by Sadie Grubor
At his burst of laughter, Red's muscles bunch and tension fills the room.
"I think I like her," Corbin offers, moving to take a seat in the far corner.
The muscles in Red's arm relax, and he whispers, "Thank you."
I twist my head to him, and ask, "For what?"
Red pulls me to his chest and whispers, "I haven't heard him laugh in years," to the side of my head.
He releases me only for Xavier to repeat the same gesture. Only, he whispers, "It's good to see your face."
While Corbin's smile was a kick to Xena Warrior Vaginator, Xavier's words are a swift, direct shot to a deeper place. Heat warms my belly, spreads down my thighs, and engulfs my chest. Too much lust. Too much emotion.
"Again, with the manhandling," I shove off him and step away. "Do we need to have a talk about personal space?"
"Only if you're inviting me into yours," he counters.
I roll my eyes and give him my back. Instantly, the heat of his body warms me from shoulders to heels.
Liza's wide eyes find mine. She's fighting a smile and I narrow my gaze on her. It only makes her give up the fight.
"It's not funny," I mouth, stepping away from his body heat invasion.
She buries her face in Jack's neck.
Why the hell was I looking for him earlier?
Chapter Sixteen
Sidra
Having escaped the dressing room, saying I needed to follow up on a few items before the show, I now find myself in need of my laptop and camera. With the show starting in an hour, fans currently swarm the main entrance and steadily fill up the seats.
"You can't hide in here all night," Kel's volunteer buddy says, his eyes still on the screen in front of him.
"I'm not hiding," I snap.
He turns skeptical blue eyes on me. This kid is the total California surfer cliché. Long, wavy, sandy blond hair, blue eyes, tan, and swimmer's build. When he makes the transition to a man, he's going to be hot as fuck. Right now, he's just a boy, like Kel, finding his way in the world since his balls dropped.
"Why else are you in here?" he asks, swiveling his chair in my direction.
"Because I'm supervising," I quip.
"Keep telling yourself that," he says, turning back to the computer.
Sticking my tongue out at the side of his head isn't mature, but I don't like when people call me out on my crazy.
The ring of my cell saves Mr. Surfer Dude from my wrath.
"Yeah," I answer.
"Can you come to the dressing room?" Liza sounds panicked.
"On my way," I respond and end the call.
My first stop is The Forgotten dressing room, but it's empty. Then I try Hush's room—still nothing. Knowing Corrosive Velocity's room is next, I take a deep breath before entering.
All eyes turn toward me for a brief moment, but my attention is on my cousin. She's pacing in the back of the room.
"You look fuck-hot," I appraise as I approach. She wearing tight black fake leather pants, shiny silver tank top covered by a cropped leather vest, five-inch black studded booties, and a ton of jewelry.
"Thank God," she breathes out, grabbing my arm and pulling me close. "Why the hell am I so nervous?" Her eyes search mine.
"Hell if I know," I state. "You take the stage all the time and basically get naked in front of strangers."
"Right?" she asks, nodding. "So why is this freaking me out?"
"Maybe you have on too much clothing," I offer. "Maybe if you just wear a corset and underwear…" I shrug, letting my sentence die off at the look Liza's leveling on me.
"Okay, so you stay clothed." I put my hands up. "Geesh, I'm just trying to help."
"Liza…" Mia approaches wearing dark skinny jeans, bright green sequined converse, and a baggy, shimmery green tank top with a black leather bandu bra beneath. Her makeup is the heaviest I've ever seen on her.
"It's okay to be nervous," she continues, "but you really have nothing to worry about. It's the same thing you do all the time—just a bigger crowd."
"Not helping." Liza shakes her head, biting her lip.
I grab Liza's shoulders and turn her toward me.
"Step on the stage and flip the switch," I order, our eyes locked.
Her mouth opens to say something, but I cut her off.
"Flip the switch, MizLiz." I grin. "They won't know what fucking hit them."
