by Andrea Dale
The smooth plastic of the pass was growing warm beneath her touch, and Hannah realized that she’d been rubbing it slowly between her finger and thumb. There was something else she’d like to be rubbing, stroking…
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Forcing herself to drop the pass, she took one last look at the crowd. It looked as though they were barely containing their excitement. Nate Fox hadn’t toured in two years. In a few minutes, they’d see him, whether again or for the first time, in the flesh.
She wondered where Nate had put the remote.
She wondered, for the millionth time, when he would choose to use it. And she shivered.
Sam had been stalking around the stage, barking at roadies and ensuring everything was nothing less than perfect. Now he turned his attention on her.
“If you want to watch the concert from down there, you’d better get going,” he said.
“Everything on schedule?” she asked.
He squinted and surveyed the stage. “Yeah,” he said in a tone that implied that it probably wasn’t, but he couldn’t find the flaw, and just had to live with it.
She grinned. “Glad to hear it.”
Hannah threaded her way further backstage, stepping over the taped-down electrical cords, past the racks of guitars and basses, the monitors, the soundboards, and the small army of technicians whose job it was to ensure every single piece of electronics worked without a glitch. One woman, wearing earphones, tuned a spangly green guitar. Hannah gave her a thumbs-up as she went by, and the woman grinned.
As she passed by Nate’s dressing room, she paused, wondering if she should tell him to break a leg. She blew a strand of hair back from her forehead, acknowledging to herself that she was just looking for an excuse to see him. She reached up a hand to knock…and the door opened before she could make contact.
Nate. All six feet of taut muscle, raven-black hair, and striking blue eyes that she knew darkened to indigo when he was about to come.
Now, he smiled. “I was hoping to see you before we got started,” he said. His low smoky voice curled around her, promising that she would enjoy everything that he had planned.
“I wanted to wish you good luck,” Hannah said. He looked incredibly sexy in his black leather pants. The fabric clung to the hard muscles of his thighs, cupping the heavy bulge of his groin. She wanted to touch, wanted to run her hands over his flat stomach hidden behind his tight T-shirt. Past concert experience told her that he would tear the shirt off towards the end of the concert, sending much of the audience into paroxysms of lust at the sight of his ripped body.
“I wanted to kiss you until you couldn’t breathe,” Nate said. Taking her by the arm, he pulled her down a short hallway into a darkened alcove, crowding her body with his as he pressed her against the wall. His hands penned her in, resting on each side of her shoulders. He teased her, leaning in just far enough to let his chest rub lightly against her sensitized breasts. Warm breath heated her skin, his mouth only a sigh away from her throat. His dark hair tickled her cheek as he breathed in her scent.
“Are you ready for me?” he whispered. His hips brushed suggestively against her own.
Hannah couldn’t have been more ready if he’d laid her down and licked every inch of her skin.
She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him in closer. Nate nipped her lower lip and she responded in kind. Their mouths met, lips against lips, tongue sliding against tongue. His kiss was a wonder, all wet heat and maddening friction.
“Still wearing it?” Nate asked, his teeth nipping her jaw lightly. His breath blew across her ear, and Hannah shivered. Her mouth went dry, in contradiction to the wetness between her legs.
“Yes.” Her voice came out in a shaky whisper.
“Good.” He ran his tongue along her neck. Hannah gripped his shoulders to keep from sagging to the floor. She could smell his shampoo, a memory of the shower they’d taken together earlier. He rubbed one thigh between hers, lightly, not nearly enough pressure to satisfy.
“Good,” he repeated. “Because I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to watching your face when…”
Hannah moaned.
“Yeah, you’ll sound like that. Or maybe you’ll be screaming. You’ll have to tell me afterwards.” His hands slid from her hips, up her sides. She wore a dark plum satin bra and a semi-sheer purple flowered camisole top over it. His thumbs caressed the underside of her breasts, the motion erotic against the satin. She felt her nipples harden beneath his ministrations, aching for more pressure.
