by Elle Greco
“But I was roofied, essentially,” I whispered, my mind working over Alice’s fib. “Why lie about it if I did nothing wrong?”
“Alice wants to keep it quiet and in the family. This shit makes internet and tabloid fodder and it’ll churn up gossip about Kyle all over again, and she said that’s not going to be good for the album. And I gotta be honest, Nik. I don’t relish reliving all that bullshit.” My eyes dropped back to my toes. Dion brushed his knuckles against my cheek then under my chin, tipping my face up. “But I’ll do whatever you are comfortable with.”
“I don’t want this to be all about some crappy thing that happened,” I said. “The tour was going okay, right?”
“Yeah, it was. It is. We’re finding our groove,” Dion said. “Dehydration is not that interesting. The media will forget about it in a day.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling Dion’s scent—a mix of primal musk lingering with cedarwood and sage. My knees weakened, and I leaned my forehead against his bare chest, his smooth skin warm against my clammy skin. “Yeah,” I agreed. “Let’s do it Alice’s way.”
He pulled the rest of my body into his and wrapped his strong arms around me. “Let’s get this over with, then.”
“Wait,” I said, pulling away from him. “You never answered my question. Did you fuck the RockPlay reporter?”
He winked at me, then shoved the door wide open. A balding thirtysomething man with a slight beer belly sat on a hard chair at a small table. The Rogue Nation concert T-shirt he wore hung loose around his narrow shoulders.
“You need to have more faith in me,” he whispered as I walked past him into the room.
“Daniel Metterie, RockPlay,” the man said, standing up and extending his hand. He gripped mine for a weak shake. His hands felt soft in my drumstick-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 cleared my throat and glanced at Dion, who was propped up, Cleopatra-style, among his pillows. He winked at me, and I twisted my mouth to keep from laughing.
The reporter clicked on the recorder. “How’s the tour going?”
“Uh” was the only response I could muster. I looked to Dion.
“Great, the tour’s fucking great,” Dion said.
Okay, so Dion wasn’t doing that well either. But at least he could string a sentence together.
“Great, glad to hear that,” Daniel said with a warm smile. “I thought your Seattle show was aces. The buzz on Rogue is pretty epic. It’s like your band is following in Anthem’s footsteps.”
“Wow,” Dion said, obviously flattered. “You think?”
“Absolutely.”
My muscles started to relax a little, and I found my voice. “Of course, we’re totally different from Anthem.”
“Oh, for sure,” Daniel said. “Different era and all that. But similar trajectory. It’s uncanny.”
He and Dion chatted for a while about Anthem and what it was like for him to grow up in his dad’s shadow. Dion handled it magnificently, saying that his dad had always supported him musically and giving Vince way more credit than he deserved.
“So, Nikki.” Daniel turned to me. “What’s it like being one of the few female drummers in rock?”
“Um,” I stammered, losing my words again. God! I was making quite the impression.
“I mean, you’re a trail blazer,” Daniel continued.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly,” I said, tacking a nervous laugh onto the end.
“She’s the heart and soul of Rogue Nation,” Dion said.
My heart warmed, along with my face.
“We’re lucky as hell to have her,” he continued. “She’s brought a whole new dimension to the music. I feel like the band has finally found its footing.”
My head swung in Dion’s direction, and he nearly knocked me over with his killer smile. Even his dimples were sexy. I forced myself to focus on our interview, before I lost all control and declared my heart and my body his for all eternity, giving RockPlay one hell of a story.
Daniel’s eyes cut to Dion. “What went through your mind when you heard your brother overdosed?”
And there it was. Bomb dropped. I braced for the explosion.
The blood drained from Dion’s face, and all his trademark swagger leaked out along with it. “What went through my mind? When Kyle…? What the fuck kind of question—”
“Kyle’s death is off-limits,” I snapped, squaring my shoulders. Dion looked shattered.
The writer ignored me and kept going. “You lost your mom when you were fairly young. Then your little brother. That’s a lot to go through at such a young age.”
“Kyle is off-limits,” I said again, raising my voice.
“So is my mom,” Dion growled.
The writer shut off his recorder and stood. “Without the Kyle angle, Rogue is a non-story.”
“What?” I asked, getting to my feet as well.
