Wycked Crush (Wycked Obsession Book 1)

by Wynne Roman

  “Fuck this,” snaps Zayne. “Are we playing this goddamn game or not?”

  Noah looks at the chick on his lap. “Okay, babe. Truth or dare?”

  She makes a squeaky sound, too, but it isn’t quite as offensive as Tight Dress next to me.

  “Truth!” she shouts, surprising me. I figured sure she’d ask Noah for a dare.

  “You ever fuck a rock star?” he asks immediately.

  “Noah!” She wiggles on his lap.

  “Well?”

  “Nooooo,” she admits slowly. “But…”

  “But?” he asks with a sly wink.

  “I’m hoping to change that tonight.”

  We all laugh, even Knox and Bree. I’m kind of surprised that he’s going along with any of this shit. But maybe, as long as Bree isn’t stripping as part of the game, he figures he’ll keep his word.

  I’m not going to change overnight, but I’ll try to do better. He made the promise in Austin.

  The questions go around, most of the girls opting for truth this early in the game. Everybody’s drinking, but maybe we all have to imbibe a little more before we’re brave enough for a dare.

  I don’t pay much attention until it’s Bree’s turn. Knox looks at her. “Truth or dare?”

  She smirks. The women might have been strangers to us, but Bree knows the band. Better than we know ourselves, I think sometimes.

  “Dare.”

  The guys hoot, and Knox nods like he’s taking it seriously. “Okay. I dare you to go to your room and stay there the rest of the night.”

  There’s a second of charged silence. I see Bree’s face go white, the way she swallows and then closes her eyes. I know what she’s hiding. I’ve seen the pain she conceals. Hell, I’ve put it there.

  “No fucking way,” shouts Noah as he glares at Knox. “I call that an invalid fucking dare.”

  “Jesus, Knox,” says Rye.

  “When did you get to be such a fucking prick?” demands Zayne.

  Knox looks at me, and I shake my head. Bad fucking idea, my eyes insist, even though a part of me wishes she’d do it. It would be so much simpler on so many levels.

  At least for me. Now who’s the prick?

  “Hey!” He tries to laugh it off and gives Bree a light punch on the shoulder. “I was just kidding.”

  “Were you?” She stares him down.

  He blinks. “Yeah. Of course.” He smiles, but even I can see it’s a shitty effort. “You know that, baby girl.”

  She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything.

  “So what’s your dare?” I ask him before he—or anybody else—can make things worse.

  “Uh…” He pauses and then smiles. “Okay, I dare you to let us blindfold you. You have to feel somebody else’s face and tell us who it is by touch alone.”

  Bree’s wide eyes reveal her surprise. Hell, I’m surprised! What’s his game? But when I think about it, I guess he thinks it’s safe somehow. She’ll be touching only a face, one that belongs to another woman or a man who’s like a brother to her.

  Except me…and Knox doesn’t fucking know that.

  I refuse to look at him or any of the other guys.

  Bree’s brave, though, and she nods. “All right.”

  “Son of a bitch, Knox.” Noah laughs. “Last time we played Truth or Dare, that was his dare,” he tells Bree.

  Shit, I’d forgotten that.

  “And he blew it, right?” She laughs, too, but only looks at Knox. It’s kind of a rough sound, and I know she hasn’t forgiven him for his original dare.

  “Bad,” says Zayne, and then everybody laughs. Except me.

  Fuck. Now that I remember, I remember all of it. Knox blew it all right, but he ended up practically fucking that girl right there in front of us. The way it was, she came all over his fingers before she gave him a blow-job.

  Dumb fucking asshole.

  “Somebody get a blindfold,” cries Knox, and one look at Bree tells me she’s determined to do it. My dick twitches at the idea as Zayne races for the bedroom and returns waving a pillow case.

  Bree’s eyes widen, but she takes a breath. I shouldn’t notice the way her breasts move, but I do.

  “You can fold it over my eyes,” she says firmly, “but don’t put it over my head. I…don’t like that.”

