by Neve Wilder
I groaned. This. Yes. This was what I wanted. Pure, unadulterated, filthy Les.
“Fuck. Yes,” I rasped out, and he sucked at my tongue, grinding his dick against my hip, then slid down my body, all the way to the floor, pulling me to him. He spread me again, and when his tongue flicked against my hole, I bowed upward, only to have his hand clamp down on my abs and force me back down.
“I know what you need.” That voice that ran over and under mine onstage, chasing my high notes with mellow lows, my low notes with fever-pitch highs. I believed him in that moment. He knew exactly what I needed, and I groaned at the promise of fulfillment.
“Uncharted territory for you, I guess?”
I grunted an affirmative, and he kept rimming me, licking me, using his fingers and mouth on my ass and my cock until I could hardly see straight. My muscles shivered like a bowl of Jell-O on a rickety table, and my entire body physically ached with the strength of my desire.
There’d once been a week where Les followed me around with his phone, reading highlights from posts about him in the groupie forums just to annoy me. Beautiful cock, wicked mouth, devil’s hands, but what he can do with it all is even better.
I didn’t know why that specific comment had stuck with me. I’d laughed it off at the time, told him I doubted that was the case, but I thought of it then as Les kneeled in front of me, so in his element, turning me inside out one touch at a time. He somehow managed to be both appreciative and commanding, both dirty and sweetly sensual all at once, and fuck if that crazy combination didn’t make me a believer.
“Ready?” He kissed the inside of my thigh and stood up, stroking himself, eyes blazing down at me, burning me up, driving me out of my head with arousal.
I nodded because I couldn’t speak. I was all shivers and jolts and tremors of pleasure.
“Good, because you’re going to give me what I want. What I need. Because you’re wrong. There’s no difference for me when it comes to you, Porter. I want you. I need you. Same thing.”
Holy mother of God, he was going to kill me with the sincerity leaking from his tone, the vibrant intensity of his green eyes. I was starstruck, moonstruck, whatever it was you called the almost otherworldly euphoria rushing through me.
Les fit a condom over himself and crawled onto the bed, urging me back from the edge as he knelt over me and swallowed my panting breaths in a deep kiss. At the brush of his tip teasing my hole, and I moaned, ache and nerves rolled up in one big ball of scorching need.
“Fuck. Do it,” I whispered into his mouth, desperate.
A burning fullness, that was what I felt first, and it seemed infinite, made my lips peel back from my teeth and my forehead break out in a sweat that Les soothed his hand over. His gaze fixed on me, watching every reaction intently even as his mouth dropped open and he groaned out a sound like he was breaking. “Oh God, you have no idea how much I—” He pressed a hard kiss into my shoulder, then my throat, and I curled one hand through the strands of his hair and clutched his ass tightly with the other, squeezing him to show I could handle it.
Les moved inside me slowly, inexorably slowly, like he was patiently waiting for my body to catch up with what was going on. Which was good because I struggled at first, the pressure uncomfortable, the fullness overwhelming. I tried to keep my breaths measured as he seated himself deep inside me and went still. He kissed my lower lip, sucked on my tongue and began moving inside me again—slow even strokes that rolled through my body like the best kind of wave, pleasure breaking over me. I was so turned on I couldn’t think coherently, couldn’t make my mouth function other than to kiss him. But that was all right because he said enough for both of us when he whispered my name and told me how good it felt. And finally, everything settled into place and my body opened fully to him.
“Touch yourself,” he commanded.
I reached between us to fist my cock, and God did the twin sensations of my hand and Les inside me feel incredible. My hips moved instinctively, rocking me into my hand, rocking me onto him, and with my other hand, I tugged at the roots of his hair with every thrust, drawing gasps and grunts and other lewd sounds from him that sent me spiraling toward orgasm.
