by N. N. Britt
They carried on their conversation.
I’d never heard Dante speak Spanish before. He hardly had any accent. In the past, I’d sometimes wondered if he actually knew the language or was simply flaunting his Hispanic heritage to win over the huge Latin American fan base that Hall Affinity had amassed. But now I knew Dante wasn’t cheating.
“Don’t let this guy fool ya.” Frank patted his back. It was a light, brotherly tap. “He’s not as nice as he seems.”
A smirk touched Isabella’s lips. “Nice guys don’t sell rock ’n’ roll.” She returned her gaze to Dante. “Am I right?”
“Damn right, kiddo.” He stood and shot Frank a covert glance. “We’d love to keep chatting, but we’ve got a show to get ready for. How about we talk some other time? Maybe when Frankie comes over to see you play, I’ll tag along.”
Hands were shook. Goodbyes were said. Brooklyn left with Maria and Isabella to show them to their box. Corey ushered the stylist out and asked one of the security guards to let Bruce know they needed him for the final show rundown. Dante sat on the edge of the makeup station and played with his hat while the doctor checked Frank’s vitals.
“Blood pressure is a little low. Did you take your medication?”
Face grim, Frank nodded.
“He’s not going to pass out again, is he, doc?” Dante questioned.
“If he doesn’t overdo it, he should be fine.”
There was a frustrated groan. “We’re about to play a goddamn rock show, doc. What about Adderall?”
I shot Dante a warning look. He was getting overly creative.
“Adderall will interact with his pain medication,” the physician countered, taking the cuff off. “It’s not advisable.”
Frank stood and his gaze intercepted mine. His shoulders were tense, jaw set. Suddenly, I couldn’t read him. Sometimes he had these moments when he checked out, when he was far away. When his body was present, but his mind wasn’t. Right now, I was witnessing one of those moments.
I heard a knock. Next thing I knew, Bruce, Carter, and Johnny poured into the dressing room. Their voices meshed into one anxiety-ridden drawl.
“Hey, doll.” Frank walked over to me and ran his palm along the curve of my spine. “Give us fifteen minutes.” His whisper set my cheek ablaze.
“Sure.” I nodded.
A childlike plea followed next. “But come back, okay?” Hand still around my waist, he led me to the door, which closed after I stepped outside. I gave a small smile to Roman, who was standing to my right.
“How are you today?”
“I’m great. How are you, Ms. Evans?”
“You really need to stop calling me that.” I shook my head. Everyone who worked for Frank was so official, you’d think he was a senator, not a rock singer.
In the lounge, guests were pleasantly buzzed. Background music blasted. Conversations were in high gear, loud and passionate. A few notable faces were scattered throughout the crowd. Chin up, I walked over to the bar and ordered a margarita. While waiting for the drink, I checked Shayne’s article. Levi hadn’t touched it. Disappointment and annoyance crept up into my chest. No doubt they were going to reside there indefinitely.
“Cassy!” someone called the second I got my hands on my drink. I spun around and came face to face with Linda. “What a surprise seeing you here.” She didn’t sound surprised, though. She sounded alarmed.
I didn’t know how to respond to that. Linda was my friend. We had developed both a professional and a personal relationship over the course of the past few years. Yet I couldn’t tell her anything. Not a word. Instead, I smiled and checked my phone. Frank had said fifteen minutes. Seven more to go.
“I know it’s not my business”—Linda lowered her voice—“but I have to ask you.” Her gaze drilled into mine. “Is there something I need to know about you and Frank?”
Then I felt it. A rock in my throat. The woman had just put me on the damn spot.
“Cassy?” Her thin brows slid up her forehead. Professional, tight-lipped smile intact.
I swallowed. “What makes you think that?”
Her lips spread wider to show her teeth. “I’ve been doing this too long, dear. You don’t think I can’t tell the brunette on those photos TMZ posted is you?”
I drew a slow, deep breath through my nose and counted to three. My dress stretched against my strapless bra. I hadn’t worn anything this girly and open in years. Tonight, I’d done it for Frank. He made me want to look sexy and cute, but right now, I felt naked under Linda’s assessment.
