Brian shook his head, trusting that the guy would keep his shit together for the show.
He headed toward the dressing room, hoping that Myrna would “catch up” with him soon. He couldn’t think of anything but getting lost in her for twenty or thirty hours. As he passed a door, a graceful hand reached out and grabbed him by the T-shirt, tugging him into the dark confines of a closet. She found his mouth in the darkness, pressing her naked body against his. Brian grabbed her bare ass before it dawned on him that several things weren’t right. More specifically, that her ass was in the wrong place; it was several inches too low. And she didn’t taste like Myrna. Didn’t smell like Myrna. Wasn’t Myrna. He shoved the unfamiliar woman away and reached for the doorknob to escape.
The woman was surprisingly strong as she wrapped both arms around his waist and pulled him away from the door.
“Don’t deny me this, Master Sinclair. I want you so bad.”
“Let go,” he demanded, trying to pry her iron grip from his waist.
“Just let me suck your cock. Please.”
Her needy voice made his skin crawl. “I said let go. I don’t want to have to get rough with you.”
She’d somehow managed to get his belt buckle unfastened. He covered his crotch with one hand and tried to fend her off with the other.
The woman emitted a throaty chuckle. “I want you to get rough with me. Leave marks on my skin. Nail me hard as fuck so that my pussy remembers you in the morning.”
She grabbed his ass, and his balls tried to climb up into his belly. There wasn’t anything about this attempted seduction that turned him on in the slightest. Brian managed to get a hand on the doorknob again and opened the door. His gaze was lowered toward the floor, but the space at his feet wasn’t empty. He’d recognize those high heels and shapely calves anywhere.
“Myrna,” he gasped, a lump of cold lead settling in his stomach. His head jerked up automatically. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“So there isn’t a naked woman plastered to your back with her hand on your crotch? You aren’t coming out of a dark closet with your belt unbuckled?”
“No,” he denied.
“I’m not blind, Brian.”
“I mean yes, but—”
“Nor am I stupid,” she added.
He forced his gaze to hold hers, but she looked away and glared at the woman accosting him.
“Get your fucking hands off my husband,” she said.
Her uncompromising tone made the hairs on the back of Brian’s neck stand on end.
“Your husband?” the woman gasped.
“Yes, my husband. Mine. Get the fuck away from him.”
“I didn’t know—When did he—Well, how was I suppo—Just let me get my clothes.”
The woman moved away from Brian’s back, and he stepped outside the small, dark room. She closed the door quietly.
“Honestly, Myrna, I was trying to get away from her. There’s no way I would have done anything with her. She just grabbed me when I walked past the door.”
“I trust you.”
“I would never destroy what we have over something so stupid.”
“Brian, I trust you. Chill.”
Myrna slid into his arms.
“You do?” His body melted against hers with relief.
“Of course. Do I have a reason not to?”
“No. All I want is you.” They’d just danced to a song with those exact words as the title. Surely she knew he meant what he said.
She lifted a hand to cup his cheek. “I feel exactly the same way.”
He kissed her, his soul buoyant with joy.
The door behind him opened again and naked-chick, now mostly clothed, brushed past them as she fled. Still kissing him, Myrna walked Brian backwards into the empty closet and shut the door.
“I’ll have to thank your groupie for pointing out this place,” she said. “I wondered how I was going to get you alone backstage. I had settled on a bathroom stall, but the last time we tried that, it didn’t end well.”
Brian laughed. “It ended well for me.” He laughed again and squeezed her in a tight embrace. “But not so well for my lucky hat.”
“Or Eric.”
“Every time he wears that hat, I think I’m going to bust a gut trying not to laugh.”
“Less talking. More satisfying kisses.”
She clung to his shoulders. In the darkness, her kiss landed on his chin. She nibbled her way to his lips and caressed them with deep sucking kisses. As she warmed, her scent—a sweet combination of coconut, sex, and Myrna—intensified, blotting the scent of antiseptic cleanser coming from somewhere in the closet.
She nipped Brian’s lower lip. Lust slammed into his gut, hot and heavy. He moved his hands to her ass—which was in exactly the right location, thank you very much—and ground her pelvis against his rapidly engorging cock. He’d just got the damned thing under control, and hoped to God she wasn’t going to leave him unsatisfied again. He wasn’t sure he’d survive.
“How long before you have to be onstage?” she asked breathlessly.
She tugged impatiently at his hair—her signal that she needed to be penetrated quickly. It was one of his favorite signals. Second only to the gaspy moan she made in the back of her throat when she was close to orgasm.
“I’m not sure. Twenty minutes or so.”
“Are you hot for me?”
“Yeah, of course. I’m always hot for you.” He wished he could see her. Read her expression. The closet was completely devoid of light; he could scarcely make out the hairline crack under the door.
“Tell me what you want to do to me,” she whispered and caught his bottom lip between her teeth again, this time tugging until it slipped free. She was feeling frisky, was she?