Les braced on his arms, gaze fixated on the place where our bodies joined, watching as I stroked myself faster. The smack of skin on skin filled the air, and I could tell he was close. I’d seen that look on his face before, that lost-to-the-world, jaw-hanging ode to explicit pleasure. This time, it was because of me, and I couldn’t take one more second of being devoured by it. A shudder ran through my thighs, and Les grabbed my hips, bending in close to me and growling out against my lips. “Want it. Lemme feel you come apart.”
I was toast. I blew apart at the seams with a shout, clutching a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back as my orgasm turned me end over end inside and exploded from the tip of my cock in hot streaks that painted my abs and chest. Les dropped down on top of me, wrapping his hands under my shoulders and sealing his body tightly to mine.
“Goddamn, Porter,” he gritted out as he pummeled my channel through a series of aftershocks. I felt him tense up, his cock pulsing inside me, and he dug his fingers into the meat of my shoulders as he came on a guttural moan.
I couldn’t move and I didn’t want to. I soaked in the feeling of him as he grew heavy on top of me. We slowly extricated ourselves from the various ways we were tangled, in no hurry. I let my fingers drift from his hair and trickle down the side of his face in a soft caress.
Les released his grip on my shoulders but kept his arms around me as he kissed the side of my throat and then my jaw. I wrapped an arm low around his waist and sighed when he eased out and rolled off me and onto his back beside me. He put his hands up to his face, rubbing at his cheeks. “Fuck, I think you just destroyed me.”
“Same.” He really had no idea. I laughed and touched the stickiness on my chest as he snapped the spent condom off and laid it across his thigh. “I don’t think I can move.” My cock softened and my breathing slowed, and drowsiness hit like a sledgehammer.
Les knotted the condom and tossed it onto the floor, rolling into me. “Good, because I don’t want you going any-fucking-where.”
I didn’t want to go anywhere, either. Ever. I wanted to stay in this room cocooned in the deep sense of intimacy between us, safe from the outside world, safe from tours and albums and sales reports. Safe, even, from me.
Do you have any idols?
Les: Daniel Grim.
Evan: Is he aware of how intense your crush on him is?
Les: He has to be. I’ve been around him drunk too many times. Answer the question, who’s your idol?
Evan: Probably Johnny Cash.
Les: Ugh. What a standard answer. Give ’em something good. C’mon.
Evan: All right. You.
Les: What? Really?
Evan: No. [Laughing] I had to drag you away from a hot dog cart the other night while you were singing Meatloaf at the top of your lungs.
Les: Psht. I’ll bet you ten bucks Cash did that at least once.
Evan: But he probably wasn’t wearing a fishnet shirt.
Chapter 31
Typical wake-up scenarios for Les Graves:
Hungover + way too fucking early
Hungover + way too fucking late
Somebody I didn’t want still in my bed still, in fact, in my bed
Cold shower + being flung in tour bus because… late + Evan angry at lateness
I had my first ever Disney wake-up the next morning. One of those where the sun streamed in through the windows, clear blue sky visible beyond the panes, birds fucking chirping with their chests bellowed out and friendly eyes on display.
Nix the last part. Fuck birds. There was a pair outside the window engaging in world war three and raising a holy ruckus. Nature lover, I was not. But the rest was true, and the best part was the man still in my bed, his face buried in the pillow, sleep-warm back exposed.
It was 9:00 a.m. He’d skipped his
run.
It was 9:00 a.m., and I’d slept all damn night.
“What’s that noise?” Evan grumbled, his voice muffled.
“Birdageddon, part five million. There’s gotta be a nest out there because I hear them every morning.” I reached out, rapping hard a couple of times on the window beside the bed. The cacophony outside quieted for all of ten seconds.
“Maybe they should consider counseling.”
“Maybe someone should stick them in a cabin together. Let them duke it out in a confined space until they end up in a full-on fuckfest.”
“Duking it out?” Evan laughed softly and rolled onto his back, glancing over at me with a smirk. “Is that what last night was?”
