I sure as fuck do.
“That you and Dax got to watch Sydney and me kiss, but we didn't get to see the two of you kiss.”
I pause and pull Naomi's hands off of my nipples.
“You want me to kiss that Little Drummer Fuck?!” I ask as I try to pull back and Naomi grabs me by the crotch, squeezing hard enough that it hurts but feels good at the same damn time. I grit my teeth and grab her wrists again, fighting to push them back into the sofa. “You have seriously lost your damn mind if you think I'm kissing that emo son of a bitch.”
“Why?” Naomi taunts, totally drunk but totally hot with that blonde hair of hers torn from its ponytail, spread across the leather couch in tangles only a rockstar could pull off. Her pupils are dilated and her lips are swollen from our frantic kissing. “Because you're afraid you might like it too much?”
“Yeah, sorry, sweets, but that shit don't work on me.”
“Really?” Naomi asks, wrapping her legs around my midsection as I drop my lips to hers for another kiss. Her tongue is hard and slick, sliding against mine, fighting me for control the same way she did with her body. Whenever I try to go all alpha male on her, she just flips the switch and goes alpha female right back. Blow for blow, word for word, I've totally met my fucking match. “Because I swear, I felt your cock twitch at the mere thought.”
“You're such a bitch,” I say as she pushes my face away with her hand and releases the tight hold of her thighs. The smirk that whips across her mouth is sharp and sudden, and I barely get the chance to glance up before Dax McCann is wrapping his fingers in my hair and yanking my head back sharply. His mouth presses up against mine, hard and hot and angry, and then his frigging tongue is darting between my lips.
I come this close to decking him right in his fucking face, but then Naomi's got my jeans undone, her hand slicking down the sweaty warm surface of my cock, fingers moist with saliva as she wraps a tight fist around me and twists hard to one side. The corkscrew motion of her hand on my dick is like a switch, turning me on, powering me up.
And there's no way in fuck that I'm letting Dax kiss me.
I lift my gloved hands up—yeah, I borrowed some of those faggy black gloves of his for my costume—and cup the sides of his face, forcing my tongue into his mouth, trying to take over the kiss. He fights me as hard as fucking Naomi, our lips clashing together as my girl jerks me off and his … a quick flick of my eyes and I see Sydney's pink mouth wrapped around his shaft.
Well shit if that doesn't explain the frenzy of his mouth against mine.
So, yeah, whatever, I kiss Dax McCann, but it's no big thing. Whatever it takes to please my lady—just so long as everyone else here knows that she's my fucking lady. It'll be my ring on her finger and my babies in her belly. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.
“Touch him,” Naomi encourages me and I must be drunk as fuck because I do, curling my hand around Dax's shoulder as we continue to make out, one of his hands curling around my arm. “Not there,” Naomi whispers as she sits up and leans in to run her tongue along my neck. “Jack him off.”
“There's no way I'm touching this motherfucker's dick,” I say as I pull away from Dax and give Naomi a look, my head swimming like the Northern Pacific Ocean that's just outside this bus, tossing its tempest waves against the shore.
“Intimidated?” Sydney asks, shoving pink hair over her shoulder and glancing back at me as she traces her thumb up the underside of Dax's dick. He's pierced several times over but I'm inked up downstairs. Guess that puts us at a standstill, don't it?
“Unlike Dax, I'm just not into dudes,” I say as Sydney stands up and moves over to the panel for the bus' stereo system, hitting play on the Three Days Grace cover of You Don't Get Me High Anymore, her face flushed and excited as I drag Naomi onto my lap and move in to kiss her.
“Believe it or not,” Dax says as he sits next to us and tugs Sydney into his lap, the same way we did in the limo, fucking right next to each other until bullets started raining down from the goddamn sky. “That was my first time even touching a dude like that.”
“Yeah, sure. I bet your nickname among all the roadies was the Anal King,” I say with a smirk as I press my mouth to Naomi's hungry lips, her breasts arching against me as I reach beneath her tank and undo the clasp on her bra.