  “Sure, baby girl.” Zayne grins, twists the pillow case around and then ties it around her face. He waves a hand in front of her, really close, but she doesn’t flinch.

  She can’t see anything.

  “Okay.” Zayne turns to look at the rest of us. “Who’s offering up their face?”

  CHAPTER 9

  BREE

  Zayne’s pillowcase makes a pretty effective blindfold. I can’t see a thing.

  What the hell did I agree to? It seemed harmless enough, especially when the guys joke about Knox being such a failure at it. But sitting here, waiting and completely unable to see, I wonder if I’m messing up.

  It’s not that I don’t trust the guys. I do. I just don’t want to look like a complete idiot in front of the fangirls. They might be my age, but I can tell they’re way more experienced than me. They don’t have Knox freaking Gallagher for a brother, who pretty much does whatever he can to wreck most chances I’ve ever had with a guy.

  Or a five-year crush on Ajia freaking Stone that keeps me from really even looking at another guy.

  God, I’m so screwed.

  I hear movement, whispering, giggles, and laughter. The others moved away from the table, and I can’t make out much more than a muddle of sound. Male voices rumble, almost like an argument, but I can’t hear the actual words over Justin Timberlake’s Sexyback.

  “Okay,” says Knox finally, sounding like he’s across the room. For some reason, I’ve been assuming it won’t be his face I touch, and this seems to confirm it. “You ready?”

  “Yes.” I nod. Nerves dance through my stomach.

  I hear more movement shuffling around me, and then someone turns my chair away from the table.

  “Open your legs,” says Noah, sounding like he’s nearby. “You know. So your…person can get closer.”

  “Okay.” I do it.

  I sense more movement, and then a body stands between my thighs.

  I know two things immediately. It’s a man. He’s too big, has too much presence, for it to be one of the too-skinny fangirls. He smells masculine, like sandalwood and a very certain scent that belongs to only one man.

  It’s Ajia.

  That must have been what the argument was about. Somebody wanted him to do it, and he doesn’t want to.

  A sad, empty space opens up in my stomach, stirring my nervousness into a frenzy. After all that’s happened between Ajia and me, he doesn’t like it. Doesn’t want it. The idea of risking my heart any more than I already have shrivels. I’ve known he doesn’t really want it—me—but every time I get reminded, it hurts like hell again.

  “You gonna start?” Knox demands.

  “Uh, yeah.” I’m not going to waste this opportunity. It’ll probably be the only chance I ever get to touch any part of Ajia the way I want to.

  I reach out, not sure where my hands will land. I find his shoulders, broad and solid and muscular. I curl my fingers for a gentle squeeze, but I know I can’t get by with much extra-curricular groping.

  Everybody’s watching.

  I pat my way inward, finding the column of his neck, and his hair tangles around my fingers. It’s long and soft, but that can be said for any of the guys; they all have long hair.

  I trace the curve of his ears, massage a spot just behind his earlobe. His skin is soft and warm. He shifts slightly, and I hear a soft catch in his breathing.

  Ears, I tell myself. He likes to be touched there. I’ll never have the chance again, but still I commit the secret to memory.

  I splay my fingers wider to push his hair back from his face. God, I want to shove my hands forward so I can grip
his head and pull him closer, but I know I can’t. Instead, I work my way up until they’re resting near his hairline. I lift my hands then, just a little. Enough to sweep light, caressing fingertips over his forehead.

  It’s an easy touch, sensual, sexual even. At least to me, without my eyes. I’m afraid it reveals too much, and so I force myself to work harder. Trace the arch of his eyebrows. Rest the flat tips of my fingers against the skin around his eyes.

  Don’t tease him like a lover, I tell myself with ragged insistence. You’re supposed to be finding out who’s kneeling between your thighs.

  Oh, God.

  The song playing in the background changes to Gnarles Barkley’s Crazy, and I know before the lyrics start it’s meant for me. I am crazy. I wanted—and got—safely away from Gabe, only to lose myself in the intimacy of life on the road with Ajia.

  And now I want more. So much more.

