by Lee Piper
His breath whispers across my lips. “I don’t believe you.”
I step into his body until our hips touch. “I don’t care.”
Our thundering heartbeats echo in the heady silence. It’s hard to determine which pounding belongs to whom when they beat in perfect synchronicity.
“Liar,” he growls.
“Thief.”
“Thief?” Knuckles skim my cheek before tracing the length of my neck. I bite back a moan. “I can itemize a detailed fucking list of what you stole from me.” He traces my collarbone with one finger; I shiver. “A look, a grin, my goddamn sanity.”
“Your ability to distinguish fact from fiction.”
A rumbling chuckle reverberates from his chest, and I feel it all the way to my toes. “I never stole from you.”
I keep quiet, not wanting to let on how much he has, in fact, taken. After all, there’s a part of me missing, and I’m fairly certain he has it. I want it back. Only, Drake doesn’t seem the kind of guy to hand over his possessions willingly—if at all.
“Your silence is telling. You know I’m right; you don’t want to admit it.”
“I know a lot of things.”
“Yeah?” Blue eyes simultaneously darken and brighten the longer they remain fixed on my face. Come closer, they beckon, but not too close.
Touch me, they whisper, but not too much.
Know me, they murmur, but not too long.
“I know you’re itching for a fight,” I purr.
Drake stills.
“The minute you stepped off stage and saw me talking to your bandmates, you wanted to argue.”
He smooths his features, then quirks a sardonic brow. “Is that so?”
“Yes. It makes this easier, doesn’t it?” I gesture to the nonexistent space between us. “We can blame impulsiveness for what we say and do next. That way we don’t have to own it.” Giving in to temptation, I brush soft hair away from his face, my short fingernails scratching his skin. His nostrils flare. “There’s less chance of being rejected if we take what we want in anger. And you’ve made it obvious you want me.” The corner of my mouth quirks when he growls. “You don’t want to, but you do.” I rise to my toes, my lips caressing his ear as I whisper, “It’s okay. I don’t want you either.”
When I shift back, it’s to spy a carnal expression like I’ve never seen before. Drake’s heated stare scorches every inch of my face, leaving blazing flames burning to ash. His free hand clasps my neck, tipping my chin. “You won’t reject me.”
His arrogance makes me smile. It shouldn’t. It should be a roaring siren demanding I stay the hell away. But it’s impossible to be unmoved when he’s staring at me like that. Like I’m his.
As though reading my thoughts, Drake’s expression darkens. It’s sinful, full of dirty promises and filthy deeds. “Do you know what I think?”
I quirk an eyebrow.
“I think you want me to take you. You want me to claim every inch of your luscious body. This is all some fucked-up game to you, isn’t it?”
“No.” I’d shake my head if he’d let me. “This isn’t a game. Not by a long shot.”
His deliberate grin is deadly. It’s like he’s in on a secret I don’t know about. “Then you’re as fucked as I am.” Drake drops his head slowly, oh so slowly, until his mouth claims mine. The kiss starts off sweet enough; his lips brush mine, and a warm tongue teases the seam of my mouth. But then, it changes. His grip tightens, a growl erupts, and all bets are off. It turns feral.
I love it.
He yanks my head back, positions it how he wants, and steals. And steals. And steals from me. His tongue forces its way deeper, until it claims every inch of my mouth. Needing him closer, I thread my fingers through his hair, gripping the ends. With a groan, he presses his hips against my lower stomach. His hard cock is evidence I’m not alone in this.
Sharp teeth bite my bottom lip; I hiss.
“Your body’s begging for me.” A hand drops to my hips, gripping tight. “It wants me to push you against the drum cases, shove my fingers deep inside your pussy, and tease the fuck out of your clit till you come.”
Heat shoots to my core. I’m drenched, soaked, in desperate need of fresh panties. Shifting, I try to ease the burning ache, but nothing except Drake following through on every single word will suffice.
A low chuckle sounds. “You love my dirty mouth. You love that someone could walk past and catch us. I can feel it in the way you’re rubbing against me.”
