Wycked Crush (Wycked Obsession Book 1)

by Wynne Roman

  “Forget it. We’re at a hotel, you’re at a hotel. No discussion.”

  “Fine.”

  She flops back against the booth, shoulders stiff, and her breasts are just suddenly there. Not like they hadn’t been or even that I haven’t known on some level that she’s grown into a woman’s body. But—damn. She has actual tits and cleavage and I know they’ll fit perfectly in my big hands.

  And I don’t need to tell myself how wrong that is.

  “Let’s go.” Zayne pushes out of the booth and the others start to move. “We’ve got about ten minutes.”

  “Uh, don’t forget…” Bree says calmly as she continues to eat.

  “Forget what?” Zayne stops.

  “I might be your collective wife, but I’m not your maid. Plates in the sink, gentlemen. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Rye blinks with a smile and is the first to comply. The rest follow suit, all sliding out on the opposite side because Bree and I take up the other end.

  “Thanks, Bree!” He waves on his way out.

  Zayne is right behind him. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “Thanks, baby girl.” Noah kisses the top of her head.

  “Thanks,” Knox mutters and then looks at me. “You coming?”

  “In a minute.” I point to my plate. I have a couple of bites left.

  He nods, and then it’s just Bree and me. I don’t move away from her.

  “You got them to cooperate.” I clean my plate.

  “It’s early. Think it’ll last two weeks?”

  “Maybe.” I laugh.

  “Can I tell you a secret?”

  I lean aside to look straight at her. “Sure.”

  She points over her shoulder with one thumb. “There’s a dishwasher.”

  I laugh and can’t help thinking how different she is from every other chick I’ve ever known. Ordinary. Focused on something besides my fame or my dick.

  “You’re shitting me,” I say with a grin.

  “Nope.” She shakes her head. “I found it this morning. It’s small, at least half the size of a regular dishwasher, but it’s there.”

  “Edge of Return must live damn well. Wonder what their new tour bus is like.”

  She laughs and gets to her feet. “I can’t even imagine. Maybe that’ll be y’all after this tour.”

  I shrug. “Got plenty of money right now. This fame shit…it’s harder to deal with.” That’s the understatement of the year.

  She is in the kitchenette, scraping dirty plates into the garbage, but looks up at me through the fringe of her eyelashes. “You okay, Ajia?”

  She wants to know what was wrong with me? There’s so much I could say. And not just about the other night in the garage. Old shit. Ugly shit. Shit that would turn her stomach. Some of it I don’t understand, even now, but I swallow it all.

  “Sure. It’s been six months of ordinary-guy mode. Just getting back into my rock star personality.”

  “Okay.” Her smile is crooked. She straightens and takes my plate from me. “You guys are good, you know. Like—really good.”

  I grin. “You’re gonna see for yourself. You’re coming to the show tonight, right?”

  Her smile broadens. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Come inside if you get bored.” I nod toward the arena. “I’ll show you around.”

  Her eyes dart away, come back, and she then gives me another, more careful smile. “Okay. I’ll do that.”

  “See you later, kitten.” I head down the aisle toward the front of the bus. “Oh, and Bree?” I stop at the top of the steps and look back.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for breakfast. I…liked it. A lot.”

  CHAPTER 5

  BREE

  It’s almost time for Wycked Obsession to take the stage, and it’s the first time I’ve gone backstage all day.

  Ajia’s offer to show me around left me breathless and excited for most of the day. I couldn’t let myself take him up on it, though. Not today. Not so soon after the episode in the music room. Instead, I tried to keep myself too busy to think about it.

  Besides, I know he—all the band, really—has too many legit responsibilities right now. A secret, dreamy part of me hopes it can happen later in the tour.

  I slip through the darkness and make my way to the side of the backstage area. I have an all-access pass, thanks to Baz. We had a quick chat earlier, and I’m relieved that he’s okay with me coming along. Pretty sure Knox told him about Gabe.