“Besides, Taylor Rhinehart is seeing Charlie Conroy.”
“Get out of here. Are you serious? Isn’t he married?”
“Separated. This is all hush-hush because he’s trying to get full custody of his kids.” Linda broke eye contact to scan the lounge. Her lips kept moving. “But I didn’t tell you any of that.”
“Of course, but…really?” For a moment there, my own problems seemed dull compared to the pickle Frankie’s alleged love interest had gotten herself into. My brain needed time to process the biggest Hollywood secret. Charlie Conroy was an A-list actor. I would have never thought he’d fancy someone like Taylor Rhinehart. She didn’t seem to be his type. But what did I know about the workings of the movie industry? I only dated a rock star.
“You don’t have to worry.” Linda touched my shoulder and her eyes met mine. “Your secret’s safe with me. Frank is a client. It’s my job to keep his public affairs in order and to make him look good. I’m just concerned about you. If this comes out—and trust me, it will—you and your family will take a beating.”
“Why don’t I like the sound of that?” I brought my margarita to my mouth and took a swallow.
“It’s what fame does, dear.”
I dropped my gaze to my drink and stared at the colored liquid for a few seconds, frowning. A clamor arose from the arena, growing louder. It was a wall of noise, a force against my eardrums, the sound of my life as I knew it cracking.
My mind blanked.
“Cassy,” Linda called me out of my daze. “I want to make sure you’re ready for the fallout when things get tough. Your name will be under a lot of scrutiny. Rewired will be under a lot of scrutiny.”
Was Frank worth it? “I understand. I’m ready.” I plastered a smile on my face. It was too late to back out. I’d said something to him today I never thought I would.
He was asleep, Cassy, my voice laughed. It didn’t count.
Sure, it did. It was practice.
“Okay. You have my number.” Linda touched my shoulder again before taking off.
Confused and puzzled, I stood near the bar and sipped on my margarita until my eyes registered Carter’s mop of blond hair moving among the guests. That was my cue to leave.
I returned to the dressing room, where Frank sat in his tall chair facing the mirror. Alone. Head tossed back, palms curled around the slim wooden chair arms, he stared at the ceiling. His knee jerked to the beat of the Iron Maiden song playing in the background.
As I approached him, I drank in his reflection. He was enthralling. A fine combination of what every woman here tonight wanted. Sexy. Confident. Charming. He was the ultimate guy next door who’d made it. Proof that ambition and desire to be the best could take you to the top. He was the American Dream.
I was hardly a social drinker, and the alcohol had already started to course through my blood. A pleasant daze tickled my brain.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, eyes never leaving Frank’s reflection.
“Yes.” He nodded and slid from the chair. His height against mine was an intimidating power. Our gazes collided and I was suddenly aware of his every breath and his every move. Electricity filled the air.
He dipped down and whispered in my ear, “Take off your panties, doll.”
I swallowed hard and watched him walk over to the door to lock it. My head spun. The icy glass chilled my palm.
After making sure no one was going to accident
ally walk in on us, Frank turned to face me. “Take them off.” The corner of his lips tilted up.
I felt the burn. Beneath my skin and in my chest. My mind and my ovaries fought one another. I’d already established Frank was far from boring during sex. For a man who was limited with how much weight he could put on his right shoulder, he was creative enough to make me sweat every time. I knew what this was, a less reckless way to get his adrenaline fix. The chances of breaking bones while fucking were sufficiently lower than while riding a motorcycle.
“Are you sure it’s safe to do this before the show?” I croaked, shuffling my feet. The delicate fabric of my Victoria Secret underwear between my thighs dampened. Boy, was I a goner!
He crossed the dressing room and nudged me in the direction of the makeup station. My drink tipped, but he steadied it right before the liquid reached the spilling point. “We’re not going to fuck.”
“We’re not?” I rested my free palm on his pec and started walking backward. His body vibrated under my touch, chest tight like a snare, pulse raging.
“Not until after.” Tossing me a self-serving grin, he took another step and pulled the glass from my grip.