Didn’t even realize I was doing it.
Taking my top lip between his, he bites down. Hard. “Fucking knew you would.”
Yanking him closer, I wrap my leg around his hip and grind.
“Jesus fuck.” He cups the back of my thigh, his fingers gripping my needy skin as he holds me prisoner against him. It’s no hardship. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
“Are you wet for me, princess? If I put my fingers inside you, would you drip all over them? Would I need to lick up your juices with my tongue?”
Throwing my head back, I moan.
Dropping his mouth to my neck, he chuckles. “Yeah, I fucking would. I know it. Can feel your heat from here.”
Holy shit.
“It’s enough to drive a man insane.” Drake lifts me until both legs wrap around his hips. However, rather than push me against the drum cases—for which I’m grateful since there’s no way they’d survive the impact—he strides to a dark alcove just behind the backdrop.
I gasp.
And slams me against the wall. A gush of air escapes. My mouth parts on a sharp exhale, and Drake’s eyes remain pinned on my swollen lips. He licks his own before cupping my face with large palms. Demanding fingers dig into my fevered flesh. They press harder and harder; there’ll be imprints soon. He pauses. “This isn’t a game. You hear me?”
Stormy eyes collide with mine. There’s so much going on in their depths, each emotion chasing the one before without quite managing to reach it. With his mouth hovering above mine, I stare at the man capable of setting the stars on fire. Of making them fall.
So help me, I’m lost.
“Not a game,” he repeats.
My finger traces his swollen lips. He nips it, blue eyes tortured. The light shines from behind him, casting most of his face in shadow. It emphasizes the strong line of his jaw, the hollows beneath his cheeks, and the whites of his eyes. There’s a sad resignation mixed with determined inevitability swirling within them. It’s as though he doesn’t want to touch me but knows it’s futile fighting against it. It’s exactly how I feel about him.
With his gaze pinned on me, he deliberately dips his head, capturing my mouth with his. We both groan as our combined touch sets off a series of aftershocks. The kiss is slower this time, more purposeful. It’s a promise rather than a hasty take. His tongue dances with mine before caressing every inch of my mouth. I run my hands over his shoulders, neck, and through his hair, needing to get closer. Always closer.
Drake grinds against me, his hips rolling in time with mine. I gasp, moan, scratch my chipped nails against his skin. He growls, his hands skimming my neck, the sides of my breasts, before cupping my ass with large palms.
“Harper? Where are you, girl?”
I freeze.
“Harper?” There’s a low muttering followed by heavy footsteps and a burp.
Pulling away from Drake, I gasp. “Shit!”
It takes a moment for Drake’s desire-filled gaze to clear. After blinking several times, he takes in what must be my freaked expression. “What?”
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“What is it?”
“Harper! Get your ass out here, now.”
I gesture wildly in the general vicinity of the uneven tread stomping around on stage. “It’s Ray.”
Chapter Eleven
“Ray?” Drake’s brows furrow in confusion. “Who the fuck’s Ray?”
“My uncle,” I hiss. “You know this already.”
&nbs
p; “Oh, yeah.” Pausing, he tips his head to one side. “Now I remember. See?” He taps the side of his head. “Like a vault.”
A smile tugs the corner of my mouth at his admission. However, a grumbled, “Fuckin’ Christ, kid. Stage is a damn mess,” wipes it away.
Pushing against Drake’s chest, I drop to my feet. “I’ve got to go. He’s in one of his moods.”
“How can you tell?”
“Harper Ray Stevenson! If you’re not out here in five, I swear on all that is holy, there’ll be hell to pay.”
Drake’s hold tightens. “Is he threatening you? If that fucker so much as lays a finger—”
I cup his cheek; his five o’clock shadow is rough beneath my palm. “I’ll be fine. He’d never hurt me.” Not physically, anyway.
Drake’s gaze sears mine, unconvinced.
“Promise.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not. Trust me, meeting Ray looking all—” I gesture to the whole I’m-a-rock-star-and-I-drop-panties-for-a-living look he’s got going on. Only, my gesture does nothing, because Drake raises an eyebrow, staring at me like I’m the crappiest mime artist of all time.
