"Of course I called Alice," he replied. "I don't know how the hell to handle this shit either."
I stood still, quieted by his admission. The man was self-assured to a fault. Hearing him admit uncertainty was refreshing.
"Nik?" he pushed. "How do you want to handle it? I told you what Alice thinks."
"I don't want this to be all about this crappy thing that's happened," I said. "The tour was going great right?"
"Yeah, it was. It is," Dion said. "It's gonna be what it is. Let's just get it over with. Lemons into lemonade, that sort of thing. How it gave us bonding time covering the graffiti on the bus. That sort of thing."
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, Dion's post-gig scent —a mix of primal sweat lingered with cedar wood and sage—filled my nose, and my knees weakened. "Okay," I agreed. "I'll do it your way."
He grinned. "Let's get this over with then."
"Wait," I said, stopping him before he opened the door wider. "You never answered my question. Did you just fuck the Rolling Stone reporter?"
He winked at me and opened the door wide. A balding, 30-something man with a slight beer belly sat on a hard-looking chair at the small table. The Rouge Nation concert t-shirt he wore hung lose around his narrow shoulders.
"You need to have more faith in me," he whispered as I past him into the room.
"Daniel Metterie, Rolling Stone magazine," the man said, standing up and extending his hand. He gripped mine for a weak shake, his hands felt soft in my drum-stick calloused ones.
Dion flopped on the bed and rearranged the pillows into a decadent throne. He shot me a wicked grin and patted the space next to him. "Come sit, Nik."
"I'm good," I said, sitting in the stiff chair across the table from the reporter. Dion exaggerated his pout.
"Let's get started," Daniel said. He sat back down in his chair and brandished a voice recorder.
I swallowed and felt beads of sweat sprout along the back of my neck. This was my first interview without my sisters by my side. And with Rolling Stone no less. I cleared my throat and glanced at Dion, who was propped up, Cleopatra like, amongst his pillows.
Daniel dropped a bomb on his first question. "What went through your mind when you heard your brother overdosed?"
The blood drained from Dion's face, and he lost his trademark swagger. "What went through my mind? What the hell do you think—"
"Kyle's death is off limits," I jumped in.
The writer shut off his recorder and stood. "Without Kyle, you guys are a non-story." without
"If you want something juicy..." I paused and looked at Dion. He nodded at me, color slowly creeping back into his cheeks.
"I'm listening," the writer said, sitting back in his chair.
I leaned forward and gave him a smile that made Presley's seductions look amateur. "I've been getting death threats the entire tour."
He raised his eyebrows and pressed the record button. "Really? When did you get the first?"
Dion cracked open the mini fridge and passed around some beers. We spent the next hour sharing tales from the road with the writer. The death threats added a measure of comic relief to a grueling tour schedule, particularly the way Dion shared the stories, embellishing in all the right places. By the time the hour was up, we all had a healthy buzz from the beer and were carrying on like old high school pals.
The interview wrapped and Daniel split, leaving me and Dion alone in his room. Dion handed me another beer, but I shook my head and handed it back.
"I should go," I said, nodding to the door.
"You missing curfew or something?" Dion razzed.
"It's late, we've had a long-ass day."
"I'm wired," he said. "Come on, hang out. I'll behave."
He flashed me a wicked grin. "Want to play strip poker?"
"That's not behaving," I pointed out.
"Seriously though," he said. "I want to talk to you. It's serious."
Dion patted the spot on the bed next to him and I crossed my arms over my chest. The smoldering look he gave me made my nipples perk up. I didn't want him to know that just a stupid look from him turned me on.
"What do you want, Dion?"
"I want to apologize for being an ass," he said. "It clearly effected your ability to play when we were recording the song, and I don't want that."
"It did not—" I started, but he cut me off.
"This isn't easy for me to say, so let me get this out," he said. "You're a good drummer, Nik. Better than good. One of the best I've heard, ever. And that includes Ace."
I dropped down next to him in silence, taking that in. Saying I was a better drummer than Anthem's was not a small complement. Ace was considered one of the best in rock and roll.
