Rhythm of the Road (Lost Kings MC 16)

But a quick fuck in the bathroom isn’t enough. I want to twist my fingers in her mess of blond curls, kiss her until that lipstick’s smeared down her chin, and make her come so hard mascara-tinged tears run down her cheeks.

“I’m almost out of underwear.” She peeks up at me. “Don’t suppose I can do laundry at your place tonight?”

Laughing, I snatch the soaked garments out of her hand. “I had other activities in mind, but yeah, there’s a laundry room at the clubhouse.”

“Help me into the dress?” She unzips it and holds it up off the ground, demonstrating what she needs me to do.

Balancing on my shoulders, she steps into the dress and I help her pull it in place, finally tugging the zipper to the top.

“Perfect.” Her eyes soften and she touches my cheek. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

I follow her into the other room and reclaim my spot on the couch while she searches through her trunk, finally digging out a cute pair of the short-shorts I remember she likes to wear under her dresses when she’s onstage. Next, she wraps her fingers around a pair of socks and her brown, fringed cowboy boots.

I groan while she shimmies the shorts up under her dress. Finally, she steps into her boots and spins to face me, placing her hands on her hips.

“What do you think?”

My gaze roams over her for a few seconds. “You look like a cowgirl about to conquer the world.”

Her features soften. “Rooster.”

I hold out my hands and she moves closer, curling her fingers around mine and leaning over to kiss my cheek. “Thank you for that.” She tilts her head toward the bathroom. “I intend to repay the favor.”

“And I intend to collect, lil’ chickadee.” My gaze drops to the ample cleavage about five inches from my face. “Keep leaning over like that, and I’m gonna bury my face between your tits.”

“Oh.” She presses her hand to her chest and stands up straight. Laughter flows past her lips. “I better watch how I lean at the meet and greet.”

“Yeah, I’d hate to gouge out any eyes,” I growl.

Ignoring my comment, she holds out her hand. “Come on.”

Time’s brought a lot more people backstage. People stand around doing nothing but blocking people trying to do their jobs. Technicians push equipment; people wearing red T-shirts with STAFF in big white letters carry overloaded boxes of drinks; photographers hold their cameras up and out of harm’s way.

“Is it always this busy?”

“Worse, usually.”

Fans have been corralled against one wall of the hallway by a line of black rope and black metal poles. Some call out to Shelby. Sweet as always, she shines a sunny smile their way and waves.

Greg meets us and gives her a nod of approval. “You only have an hour. I’ll be back in a bit.”

She gives him a questioning look before ducking inside a room to our left.

He holds out his hand, stopping me from following Shelby inside. I turn the full power of my don’t-fuck-with-me glare on him, but he doesn’t back off.

“You sticking with Shelby?” he asks.

“Yeah. You’re kinda in my way.”

His mouth twitches. “Listen, some of these guys get overzealous. Give ’em two minutes a piece. Let ’em snap a picture, ask her a question, sign an autograph, then move ’em along. Anyone puts their hands on her, eject them immediately.”

I wasn’t aware I was serving as a bouncer tonight. “Who looks after her when I’m not here?”

“I do.” He turns and searches the area. “Or Trent. But I need to be in Dawson’s room and Trent’s taking care of something else. Since you’re here, can you help out?”

“Yeah,” I growl.

“Keep things orderly.” He looks me up and down. “But these are her fans who paid good money to meet her, so don’t terrorize them.”

“Thin line, Greg.” I slap his back and brush past him into the room.

Shelby’s smile falters when I walk into the room alone. She focuses on the open door and hallway beyond. “Where the heck’s he off to?”

“Said he needs to help Dawson.” I shrug. “I’m supposed to keep order tonight.”

“Darn it.” She gathers the skirt of her dress in her hand and actually stomps her foot like she’s about to charge after her manager.

“Easy, chickadee.” I touch her elbow. “Might as well put my big, growly ass to good use tonight.”

“You’re my guest, not free labor. I’m so sorry.”

I curl one hand over her shoulder and brush my fingers under her chin, tipping her head back. “I’m more worried about who looks out for you when I’m not here.”

“Greg. Or Trent. Sometimes one of Dawson’s guys. Or security for the venue. Whoever’s around.”

In other words, no one makes sure Shelby’s safety is their top priority. If I’d known, I probably would’ve asked Jigsaw to join us. If that scary son of a bitch doesn’t scare people, no one will.