My sigh is long. “Just, no. Okay?” I throw him a pleading look as I disentangle myself from his hold. He doesn’t let go willingly, and to be honest, I don’t want him to. Partly because my legs are liquified and partly because it feels too damn good being pressed against him. However, I don’t want Uncle Ray to find me behind the backdrop dry humping a protective lead singer. Something tells me it wouldn’t go down well. I’ve always managed to keep my hookups on the down low, and even though what Drake and I share feels worlds away from a casual fling, an outsider would see it for what they thought it was.
When at last I’m confident my legs are in working order and I can put one in front of the other without falling flat on my face, I shift toward the wings. “I’ll see you later.”
“Wait.”
A strong hand grips my good one, halting me. Glancing over my shoulder, I pause.
Drake stands tall. His shoulders are wide, his chest broad, his fitted T-shirt loose in places. It’s probably the result of my needy, grasping touch. A dark part of me likes how I’ve left my mark on him, ruffled him up somehow.
Muscular legs are encased in worn jeans that hug and caress the length of his lean form, and the bulge at the front of them is evidence of his need. However, it’s his expression that forces me to stop. To turn. To stare.
A fallen angel.
That’s what he is. My lead singer is lost and confused. He’s adrift in a tumultuous sea that’s destined to be his downfall. I watch as hope, fear, lust, and bafflement flit across his face, shocked when for once, his expressions are clear. Each is a gift not freely given; they come with a cost. The tightness of his swollen mouth is testament to how difficult it is for him to share them with me. My heart, recognizing his struggle, bleeds for him.
With a small smile, I squeeze his fingers. “We’ll talk later, okay?”
He watches me for a long moment, weighing up the truth in my words, the possible meaning behind them, and the silence hiding in the gaps. There’s nothing but honestly in what I’m saying. So, for once, I have nothing to hide. At last, he swallows, as though satisfied. With a quick nod, Drake lets go of my hand. The air feels cold as it tickles the palm he held moments ago. I miss his warmth.
“Harper? Dammit, girl. Where the hell are you?”
My uncle muttering a string of curses that makes next to no sense has me hustling to the wings. When I pass the tower of drum cases, I collect the top one and rush on stage.
The house lights are up and there are still groups of people milling around the bar. Luckily, the music playing through the PA and their rowdy conversations are enough to drown out my uncle’s rambling obscenities.
“There you are. Where you been, kid?” Ray sways on his feet, his shirt untucked, his hair an unruly mess, his boots untied and on the wrong feet.
“Jesus, Ray.” I groan. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Me?” He tries to point to himself and misses. It would be comical if it weren’t so freaking sad. “I’m doing my damn job. What are—” He burps. “— you doin’?”
“What does it look like?” I hold up the drum case.
Ray swings his massive body in a semicircle, almost tripping himself over in the process. “Looks like a band threw up in here. Show finished ages ago. Thought I taught you better.”
Gritting my teeth, I remain silent.
“How can I trust you, huh? Why you keep lettin’ me down?” He hiccups.
His words are sniper bullets ripping through vital organs, one excruciating explosion at a time. They pierce, sting, leave gaping holes where healthy tissue used to be. Inhaling a deep breath, I rub my good hand over the ache in my heart, willing the rising tide of hurt, betrayal, and exhaustion to ease.
Not here; not now. There will come a better time to deal with the hurt he’s causing.
“What you starin’ at me for?” Staggering forward, he peers at me through bloodshot eyes. “You cryin’?”
I clear my throat. “No.” Blinking, I stare at the only father figure I’ve ever had. As much as I love Ray, as much as I appreciate everything he’s done for me over the years, the man is killing me. His weakness is tearing me apart. And I hate it. I hate how when I look at him all I see is regret. Regret for my aunt’s illness, regret for his heartbreak, regret for trying to make a positive change and the inevitable consequences. I want to go back to how it used to be when we were a dysfunctional yet content family. We’d never had a traditional life, touring made sure of that, but fuck, we were happy.
