by Cassia Leo
Even if Krist did have that tattooed-bad-boy thing going on.
She wasn’t into bad boys. She’d always wanted white picket fences and two-point-five kids. She’d wanted to know that her husband would come home every night, that he wouldn’t bail, that he wouldn’t leave her with nothing but a sperm donation and half a pack of cigarettes. Which was all Lock was really offering her. The donation process might be fun, and whatever the band smoked, it was probably sweeter than Marlboro, but it didn’t change the bottom line.
She crossed one foot over the other, undecided about following his orders. She preferred to follow through when she gave her word, but this was…uncharted territory. Panty-less in a public place. Flashing a virtual stranger. She’d tumbled into the wild west of sexual exploration, and she had no choice left but to draw her gun. Figuratively, that is. In reality the only weapon she was packing was far softer, far wetter, and far more dangerous.
The opening act went on, and she lost sight of the guys in Half-Life. She supposed they were together, ready to go on next. The crowd didn’t need much warm-up. They clapped in appreciation and clamored for the main act, their energy turning the air electric and raising the hair on her arms.
She hadn’t fully understood the scope of Lock’s celebrity. She hadn’t wanted to understand. Why would he be into a girl like her? She knew the answer. He’d spelled that out in the contract: lots of sex and a short fuse. All the benefits of a relationship, but with a ticking time bomb in the middle. And if this awful, inappropriate yearning was any indication, she’d be caught in the blast.
The floor beneath her feet rumbled, the whole building shuddering in anticipation as the opening act left the stage. Lock made his entrance from the other side, and she watched him with a sort of detachment. That sexy saunter and überconfident smile—at once familiar and so foreign. It angered her suddenly, this act of his, even as it endeared him to her. She had an act too, with this too-short dress and her pathetic little plan. They were both pretending, both seeking refuge in a game, in a contract, but none of it could make the pain go away. She’d already figured that much out, and she suspected he knew too.
Moe was the drummer, which fit him perfectly, a wild cacophony in perfect beat. Lock was on the guitar, and Krist played bass. Unlike Lock, with the single black tattoo on his arm, Krist’s body was painted with colors: the blue of the sea, the red of a woman’s lips, his skin left bare to fill in the lines of hers.
His body told a story, but then maybe everyone’s did. Even Hailey’s, with her pale, uninked porcelain. Usually so bland but now…now her ass was bruised. Her skin had pebbled into goose bumps from the cold and excitement. The folds of her sex were slick, endlessly caressed by the air around her.
This was the story she told when Krist turned his head to her at the end of the second song. She met his green gaze, feeling determined and terrified. His eyes widened, a small sign of weakness that soothed her. Not gods after all. Just men. Her knees parted, and for the final act, she lifted the hem of her black dress.
It could have been enough, just that. She’d fulfilled the terms. She’d followed through on her word. Except she finally understood why Lock went onstage even though it scared him. Exposure was a drug, and a single hit left her wanting more. While Krist’s eyes burned with heat ten feet away, she slid her finger through her folds, then sucked the wetness off, tasting salt and sex.
His body jerked, nostrils flaring. He missed a beat in the song they were playing; she could tell. Her skirt was down and her legs crossed again by the time Moe sent her a suspicious look. The look Lock gave her a few beats later, though—that was pure pride.
She felt proud too. Her pulse was erratic, her heart racing. Lights danced in front of her eyes, though that may have just been the strobe lights from the rafters. But she’d done it. She might be new here, but if this had been the sexual shoot-out at the O. K. Corral, well, she was the last woman standing.
***
Chapter Twelve
One sour note humming up his spine and he knew she'd done it. Krist wouldn't fuck up this song they'd played so many times it was burned into their fingers. A sense memory. A reflex. They'd played it in their rented rehearsal space before the band had a name, on the road when they toured out of a beater conversion van, in the studio after they landed a record deal, and onstage for thousands of screaming fans. Their “Free Bird.” Their “Stairway.” They'd played it drunk and stoned and tripping balls.