“The hardest part—”
“I think I’ve found the hardest part,” Hannah teased, cupping her hand around the steely bulge beneath the leather of his pants. He caught his breath. The sound, and the knowledge that she caused it, sent a fresh thrill of arousal through her.
“Keep that up and the concert will have to be delayed,” he warned. The way he looked at her made her wish she could make the concert disappear, keep him entirely to herself.
“What’s sauce for the goose…” she teased.
“The goose’s arousal,” Nate said, “is not as obvious as the gander’s. Nor will the goose be standing on stage before thousands of people.”
“True,” she agreed, sliding her hand back to cup his tight ass and pull him closer against her. It was her turn to move against him, knowing by his ragged breathing that she had his complete attention. “But I’ll be the one making the scene, given your intentions with that remote control.”
He made a low rough noise in his throat. Taking her hand, he brought it to his waist. She could feel the remote clipped to his waistband. To someone who didn’t know what it was, it would look like part of his stage gear. “I don’t know how I’m going to stand it, watching you come,” he admitted. “It may be difficult for me not to join you.”
The fact that her arousal turned him on so much thrilled Hannah. It was as if they fed off of each other, bringing each other to new heights and getting dragged along at the same time, higher and higher until they went supernova.
“You deserve a little torture, given what you’re putting me through,” she said.
“Is it really torture?” he asked softly, sliding his hand beneath her camisole and lightly pinching her nipple.
“Yes. Exquisite torture,” she managed between gasps.
“Good.” He pulled away, although even in the dim light she could see the reluctance on his face. “I’ll see you after the show.” He cupped her face with one hand. “I’ll be thinking about you.”
He disappeared back into the dressing room, no doubt to adjust himself before he had to appear onstage. Hannah took a deep breath, willing her heartbeat to slow. The aching between her legs wasn’t going anywhere, however. She forced her trembling legs to move, always aware of the vibrator nestled between her lips. She knew she was flushed, trembling, her mouth swollen from kissing Nate. She probably looked like sex incarnate.
Hannah made her way to an exit that deposited her just outside the floor seats. The pass around her neck meant she had no problem getting to her front-row VIP seat. On her way she said hello to two fans she recognized as regulars at Nate’s shows. Diamonds glittered from beneath Sheri’s dark-red hair. Energetic Fran was stretching, preparing for a night of enthusiastic dancing.
Her seat was dead center, the place where Nate would be able to see every reaction she had when he played her body. She didn’t have time to sit before the lights went down and the crowd was on its feet, already roaring its approval. She added her voice to the cheers.
A bass beat began. Drums pounded the rhythm.
An electric guitar wailed a melody.
An explosion of light in the background revealed the silhouette of Nate standing on a riser behind the drums. The screams of the audience intensified. Over them, into a headset microphone, he sang the first line of “Luck Dried Up.”
The stage fell dark again, but the music pounded, giving the audience a lifeline. When the full lights came on
, Nate stood at the front of the stage. His guitar was slung on a strap over his shoulder, his talented fingers drawing music from the metal strings. He launched into the song, the band chiming in on harmonies. Hannah could have sworn he winked at her.
Then she realized that she wasn’t some anonymous audience member anymore. He had winked at her.
With a grin she couldn’t have stopped even if she’d tried, she sang along with the chorus, dancing in place at the barrier a few feet from the stage. Seats had been abandoned, the fans energized and on their feet.