  God. I shouldn’t be embarrassed—it’s on Gabe, as everybody keeps reminding me—but it’s just so…eeewwww! I felt guilty when I talked to my mom this morning. She sounded okay about me going on tour with the band; Knox explained it would be good experience for my degree. Even so, I could tell she was surprised, maybe even hurt, that I hadn’t talked to her about it myself. It made me feel bad; I’d all but convinced myself she’d be glad for a chance to be alone with that asshole.

  It also reminds me of Ajia’s questions. You really want your mom to be with a guy like that? If he tries shit with his own…stepdaughter—you think he won’t try with somebody else? But my answer remains as true as when I said it. I can’t be the one to break her heart. I can’t.

  A long, low note captures my attention, and I look out onto the stage. Teasing enticement from Zayne’s bass. The low rumble of crowd noise turns into a shriek. Zayne plucks his bass again, and then the thudding demand of Noah’s bass drum joins in. The screams get louder. Rye suddenly runs the scales on his keyboard. Spotlights shine on them, one by one, while the rest of the stage remains dark. My heart’s pounding because I know what’s next.

  The opening guitar riff of Run, the band’s first single, sends the crowd into a growing frenzy, and a fourth spotlight shines on my brother. The other three are positioned equally around the back of the stage, while Knox stands closer to me, at the front. He doesn’t look at me, the audience, or anywhere except his guitar. His hair hangs down over his face and his fingers produce musical magic.

  And then a voice. His voice.

  Run, baby, run.

  You cannot hide from me.

  Are you really sure you want to go?

  You know I can set you free.

  The words are a sensual demand. Ajia’s voice carries a husky echo with a certain ragged breathiness that tells every woman in the audience she’d be a fool to go. He can make them live…love…come. They scream their satisfaction and move closer to the stage.

  I can’t look away from him.

  He stands cupping the microphone to him like a lover. His head drops low, waves of blond hair concealing his face, but I know his eyes are closed. I’d bet money on it. He wears black leather pants that caress him like a second skin and black motorcycle boots. His shirt’s a white button down, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It’s untucked, unbuttoned, and I get a flash of six-pack abs.

  Oh, God.

  My nipples are suddenly stiff and aching, and my sex is damp. I swallow a groan of arousal.

  Like thousands of other women in the audience.

  I close my eyes and try to breathe, but that image returns. Ajia in that groupie’s mouth. The hard length of his cock. Its stunning girth. He’s crooning the words of the song in his low, sexy voice.

  Jesus, I could come right there!

  My eyes pop open, and I force myself to look at the crowd. At the looks of ecstasy on all those female faces. At the shrieks and screams. I am so not alone in this.

  Who will be the lucky girl tonight?

  He sings the first verse again.

  Run, baby, run.

  No one wants to go anywhere. We all want him.

  You cannot hide from me.

  A thousand voices shout his name. Somehow, I don’t.

  Are you really sure you want to go?

  Hell, no. I will crawl on my hands and knees to get to him.

  You know I can set you free.

 
; His mouth, his lips and tongue, his hands. Holy mother of God, his cock. They can give me a freedom that I can only imagine. But I’m only Knox’s sister. Band mascot. Kitten.

  The crowd is frenzied by the end of the song. Me, too, but I stand my ground and watch Ajia greet the audience.

  “Hello, Houston!” he screams with a grin.

  They scream back.

  “We’re Wycked Obsession, and we’re here to get your night started right. Are you ready?”

  Screaming. Shouts I can’t understand.

  “I said, are you fucking ready?”

  More screams, and this time I can make out one woman’s shriek. “Ajia! I wanna have your baby!”

  I send a murderous gaze out into the audience, but he just laughs. “Whoa, there, honey. Don’t think we’re ready for that yet.”

  The crowd screams for more, but I’m just pissed. Honey? And we? He doesn’t think we’re ready for that? Why is he even associating himself with her?

  Ajia’s arm comes up, Noah counts off the beat, and Knox leads them into the opening of No Doubt, their first single to make it into the top five. I hear the music, the lyrics, but only distantly. My mind is in shock.

