Insider

by Olivia Cunning

  head to scowl down at her.

  “I saw hours and hours of live footage while doing research for the book, Logan.”

  “That’s not the same,” he said, squirming from beneath her head and rising to his feet. “Not the same at all.”

  She gaped after him as he opened the sliding doors and strode confidently into the corridor with his ass displayed in all its naked glory. Toni rose to her feet, reached for a throw blanket, and wrapped it around herself, noting the wet spot on the sofa. She cringed and flipped the cushion over before stumbling after Logan. Was he mad at her? She wasn’t sure if she could handle his ire, not after they’d shared such passion together only moments ago.

  Logan shut himself in the bathroom before Toni caught up to him. She stared indecisively at the door. Should she knock? Barge in? Wait until he came out?

  “Um, Logan,” she said to the door. “I’ll go if you want me to go.”

  “It would mean a lot to me,” she heard him say.

  Well, in that case, of course she’d go—frumpy clothes, frizzy hair, frayed nerves and all.

  Fifteen

  Logan offered Toni a wink and a smile before he slipped the strap of his five-string bass guitar over his shoulder. She smiled back, her ever-inquisitive eyes darting away to observe the ordered chaos of the roadies making final preparations for the band’s stage entrance. He couldn’t deny that he preferred her attention to be focused on him. He entered the door that led to the area beneath the stage and decided that this was something Toni would want to put in the book. Few people had ever seen the underbelly of their new stage setup, which was rigged so that the band members rose from beneath the stage in grand style.

  “Hey, Toni,” he called over the din of the waiting audience and the commentary of the stage crew.

  She whirled around to look at him, and her eyes widened when he waved her toward him. She glanced around before she headed toward him. Was she embarrassed to be seen with him or what?

  “Do you want to see what’s under here for your book?”

  She craned her neck to peer into the darkness under the stage. Paths were marked off by dimly lit strips so that each band member could find the appropriate spot to stand for his entrance. A faint blue glow surrounded the drum kit far to the back of the area, but otherwise, it was inky black beneath the stage.

  “I don’t think there’s enough light for pictures,” she said.

  “You could write about what it’s like to stand under the stage and wait for the show to begin,” he said. “It’s pretty trippy.”

  She nodded and ducked her head to enter the small door. Steve had already taken his spot behind the drum kit, but the rest of the band hadn’t found their places.

  “Are you sure it’s safe for her under here?” Steve asked.

  Logan squinted in his direction, not sure how Steve could see a damned thing in the low light. He decided Steve must have the eyes of a nocturnal owl.

  “I’ll keep her safe,” Logan said and settled a hand at the base of Toni’s spine to lead her down his lit path to the platform he rode just in front of the drum kit. She’d probably get better insight for her book if she hung around with Dare or Max or even Steve—Logan was only the bassist, after all, and his entrance was even less impressive than newcomer Reagan’s—but he hadn’t brought Toni here to aid her career. He’d brought her because he had a very unusual desire to be near her as much as possible.

  “Did you turn on your video camera?” he asked.

  “It’s rolling,” she said, adjusting the headband she wore so that the borrowed headcam was at the side of her head and would see what she saw. Or couldn’t see in the case of the darkened area beneath the stage.

  Logan helped her step up onto his platform and moved to stand behind her. She jumped when his guitar bumped against her rear and produced a low tone. His amplifier wasn’t on yet, so at least the sound didn’t radiate out into the arena.

  He couldn’t seem to stop his hands from sliding up her body to cup her huge tits and give them an appreciative squeeze.

  She slapped at his hands. “You can’t do that here,” she said in a loud whisper.

  “Why not?” he murmured in her ear. “No one can see us.”

  Her shyness fueled his brazenness, and he ran his hands down her sides just so he could slide them up under her shirt and touch the bare skin of her smooth belly.

  “Logan, I’m here to work, not play,” she admonished.

  “But the show is our playtime,” Logan said.

  “What?”

  “The band. We work damned hard at interviews and signings and meet and greets.”

  “That’s working hard?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah. We always work hard at all that bullshit, so we can play hard on stage.”

  “So you don’t take the stage performance seriously?” With that question, Toni sounded like any number of reporters who’d interviewed him throughout his career.

  “We take our playtime very seriously. If we aren’t having a good time, the crowd easily picks up on that and they don’t have as good a time either.”

  “I can understand how that would be true for you, but Dare and Max seem pretty serious about every aspect of Exodus End.”