Over the years, she’d tried as a professional, as a publicist, to disassociate herself from her feelings about Nate and view his stage performance dispassionately. She hadn’t entirely succeeded, but she’d managed to make some analyses. Seeing some of the rehearsals for this tour had solidified her theories. Every movement he made was calculated, planned. Of course, it didn’t mean he couldn’t be spontaneous. Certainly his between-song banter wasn’t memorized, and he’d told her horror stories about the various things that had gone wrong on stage—earphones cutting out, guitar strings breaking, his pants splitting a seam right up the back…
But overall, he was in control. When he and the bassist ran over and circled the keyboard, they were all in sync, because they’d gone over it until they had it down to the second. When Nate ran across the stage and smacked one of the drum kit’s cymbals, it didn’t look like he’d make it back to his mark at the front of the stage on time—but he always did.
And he was in control, all right. During the third song (a heart-wrenching but otherwise innocuous ballad), he slipped long, talented fingers over the remote control. Hannah hadn’t even seen him do it. One minute she was singing along, lustfully admiring the trickle of sweat that ran down the side of his face, and the next, she was nearly leaping out of her skin when a subtle buzzing began between her legs.
The vibration wasn’t strong enough to send her over the edge, but it was more than enough to make her voice falter even as her body lurched in anticipation.
And tremendous arousal.
Hannah felt her nipples snap into hardness again, pressing against the smooth satin of her bra. She knew the angle wasn’t right and he couldn’t see her reaction, but her expression had changed as well. Nate danced by, and shared with her a wicked grin. Her fingers closed over the edge of the barrier for support. She pressed her hips against the hard wood in front of her, both for support and because it intensified the pleasure.
Hannah tried to pay attention to the concert; she really did. But the world narrowed, her focus tunneled, until all she could see was Nate, and all she knew was that whenever he was standing near her, at some point his hand would drift to the remote control.
He turned the control down, and she nearly sobbed with frustration. The music pulsed inside of her, her clit throbbing with every heartbeat.
Nate positioned himself in front of her, his legs spread. She looked up, knowing that he could see her arousal. She wondered how hard he was behind the guitar. His hips began to rock. Each thrust timed to the song, to the chord changes that flowed from his fingers. Hannah imagined she could feel him inside her, each rocking movement sending her higher.
Lifting her hands, she gathered her hair up, a stray breeze cooling the back of her neck. A sinful smile curved his sensual mouth. His hand stole to his waist. The buzzing, vibrating pleasure sped up just a little.
Hannah let out a moan. The crowd noise swallowed it up. Someone jostled her from behind. She barely noticed. He turned the control up again, just a tiny shift of intensity, and Hannah caught her breath, hanging on the edge of orgasm.
Lips parted, low breathy moans came from her throat. She was torn between desperately needing to come and the embarrassment of knowing it would be in front of thousands of people. They pressed against her from behind, from the sides, intimately close, yet none of them knowing what he was doing to her.
But to climax in public, like this, surrounded by people…. He would be able to make her come whenever he wanted to, and she’d be able to do nothing about it.
Nate spun away. The intoxicating buzz between her legs diminished, leaving her moaning with frustration. Her inhibitions were being whittled away with every tiny vibration. She’d never thought that she could ache so badly, be so close, so wet, and still cling to the edge.
The closeness of the crowd added to the thrill, the collective energy stroking over her skin. The fact that everyone was riveted, watching Nate on stage, meant that she could conceivably have a screaming orgasm and nobody would really notice.
Hannah had never considered herself an exhibitionist, wasn’t sure if this counted, really. She was fully clothed. Nate wasn’t even going to touch her.
But he did. With his eyes, as he ran by. With his fingers, as he stroked music from the guitar strings. With the titillating buzz that surged again and again. The world narrowed to just the two of them. The audience faded away.
The concert was nearing an end. Hannah knew that, because she was enough of a fan and had been to enough concerts to know the pattern of songs. The encore would be coming soon. Once she’d figured out the pattern, it had always caused her a brief moment of grief whenever she heard “Dragons of Winter” live because it was a signal that all good things must come to an end, that the concert was nearly over, that she’d go home alone, to her empty bed, and relive the magic of the concert and dream of Nate Fox.