And now Lock played it sober, if he could call this dizzy edge of control sobriety. Sweat dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes, but he just shook it off and kept playing. Thrashing. Ignoring the pyrotechnics, the bright lights. He didn't dare turn to look for her, to see if her legs were still spread.
It shouldn't shake him. He'd already buried his face in that sweet pussy, branded her ass with the palm of his hand, but the idea of her flashing Krist on his command was intoxicating. A dangerous thrill coiled in his belly, warmer than whiskey, hotter than her mouth on his cock.
“I'll lead you down, into the belly of the beast.” Their voices merged in a ragged harmony on the chorus. Then heat, as Krist leaned into him. Back to back, all muscle and bone, they pushed against their demons together. Screamed into the night.
“Down. Down. Down.” The crowd roared with them.
How far down did she want to go? How far could he go before he couldn't get back?
He turned to face her, but Krist was between them. Of course. His head bent over the slick red bass, fingers working hard, it was almost sexual. No, not almost. It was sexual. And sexy as fuck. Lock craned his neck. He needed to see Hailey. Needed to find a center to ground himself, because he was spinning. Not from nerves, not anymore. From excitement.
And then everything stopped. His little church mouse sat right where he'd left her. She pressed her palm to her chest, and it looked like she was trying to slow her own beating heart.
“Let me lead you.” He sang alone now. To her. To Krist.
Her mouth fell open. He couldn't hear anything but the music and the crowd, but he could almost feel her panting, feel the warm, sweet brush of her breath against his neck. Her other hand skimmed over her thigh, inched her short skirt even higher.
“Into the belly of the beast.” He drew out the last note until it rang like a primal scream as she dipped her fingers between her legs and showed him exactly what she must have shown Krist—only Lock didn't miss a beat. This time she had to know what the words meant. She’d beg him to take her there before the night ended. Maybe he’d make her beg Krist too.
He stormed offstage, tossing his guitar to a roadie before he reached her.
“That was amazing.” Her eyes were wide, pupils blown. Probably with adrenaline and lust.
“What? The set? The flash?” He pushed her knees apart and forced himself between her legs.
“All of it.” She let her head fall against his chest, and now he really could feel her breath, cool against his overheated skin. She clawed his sweaty back. His pulse stuttered.
“Do you want him?” She had to know he meant Krist.
“I want you. I want what you want.” She pressed a kiss to his pec, right over his heart.
He'd have to figure that out. What he wanted. Soon.
“That's good, baby. Now, keep your knees together for the rest of the show.”
“And if I don't?”
Her wicked grin, all sin on an angel's face, grabbed him by the balls. All he could do was kiss it off, slant his mouth over hers and swallow that smile, trap her bottom lip between his teeth with a sharp nip. “I think you know, but I'll be forced to get more creative.”
A roadie coughed beside them, vibrating with anxiety as he cradled Lock's Fender. He retrieved his guitar and jumped back onstage, his fear barely an echo.
*
Hailey’s anxiety rose along with the intensity of the concert. By the time it crescendoed with a blaze of pyrotechnics and a roaring crowd, she was an electric mass of
nerves. Lock wouldn’t really share her, would he? When Krist had claimed so, she’d assumed it was bravado. Even when Lock ordered her to flash his bandmate, she’d assumed that would be the end of it.
But those assumptions had been willful naïveté, those of an ostrich with her head stuck in the sand of inexperience. The reality was something far racier. The reality was that most of the women in this impromptu backstage after-party were wearing fewer clothes than she was, and considering her short-short dress, that was saying something.
The reality was…exciting.
But also scary. Was she really ready to be shared? At least she knew Krist, a little bit. At least she found him attractive, with his colorful tats and perpetual sardonic expression.
Maybe it would be scarier to do the sharing. To watch Lock with one of these women. As much as she knew she didn’t have a hold on him, as much as she pretended not to care about that, she wasn’t sure she could watch him with someone else. To see him get hard for someone else, to watch him spank another girl’s ass and then invade another girl’s mouth while Hailey sat on the sidelines? It might be the straw that broke the three-day contract’s back.