  Logan scowled. Was she insinuating what he thought she was insinuating? “So you don’t think I take the band seriously?”

  “Not as seriously as the others do.”

  He supposed he had been slacking off most of the day, but it was because Toni kept distracting him with her wit and her smile and her sweetness and her glorious tits—he gave them another appreciative squeeze beneath her shirt.

  “That’s your fault,” he said.

  “My fault?” Her exasperated tone made him grin.

  “Yep,” he said. “You’re hell on my concentration, baby. Even now I’m thinking of what your tight pussy feels like around my dick.”

  “Logan! The camera is rolling.”

  He chuckled. “You don’t think the world wants to know what a fantastic little pussy you have?”

  “I don’t care what the world wants, I don’t want them to know,” she said, squirming out of his grip.

  He allowed her a few inches of space and moved his hands to his bass, fearing she’d take a tumble off the edge of his platform if she got too wiggly.

  “Come to think of it,” he said. “I don’t want anyone to know that but me. So I ask that you delete the footage of me praising your perfect pussy.”

  She bopped him in the nose as she tried to cover his mouth and missed in the darkness. “Stop talking about it.”

  “For now,” he said. “But later, when I have you bent over the arm of the sofa and I’m buried inside that hot, slick piece of heaven, I’m going to tell you all about it.”

  Her shuddering intake of breath made him grin. He didn’t know why it was so much fun to get her flustered, but he couldn’t stop himself.

  “Will you tell me how it feels to have my dick inside you?”

  “No,” she squeaked.

  His grin widened. He’d have her singing his praises by the time he finished with her. It was a challenge he couldn’t resist.

  “Are you already under here, Lo?” Max said from Logan’s right.

  “Yeah. Just waiting for you guys.”

  “He’s under the stage,” Max called to someone. To Logan he said, “We thought you’d wandered off to get some pussy again.”

  Toni gasped, and Logan cringed.

  “I have all the pussy I want right here,” he said.

  His eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness that he could make out Max standing under the center of the stage on his platform, but he couldn’t see his expression.

  “You brought Toni under here?” Max asked.

  “She’s filming.”

  “Hi, Max,” she said quietly. She squeezed Logan’s arm at the same time. He wasn’t sure if the gesture meant she was nervous or appreciative. Damn this darkness.

  “Toni’s under here to
o!” Max called to someone. “Reagan was looking for you,” Max said. “She thought you might want to ride up to the stage with her.”

  “She’s riding me,” Logan said, his slip not the least Freudian. He’d meant it to sound sexual. Especially since now he knew how good she was at riding him. If they’d had more time, he’d have let her ride him all slow and sensually for hours. He couldn’t wait to sequester her in his hotel room.

  “You’re way in the back, Lo,” Reagan said from the darkness on the other side of the stage. “She won’t get good footage back there.”

  “Maybe I can ride with you next time, Reagan,” Toni said. “I’m not sure what to expect.”

  Her tight grip on Logan’s forearm made him feel like she wanted his protection, and he was proud to offer it willingly.

  “Stand behind me,” he said, “and hold on. Steve will go first. My platform jerks a bit when it first starts to rise, so brace yourself.” He was already used to the stage setup since they’d performed about a dozen shows with the new hydraulics. He’d almost fallen on his ass the first time he’d ridden the platform up to the stage.

  “Okay,” Toni said, her voice small, her grip tight.

  “About halfway up, we’ll be completely surrounded. Like we’re in a metal tunnel. So if you’re claustrophobic—”

  “I’m not.”

  He was. But just a little.

  One of the stagehands appeared beside him with a flashlight so he could turn on Logan’s amp and connect his ear feed. “You’re live,” he said. He gave him an earplug for his other ear and even provided Toni with a pair.

  “One minute,” he heard Mad Dog, their front of house sound engineer, say through his earpiece.

  “One minute,” he whispered to Toni, who couldn’t hear Mad Dog’s raspy instructions.

  Toni pressed her face into his shoulder. He could feel the trembling of her body behind him. “It’s okay,” he said, though she probably couldn’t hear him through the earplugs.

  The stage shuddered as Steve banged out the intro of “Ovation” and his glowing blue platform began to rise at the rear of the stage. As the drum kit slowly rose into view, the crowd erupted into cheers that shook the arena. Logan patted Toni’s hip to remind her that they were next and tugged a guitar pick from the tape stuck to his stock. His fingers found his strings automatically. He started playing on his cue—filling the drum progression with the low tones of the bass intro—and braced his feet for the jolt he knew was coming as a door above him slid open and the platform he and Toni were standing on began the slow ascent to the stage. After the initial lurch, the ride was smooth and steady. Toni’s death grip on his arm loosened when she seemed to realize he needed that arm to play. To Logan’s right, Reagan’s platform was rising from the floor as well. The crowd watched in hushed awe.