“But you want me to take off my panties now?”
“Yes, because if I do it instead, you won’t have any panties left to wear while you’re watching the show.”
He was playing one of his games. I played along.
“Okay, so this is only temporary? You actually don’t want me to be butt naked all night?” My back hit the makeup station.
“Just for the next ten minutes, baby,” he husked against my cheek and set the drink aside. I heard a faint ragged gasp rushing out of his throat as his fingers fumbled with the skirt of my dress.
My body reacted instantly and want pooled between my legs. I shimmied out of my panties and licked my lips expectantly. My heart drummed in my chest, summoning my body to action.
“That’s my girl.” Frank put his hands on my bare hips and instructed, “Up.”
I propped myself against the makeup station to help him raise me. The doctor’s orders were clear. No heavy lifting. We definitely didn’t want Frank to accidentally pull a muscle or cause damage that would prevent him from performing. This had to be a safe round of preshow sex…or whatever it was that we were about to do.
“You should wear this dress more often,” he said, dropping his face to my shoulder. His lips traced a wet trail across my skin. Hands grabby, he spread my thighs. My skirt slipped between them, covering my sex.
Frank palmed my ass and pulled me toward the edge, thrusting his erection into my center. The fabric of his pants and my dress were in the way, but I felt it nonetheless. The thrill the press of his cock gave me. My body buzzed from head to toe. I wanted to sink my hands into his sandy locks and ruin all thirty minutes of his stylist’s work. Instead, I rolled up my skirt and rubbed my clit against his bulge to increase the pressure. He smiled, his firm lips stretching against my cheek. The air between us was heavy with need. Our breaths quickened to shallow gasps on the verge of cries.
“This is only a sample.” Frank lowered in front of me, planting his head between my legs. Feverish shivers ran down my spine when his mouth reached my exposed sex. He’d seen me naked hundreds of times before but never in his dressing room with dozens of people milling around the door and wanting to be inside. The fear of being ambushed made it more interesting. Made it dangerous. Made it fun.
The tip of his tongue slid along my opening, halting near my clit. A wave of dark, searing bliss gathered in the wake of his touch. He did it again. A slow, deliberate lick. Just enough to get me even wetter. I was dripping immodestly. It was the best and the dirtiest kind of torture.
“Frank,” I groaned. “We don’t have all night.” His name was a gentle raze on my lips. “You can’t do that.” My eyes were half-closed. The fluorescent overheads glimmered behind the flutter of my lashes.
“Sure I can, doll.” His whisper tickled my sex. Nerves coming alive, I felt my stomach pull in response. Electricity zinged through my legs.
I leaned back, steadying myself against the mirror. My hand never left his shoulder. I grasped his shirt in my fingers and wanted to rip it off. I wanted to touch him everywhere. Every hot inch of his beautiful primed-for-the-stage body.
“Please,” I whimpered, biting my lip. Anticipatory shudders ran through me. Even the tips of my ears burned with desire.
Warm palms on my hips, Frank slowly dove in. His mouth sucked at my throbbing sex. The flicks and swirls of his tongue were delicate one moment and rough the next. His thick hair brushed the inside of my thighs as he lapped at me. The pleasure was absolute. A hurricane of sensations, wrecking and marking me.
The strokes grew faster and I jerked. The back of my head slid against the mirror, up and down. Frank’s hands squeezed my thighs and spread them wider. Insatiable, he slipped his tongue into me.
A desperate scream filled my lungs. The room spun. The makeup station spun. The arena spun. I was losing control of my own thoughts and feelings. I was giving them all to Frank. He drew all my dreams and all my desires out of me, one by one. Moan after moan.
My chest heaved uncontrollably. Heart tripping, I came on his tongue. My body convulsed. My hips rolled. I rubbed against his mouth to ride out the wave of pleasure a little bit longer. To savor each press and grind of our wet flesh. To prolong the wild beat of the orgasm pumping inside my veins.
