Three Rockstars of Sin

Fucking douchebag.

Unlike Brody and myself, Gunner was never attacked by dick-hungry chicks. He was tucked safely behind his drum kit.

I scowled at the crowd of desperate females.

Do it again, ladies. Dare you.

The chorus to Kate’s song came back up. “On your knees, baby. For me, baby! I want you, baby. Only you!” I ignored the screaming faces and sang it like a love ballad, imbuing the words with genuine emotion.

Was Kate in the wings listening? Did she watch us strutting across the stage, thinking and singing about her?

If only that sweet female were in front of me now.

“Loving you like a hurricane!” Brody harmonized. “Loving, loving, loving.”

Instantly, the thought of our beautiful brunette had me hard as a rock. With every prowling step, the stage lights burned down on my naked chest and back as sweat ran down my hard muscles.

This show needs to end. Then we can fuck our Kate.

The three of us were killing it, despite my headache.

I couldn’t stop thinking about our Kitty-Kat, though.

For a moment, it was like we weren’t on stage at all. Instead, Hard Fought was back in our hotel room. Kate on her knees, her big brown eyes dark with emotion.

“Oh yes Gunner!” she’d murmured, lips trembling. “Yes, yes, yes.”

But reality intruded then, my dream disappearing into thin air.

“Fuck me, Hudson!” someone in the crowd screamed, bringing me back to reality. “Awwwoooo!”

On the main mic, Brody was doing his usual, but he was distracted too. Perhaps he couldn’t say it out loud while performing anything other than “Kate’s Ballad,” but the man could think, and his eyes didn’t lie. He was obsessed with our sweet girl.

Gunner wasn’t subtle at all. All night he’d been substituting Kate’s name into the songs while bashing away at the drums. Most of our music was about anonymous girls, making it appeal to our main audience. But Gunner was making everything about the eighteen-year-old princess in his head.

Good thinking, bud.

Finally, the concert ended. The fans screamed, begging us for an encore, per usual. It didn’t matter, though. We were done, and they would not be getting any kind of bonus.

With sweat pouring down my back and my shaft half-hard from anticipation of seeing Kate, I jogged with the guys off the stage and toward the dressing room.

The brunette would be there. She had to be.

“That girl better be waiting for us,” Brody growled. “We told her to.”

“She’s paid to wait. I can’t imagine she’ll go too far,” Gunner said. He rattled his drumsticks against the block wall as we walked down the hallway. “If she does, she’ll come back.”

I nodded. “She’ll be there.”

Brody’s hunger was tangible, a throbbing beat in the air, making the environment vibrate. We stepped over lights and equipment, rushing in the direction the stadium assistant had showed us. As usual, a bunch of half-naked chicks rushed out towards the band, scurrying down the corridor like ants. The security guys did their jobs for once and kept them away.

“Can’t wait,” Brody growled, eyes intent. “Shit, it’s been so long.”

“Chill, man.” I bumped his shoulder and shoved him aside to get in front. “She’s our assistant, not some random chick.”

“I don’t mean it that way and you know it,” he growled back at me. “She’s special. That’s why I want her.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but was interrupted.

“Out of the way, fellas!” Gunner shoved his way between us, stopping the spat before it even happened.

Like an Hard Fought PR guru, he waved and pinched the asses of the screaming groupies waiting to ambush us. Girls cried after him. Even though he was pandering to the audience, he didn’t stop his pace until he got to the dressing room. Gunner was a man on a mission. He only beat me and Brody to it by a couple of seconds, most likely in an effort to escape his duty as the band ass-grabber.

Elbowing and shoving at each other, the three of us busted into the dressing room.

Just like Brody wanted, Kate was already in there, spread out and waiting for us.

A growl rose from low in my chest and my pole went from half-hard to full club.

“Gunner, Brody, Hudson,” Kate whispered our names, one by one. Her pink tongue made a slow and dirty circle along her lips. “How was the show, gentlemen?”

“Who knows?” Brody rasped, eyes ravenous. “I’m more interested in The Kate Show.”

My cock was so hard it could crush rocks. It throbbed, hot and hungry, trying to fight its way out of my jeans and get to Kate’s sweet softness. A damp spot formed on my jeans, evidence of the desire.

Our sweet Kate lay spread out on the big round table in the center of the room.

This was the candy table. It was a place where rock bands before us lay out their cocaine and their heroin and other bullshit drugs. The table was meant for credit cards, hundred-dollar bills and other paraphernalia. We never engaged in such activities.