“My editor wants the story from this angle, and if we don’t get it, there’s no reason for Rogue to be in RockPlay,” he said, picking up the backpack that was at his feet. “Not with the direction your album is heading. Maybe if you break the top twenty-five, even fifty…” He gave a one-shoulder shrug that drove home his disinterest.
No wonder Alice wanted Dion in on this interview. With me alone, this interview could have gotten dicey.
Damn, but Alice was good.
Dion’s eyes moved to me, his expression moving from anguish to uncertainty. Dion said we needed this interview to help move the stalled album up the charts. Grimm would slaughter us if we blew it.
“If you want something juicy…” I paused and looked at Dion. He shook his head.
Daniel stopped chucking his journalist paraphernalia in his bag and looked at me. “I’m listening.”
I leaned forward and gave him a smile, attempting to emulate Presley’s confident swagger. By the way Dion was looking at me, his lips curved into a smirk, it was clear that I sucked at it. “I was basically roofied the other night. That’s how I ended up in the hospital.”
The smirk disappeared. Dion’s head tilted back. He closed his eyes and groaned.
Daniel raised his eyebrows and pulled his recorder back out of his bag. “Really? Alice said it was dehydration.”
“Alice was trying to protect me,” I said. “I was dosed by one of our roadies. I had no idea what he was giving me. He told me it was aspirin.”
Daniel sat back down. “Why would he do that?”
Dion’s head jerked back down, and his eyes snapped open. “Because he’s a psycho, that’s why.”
“Sounds like it,” Daniel said with a shrug, feigning disinterest. He paused and fiddled with his notebook. “But coming on the heels of Kyle’s overdose, don’t you think it’s strange that you got hit with…” He trailed off and looked at me. “What was it, do you know?”
“I have no idea what’s in a roofie.” I forced my eyes to widen. “Do you?”
God! How did Presley stomach sounding so damn helpless? Still, I figured the more clueless I seemed about drugs, the better. At least, I hoped.
“Rohypnol,” Daniel said.
“Oh, well, Kyle wasn’t roofied, then,” I said.
“My brother was an addict, Dan,” Dion chimed in, his voice low but unwavering. “That’s it. Kyle was my brother, and I loved him. But he was an addict. He had demons, and those demons won.”
Dion leaned forward, and I moved over to the bed. I gingerly sat beside him, my leg tucked under my butt. His hand reached for mine, and I gave him an encouraging squeeze.
“We got Kyle help. We thought he had a handle on it,” Dion continued.
Daniel leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “So, what happened?”
“Do you have any addicts in your family?” Dion asked. Daniel shook his head. “Addicts are excellent liars. That’s what happened.”
“What do you mean?” Daniel prodded.
“Honestly, Kyle’s addiction is no different from anyone else’s,” Dion said. “RockPlay would do well to find someone who beat their addiction and focus on their recovery story instead. How do you slay that monster? That makes for a far more interesting piece than Kyle’s tragic story.”
Daniel shifted in his seat. Dion had given him what he wanted, a comment on Kyle’s death. But there was nothing headline-grabbing there, because Dion was right. There was nothing sensational about how Kyle died. Countless others die the same way every day. It’s the ones who beat the disease who are the heroes. Those are the stories that need to be told.
With the Kyle business out of the way, Dion cracked open the mini fridge and passed around some beers. We spent the next hour sharing tales from the road with the reporter. My roofie story added a measure of comic relief to our grueling tour schedule rundown, particularly the way Dion shared the lead-up, 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.
Then the interview wrapped, and Daniel split, leaving me and Dion alone in his room.
“You think it’s going to be a hit piece?” I asked, my eyes on the dingy white door Daniel had just exited through.
“Maybe,” Dion said, making his way back to the bed, where I was still perched. “But I think we handled it well. We make a good team.”
I swallowed, my body aching to lean into the heat of his. “I should go,” I said, nodding to the door.
He dipped his head closer to mine. “You missing curfew or something?”
“It’s late. We’ve had a long-ass day after a long-ass night—”
“I’m wired,” he said. “Come on, hang out. I’ll behave.” Then he flashed me a wicked grin, and I knew he didn’t mean that at all. “Want to play strip poker?”
“That’s not behaving,” I pointed out.