"You make the band better," Dion continued. "Dad thinks your version of Ruined is going to land on the Billboard charts..."
"My version?" I echoed.
"Your version," he repeated, running his hand along my arm. "Grimm's people think it will break the Top 10. We've never charted before, forget Top 10. And it's because of you."
"Oh boy," I said, holding my breath.
"Whatever happened between us," he continued. "It's just what it is, right? Too many bands fall apart when there's shit going on between members. We have a shot at something here, and I don't want to blow it."
"Dion, I have my own band," I reminded him. "I am just a fill in for this tour."
"I don't want you to be a fill in for this tour," he said. "I want you to join Rouge Nation. Permanently."
I swallowed. "Oh, man. I don't know what to say."
He squeezed my hand. "Say you'll join us. For keeps."
I stared as his fingers twined around my own. "I don't know, Dion. I can't just leave Satan's Sisters."
"Plenty of bands have side projects—" he started.
I snatched my hand away from him. "Satan's Sisters is not a side project."
"Okay, okay," he said. His hand moved to my leg, running them lightly up and down the top of my thigh. "Come on, Nik. Let's figure out a way to make this work."
I swallowed. "You mean the band, right?"
His hand dipped into the gap between my legs. "What do you think I mean?"
"I have no idea what you mean anymore," I whispered.
"White Stripes, Fleetwood Mac, Sonny and fucking Cher," Dion said, his voice low. He moved off the bed and knelt on the floor in front of me. He ran his hands along the top of my thighs he pushed my legs apart.
"What about them?" I murmured. Dion crawled between my legs.
"They split up the band," he said, pulling my head toward his, his mouth meeting mine. His body slid up against me, pushing me down to the mattress.
"Jack and Meg White continued playing together after they broke up," I corrected him, breathless.
"So there's hope," he groaned.
"God, Dion, there weren't supposed to be any benefits," I whispered before his mouth covered mine.
He pinned my arms above my head while drawing me in with his deep kiss. His tongue teased my mouth, running along my lips before diving deeper, teasing my own tongue to life. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pushed his pelvis into mine. His hardness pressed against me, straining through his jeans. He released my arms and in one fast movement pushed my tank top and bra up, exposing my breasts, his hand rubbing one roughly. I writhed with desire as he ran his thumb back and forth over my nipple.
I stretched my arms down between us and yanked on the button of his jeans. His cock sprung out, and I took it in my hand, rubbing the pre-cum around the tip. I pressed my thumb on the sensitive underside of the head.
He groaned, nipping his teeth along my neck. "Damn, Nik, this is why I can't stay away from you."
"I know the feeling," I panted as his teeth moved from my neck to the rounds of my breasts. He licked his way around the areola before zooming into my nipple, his teeth grazed it lightly, teasing it to attention. I lifted my hips to meet his.
Dion rolled off me and pulle
d off his t-shirt. I marveled at his hard body while he shimmied out of his pants. He moved over me, stripping my leggings and panties off. Then he flopped over and relaxed against the pillows.
"Touch yourself," he commanded. I reached for him, but he pushed my hand away. "Not yet. I want to watch you touch yourself."
"Dion—" I started.
"Come on, get on your knees and open your legs," he said, his voice husky. "I want to see."
I knelt in front of him on the bed, spreading my legs open.
"Tilt your hips so I can see your pussy," he said.
"I feel weird," I said, giving him a tentative glance.
"Don't," he said, running his palm along his shaft. "You look so fucking hot."
I closed my eyes and titled my hips, opening myself towards him. "What do you want me to do now?"
"Dip your finger in and get it wet," he said. I did what he told me, my finger covered with my juices. "Now spread that wetness around, Nik. Rub your clit."
Again, I followed his instructions, shuddering in pleasure as my fingers worked my clit with tight, fast circles. He pumped his cock with the same rhythm.
"Open your lips, baby, let me see you."
I slid two fingers along my labia, spreading it open.
He sucked in a breath. "Bring that to me. Now."