Liza's mouth snaps shut and the small glimmer in her eye tells me she's good.
With a nod from her, I release her into Mia's care. They leave the room along with the rest of Hush, The Forgotten exiting close on their heels—all except Corrosive Velocity. They stay behind, waiting for a stage assistant to call them out to the stage wings.
Hush will go on right after a local band Red recruited finishes as the opening set. The Forgotten will come on next, and then, we're supposed to end with Corrosive Velocity, but Red worked out multiple duets, band-merging performances, and guest performers for different towns. Tonight, we have Big Kam coming onstage at the end for a performance that will include Corbin Crowne's guitar skills and Liza's backup vocals.
I can feel his eyes on me. They've been on me since I sat down at this desk with my cell phone, two-way radio, and laptop. Twice, I'd given him my middle finger without looking at him. Twice, he's laughed, confirming the eye stalking.
I excuse myself to change out of my dirty jeans and t-shirt, and freshen up. In clean clothing and happy my time spent straightening my hair wasn't wasted—the usually unmanageable mess is actually still sleek and somewhat shiny—I emerge.
"Nice," Xavier says, getting my attention.
He licks his bottom lip and rakes his eyes over my body, taking in the thigh-length pleather skater skirt and quarter-sleeve black cotton shirt tucked into it.
His reddish blond hair is loose, covering the buzzed sides of his head and the tattoos decorating it. The strands brush over his black cotton covered shoulders. It looks so soft. In fact, I know exactly how his hair feels.
Remembering our time at the cabin, I straighten my spine in an attempt to fight the lust threatening to make me shiver.
As I walk by, he tugs at the hem of my skirt, and says, "Like this a lot."
Heat prickles across my thighs, going straight to Xena.
"But those shoes…" he trails off.
I look down at the simple black heels and frown. They aren't five-inch stilettos like Liza can maneuver. Instead, they're a three and a half inch heel with one black strap across my toes and another buckled around my ankle. When I asked Liza to help me put together outfits that would be good for all the after concert PR stuff, my only argument was not to put me on stilts. Some big girls can pull that shit off—not me.
"What's wrong with my shoes?" I move my frown to him.
"They shouldn't be on the floor," he finishes.
Wrinkling my forehead, I raise one brow, ready to go toe to toe with him.
"And where the hell should they be?" I snap.
"On my shoulders, digging in my back, or even my ass," he explains, a naughty spark to his words.
Randy and Corbin both snort from the sofa against the wall. The glare I send them shuts them up, but doesn't wipe the smiles off their face.
My body gives a girl-fuck-him-now clench.
Ignoring the urge, I force myself back to my laptop, cross my legs, and squeeze my thighs together.
Damn him and his sexy innuendos.
The concert's website is blowing up, with the help of Kel and his team posting video clips and photos. Donations have started pouring in and the list for the 'thank you' videos is getting hard to maintain. Grabbing my camera, concert designated cell phone, and personal phone, I push away from the desk.
"Hey, can you guys do a couple 'thank you' messages to the people donating on the website?" I ask, spinning around and looking at anyone except Xavier.
"Sure can," he drawls.
Xavier, Corbin, and Randy stand and group together in front of me. Using the lis
t on my cell, they record eight video messages before a stage assistant arrives to escort them out. At the same time, I get a message from Kel telling me Liza is about to go on with Mia.
I give a quick thank you, shut my laptop, and hurry to the main stage.
"Excuse me," I say, pushing through the throngs of people.
"Hey," one of the scantily clad women whines when I bump into her.
"Yeah, sorry about that," I shout back over my shoulder.
Only a few feet from the hall to the stage wing, a large group clusters in front of me.
"Excuse me," I shout, but they don't hear me…or they ignore me.
"Out of the way," booms over my head and the crowd parts.
The heat of his body fills my back and the grip of his strong hands burns through the cotton on my biceps.