“Actually,” Dax says, leaning over to whisper in my ear, “that was Ronnie's nickname, but it wasn't for taking it up the ass—it was for giving it. To both girls and guys. So he's bi and your friend Jesse is full-on gay, so why you think that'd be an insult is beyond me.”
I curl my lips into a snarl and tear Naomi's tank over her head, tossing it aside as I take my anger out on our kiss, dipping my tongue into her mouth as she grabs my cock in her fingers and touches me in a way I haven't felt before. She strokes up and lets go, grabbing at the base and making the same motion again and again.
That's when I realize it's not her hand, but fucking Sydney's.
Naomi grabs my face in her right hand, digging her nails into my skin and sitting back with this coy as fuck look in her eyes. Her mouth is quirked to the side as she uses her left hand to pleasure Dax and leans in to press her lips to my ear.
“I'm not living my life on pause anymore,” she whispers as I curl my fingers in the skin of her bare back, wondering if I'm leaving bruises. Fuck, my face is probably bleeding from her nails anyway so what's a little more damage in the name of pleasure?
“Like you ever did,” I growl back at her, sliding my tongue up the side of her neck and tasting her, letting her lead me wherever she wants to go. If Naomi wants to finish what we started in the limo, why the hell should I give a shit? I bite her neck, sucking hard enough to leave hickeys as she presses her bare breasts against me, the discarded tangle of her bra between us, the scrape of red lace against my skin turning me on like nothing else.
We keep at it until I feel like I'm about to blow, pushing Sydney's hand away and pulling Naomi forward until she's straddling my cock. She releases Dax and guides me to her opening, letting me fuck her skin to skin, her ardent heat enveloping my shaft as she slides down and rides me to Disturbed's The Brave and the Bold, rocking her body along with the guitars. I'm not sure whether she knows it or not, but the sensation takes over me completely, dragging me into a screaming orgasm with my hands bruising Naomi's hips and her nails digging gouges down my bare shoulders and arms.
And that's when I remember the cameras.
Treyjan's fingers tease the silver and black guitar pick along vibrating strings, the sound breaking through the speakers at my back like a flock of bats. The sounds of his guitar burst from the cave of his dark soul and take flight over the violent rippling of the crowd.
I miss Naomi Knox at my side, but damn it's nice to have my best good friend back in the game.
Now I just have to hope and pray that he doesn't die on this tour. Since I'm a sinner among sinners I'm sure God ain't listening, but maybe there's something older, darker, something slumbering that'll wake its ass up and take pity on this monster of a man.
Behind me, massive black and gray pistols soar up to the ceiling and lights swirl around me like a lightning storm gone wrong, purple and white and blue color crashing around me as Ronnie kicks his drums into action, accenting Treyjan's dark fury, amping up the sound and calling Jesse and Josh out to play.
Confetti explodes across the crowd like blood, spattering faces upturned in devilish worship, their wanton smiles and screams like the tawdry kiss of a succubus, pressing her lips against sweaty foreheads and mouths parted and panting. It's a dirty, dirty raucous out there and I intend to eat it with a fucking spoon.
“This whole time you knew I was waiting, listening for the sound of your voice, wondering if I ever had a choice, not knowing that you'd long stopped caring, not realizing that all the while inside I was despairing, and never understanding that my soul was in need of repairing.”
I bite the last word off as the lights cross in an X in front of me, white beams like
lightning cracking across the stage and cutting me in half as I open my arms and lean my head back, sweat rolling down the sides of my face as I listen to my friends fuck their instruments and bring them to orgasm.
“THERE'S NOTHING LEFT INSIDE! NO MATTER HOW I TRY TO HIDE!” I scream the words out as I lean back, my body arching, my throat completely open to the growl that bursts from my chest. “I try to hide the emptiness inside, try to fight the burning ache inside, try to still the dulling pain inside.”
I lift back up and drop my head as Treyjan buries himself in a guitar solo, hopping up on one of the fake gravestones near the front of the stage—not my idea but I'd totally find them cool if, you know, people weren't dropping left and right around me. I think this is all Paulette's idea of a joke, but fuck her. We can own this shit—death, destruction and mayhem. Oh, and all those viral videos of me tonguing Dax McCann.