I crawled up the bed towards him. When I got within reach, he grabbed me by the hips and pulled me up to his mouth. I straddled his face, and he plunged his tongue into my pussy. I gripped the headboard and cried out at as pleasure rolled every inch of me.
He lapped up and down my slit before he pressed his tongue against my engorged clit, alternating between working it in circles and then sucking on it. Then he slid a finger into my wet slit, then a second one, stretching it, feeling its way up to my sensitive spot. My toes curled as his fingers found that singular spot against my inner wall and his tongue continued to work on my button.
He took me to the edge and as my breath rushed out me, he pulled back, bringing me just to the edge of pleasure again.
"Dion," I gasped, desperate for the sweet release an orgasm would bring. "You are driving me crazy."
"I want to be inside you when you come," he said, sliding his body back towards the headboard.
"Do you have a condom?" I whispered, almost afraid to ask, because I sure as hell didn't and stopping this runaway train was near impossible.
He reached for his jeans, which were crumpled on the bed, and pulled out a condom. He ripped it open with his teeth. I watched him roll it down his shaft. My pussy ached for him to fill me as I lifted my hips and he guided his sheathed cock into me.
He closed his eyes as I slid down his shaft, slow and controlled. I stopped halfway and pulled up, then slipped down again, going a little further thing time. I did this over again, then again. Both of us moaned in pleasure on the final pass, when I took his cock entirely inside me.
I moved my hips in waves, getting our bodies in synch. His breath came faster, and he gripped my hipbones. I watched him, eyes half closed, his already beautiful features made even more so with each movement.
"My god, Nik, you feel so good," he breathed. "You are so good for me."
I pressed my hands on his chest and road him. Faster. Deeper. Then even faster. Fuck Lindsay Buckingham and Stevie Nicks. Fuck Jack and Meg White. I was exactly where I wanted to be. Where I needed to be.
"Hey, Nik, you okay" he whispered, brushing a tear from my cheek.
"I'm perfect," I replied, moving my hips faster to match his thrusts.
"You always cry before you come?" he rasped out.
"Something like that," I lied.
His expression changed from concern to pure ecstasy.
"Are you close?" he asked. "Because I don't think I can hold it much longer."
I nodded, and he put his thumb in my mouth, wetting it. Then he pressed it on my clit, rubbing the nub while he pumped inside me. I dig my nails into the skin of his chest, just on the break of orgasm. My muscles clenched around his pulsing cock. And then we both cried out as we rode the explosive release.
I crumbled onto him, exhausted. He wrapped his arms around me and caressed my back.
"Dion, what did we just do?" I whispered.
"You need me to explain what that was to you?" he teased.
"Actually, yes I think you do," I said.
He stilled. "I don't know what this is, Nik. But whatever it is, I can't seem to stop myself from doing it."
"We can't keep doing this," I said. "The band. Our families. Jesus, Dion, my mom and your dad."
"I don't want to think about this now," he said, cupping my face. "I just want to be right here, right now, with you. No Vince, no Pamela. No Rogue Nation. No complications. Just us."
He pulled my head to his, and pressed his mouth to mine. Our kiss was deep, filled with a promise that neither one of us could keep.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I blinked rapidly as my eyes adjusted to the dim room. A heavy weight splayed across my abdomen as my sleep-clouded mind processed exactly where I woke up. That weight was Dion's arm, and I was completely naked under the sheet. I closed my eyes and a quiet groan escaped my mouth.
I did it again. Actually, a few times.
I rolled out from under his arm and off the bed, crab walking my totally naked body up onto my feet. I rushed to the bathroom to pee, snatching a natty postage-sized stamp towel to wrap around myself while I tiptoed through the room, hunting for my clothes.
I had just stepped into my panties when Dion rolled over. I froze, underwear at my knees. But his breath settled back into a slow rhythm and I finished pulling them up. Towel now clutched to my chest, I located my leggings and t-shirt, but my bra was missing. Did Dion shove it somewhere as a souvenir? I wasn't in the mood to stick around and ask.