“Duking, choking, fucking. Same idea. You started it.” But that wasn’t what last night was really. Last night was Cinderella at the ball, getting to dance all night with the prince without ever hearing the stroke of midnight. I’d be keeping that analogy to myself, though, since I could just see Evan using it against me for life.
Evan groaned and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I did. I didn’t mean to; that’s not what I—but yeah, I did. I definitely fucking did.”
I rolled onto my side, studying him, that sexy natural pout, the sleepy gaze, looking for the signs of our own small apocalypse—a regretful expression, a tinge of fear in his eyes. “Is this the part where you’re going to panic? Let me know, because I can go make myself some breakfast or something, take a long shower, clean baseboards with a toothbrush, watch paint dry.”
He snorted lightly, turning to face me, and I slung my leg over his outer thigh.
“If I’m panicking, I think the correct response is to talk me down. Isn’t aftercare a thing?” He gripped my thigh and squeezed it once, then stroked the length of it idly.
“Aftercare?” I laughed. “It’s not like I had you shackled and was caning you into subspace, although I think I could totally be into that with you.”
“Pretty sure I’d be the one caning you.”
I shrugged one shoulder agreeably. “I’m in. Especially if there’s leather involved.”
We fell silent, and it wasn’t that the air grew thick or uncomfortable, but I got this idea that we were both suddenly very aware that we were lying in bed naked together, and very aware of how different it felt this time.
Evan inhaled deeply and made a face. “Okay, yeah. I might panic. Shit.”
I scooted closer to him, and he watched me warily, skeptically.
“Turn over,” I told him.
“No. Why?” He was getting cagey. I didn’t want that.
“Fuck’s sake, Porter, I’m not about to stick a knife in your back. Relax.”
He sighed and rolled over, putting his broad back to me. I caressed down his spine then fanned my fingers wide, stroking the muscles upward, rolling my thumbs into the nape of his neck until he groaned and I could feel some of the stiffness dissolve. Scooting nearer, I pressed my chest to his back, wrapping one arm around him as I spoke close to his ear, loving the goose bumps that studded the side of his neck in the wake of my breath. “I’m not going to let you panic this time. We’re going to talk this through logically.”
Evan groaned, and not the sexy you’re-killing-me groan I was addicted to, but the oh-shit kind. “I’m having sex with my bandmate and best friend. We owe our label an album. We’re currently faking a relationship for a PR boost with plans to terminate said fake relationship before we go into the studio. Except it’s hard to call something fake if you’re fucking. And it still has to end. How do you logic through that clusterfuck?”
“Who says it has to end? That decision was made because we insisted on an expiration date. That part’s on us.” I proposed this lightly, almost tentatively, and Evan twisted around in the sheets to study me.
“Are you suggesting we… what, date? Be together?”
My expression deadpanned. “You’re saying that like it’s offensive to you, which is a little insulting considering you were moaning my name into my own mouth not five hours ago.”
He grimaced. “Okay, fair. I apologize. I can’t lie and say I don’t feel something for you. I do. I feel a lot of things. Shit, we’re together constantly. I feel closer to you than I’ve ever felt to anyone else. When you kiss me, when we touch it’s… something else. Something I haven’t had with anyone else. Addictive and… shit, more than a little scary. But we’re in a vacuum here. This is suspended reality.” He yanked at the covers and rolled over again to face me, a quiet intensity in the gaze that searched my face. “What happens when we leave and I go back to my house and you go back to yours? What happens when we’re out on tour? What happens when you’re surrounded by chicks and dudes clamoring to fuck you and I get jealous? Or you’re hammered out of your skull and pull that shit where you take it out on me? I could handle it before because it was just annoying—although, to be honest, increasingly concerning. But I couldn’t handle it if we were together, because I won’t be able to distance myself from it.”
“I don’t want to fuck anyone else, Ev.” But I stopped there because I had no idea how he’d react to the news that I’d been lusting after him for months and months, that everyone else was a pitiful attempt to get him out of my head. “And I’m working on the drinking. In case you haven’t noticed.”