The crowd parts and he guides me toward the stage, his chest to my back. I make it just in time to watch Liza descend from a ten-foot-high platform.
One hand on the stair railing, the other wrapped around a microphone, her voice accompanies Mia's during the chorus. Then, comes her solo. She gives the screaming crowd the raw, gritty opening note when she reaches stage level. Mia's grin is manic as she shreds away on her green Kermit the Frog guitar.
Pride fills me, watching Liza own the stage and audience just like I knew she could.
Xavier's hands slide up my arms to my shoulders, reminding me he's still touching me.
Giving into a weak moment, I let his thumbs put pressure at the base of my neck and slide up to my hairline. When they sweep back down, I pull away.
"Personal space," I shout over my shoulder, side-stepping a couple feet .
In my peripheral, I see him standing to my side. I can also feel him staring at me.
"What?" I snap on a shout, unable to take the way he's affecting me.
He takes three steps toward me.
"What, what?" he responds loudly.
"What are you staring at?" I yell.
Bringing us only a few inches apart, he leans down into my face.
"You," he says.
"Well, stop," I demand, turning my head back toward the stage.
"Nope," he states, closer to my ear.
Fighting the shiver I don't want him to see, I focus on Mia and Liza harmonizing on a new Hush song. By how awesome they sound, I'm sure Nobil Records will be putting these two in a studio together soon.
The feeling of his breath in my hair pulls me from my thoughts.
He's still close—too close—and staring.
"Oh my God," I shout, "why are you still staring at me?"
He gives a shrug, and says, "I'm mentally undressing you."
My body ignites from his words, but two can play this game.
I cock an eyebrow at him, and say, "Well, don't mess up my hair. It takes hours to flat iron this mess."
Feeling super satisfied, I turn back toward the performance, fighting the urge to high-five myself.
"No promises," he says against the side of my head. "I'm already picturing this," he runs his fingers through my hair, "wrapped around my fist."
My mouth drops open on a moan.
Please let the music be too loud for him to have heard that.
A stage assistant breaks the moment, requesting Xavier follow him backstage.
Xavier straightens away from me.
I look up at him and give him a fake pout lip while wiggling my fingers, exaggerating my goodbye.
With Liza off stage and The Forgotten about to begin, I find a better spot and watch the show. I get enthralled by the performance for forty minutes before making my rounds, taking pictures, tweeting, posting on Instagram, and updating the website.
Over an hour and a half later, I drag myself back to the dressing room with my laptop set up. I've got pictures to upload, the donation site to check, and a full list of things to follow up on.
My camera gives me a corruption error twice before finally loading the photos, but then it loads them to the wrong folder and I have to move them. As soon as I get them uploaded to the file sharing site we have set up with the PR company, I get a battery dying error.
"Seriously, could anything else fuck up?" I growl.
The door to the room opens and I twist in my chair as Xavier enters with two scantily clad women right behind him.
"Xavier, you were so amazing," one coos.
"The way you play those drums makes me so hot," the other purrs, putting her hand on his arm.
At her touch, my chest tightens and a sharp stab of emotion twists in my gut.
Great. I get to witness his ritual. No thanks.
I shove back in the chair and start to collect my things.
"Get out," he growls, taking me by surprise.
Turning around, I find him staring intently at me.
My eyes flit to the women next to him and their cocky little smiles.
"Give me a second," I clip, turning back to my things.
"Go." His order brings me back around.
Mouth open and ready for a fight, I freeze.
The women stand slack-jawed, their eyes wide.
"You want us to—?"
"If I have to say it again, I'll physically remove you," he threatens.
Stalking forward, he backs the women out of the room.
I swallow down my fighting words as I watch him shut the door and lock it.
"I'll be out of your way in a minute," I whisper.
He turns, his eyes zeroing in on me.
Long, thick legs move, prowling toward me.
"You didn't have to kick them out," I say, and silently curse myself for sounding so nervous.