But now he wasn’t a dream anymore, and even though the song still sent a pang of despair straight to the pit of her stomach, it was coupled with heart-fluttering excitement.
The concert was almost over. Soon it would reach its climax, and hopefully so would she.
The time for him to wield the vibrator’s control was rapidly declining. Hannah couldn’t remember having been kept on the brink of arousal for so long. Oh, she’d always been horny at his concerts, but this was very, very different. She could feel the hard egg of the vibrator against her vulva, pressing the lips open, leaving her ready and willing.
“Dragons of Winter” ended. Hannah hadn’t been entirely aware of singing along, but she knew she had. The crowd around her screamed and cheered, and her own arms were in the air as she clapped and pumped her fist.
Kenny started a throbbing beat on his bass. Hannah stared at him, shocked at how well the rhythm was timed with the vibrations. Oh god, had Nate planned this that carefully? But no, it was the heavy bass making her sternum pulse, and her whole body was tuning in to the hard-driving pound of the song.
She watched as Nate jumped up onto the keyboard. His hips rocked, the guitar an extension of his body. His head was thrown back, sweat trickling over his chest. His shirt was gone, and she imagined trailing her tongue along his taut flesh, chasing the sweat down his body. He howled the lyrics, and Hannah again pressed her hips against the wooden barrier separating her from the stage.
She hadn’t seen his hand move, but she could swear that the teasing egg nestled against her aroused flesh had sped up. Heat pooled low inside of her, tightening, drawing her awareness to it.
The song was close to its finale, and her body echoed it. She didn’t know if she could hold back for him. The cliff was waiting, and she was ready to leap.
Looking down into her eyes, Nate sang the final words, “your strange desires.”
He pulled his head up and gathered himself.
His fingers turned the remote control dial to maximum.
He leapt into the air off the keyboard.
The world exploded into a million shades of red. Hannah heard herself scream, her hips bucking uncontrollably as spasm after spasm consumed her. Heat pulsed outwards from her clit, rolling along her skin, the buzzing egg sustaining the sensations. She came in waves that shattered her, wringing every last drop of pleasure from her aching body.
Looking up, Hannah saw Nate close, kneeling at the edge of the stage where he’d landed. His eyes glittered with dark satisfaction. The look was for her alone. He unclipped the remote, press
ing it to his lips before tossing it to her.
A souvenir.
A promise.
Chapter Twelve
The sun was hot, beating down on her shoulders out of a nearly cloudless sky. The sidewalk burned up through her sandals. Hannah ignored the discomfort. She was too busy patting herself on the back for the crowd turnout.
The CD signing at the Borders Books & Music in Phoenix had been her baby. The newspaper articles she’d engineered had been lukewarm. The charts had shown an upwards trend for the CD, but not fast enough or far enough. Nate’s remake of “Born to Be My Baby” was receiving decent airplay, but it seemed stuck just outside of the Top 50.
Both Nate’s and Hannah’s reputations were at stake.
That was why she was so excited to see the long line snaking down the sidewalk outside of the store.
“Pretty respectable,” Sam remarked. He handed her the extra bottle of water he carried.
“Thanks,” Hannah said. It was for more than the drink.
“Sales are up inside,” Sam said. He snapped the fingers of one hand, simultaneously beating out time on his thigh. He just couldn’t keep still. “It was a good idea to order in a supply of Nate’s older stuff.”
“The manager’s been great,” Hannah agreed.
Someone called out Sam’s name, and he raised a hand in acknowledgement. A lot of hard-core fans recognized him as Nate’s manager.
Hannah scanned the crowd, seeing a few faces that she recognized. The FoxFanatics who’d shown up had been at the head of the line. They’d staked their places since early morning. Hannah had made sure she’d greeted them and thanked them for their support.
“How are the T-shirt sales going?” Hannah asked.
“I’m still not sure that was a good idea,” Sam said. “I want to distance Nate’s name from the drugs, not remind everyone of his addiction.”