I jumped into my Converse barefoot and shoved my dirty socks in my bag. I crept out of the room, cringing at the sound of the door clicking shut. After releasing my held breath, I ambled towards my room. Head down, digging in my bag for the key card, I plowed right into someone walking the opposite way.
"Woah, Nikki!" a familiar voice said, while a set of hands steadied me and kept me from landing on my ass.
I looked up and Brian's eyes met mine. "Man, you were not kidding. You are Rogue Nation's biggest fan." I kept my tone light, but my heart beat so hard I was certain he heard it.
"You just getting back from a party or something?" he asked. I glanced at the sun just peeking over the parking lot.
"Yeah, wicked night," I said, pulling my fingers through my spectacular bed head. It wasn't exactly a lie. Dion and I did have a wicked night. Very wicked. Just thinking about it made my nipples jump to attention. They rubbed against my t-shirt, reminding me I was braless. I crossed my arms over my chest.
"I didn't see anyone drop you off," he continued.
"No? Oh, I guess...around the way..." I stammered when my phone chirped a welcome interruption. I pulled it out of my bag and read a group text from Vince.
Boise gig off. We're going to Vegas, Baby!
"Excuse me," I said. I turned my back to him and pressed the phone icon by Vince's name.
"What the hell are you doing up at this hour?" Vince grumbled. He sounded sleepy as hell. "Not very rock and roll."
"I could ask the same of you," I quipped.
"I was just putting my head down. I've been up all night," he said. "You sound too awake for that. What do you want?"
"The text message...Vegas?"
"Yeah, Vegas."
"Vague much?" I chaffed. "What are we doing in Vegas?"
He yawned. "Jeeze kid, can this wait?"
"No this cannot wait."
"I'd rather tell everyone together."
"I'll come over to the Four Seasons—" I started.
"No!" He sounded wide awake now.
"Then spill."
"Someone recorded a bootleg copy of Ruined last night," he said.
"Someone?" I asked. "Seriously? Or do yo
u mean someone from our team."
"I'm not answering that," he said. "Anyway, it was loaded to YouTube and it's got like over a half a million views so far and climbing. It's making the social media rounds. Grimm wants the band in Vegas for a special set at the Hard Rock."
"What's the special set?" I asked.
He paused. "Opening for Anthem."
I let that sink in. "Are you serious?"
"I've been up all night working this out," he said behind a yawn. "One night only, nothing more. Just to boost Rogue Nation. You cannot tell anyone, Nik. Got it? I want Dion and Rafe to hear this from me."
"Got it," I said to dead air. Vince had already hung up.
I turned around and nearly walked smack into Brian again.
"Vegas?" he asked.
"Yeah, I gotta go," I mumbled, pushing past him.
He caught my elbow and spun me around. "Come on, tell me."
"We're detouring to Vegas, that's all," I said, yanking my arm away from him. "Don't do that again."
The door to Dion's room opened, and Dion poked his head out. His hair was sticking up. "What the hell is going on out here? You okay, Nik?"
"Yeah, fine, just heading, you know..." I nodded towards my room.
He opened the door wider and leaned against the door frame. My knees buckled at the sight of the sheet pulled around his narrow hips and taught abs. He looks Brian up and down. "You sure?"
"Yeah, I, um, Brian here was just...," I stammered. "You remember Brian?"
"Vaguely," Dion said. "Why are your hands on my drummer?"
"Yeah, Dion I was just—" Brian started but Dion cut him off.
"You were just leaving, right?"
Brian blinked a few times, and I wondered for a split second if he was going to cry. "Yeah, I'm out."
"Good," Dion said, watching Brian turn and walk the other way. He rubbed a hand through his rumpled hair. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said. "I mean, it was no big deal. I had it handled."
He eyed me. "I don't want to see his hands on your again."
"Dion, it was no big deal," I insisted. "He's just—"
"Too familiar is what he is," Dion interrupted.
"I can take care of myself."
"I'm not questioning that," he said. "I am questioning why that Brian guy put his hands on you so easily."
The Forbidden Beat (A Stepbrother Romance) Page 12