  Still beneath the stage, Max chanted the beginning of the song, his voice deep and raw with an edge unique to Exodus End.

  Rise from the ashes.

  Rise above it all.

  There’s a sea of fists before you.

  Demanding one final call.

  It’s not over yet.

  Though the curtain went down.

  They want more.

  More!

  Stand before them.

  Give it your all.

  They own you.

  What!

  Own you.

  It’s your ovation.

  No!

  Their ovation.

  Give it to them.

  Give it to them.

  Give it to them nowwwwwwwwww.

  The crowd sang along with Max, as did Logan. He couldn’t help but rock his body to the beat. Music lived inside him, and it was during concerts that he let it burst free.

  There was a loud bang as flames and sparks announced Max’s platform shooting him out of the floor like a cannon. He leaped onto the stage and landed with what Logan had started referring to as the “cool stick-it landing.” Not as graceful as a gymnast’s, but a thousand times more metal. From his crouch, Max slowly rose to his full height, lifting his arm in the air to rouse the crowd as he carried the final note of the intro.

  Dare’s rise to the stage was announced by the wail of his guitar. The crowd erupted once more as the powerhouse that was Darren Mills made his first appearance.

  “Gets better every night, guys,” Mad Dog said into the feed. He sounded strangely emotional about the fact. “Logan, move forward, the crowd can’t see you back there.”

  Like anyone came to an Exodus End show to see him. But Logan obeyed, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Toni had found a safe place. She was standing next to the drum kit, staring up at the flailing arms of Steve Aimes with her mouth hanging open. Yeah, dude was wicked fast, but no need to gawk.

  Logan squelched the annoying pangs of jealousy twisting his gut and headed to the front of the stage for a little fun. He especially liked toying with Reagan because the woman was sexy as sin and every dude in the arena had a boner over her. Logan was sure they were all picturing themselves as him—leaning up against her back while holding his bass guitar at a ninety degree angle from his crotch and playing it suggestively. Or maybe they were stroking something other than a guitar neck.

  Logan laughed when Reagan pretended to slap his face for being vulgar, before she got down and dirty with her own guitar. The male fans in the audience obviously appreciated her efforts to entertain them. Their fans had always been excitable, but they were really giving the security guards a run for their money these days in their heated attempts to get onstage. It had to be the addition of Reagan to their mix. Logan wondered if they’d keep her even if Max was able to go back to playing guitar. The band hadn’t discussed the possibility yet. Max was still a bit sensitive about the topic.

  When the song ended, the crowd cheered their enthusiasm, and Max waited for them to calm down before greeting them. “How are we feeling tonight, Oregon?”

  If their screams were any indication, they were fueled with almost as much adrenaline as Logan was.

  “Who’s the geek?” someone in the front row yelled loud enough to be heard over the waning cheers and through the band’s earpieces.

  “Geek?” Max said and turned to look behind him. He smiled when he spotted Toni. “Oh, that’s just Toni. She’s capturing footage for a band videography.”

  Logan beamed with pride, but his smile faded when Toni paled, covered her lips with trembling fingertips, and fled the stage. He scowled at Max, having half a mind to give him a black eye to match Dare’s bloody nose.

  “Where the fuck do you get off calling her a geek?” Logan yelled.

  Max raised an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t call her a geek.”

  “Yeah, you did.” Well, he might as well have.

  “Why do you care so much, Logan?” Reagan teased from the microphone Dare used to sing harmony.

  “Because,” he said, still struggling to bury his sudden rage. “She’s sensitive and gets her feelings hurt easily.”

  “Or maybe it’s because you like her,” Reagan egged him on.

  “What is this, junior high?” Max grumbled.

  “I think he likes her tits,” Dare said with a wry grin.

  “If you like tits, check these out,” yelled some male fan standing behind a woman squashed against the barrier fence. He then lifted the woman’s shirt to display her rather impressive rack. The woman struggled to lower her shirt before slapping the shit out of the guy.

  “That was uncalled for,” Max said to the guy and shook his head at him. “If she wants to show us her tits, that’s one thing . . .”

  Which of course prompted the chesty woman to give them a second eyeful.