“I have.” His expression softened and he reached for me, running his hand down my side. “But like I said, we’re in a vacuum. It’s all around us on tour.”
“Look, I don’t know how it’ll all play out, but I don’t want to stop, okay? So could you give me a real shot at trying to prove it can work? Give me until we go to the studio, and if you’re not convinced, then we let the hammer fall as planned and I promise to respect your decision.” I shouldn’t promise that part. I couldn’t even think it without feeling nauseated. Because now that Evan was in my bed, I didn’t want to let him out. Ever. Metaphorically speaking. Literally too, maybe, except my stomach started grumbling, so after we went back and forth some more, I finally crawled out of bed and went to make us breakfast. That’s right—I was gonna cook for him. One fuck and I was domesticated. In another week, I’d probably be begging to fold his laundry.
By midafternoon that day, we had a rough sketch of the new album, ten songs that were more or less complete and the beginnings of two more—one being the song I’d broken out at Grim’s the night before. Jesus, was that just last night? It felt like a week ago. Time had a way of slowing out here, and I was starting to get used to it. I liked having Evan all to myself.
“Come with me to Grim’s. Dan’s got something there waiting for me,” I said when we decided to take a break.
“A fist to the face for that shitshow?”
I grinned. “No way. Though I thought he was going to destroy that jackass.”
“I didn’t see what happened to him. That biker dude pulled me out of the pit and dragged me out back.” Evan slid his guitar into its case, then extended his hand to yank me up from the floor.
“I didn’t see much, but Dan had the guy locked up, and the other biker dude had to pull him off.”
“Dan doesn’t give a fuck, does he?”
“Not even one.”
I was worried there might have been damage, too, but when I’d texted Dan earlier that morning, he’d said it was all good, and when we walked into the shop late that afternoon, everything was back in its usual place, the only sign of last night’s show a single busted display rack Owen was bent over fixing when we came in.
He slid a new wood slat in place and gave us a bright smile when he saw us, eyes running up and down us both curiously. “Back to bring more chaos?”
“Nah. Just picking up something Dan said he’d leave for me,” I said.
“Oh yeah, right here.” Owen dropped the hammer he’d been holding and popped up, darting to the checkout counter.
Evan wandered off down the aisles, poking through the racks while I followed after Owen.
“The show was killer
last night, in spite of everything.” Owen glanced up at me as he rummaged behind the counter. “Really digging the new stuff.”
“Thanks, man. Hope everyone else digs it, too.” My attention turned to Evan, tracking him around the store, watching as he caught his lower lip in his teeth. He narrowed his eyes as he picked up an album, studied it, then put it back down. Watching him debate over a record sleeve shouldn’t have turned me on, but it did. I embarked on a tasty fantasy of sitting his sweet ass in a chair and making him watch me strip down and jerk myself until he couldn’t take it and bent me over said chair and fucked me mercilessly. The fantasy burst when I realized Owen was still talking to me.
“Do you have a certain time of day you write?” Owen had these big, beautiful eyes that blazed with sincerity as he spoke. He really did seem like a sweet guy.
“Nah. I’m a slave to the muse, I guess, and sometimes a deadline.” I chuckled.
He laughed and nodded. “I’ve got some stuff I’ve been working on. I know how it goes.”
That happened a lot, and I tried not to be a dick about it because Evan and I had both been there. I listened as Owen talked about the album he was working on, which actually didn’t sound half-bad. The premise was intriguing, at least. He handed me a bag from behind the counter with the album I’d requested in it, then tore a sales slip off the pad and started writing on the back. “Web addy for some links to rough demos, if you want to give it a listen,” he explained. His smile was infectious and brightened further as I folded the slip of paper and tucked it in my pocket.
“I’ll do that,” I promised.
“’Course… you could come listen in person sometime.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips as both eyebrows rose hopefully.