Finally. How the hell did she even get up here anyway?
I already knew the answer to my own question because the security was hired muscle, but a lot of them liked to watch our concerts as well. Or they got carried away, watching the women lose their shit. Not a good combination—especially not when we packed every venue.
Girls everywhere. Endless unwanted panties and pussy.
From all the way behind me, Mason’s loud laugh rang out.
Fucking douchebag.
Unlike Trent and myself, Mason 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 Katy’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 Katy 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!” Trent 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 Katy.
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, Alpha Prime was back in our hotel room. Katy on her knees, her big brown eyes dark with emotion.
“Oh yes Mason!” she’d murmured, lips trembling. “Yes, yes, yes.”
But reality intruded then, my dream disappearing into thin air.
“Fuck me, Nick!” someone in the crowd screamed, bringing me back to reality. “Awwwoooo!”
On the main mic, Trent was doing his usual, but he was distracted too. Perhaps he couldn’t say it out loud while performing anything other than “Katy’s Ballad,” but the man could think, and his eyes didn’t lie. He was obsessed with our sweet girl.
Mason wasn't subtle at all. All night he'd been substituting Katy'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 Mason 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 Katy, 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,” Trent growled. “We told her to.”
“She’s paid to wait. I can’t imagine she’ll go too far,” Mason 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.”