I move up beside Trey and play some sick ass air guitar in tribute to him as he thrashes his head and fucks that crowd all the way up with pent-up anger and frustration, fingering his guitar until she cries his name through the speakers and I sit down on the edge of the gravestone next to him.
“They all said you'd be there for me, this ethereal presence and beautiful mystery, but you're nothing but the wasted breath of misery, so for now I lay my fucking anguish at your feet, and forget all the words I've never heard, let my suffering fall on the deaf ears of this world.”
Trey hops down and gets into it with Jesse, putting their feet up on either side of a smaller gravestone, thrashing their heads together as they drown out Josh and almost manage to shush up Ronnie's kit with their rage.
This song, if you hadn't guessed it, is kind of about moms. Mine and Trey's and Jesse's.
“THERE'S NOTHING LEFT INSIDE! NO MATTER HOW I TRY TO HIDE!” I scream as I slide to the floor on my knees and clutch the mic like it's Naomi Isabelle Knox and her luscious curves. Talk about a succubus, man. She's like, totally gobbled up my balls and has me begging for more. The fuck is wrong with me? I want to go all alpha on her ass, but I know how that'll end. Jesus. And somehow I'm excited by all of this? I must be fucking crazy. “I try to hide the emptiness inside, try to fight the burning ache inside, try to still the dulling pain inside,” I repeat as I slide a hand down the side of my sweaty face and pout at the crowd below me, sliding my tongue across my lower lip. “I try to hide the emptiness inside, try to kill that rancid break of my heart inside, try to still the dulling pain inside.”
I lean my head back and let out a long, lonely scream before repeating the chorus twice more and then throwing the mic to the side, letting it roll across the stage with a screech as the guitars' twangs fade and reverberate into nothing and the only thing I can hear is the chorus of demons worshipping at my feet.
“We're going back to the same place as last night?” I ask as I sit my ass up on the counter and chew on a granola bar. I'm still shaking from tonight's performance, totally wired and wondering if I can coerce Naomi into the back to give me a blow job. I'm careful to keep my words edited for the 'hidden cameras' in the room. “Rockstars never hit the same joint twice.”
“Yeah, well,” Naomi says, sucking down a Monster energy drink and staring at me from wet orange-brown eyes, a whole waterfall of emotions tucked away in there. I'd like to unpack them all and lay them across the floor, but despite what I thought was a pretty sick night last night (minus kissing Dax, obviously) she's in a foul as fuck mood today. Her set was all wild feminine rage, as scary and mysterious as those tornadoes that flipped our buses way back when. Despite being totally hot and wicked as fuck, it was a little terrifying. “Things being what they are …” she trails off as she heads into the back, opening the drawer beneath her bunk and shifting things around so the cameras can't see that she's got a goddamn knife.
“Yo, babe, blow job,” I say as I grab her arm when she stands and jerk her back into the bathroom before she can protest. I slam the door closed and flick the faucet on, praying to that same slumbering rock god that Naomi doesn't stab me with the weapon wrapped in an old t-shirt in her hand. “Are you crazy? Haven't you and sharp objects had a few disagreements over the years?”
“Sharp objects saved me from being repeatedly raped by my foster father while my foster mother looked on and touched herself. Sharp objects and I”—Naomi lets the shirt slide off the blade and runs her finger across the flat surface—“have a very good relationship, Mr. Campbell. So unless your balls want to find out what it's like to meet the angry end of this knife, you'd best step out of my way.”
“What are you planning on doing with that anyway?” I ask, thinking real hard about it and deciding that it looks like one of the fancy kitchen knives from the mansion. Jesus fucking Christ. “Come on, Knox, it's not like any Hammergren, Harding, or Washington is going to be waiting at the club for us.”
“No, but maybe that girl in the wig will be? Maybe a guy in a leather jacket? A woman in fishnets? Whoever the fuck they decide to pay to watch us because Turner, they were watching us last night. Remember: this is a game to them. And who wants to play a game that they can't see or hear? It'd be like betting everything on the Super Bowl and never bothering to turn on the game.”