Lock’s agent grabbed him as soon as he was offstage, for photos and a brief interview with the press. Lock looked haggard and faintly harassed, but no one else seemed to mind. The agent barked orders, and the fans smiled up at Lock adoringly. Was she the only one who could see the tension bracketing Lock’s mouth? His smile looked rigid, the very opposite of happiness, but the press ate it up, snapping pictures, blinding him with their flashes and a spray of questions. Just as quickly Lock’s agent yanked him away, freeing him from the horde and forcing them back.
She watched Lock scan the crowd. His gaze zeroed in on her. Oh damn. He looked intense. Angry. Not mad at her, exactly, just fierce enough to raze anything in his path. Which would be her. Only her. Everyone else was smart enough to duck away as he crossed the black, springy flooring. She remained rooted to the spot, waving a red flag in the form of her short-short dress. She’d already figured out he liked her legs, and no amount of tugging on the skirt covered them up.
His skin shone with sweat. He was still breathing hard, making the illusion of him as a bull come to life.
She knew she was staring. She had no way to stop. “Hi.”
“Limo,” he barked.
“What?”
He bit out the words. “Get in it.”
She glanced behind her. The chauffer who had brought them stood holding open the metal backstage VIP door. “Oh!”
Lock didn’t waste any more time. He herded her through the remaining crowd, out the door, and into the limo while she struggled to remain upright in her tall shoes. Then she wasn’t upright anymore; she was held up by plush, butter-soft leather. The driver closed the door, instantly dimming the volume. Sudden intimacy bloomed between them, with Lock’s breath ragged and loud in the car.
As the driver rounded the limo, Lock dragged her onto his lap, arranging her so her legs straddled his. She knew the windows were tinted. The fans and press couldn’t see them anymore. Most likely the driver wouldn’t be able to see them either, and if he did, he would be professional enough not to comment on it. Still, she squirmed until Lock slapped her thigh.
“Be still.”
She looked him in the eye, keeping her balance under the incremental motion of the vehicle. So they weren’t going to be sharing, either one of them. Good. That was good. She shouldn’t feel disappointed.
The limo began to roll forward—then there was a quick banging on the roof of the car. Startled, she almost fell off Lock’s lap until he caught her in his firm grip. Was it one of his fans? Or a member of the press? The pushy agent?
The door opened, and she shrank back into the warmth and safety of Lock’s arms. It was Krist. He slid into the opposite seat and shut the door behind him. The limo started again when he banged on the divider, and then sped up as it turned onto the main road.
Krist. In the limo with them. While she was straddling Lock’s lap.
“Lock.” She struggled to get off, but he smacked her thigh again.
“I said be still. Do I need to tie you down, or are you going to be good?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask how he would tie her down in a limo. But he probably did have a way. And she wasn’t keen for him to demonstrate in front of Krist, to give Krist any more of a show than he was already getting. He slouched in his corner. The shadows almost obscured him, but looking back, she could see his eyes shining. Could see them trained directly on her ass.
As if confirming, Lock murmured, “Krist’s always been an ass man.” Then to Krist, “Haven’t you?”
“Fuck,” Krist answered, not taking his gaze off her. Not taking his gaze off her ass, technically. It was embarrassing. And hot. Like really hot, with her body all flushed and sweating.
“You don’t mind if he’s here, do you?” Lock asked while sliding his hands up her thighs.
She whimpered, because God, how could she mind anything when he caressed her like that, when a million pleasurable needles sank into her skin everywhere he touched. She felt her mind fogging, growing hazy and lax in its newfound need. She couldn’t stop this, couldn’t bring herself to mind Krist’s quiet communion.
Not even when Lock’s hands cupped her ass. Under her skirt.
At least Krist couldn’t really see. If anything, Lock’s hands were another layer of protection. Her skirt. His hands. A living chastity belt keeping her safe from prying eyes.