“Seriously though,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. The smoldering look he gave me had my nipples at attention. 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 affected 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 it out,” he said. “You’re a good drummer, Nik. Better than good. One of the best I’ve heard, ever. And that includes Kyle. And Ace.”
I closed my eyes and took that in. Saying that I was a better drummer than Anthem’s was no small compliment. Ace was considered one of the best in the business.
“You make the band better,” Dion continued. “Dad thinks your version of ‘Ruined’ is going to land on the Billboard charts.”
“It’s our version,” I said.
“No, it’s your version,” he repeated, running his hand along my arm. “Grimm’s people think it will break the top ten. We haven’t had a single chart hit yet, forget top ten. And it’ll be because of you.”
“Oh boy,” I said, holding my breath.
“Whatever’s happened between us,” he continued, his eyes cast downward, “it just is what it is, right? Too many bands fall apart when there’s shit going on between members. Rogue has 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 on this tour.”
“I don’t want you to be a fill-in on this tour,” he said. “I want you to join Rogue Nation. Permanently.”
“Oh,” I said, sweat sprouting along my spine.
“Nik?” he asked.
My body felt like it was floating. I leaned against the headboard to ground myself. “I just… 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. I can’t just leave Satan’s Sisters.”
“Plenty of band members have side projects—” he started.
I yanked my hand back. “Satan’s Sisters is not a side project.”
“Okay, okay,” he said. His hand moved to my leg, running lightly over the top of my upper thigh. “Come on, Nik. Let’s figure out a way to make this work.”
I swallowed. “You mean the band, right?”
His hand stilled at the gap between my legs. “What do you think I mean?”
“I have no idea what you mean anymore,” I whispered. “You just said this had to stop. For the band.”
“I want two things, Nik, and I can’t have them both,” Dion said. He got off the bed and knelt on the floor in front of me.
I brushed his soft curls away from his eyes. “Why not?”
He shook his head. “The White Stripes, Fleetwood Mac, Sonny and fucking Cher.” He ran his hands along the tops of my thighs and pushed my legs apart.
“What about them?” I murmured. Dion moved between my legs.
“They split up their bands,” 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.
“So there’s hope,” he said, 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 my pelvis into his. His hardness pressed against me, straining through his jeans. Then he released my arms and, in one fast movement, pushed my tank top and bra up, exposing my breasts, rubbing one roughly. I writhed in desire as he ran his thumb back and forth over my nipple.
I moved my hands 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 his soft tip. I pressed my thumb on the sensitive underside of the head.
He groaned, nipping his teeth along my neck. “Dammit, 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 focusing on my nipple. His teeth grazed lightly, teasing it to attention. I lifted my hips to meet his.
Dion rolled off me and pulled off his T-shirt. I marveled at his hard body as he shimmied out of his pants. He moved over me, stripping my hip-huggers and underwear 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.
“Please, Nik. I want to watch you get off,” he said, his voice husky.
My own arousal at his words tamped down my nerves. I knelt in front of him on the bed, spreading my legs open.
“Tilt your hips so I can see all of you,” he said.
“I feel a little weird,” I said, giving him a tentative glance.
“Don’t,” he said, running his palm along his shaft. “You look gorgeous.”
I closed my eyes and titled my hips, opening myself to 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. “Now spread that wetness around, Nik. Rub your clit.”
Again, I followed his instructions, shuddering in pleasure as my fingers worked my clit in tight, fast circles.
“Open your lips, baby. Let me see you.”
I slid two fingers along my labia, spreading them open.
I crawled up the bed toward 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 as pleasure rolled through every inch of me.
His tongue worked up and down my slit before he pressed it against my engorged clit. My back arched in pleasure as he alternated between circling and sucking. He slid a finger into me, then a second one. My toes curled as his fingers found that singular spot against my inner wall and his tongue continued to work my clit.
He took me to the edge, bringing me just to the precipice of pleasure, and as the breath rushed out of me, he pulled back.
“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 up against 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 beside us, and pulled out a condom. He ripped it open with his teeth. I watched him roll it down his shaft. I 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 lifted up, then slipped down again, going a little farther each time. 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 sync. His breath came faster, and he gripped my hip bones. 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 rode him. Faster. Deeper. Then even faster. Fuck Lindsey 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.