“You’re sad. What you got to be sad for? Your woman didn’ up and die on you like mine did.” He tries to shake his head but ends up staggering to the left. After bumping into the PA and almost knocking the damn thing over, he rights himself.
It pisses me off how he assumes I don’t feel the loss of my aunt. Of course I do. Every freaking day. She was everything good in the world. Now she’s gone, and it’s like she’s taken the sun with her. Ray and I are left wandering the shadows, hating a darkness we can’t find our way out of. Only, I’m still searching for the light while Ray glares into the dark.
With renewed determination, I step toward him. “How about I get you back to your RV? You look like you need a… coffee.”
He needs more than that. A shower, a shave, a healthy meal followed by a liver detox. But Ray doesn’t take kindly to other people, namely his niece, offering lifestyle advice. I’ve tried it before, and each time he up and left for days on end. Avoidance 101 if ever I saw it. I’ve learned it’s easier to tackle the little problems rather than face the bigger ones head-on. At least this way, he’s nearby so I can keep an eye on him.
“Am kinda thirsty.” He nods, staggering toward the exit.
Exhaling a relieved sigh, I follow him to his RV. Once he’s inside and collapsed on the small couch, I go about making him a cup. The van stinks like a distillery, and I not-so-subtly open all of the windows to circulate fresh air.
Once his drink is made, I give it a final stir, turn around, and groan. He’s asleep. Head back, mouth open, Ray snores to the roof above.
Scrubbing one hand down the side of my face, I groan. After emptying his coffee down the sink, I wash the cup and put it away again. Figuring he’s comfortable on the couch, I grab his pillow, place it under his head, and drape a blanket over him. “You can’t keep doing this, Ray. You gotta want to change. I can’t do shit to help you otherwise.”
He snores.
With one last shake of my head, I leave.
I spend the next hour and a half packing up the stage and storing the equipment in the undercarriage of the tour bus. Though tired and with my hand throbbing to its own beat, I’m thankful for the time spent doing mindless tasks. Seems I need the emotional respite.
When the last piece of hardware is put away, I close and lock the bus. Heading i
n the opposite direction of the after-party, I sit on the bottom step of my RV. Like always, my gaze turns heavenward, and I take in the night sky. Thankfully, it’s clear so I can see the stars. I breathe in the wide expanse, a smile tugging my lips when I spy Hercules. Though not overly bright, his outstretched arms and legs are visible as he attempts to conquer the inky velvet. Poor fool, he tries so hard but is destined to be one of the least luminous constellations. It’s his determination, his willpower to overcome eternal dimness despite the fact it’s unlikely it’ll ever happen, that I respect most. He’s a fighter, and I draw strength from that.
“Hey.”
Snapping my head in the direction of the sound, I blink. Drake’s a few feet away, his hands shoved deep in his jean’s pockets. A fresh T-shirt clings to his muscular torso, and the faint scent of sandalwood drifts from the material. I inhale, hold it, and secrete a part of him inside me.
His hair is damp, the silken strands unruly. He must have raked his hands through it more than once. Despite pushing it back, defiant locks hang over his forehead. I have the sudden urge to brush them away, to twist them with my fingers until they cut into my skin. But I don’t. That would be laying all my cards on the table. Even though most of my heart belongs to him, there’s still a sliver that’s mine. So, despite our moment earlier and the fact his dark strands are begging for me to touch them, I remain exactly where I am. “Hey.” I tuck some hair behind my ear instead.
Drake steps closer, watching me. It’s like he’s approaching a wild animal and is unsure if it’s going to fight or flee. To be honest, both possibilities are strong contenders. I’m not entirely sure which one I’ll go with yet. Earlier, I promised him we’d talk. I’m not exactly the best conversationalist going around, so if I didn’t give him my word, I’d up and leave. Sadly, I did.
With a sigh, I shift in my seat, wishing I’d never given it in the first place.
There’s a weird vibration in the air. It pulses stronger, more forcefully with Drake’s deliberate steps. He folds his large body and sits beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. Zap. A dull ache forms in my stomach.