“So good,” Lock grunted. “You feel so good.”
He proceeded to demonstrate the feeling and the good as he massaged her. More firmly, more roughly until she was rolling into his touch, rocking herself on the ridge beneath his jeans. And when she felt a brush of cool air against her slick folds, she knew. He was lifting her skirt. He was doing it on purpose. She glanced back. Krist had slouched down even farther. But his eyes weren’t on her ass. They weren’t on her face, either. They were staring straight at Lock, filled with something like jealousy.
Krist’s gaze flickered back to her ass and what Lock was doing to her. Now she saw only appreciation and lust. She could have imagined the jealousy, the want. But she hadn’t. Krist had made it plain he liked her body, but he had no claims on her, no desire to make any. Jealousy didn’t make any sense. Unless…
Unless Krist wanted Lock.
Suddenly sharing Lock took on a wholly different meaning. It wouldn’t be some nameless fan girl backstage he’d be spanking or fucking. It would be his bandmate, his friend. Lock didn’t seem to notice Krist’s appreciation. He licked at the hollow of her neck, and she gasped, overwhelmed. Her body was on sensory overload, but that was nothing compared to her mind. A million dirty images blazed a trail of sensual discovery. And below that, she had questions about these men she’d only recently met. Did Lock know? Did he care?
And even deeper, in a place she dared not dwell, a dark beat drummed. Mine. Lock is mine.
Lock must have felt her distraction. He lifted her chin until she met his eyes.
“Are you up for this?”
“Up for what?” she asked, stalling.
“Anything. Everything.”
Sharing. That’s what he meant, and she was up for it. Only, it was less clear that everyone would get what they wanted. She wanted Lock, to really have him, possess him if only for a night. If she wasn’t mistaken, Krist wanted that too. Except Lock was the man in the charge. He gave the orders. And he blazed like a molten comet across the dark sky, too hot and too damn fast to ever hope to catch.
“Yes,” she answered in a low voice.
“Hey.” He kissed her on the lips, closed-mouthed and quick and achingly sweet. “Don’t worry. This is going to be fun. You know I can make it good for you. Krist too.”
This last was spoken with invitation, waiting for Krist to speak up with the reassurance that it would be good for her, that she would get off. As if that was the reason she would hesitate.
Krist leaned forward, out of the shadows. Whatever secrets he’d exposed were wrapped up tight, leaving only genuine concern.
“Only if you want to,” he told her.
She mourned how he stayed on the perimeter, on the outside looking in. She no longer liked where she sat, in between them. She didn’t want to get in their way. But if she could, if they needed her, she could be the bridge between them.
“Sit with us,” she said simply. These waters might be stormy and dangerous, but they would ride them together. She would hold their hands tightly and link them, if only for one night.
***
Chapter Thirteen
That was an invitation, right? Krist had yanked him close to hiss the quick question into his ear before they were herded like cattle to VIP photo ops and bullshit PR.
Was it an invitation? He’d intended it more as a taunt, but something had shifted onstage. Had maybe started shifting long before he took the stage, before he’d given Hailey that crazy command. He’d told Krist to meet him at the limo. You drinking again? That question stung. But it was valid. They’d never shared sober. No, Lock had never shared sober.
And Krist had never shared with anyone but him, which might explain the hungry and hopeful edge to his voice. It'd been a long time.
Only if you want to. Tender. Considerate. All the things Lock wasn't. And traits he hadn't associated with Krist before now. Was this new, or had he been paying piss-poor attention?
If Hailey said no, it ended. Contract or not. Krist would slump back against the plush leather seat and watch from a distance.
But she didn't say no. And now he was beside them, all hot muscle, practically vibrating with eagerness. An animal ready to pounce as soon as the cage door snapped open.
Hailey lifted her hand from his shoulder and reached for Krist. The contrast of her pale fingers against the riot of color on the bassist’s forearm was shocking. Lock squeezed her ass. “Did I say you could touch him?”