  What is wrong with me?

  This is the first show of the tour, and I’m totally eaten up with jealousy over fans he can’t even see? How will I survive the next three months with the band if I’m a basket case already? Knowing that every time he’s alone, he might be with another woman. Doing all the things with her that I want him to do to me.

  Worse, it’s none of my business. I have nothing to say about it, because I’m only Bree.

  Baby girl. Kitten. Suddenly I hate those nicknames.

  This is getting fucking ridiculous!

  So, what are you going to do about it? I don’t just ask myself, I demand it. You gonna play Knox’s star-struck little sister, or are you gonna do something about how you feel?

  Do something?

  Do something? Like what?

  What are all the clichés? Shit or get off the pot. Fish or cut bait. Step up or step off.

  What does any of that even mean? Like Nike? Just do it.

  Do what? Can I really, like, try something? Get him to notice me?

  I look down at myself. I gotta admit, I dressed pretty carefully for the concert. I don’t know why I try so hard; I’m in way over my head when compared to the way all the groupies act and dress.

  I’m wearing a brand-new skirt, shorter and tighter than anything else I own. It’s white with a pattern of impressionistic flowers in pink, gray and black streaked all over it. I added a blousy pale pink tank top with spaghetti straps. The hem of my top and waistband of my skirt barely touch. I have some pink gladiator sandals at home that would look perfect with it, but I settle for some strappy white flat sandals that I packed because they’ll go with anything.

  Fuck it. Maybe I can do this.

  I look at Ajia. He’s strutting around the stage like he owns it—and he does. He fucking does. And I know then that I want to own him almost as much as I want him to own me.

  A lot of shit is happening backstage after Wycked Obsession’s performance. They’re coming off, Edge of Return are going on, and I’m in the way. I almost run over a young, pimply-faced guy, and I mumble my apologies. Shit! I need to get the hell out of there, so I escape to the dressing room.

  Why the hell don’t they just call it the backstage party room? I ask myself, and not for the first time. A lot more of that goes on, or at least that’s what I saw the couple of times I visited on the last tour. Knox kept me on a short leash then, but I’m not having it tonight.

  I help myself to a vodka and Sprite from the table laid generously with food and booze. I find a spot on the couch and settle in to wait. Maybe I can come up with an idea of just how the hell I think I can get Ajia to notice me as a woman.

  Then—damn—I’m not alone long enough to reach any conclusions.

  The guys come racing into the room like a litter of lab puppies, laughing and joking and jumping around. Well, some of them. Rye, Noah, and Knox come in. No sign of Zayne or Ajia.

  My resolve hardens.

  Noah is shirtless. He always wears a Wycked Obsession T-shirt on stage and then throws it into the crowd. His hair is plastered to his head from sweating.

  I get up for hugs. “You guys were awesome!”

  “We were, weren’t we?” laughs Noah. He hugs me again.

  “Whew—you smell like sweat!” I laugh with him.

  He shrugs. “Hard work out there, baby girl. You saying I need a shower?”

  “Well…” I pretend to think about it.

  He grabs me, Rye grabs my drink, and then Noah has me pinned on the couch. “Say I smell good and I’ll let you up. Like a flower.”

  “A flower?”

  “A tulip.

  “Do tulips smell?”

  “A rose.”

  “I don’t like the smell of roses.”

  “Aw, you’re gonna get it, baby girl.”

  He tickles me and my top rides up above my waist. I don’t care. I can’t stop squirming or screaming or laughing. I have no power against being tickled.

  “You got five seconds to get in the shower,” Knox yells, “or I’m going first.”

  That’s what gets Noah’s attention? He hops up as fast as he tumbled me down. “Gotta go, baby girl.” He grins. “I’m always first in the shower.”

  I grumble to myself, straighten my top, and stand so I can pull my skirt back into place. I look up to see Ajia standing just inside the door. A girl no older than me is clutching his arm.