  I lighten my touch as I trace all the contours of Ajia’s eyes. His eyelids close beneath my fingertips, and I feel the sweep of his eyelashes. I wish I could kiss him there, feel the feathery brush of his lashes against my lips. I even start to lean forward, and then the sound of movement, followed by a giggle—shushed and cut-off—reminds me of where I am.

  Ajia is crouched between my legs, yes, but we have an audience. This isn’t romantic or even sexual. It’s a game. A goddamned drinking game.

  So why are my nipples stiff beneath my bra and T-shirt? And why am I wet and aching between my legs? If I could see him, would Ajia have a hard-on?

  God, how I wish it could be true!

  I flatten my fingers again and stroke down over the slope of his nose, up to the curve of his cheekbones, then lower again to his jawline and the brush of a couple days’ worth of beard.

  Then, I’m right there. Touching his lips. I press against them softly. Tenderly. Longingly.

  He doesn’t kiss girls. Not on the mouth.

  But he kissed me.

  “So who do you think it is?” Knox demands suddenly, laughing.

  The sound of my brother’s voice brings back all the other noise in the room. It all died away for me, and I didn’t realize it until it returns. I didn’t hear the rest of Crazy, didn’t hear movement or chatter or laughter. I only knew the touch of Ajia’s skin—his mouth—against my hand.

  I rub my fingers over his lips again, back and forth, until they part just a fraction. It’s all I need. I push one finger between them, against his teeth, and then my index finger is in his mouth, stroking over the wet heat of his tongue.

  “Bree?”

  I wait long enough for Ajia to lick around my finger, suck it deep into his mouth, and I lose a soft, ragged breath.

  “It’s Ajia,” I admit softly.

  I’m not pretending that I don’t know. Not for some stupid drinking game. Not when I want him to understand that I will always know him, any time, any place.

  Besides, if he didn’t know it before, he had to have known I recognized him the second I stuck my finger in his mouth. The way he licked and sucked my finger tells me so.

  I pull the blindfold off and stare at him. He hasn’t moved. I can’t look away from the sight of him, still kneeling between my thighs and my finger still lodged in his mouth. His tongue still circles it round and round.

  “How the hell did you get it?” demands Zayne, and I try to blink myself back to awareness. “We thought for sure the last one you’d guess was Pipes.”

  The scrawny, fake-boobed blonde who’s been throwing herself at Ajia all night screeches. “Pipes! So you all do have nicknames!”

  Ajia jerks my finger from his mouth, pulls back and pushes to his feet. His eyes are fastened on mine, and neither of us can blink. God, how I wish we were alone.

  “Bree?” It’s Rye’s voice that prods me.

  I force myself to look at him. “I don’t know. I just tried to imagine the features in my mind as I went, and something told me it was Ajia.”

  It’s a shitty explanation, but I can’t tell them the truth. Not any of it. That’s between Ajia and me.

  “So does Ajia have to drink?” demands Knox. His arm is slung around Ciara or Cherry or something like that. The chick who’s sitting on his lap. “Since she got it right?”

  “No, dumbass,” laughs Noah. “You have to drink. You made the dare.”

  “Huh.” He shakes his head. “Right.” He shoots me a mildly offended look. “Shoulda made you take the first one.”

  “And I should punch you in the face.” I refuse to let him hurt my feelings this time. “It’s not like one drink is going to make a difference in your current asinine condition.”

  He looks at the girl painted against his side and laughs. “Guess you’re right, sis.”

  Everybody else laughs, too. They get up, move around, get drinks and some of them even make out. I figure it must be the end of the game, so I get up for more vodka. It’s lousy vodka, but I’m getting used to it. Hell, I need it after that intimacy with Ajia. I used to expect rock stars to splurge on good booze, I think as I add Sprite to my drink. But it’s got to have been my brother who picked it out. Knox is always a cheapskate.

  I turn back to the main room and see Knox cozied up with Ajia. They’re talking—not about my little display, I hope—and I see them exchange…what? Not sure, but I get a sick feeling in my stomach.

  God, they didn’t bet on the dare, did they?