"They weren't invited," he rumbles, taking the power cord and camera from my hands. Setting them on the table, he steps right into my personal space.
I push my hands on his chest and step back at the same time. He places his hands over mine and follows my retreat.
"I wasn't in here as an offering to your ritual," I quip.
Xena pulses, her battle cry to conquer the ginger.
One brow rises over his left eye, and he asks, "My ritual?"
Still retreating, I fight the urge to jump him and instead try to get my hands back—unsuccessfully.
"Yeah, I heard all about your after performance ritual and working out the adrenaline…" I let the words fall when my back meets the wall and he traps my arms between us.
Warmth tingles in my belly.
Dear goddess, why must he smell like warm, earthy man? Fuck, the raw manliness of his body is enough to make any woman a walking wet spot.
"I guess I had a tendency to take advantage of the offerings, as you put it, after a concert," he admits with a shrug.
"Well, you shouldn't let your offerings get away," I say, nodding toward the door.
"They followed me," he clarifies. "I didn't ask them back here."
"Okay," my voice wavers, "but you could still—"
"I already have what I was looking for," he interrupts, leaning his face into mine.
"I'm not—"
His lips crash to mine—warm, wet, and conquering.
Holy shit, this is so much better than I remember. My dreams have not done this man justice.
Being my slutty self, the moment his tongue touches my lip, I open for him. In fact, I don't just grant him access, I suck his tongue into my mouth, earning a groan.
He releases my hands and his arms cage me against the wall.
I slip my hands up his chest, over his broad shoulders, and around his neck. Delving my fingers into his hair, I try to pull him closer.
I'm acting like a bath salt smoking junkie trying to eat his face, but I need more.
A knock at the door penetrates the lustful fog around us.
He breaks away from the kiss, and, over his shoulder, shouts, "Go away!"
Turning back to me, he leans in again, his mouth a breath of a space between us.
I turn my head. "Someone could walk in."
Undeterred, he brushes th
e hair from my neck—kissing, sucking, and nibbling.
The throb between my legs turns into a battle song. When the rhythm becomes unbearable, I squeeze my thighs together for relief.
Xavier's knee presses into the soft flesh of my thighs, pushing them apart.
Fitting his leg against me, he presses right where I need him. The feel of his hard length against my stomach flushes my skin, causing a thin layer of sweat to form.
"Oh my God," I moan.
He grinds harder and gently bites at the crook of my neck.
The hair of his beard grazes the sensitive skin just above my shoulder, teasing with a light touch.
His right hand leaves the wall and presses against the side of my throat. His thumb brushes under my jaw before he moves down to cup my breast through my shirt. Using his thumb once more, he brushes it over my nipple, but the padded bra gets in the way.
I groan and arch my back, trying to feel his touch.
His hands leave the wall and fist my shirt, yanking it out of my skirt in unrestrained motions. My body jerks and a moan escapes my lips before I remember the bodysuit beneath my clothes. Not the sexy kind, but the utilitarian, fat-sucker kind. It's like a finger bang from Frosty the Snowman.
Shit.
I drop my hands from his hair and press them to his shoulders, pushing him away.
"Stop," I squeak.
He runs his hands up the bodysuit until he reaches my bra. His fingers dip inside and pull my breast out. When his thumb brushes the hard tip, I forget my concern over the bodysuit and climb his thigh like it's an Olympic event.
I grind on his leg, unable to control the moans and heavy pants escaping my mouth.
It feels so good and I'm getting so close. Clawing at his shoulders, I press my breast into his hand and push my body down against his leg harder.
"Not yet, tiger," he rumbles against my neck, his beard no longer a soft brush against my skin.
"Yes, now," I grind faster, trying to reach my orgasmic gold medal.
His leg disappears from between my legs and the loss stuns me.
Pulling my hands from where I've latched to his shoulders, he gives me a slow, cocky grin.
"What are you—"