  My stomach clenches and I blink. He stares back with the strangest look. Is he pissed? Jealous? Amused? I can’t tell, and then I decide it doesn’t matter. My next step is what’s important.

  I grab my drink from Rye with a smile and saunter over to Ajia.

  “You were great, sweetie.” I rely on the same endearment I use with the other guys. Why do I use it so rarely with Ajia? I laugh and shake my head. “What am I saying?” I reach for his free arm with my drinkless hand. “You were…amazing.”

  His eyes darken to a rich, whiskey brown, and that’s when I get brave. I press myself against him and wrap my arms around his neck. I have to go up on my tiptoes to do it and watch the angle of my red cup, but I use the distractions to my advantage. I tuck my face against his neck and breathe in that delicious scent of sandalwood, musk, and Ajia, and then his arms are around my waist.

  I drop my head back so I can look straight into his face. “Congratulations.”

  He smiles. “Thanks, kitten.”

  I’m not crazy about him calling me kitten at this particular moment, but I let it go. It’s at least personal between us.

  “Ajia.”

  The whiny voice of the girl next to him interrupts. I want to say something nasty, shove her as far away as possible or—well, it doesn’t matter. It isn’t gonna happen, and so I do the next best thing.

  I unwind my arms from his neck and, using my red Solo cup as my excuse, balance myself against him as I sink back to my feet. As in…I drag my breasts down his chest until I’m standing flat footed again. His shirt is still unbuttoned, another reason for my nipples to go hard. They aren’t shy about making an appearance through my clothes, and they aren’t the only thing that’s hard.

  I recognize the impressive ridge in Ajia’s leather pants for exactly what it is. I don’t actually take any credit for his hard-on, but at least being next to me didn’t chase it away. I wait against him as long as I dare and then take a single step back. His hands are still at my waist, skin against skin, I realize suddenly. My shirt rode up, but I have no intention of pulling it back into place.

  I kind of like it when he does it for me. Mostly, though, I wish he’d pull it up over my head and maybe even get serious about getting me out of the rest of my clothes.

  “Ajia.” Whiny Voice again.

  I step back slowly,
give him what I hope is a steamy smile, and stroll back to the refreshment table. The room’s starting to fill up, mostly groupies and fangirls, but there are also a few guys I don’t recognize. I don’t care. Nobody says anything to me, and why would they? They don’t know me except as the chick who was just talking to Ajia. I’m nobody to them, and I’m not about to announce myself as Knox’s little sister.

  How lame is that?

  Noah is out of the shower—that was quick—and stands near the booze, pouring himself a drink. I stop next to him, ignoring the giggling girls on his other side.

  “Having fun there, baby girl?” He looks at me.

  I peek at him through my lashes and pour some vodka into my cup. “Maybe.”

  “Good thing Knox’s in the shower. He missed the ending to that little scene.”

  “What scene?”

  He takes a drink. “You know what you’re doing, Bree?”

  I fill my glass with Sprite. “No. Not sure that I do.”

  He laughs. “At least you’re honest.”

  I slug back a big drink. “What should I do? Just watch while he fucks his way through the tour?”

  Noah’s gaze flicks between Ajia and me. “I dunno. Might be safer.”

  “Safer for who?”

  He shrugs. “Knox isn’t gonna like it.”

  I laugh but it sounds harsh. “Knox doesn’t like anything where I’m concerned.”

  “He’s your brother. He loves you.”

  My smile becomes more genuine. “Yeah, he does. And he’s protective as shit. But he’s having a hard time letting me grow up, and I’m not waiting.”

  Noah grins. “Well, this ought to be interesting.”

  “What?” I ask, pretending I’m innocent.

  He steps close until we’re practically touching, and then he bends down to press his lips close to my ear. “Watching you go after Ajia.”

  I pull back enough to look him straight on. “You make it sound like a game or something.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No.” I frown. “I’ve never been more serious.”

  Our faces are close enough together that I can see a riot of thoughts chasing through Noah’s pretty blue eyes. “You might want to be careful.”