I sigh and slump against the counter, running my hands down my face.
“So the fuck you think you can do with a single knife?”
“Hopefully find one of the Hammergren's moles and see if I can make a deal,” she says as she taps the flat of the blade against her palm and looks up at me with a face as serious as any I've ever seen. “I might not be some fucked-up billionaire skimming the blood off the world's citizens, but everybody has a price—even if it's not in the form of money. I don't know what Paulette's is or why she hasn't killed me yet, but she will.” Naomi pauses and then puts the point of the blade against one of her fingers, drawing a bright red drop of blood. “But not if I kill her first.”
Brayden Ryker watches me as the others pile onto the bus and disappear out the rolling gate at the end of the parking lot where our little circus has set up shop for the night. It's our second day performing in Seattle, at some wiggy little venue called the Hard Hot Happening, day four of the Hard Rock Roots tour. Nobody's dead yet, but I'm still looking for signs of daisies in the distance. Someone oughta be pushing some up sooner rather than later.
“Not in the mood for partying tonight?” Ronnie asks after Brayden drags his gaze from us and follows the others in an unmarked car.
“Just feelin' real crook, mate,” I say as I flash a grin that I hope's at least somewhat believable. I really do feel sick as a fucking dog; I'm just not ready to tell Ronnie why yet. I mean, the man needs another kid like he needs a third armpit. As in not at flippin' all. He's already having to fight for custody of his other children, so why introduce a fifth? Seems bloody stupid, that's what.
Yet … I'm unbelievably excited at the same time. Must have a few roos loose in the top paddock for sure.
“Did you see me botch up the whole set tonight?” I ask as I turn to look at Ronnie, his face lit from beneath by the burning orange spot of his cigarette. My hands shake as I curl my fingers into fists, resisting the urge to tear it from his lips and have a few drags. Since I saw those double lines, I've been white knuckle sober and well, frankly, it's not exactly a walk in the park, is it?
“You fucked-up a few notes on one song,” he says with one of those warm, inviting smiles of his, reaching down to ruffle up my hair. I smack his hand away and plant my hands on my hips. I might be preggers and pint-sized as fuck, but I'm not about to be patronized. “You were great up there. Lola, you were feeling that music and everybody knew it.”
“Please.” I snort and shake my head, trying not to chunder all the hell over my new beau's shoes. Or shit, maybe he's my fiancé now? I'm not exactly sure. Most of our conversations lately have been about murder so … “Let's face it: I did a serious bodge job on Naomi's beautiful work.” I put my hands over my face and slide my palms down, smearing red-orange lip
stick across my skin. “I miss my drums, Ronnie.”
The full curve of his generous mouth twists into a crooked smile, his dark hair spiked and all wicked rocker, his white t-shirt clinging to his muscles with sweat from the show, his tattoos vivid in the sharp slices of moonlight between the clouds. I could eat this man for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and go back for snacks between each meal. Hell, that's what I have been doing.
“You're great on the keyboard, the synth,” he says, sliding his smoke from between his lips as the sound of rowdy partying echoes from the direction of the staff trailers. I never really was a part of that scene, but tonight, I feel like I'm a million miles away from the drugs and the drinking and the anonymous fucking. I'm going to be a mum.
I just have to figure out how to break that news to the dad and see if he's excited … or disappointed about the whole thing. Oh and hope that the bloody president doesn't build a wall around Australia to keep all of us felons out of the country, eh? Wouldn't that be nice if I got deported and my kid ended up here with Ronnie. What a thought.
“You want to go out to dinner?” he asks me, sliding his hands in his pockets and then cringing a little. “I mean, after I shower and change. You and me, on a proper date. I figure there'll probably be cameras following us, but when it's you and me, Lola, the rest of the world just falls away. You're a single note in a silent night.”
Ronnie reaches out and touches the side of my face, running his thumb across the fullness of my lower lip as I tremble and fight to keep from blurting out my secret then and there.
“Dinner, huh? Are you going to take me someplace fancy?”
Get Hitched (Hard Rock Roots Book 9) Page 5