“I want to let your hair down,” he said, sliding both hands up her back to press her more firmly against his chest. Something about getting it on with her while she was dressed in a conservative skirt suit always did it for him. Maybe because she was the only woman he’d ever known to wear suits.
“That’s it?” she whispered.
“I want to let your hair down, so I can wrap it around my fist while I fuck you from behind.”
Her breath caught.
“Are you wet?”
“Getting that way.”
He found the clip at the back of her head and released her hair. It dropped around her shoulders, covering his free hand in a curtain of silk. He carefully gathered it in one hand and wrapped it around his fist to tug it evenly, so it wouldn’t hurt. Much. He yanked, and Myrna gasped.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, heart thudding. That wasn’t his intention. Rough didn’t have to hurt.
“N-no. Fuck me, Brian.”
“Pull your skirt up around your waist.”
She moved away slightly. He heard the rustle of her clothes. He gave her hair another tug and then lowered his hand to make sure she’d obeyed him. His hand found the smooth skin of her bare ass.
“Touch your cunt.”
“You touch it,” she said.
He tugged her hair more aggressively. “Don’t disobey me. I’m in control here. Slide your fingers inside that pussy and tell me how wet you are.”
The back of her hand brushed his fly as she moved to obey him. He gritted his teeth so he didn’t reveal how turned on he was. She needed to think he was in control here. Good thing it was dark so she couldn’t see his expression; he knew it revealed his deep longing. When the sound of her wet flesh accepting her fingers reached his ears, his belly tightened with need.
“Are you wet?” he asked gruffly.
“Y-yes.”
“Are your juices dripping down the insides of your thighs?”
“Almost.”
“Rub yourself until they do. I want that cunt hot and wet before I fuck it.”
“Brian?” she pleaded.
He tightened his hand in her hair. “Do it.”
The sounds of her fingers rapidly strokin
g her flesh had his balls aching in seconds.
“That’s it, baby. Get ready for me.”
He released her hair so he could move behind her. He unfastened his pants and jerked them down to his knees. His cock pulsed with excitement the instant he freed it.
Myrna crooned with impending release.
“Are you wet now?”
“Yes… Oh God, yes. I’m going to—”
He slapped her ass with a resounding smack.
“Did I say you could make yourself come? No coming unless I’m inside you. Understand?”
“Y-yes,” she gasped.
Fumbling in the dark, he gathered her hair in his fist again. With his other hand he sought her hand, which was still working between her legs. He captured her wrist and shifted her fingers from her pussy to her clit.
“Rub that greedy clit while I fuck you. Don’t stop rubbing until I come. I don’t care how many times you get off between now and then. Keep rubbing it.”
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Brian,” she said in a low voice.
He hesitated. Maybe he was being too bossy. He loosened his hold on her hair.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” she repeated, “but I like it.”
He yanked her hair. “Do you want to be fucked?”
“Yes. I want you to fuck me.”
“Then you better rub your clit like I told you.”
“And if I don’t?”
He slid a hand over her ass and slapped it again. Her entire body tensed and she shuddered.
“I’ll paddle your ass raw.”
“Oh God,” she said breathlessly. “If we had more time, I’d resist more,” she whispered. “Next time.”
And there would be plenty of next times. A lifetime’s worth.
She groaned as she began to work her clit. “I’ll do whatever you say, Master Sinclair.”
“Good,” he murmured to her. “Rub it fast and hard—don’t tease it. Get yourself off.”
He used his hand to guide his cock into her hot, slick opening. He thrust into her with gentle, shallow strokes to wet himself with her juices. Intense pleasure coursed the entire length of his cock as he plunged deep with one driving thrust. Myrna cried out, her pussy gripping him in hard spasms as she came.
“Don’t stop rubbing yourself just because you came,” he said.
Her vocalizations grew so loud, he wouldn’t have been surprised if someone opened the closet door to investigate. He didn’t want her to quiet down though. He wanted her to scream his name.
Brian possessed her with a relentless hard and fast rhythm, one hand tugging at her hair, the other gripping her hip to pull her against him with each thrust. He never imagined the first time he made love to his wife that he’d be fucking her hard and dirty in a supply closet backstage. He’d imagined rose petals floating in a warm bath. Gentle touches. Tender kisses that lasted for hours. But fucking her this way would bring him release quickly, and he needed that tonight. Needed to get his overwhelming desire for her out of his system before he went onstage. He’d treasure her, as she deserved, later that night. For now, he embraced the building urgency in his groin and relished the pleasure rippling through his body. He shouted in triumph as he found release. Bliss flooded every inch of him as his seed pulsed into her body.
He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her upright to hug her back against his chest. His lips brushed her silky hair. “You’re beautiful.”
She chuckled. “It’s too dark in here for you to know that.”
“I know it.”
“Do you think you can make it through your concert now?”
“Not really. No.”
He held her against him, thumbs stroking her bare nipples against the inside of her silk top, until his breath stilled. When he thought he might be able to live without being buried inside her, he slipped free of her body with a regretful wince.
She turned in his arms and drew him close—pressing her soft breasts into his chest.
