wrapped around his ears until all he could feel was her heartbeat under his tongue when she exploded.
He wanted to own each and every shout that she was stuffing down inside of her now. And when her voice broke, and his name stuttered off her lips, he hung on. He pumped inside of her and stilled.
She vised his cock and he threw his head back with a groan of his own as he came again. The condom was full to bursting, and he was a damn mess, but he was lodged in
side of her and there was nowhere he’d rather be.
When she shuddered against him, this time from a chill, he finally pulled from her and tied off the condom. He glanced around the little cove they’d found for themselves. Miracle of miracles, they were still alone. After tucking himself back into his jeans with a wince, he pulled her skirt down. He kissed the slice of skin that showed at the base of her spine, turned her, and did the same to her belly. He stared up at her.
Starlight cloaked them, and he wished he could see what was going on in her eyes. She was so quiet. But then her fingers slid into his hair, and he could taste her smile on the breeze. He stood, pulling her close.
“I missed you.”
The puff of air against his chest was her only response, but considering she dragged him away from the crowd and down here, he was pretty sure she felt the same way.
“Come back to the bus with me.”
She tipped her head up and again, he could feel her grin. “I had no idea you were so insatiable.”
“And I had no idea you were so lawless. Doesn’t change the fact that I want you in my arms tonight.”
“Lawless?”
“Every single time I’ve been inside you, we’ve been outside.”
“Oh.” She pressed her cheek to his chest. “I guess that’s true.”
As much as he loved her wildness, he wanted to go slow with her tonight. He didn’t want to hurry in the shadows any more. “I want to hold you tonight.”
“Okay.”
Her voice was quiet, almost tentative. So unlike the Harper he was used to. Did she feel it, too? That the night was different. That they were different?
He curled his fingers into hers and drew her down the path to where the busses were stashed. The shows were still raging, and the music pulsed in the air. Now it felt distant. He wanted the distance from his friends, the music scene, the people.
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