Frank’s lips remained on my sex. I heard a low grunt as he dug his fingers into the softness of my thigh. Eyes closed, I rested my head against the cold mirror and tried to imagine how insanely inappropriate and incredibly newsworthy I must have looked right now with Frankie Blade’s head between my legs.
Then I pictured myself giving the middle finger to the entire world and all the gossip chasers.
The dressing room smelled like sex. The filthy type. The type of the rich and famous. Fast, reckless, and unapologetic.
“I could do this all night,” Frank rasped out against my inner thigh. Traces of my satisfaction stained his lips. His fingers skimmed over my calf and brushed the leather of my narrow-heeled pump. He paid attention to the smallest details—what I wore, what I said, what I wanted.
I’d been spoiled rotten as he’d promised, worshipped and fucked like a queen by the man who was one of the finest members of rock ’n’ roll royalty.
“Is it the shoes again?” I laughed and snapped my eyes open.
“You know…” He paused and pressed a small kiss to my leg. “I can’t decide whether it’s the shoes or the dress, but like I said”—he rose—“that was only a sample.” A sly grin twisted his mouth.
I couldn’t help but wonder where all this newly found self-confidence had come from and if he should have stayed put before the show. But then I reminded myself who he was and that all he’d done was a fantastic round of oral.
Oral wasn’t a life-threatening activity…was it?
Frank’s booted footsteps echoed the tiny clicks of my heels against the cement floor as we marched down the hallway toward the stage. Roman had taken the lead as always. His bald head floated through the sea of various rock ’n’ roll styled and bandana-clad hair. Billy and Janet were a couple of feet ahead of us. Corey and Brooklyn closed up the procession. They were discussing the post-Forum shows’ social media strategy, and their hushed voices bounced between the walls.
My mind was adrift. I wasn’t sure whether the reason behind the rabid beats of my heart and the nervous thrum of my pulse was the best cunnilingus of my life that I’d just received in the dressing room or the fact that Frank was holding my hand out in the open.
Did he not care about keeping our relationship a secret anymore?
As if sensing my question, he snaked his arm around my waist to pull me closer and whispered, “Every single person who’s working the shows, including security, signed a confidentiality agreement.” The tips of his hair brushed my neck as we kept walking, shoulder to shoulder. His voic
e was a rough caress against my cheek. A reassurance my life wasn’t going to be smashed to pieces after tonight. Or as Linda had said, my family wouldn’t “take a beating.”
The crowd was reciting the band’s name. The muffled chant filled the hallway and the backstage area as we passed a long line of people. Their eyes followed us, followed me, like a predator following its prey.
Roman halted near the stairs. Bruce trotted around Frank, rattling off instructions while the technician hooked up his monitor. Gaze on the floor, Dante sucked his lollipop as if his life depended on it. He seemed on edge and overly fidgety. A deep frown pinched his face.
Billy gave him an encouraging pat on the back. A piss-poor attempt to break the ice. Dante responded with a crooked grin and started pacing. His guitars were lined up on a rack, his tech ready. He always brought the entire arsenal, but the Stratocaster had been his instrument of choice for a few years now. They made a nice duo.
Brooklyn kept me company as I moved aside and joined the anxious knot of VIP guests. On stage, the massive screen behind the drum kit showcased the album cover artwork—the flickering image of the burning butterfly. It went in and out along with the beat of the set intro tune. There was something extremely symbolic about it. I’d never dared to ask Frank about the real meaning behind the blazing wings, but I sensed the fragility of it all.
I sensed the transience.
I sensed his fear of burning out.
The crackling of the walkie-talkies interrupted my thoughts. Bruce ascended the stairs and disappeared into the thick fog clouding the left wing of the stage, where I saw bodies moving against the orange glow.
I felt the low rumble beneath my feet as the audience roared and clapped. Waves of excitement rolled one after another until the lights dimmed, prompting the fans to concentrate on what was coming. The air was heavy and thick. Anticipation filled every corner and crevice of the arena.
Minutes passed. The band repeated the group hug ritual from last night. Everyone took their spots. Guests and crew members held their breaths, as did all twenty thousand people opposite the stage.