“I’m going to go clean up.” She kissed his jaw. “And make a hotel reservation.” Kissed his chin. “Pack a suitcase, but no clothes.” Kissed his lips. “I don’t want to see you until after the show,” she said. “And then I want to see nothing but you for the next two days.”
She left him in the dark closet. He was too breathless to follow.
When Brian finally managed to find his way out of the supply closet and to the backstage area, someone thrust a guitar in his hands. He lifted its strap over his head and settled his guitar into place. The crowd was already roaring with excitement. His band looked a bit worse for wear after the events of last night, but they were ready to hit the stage. And he was too consumed by thoughts of his bride to suffer from his normal preconcert nerves. He just wanted to get on the stage, rock the roof off the arena, and return to his wife.
“Finally done boning Myrna?” Trey asked.
Brian grinned. “Not by a long shot. The real honeymoon starts in forty-six minutes.”
Trey stumbled over the bottom step as he headed onstage. Brian wished he would just go to the fucking hospital and get it over with, but he knew why Trey hated hospitals—he’d spent too many hours in them when his father had been a resident. But that didn’t excuse him from seeking medical attention when he needed it.
Brian took him by one arm to help him climb the stairs. “You sure you’re okay, buddy?”
“Like you care.” Trey wrenched his arm out of Brian’s grasp and trotted over to his spot stage right.
Brian shook his head. “Serve him right if it turned out to be something serious,” he grumbled to himself.
Chapter Eight
The opulent lobby of the Venetian couldn’t compete for Myrna’s attention; her husband had it all. He had a smudge of eyeliner under his left eye, which was still horribly bruised. His black T-shirt was damp with sweat. Clumps of hair clung to his neck and face. Yeah... hot. Even though he’d assured her that his concert that night had been the worst Sinners had ever performed, she wished she’d seen him onstage. Nothing turned her on more than watching this man delight fifteen thousand fans with his talented fingers. Except when those talented fingers were delighting her alone.
“Your Prima Suite is on the thirty-fifth floor,” the clerk said and slid a set of keycards across the counter.
“I want to make sure we understand each other,” Brian said to him. “Do not disturb us under any circumstances. I don’t care if the hotel is on fire. I don’t care if the fuckin’ President of the United States needs to speak to me. Do. Not. Disturb. Got it?”
Eyes wide, the attractive olive-skinned man swallowed hard and nodded. “I understand, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Has our room service order been sent up to our room already?” Myrna asked. “I placed it when I made the reservation.”
“I’ll check to make sure.” The clerk reached for the phone.
Brian didn’t wait for confirmation. He grabbed the keycards off the counter and took Myrna’s hand to lead her to the elevator. “I don’t need room service,” he said. “I need my wife.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Uninterrupted for hours.”
“We have all night,” she said. “And all day tomorrow.”
“I hope you aren’t planning on sleeping.”
She grinned and shook her head.
Because the hotel was so massive, it took them a while to find the right elevator. Myrna could tell Brian was frustrated with the delay. “Sweetheart, relax.”
“This isn’t exactly how I pictured my wedding day to go. I wanted it to be special for you, and it’s just been one interruption after another.”
“It has been special for me.”
She smiled at him, but he didn’t look convinced. When the elevator slid open, she was very happy to find it empty. Brian ushered her inside and set their suitcase down before tapping the button to their floor.
He needed to loosen up and quit stressing over stuff he had no control over. And luckily
for him, she knew exactly how to get his mind off his worries.
She grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and kissed him. Hard. “You make me so fucking hot, Master Sinclair,” she said, staring up into his intense brown eyes. She knew he didn’t like her to call him by his stage name, but she absolutely wanted to live the fantasy with her rock star husband before she lived another fantasy with the amazing man beneath the stage persona. “Can I do something for you, my personal sex god? Anything. I’m your number one fan.”
Brian chuckled and wrapped both arms around her. “Don’t call me Master Sinclair, that’s what you can do for me.”
He hadn’t seemed to mind the title when he’d been pounding her hard and pulling her hair in a dark closet backstage.
“Is that all I can do for you?” Myrna circled his body to stand behind him. Sliding her hands over his lower belly, her pinkies dipped into the waistband of the jeans riding low on his narrow hips. “Because I really want to please you, Master Sinclair.”
She forced one hand deeper into his pants and carefully arranged his cock so it was pointing up toward his belly. The head of his half-hard dick peeked out just above the waistband of his low-slung jeans. As she stroked it with her thumb, it rose to attention, revealing itself an inch at a time as it grew harder and harder. His head dropped back to rest against hers.
“I want to suck your balls while you jack off,” she whispered into his ear. “I brought your butt plug and a cock ring in the suitcase.”
“A vibrating one?”
“Yeah. I want to ride you hard. Come over and over again until my juices drip down your sac.”
“Oh God, Myrna. I love it when you talk dirty to me in elevators. Or anywhere else.”
“Someone might come in and see me playing with The Beast. Does that excite you?”
“Yeah, I hope someone sees how fucking hard you make me.”
Sinners at the Altar Page 6