  “Okay, everybody,” shouts Noah, waving his hand around. “Break’s over. We haven’t even gone all the way around the table yet.”

  “We’ve had our turns.” Knox points to the fake-looking chick plastered against his side. “Chanel and I have…something else to do.”

  Chanel! That’s her name.

  The fangirls giggle, Zayne and Noah shout obscene suggestions, and I frown at my brother. Jesus, he’d better understand the message my expression is trying to shout.

  You’re a pig for fucking a groupie you know you won’t see again. But if you have to do it, get the loud shit out of the way before I get back to my room!

  He gives me a drunken smile, waves, and follows Chanel to the door. She’s into it as much as he is. And why the fuck doesn’t that bother him? Knowing he’s as much a notch on her belt as she is on his?

  It shouldn’t mean a damn thing to me. It’s the lifestyle of a rock star. I’ve known about it for years, especially since the very first sign of Wycked Obsession’s success. It’s just that it’s climbed to such astronomical levels since their first album. Besides, it’s one thing to hear about the guys nailing girls when they’re on tour and I’m safe at home, but it’s a whole different beast to actually witness my brother doing it.

  Eeewwww!

  “Okay, Bree.” Noah calls on me as I take my seat. “You’re up.”

  I swallow like half my drink and try to get my mind back in the game. Away from the memory of Ajia’s face beneath my fingers. From how it felt to have my finger in his mouth. Away from wondering if Knox and Ajia bet on whether I could identify him, and away from knowing my brother’s down the hall in our suite fucking some girl he’ll never see again.

  I turn to the handsy girl who sits at the end of the table. She’s between Ajia and me, and that’s enough to make me hate her.

  I’ve had both my question and my dare prepared for most of the game. “Okay,” I say. “Truth or dare?”

  She squeals and I can’t help poking one finger in my ear. Jesus, can she screech any louder?

  “I take dare!”

  She bounces on her chair, looking from me to Ajia. Like she thinks I’m going to give her something that could possibly involve him?

  No way in hell, bitch.

  I nod and smile. “Touch your tongue to your nose.”

  She blinks. “What?”

  “Touch your tongue to your nose.” I stick out my tongue and wiggle it. “I can’t do it. I want to see if you can.”

  She looks from me to Ajia again. He smiles like he�
�s encouraging her, but his eyes are mostly empty.

  “Go ahead, honey,” he says. “Try it.”

  It would piss me off that he calls her honey, except I know that’s what he and all the guys call women when they can’t remember their names. In a twisted way, it kind of satisfies me.

  She giggles, which sounds almost as irritating as her screams, and I try to pretend it doesn’t bother me. The truth is, everything about her pisses me off, and it isn’t even really her fault.

  Everybody laughs when she can’t do it. Her tongue doesn’t come anywhere close to her nose, and so she has to drink. She practically drains her freaking glass and then shoots Ajia a wicked smile.

  “Okay, baby.” She smirks at him. “Truth or dare.”

  “Truth,” he says easily and leans back.

  I shake my head when that seems to surprise her. Jesus! She’s like the clichéd fangirl in every possible way. Ajia’s shown her like minimal attention, and she thinks he’s going to pick a dare from her?

  She smiles then, slowly, and says, “Why don’t you kiss on the mouth?”

  I can’t read his expression, which is something pretty new between us. Why does it keep happening lately?

  “It’s against my religion,” he says with all seriousness.

  What? I grab my red plastic cup and try to hide a laugh behind pretending to take a sip.

  His religion? I’m pretty sure he believes in God, but his religion?

  Far as I know, he doesn’t have one.

  Fangirl, on the other hand, takes him seriously. “Oohh.” She nods. “What religion are you?”

  He shakes his head. “One question. And I don’t talk about it. It’s…personal.”

  She nods again, and I keep pretending to drink my vodka. I don’t dare look at Noah or Zayne. They know exactly how to destroy me with nothing more than a look, and I’ll be howling with laughter. So will they.

  I wonder why they aren’t laughing, anyway, and then it hits me. They probably think they’re helping him get with that girl. Like they want him to fuck her.