“Saturday night we’re performing in a bar. Come see us.”
Shit. “Us?”
“Our band, Deathmoth. Rafe’s the drummer. I’m the lead singer.”
Right, I knew this. Come to think of it, Rafe also invited me, but I forgot about it. She wants me to go see her… I imagine her on a small stage, holding the long pole of the microphone in her hands, pressing her lips to it, her hips swaying, her large eyes sparkling…
I jerk back, about to come in my pants. What the hell am I doing?
She sighs, pouts a little. I reach for her lips without much thought, trail my thumb over their softness. They part, and her tongue darts out, licking my skin.
Holy hell. My cock is leaking now, and I move forward, a hand on her arm. I can’t stop myself, I have to hold her, do her, have her—
She draws back. “See you Saturday, then,” she says, smiles and turns to go.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Fuck.”
I think that one word covers it beautifully.
Chapter Two
Dakota
Why did I invite Zane Madden to our concert? How could I be so stupid? Why do I keep trying to get a rise out of him?
Other than a physical one, that is. Because, oh boy, his hard-on was impossible to miss.
But that’s not enough. There’s a barrier in his gaze. He won’t crack, won’t let laughter and smiles reach his eyes.
Who cares? I shouldn’t. He’s over six feet of pure, hot, muscled male, and he’s been watching me as if he wants to do very bad things to my body.
I should let him. I can’t deny I’ve been fantasizing about licking my way down his pecs and rock-hard abs, to follow that thin treasure trail vanishing into his pants, and dive lower, touch his cock, see if it’s as big and beautiful as it appears under the cloth.
The thought makes me groan. He’s so sexy.
What possessed me to lick his finger? He tasted salty and sweet, and like Zane. I swallow hard and try desperately to focus on other things—like getting dressed for the concert. On my make-up and hair—not the image of Zane, stuck in my mind—light gilding his square jaw, his long lashes, the three hoops piercing one eyebrow.
I wonder if he has more metal elsewhere on his body. In winter, with all the thick layers of clothes, it was hard to tell, but last night, in his thin T-shirt, I thought I saw studs in his nipples. I imagine taking them into my mouth, tugging with my teeth. I imagine the sounds he’ll make, how much harder he’ll get, how he’ll fist his hands into the sheets and arch his body off the bed…
Oh God, is it suddenly too hot in here? I fan myself. Sweat beads my brow.
Slow down, Dakota. Sober up and think.
Okay, so Zane is a walking wet dream, and I want him badly. But what I want most is to break through his walls and see the real him. To crack the enigma that is Zane. I’ve been duped by appearances before—almost to my death. I think of Collin, and I shudder. I remember the hurt of his betrayal, then the fear as he pushed me, the terror of falling, the pain… And the despair that followed.
Taking a deep breath, I add the final touches to my face, grab my bag and step outside.
***
The bar is slowly filling. Rafe is there, checking the electronics. He glances up and nods as I pass him to go backstage. There’s a small room where we can leave our bags and stuff during the concert.
When I return, I find Luke, our lead guitarist, checking his electric guitar.
He grins at me, his green eyes lighting up. “Hey, Koko.”
“Hey. Where are Quinn and Riley?”
Quinn is the second electric guitar and vocals. Riley plays the bass. And they’re late.