Wycked Crush (Wycked Obsession Book 1)

by Wynne Roman

  Assholes. I frown. I hate them all right now.

  I quit paying attention as the game continues. I’m just pissed. The chicks keep trying to make everything sexual, and the guys just…well, they’re fucking with the girls. Leading them on and then backing off. It must be some kind of game they play with groupies. Maybe it makes for better hook-up sex, keeping the girls on edge. They don’t know if they’re getting laid or not until the very end.

  I’m so going to have a talk with these assholes.

  “Truth or dare.” I finally zone back into the game when the chick on Zayne’s lap prompts him.

  “Dare,” he says with a wicked grin.

  She looks around the table. “Can I dare somebody else?”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “It might be fun.” She whispers something in his ear, then leans in for a long, luxurious kiss.

  “Sure.” Zayne shrugs when his mouth is free again. “Why not? You drink if they refuse the dare. You drink if they fuck it up. Right?”

  He looks around the table, and everybody else pretty much agrees. I don’t really care. I’m sick of the game, anyway. Not so much the game itself, but the groupies who keep trying to turn it into some kind of sexual marathon or orgy or something.

  “Okay,” says Zayne’s girl. “I dare Liza to make out with Ajia. Five minutes. On the couch.”

  My heart starts to pound, and I can’t breathe. I blink fast until the only thing I can do is close my eyes. I don’t need to see in order to hear a new screech from the Squealer.

  Her name, apparently, is Liza.

  I shouldn’t feel so blindsided, but I do. There’s been a sexual undertone to the whole night, but—Jesus! I never thought it would end up like this.

  Say no, I think to myself. Please, Ajia, say no!

  Movement. Chairs scraping across the floor. Laughter. More shrieking.

  “I wanna see how good he is if he doesn’t kiss.”

  I hear the comment from Zayne’s chick, and I want to char her to absolute fucking ashes. And even though I know I shouldn’t, my eyes open.

  Liza has Ajia over by the couch. She pushes at his shoulders, and he kind of flops down, his back to me. She’s on him in an instant, straddling his lap. I have no trouble picturing the horrifying image of her dress pushed all the way to her waist.

  I’m losing my ability to breathe as she pulls his T-shirt over his head and tosses it aside. His hair flutters around his shoulders, and I remember how soft and silky it felt, tangled around my fingers. They twitch with the memory.

  I lose the sensation in an instant when she shoves the top of her tube dress down, and her boobs pop out for everybody to see. They’re twice the size of mine and way too perky to be real. I hear one of the guys hoot—Zayne, I think—but I can’t look away. It’s like I’m frozen in place, watching the proverbial train wreck.

  She leans forward, kissing Ajia’s neck, his chest, and pressing her tits against him. He doesn’t move, and so she starts squirming on his lap. She looks at him, her head cocked to one side, and then she parts her lips in a slow, sexy smile. She straightens, pulls his hand to her breast, and presses his palm against her. His fingers squeeze a couple of times, and she moans. Her head falls back, and his thumb strokes once, twice, across her stiff nipple. She groans, and his fingers keep moving.

  I’m going to be sick. I do my best to swallow it back while my mind spins like it’s caught in a tornado. I still can’t move, can’t look anywhere else, even though my mind is screaming at him.

  God, Ajia! Stop. Just—please. Stop!

  Nothing changes until she leans forward again, bringing her other boob to his mouth. “There you go, baby,” she murmurs, thrusting her nipple against his lips. “I’m all yours.”

  I can’t see for sure that he’s taken her into his mouth, but I can tell his head is moving. It doesn’t matter. They’re both naked to the waist, he’s caressing her breasts and I know how this goes. I saw the evidence that night in the garage.

  They won’t stop here.

  I stand up so suddenly the chair clatters back behind me. I ignore it.

  “I have to go.” I step back and swallow again. “I’m not feeling well all of a sudden.”

  “Bree!” It’s Rye’s voice, but I wave him off and spin for the door.

  “She can’t hold her liquor, can she?” demands one of the girls.

  “Goddamn, you fuckers.”

  The snarl comes from Noah, but I can’t let it stop me. I’m out the door and racing down the hall before anybody can say one more fucking word. It’s all a goddamn nightmare, and I just want free of it.

  Of them. Of the sight of Ajia playing with another woman’s tits and knowing it isn’t going to end there.

  That he’ll never be with me like that. That he’ll give himself to almost anyone else, as long as she isn’t me.

  CHAPTER 10

  AJIA

  Noah’s shout is followed by a slamming door. The noise sends off an explosion in my brain, and I realize in an entirely new way that I’m sprawled on the sofa with some topless chick shoving her tits at me. And I’m letting her.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  I shove the girl off my lap and stand up. I hardly notice when she tumbles to the floor. Where the fuck is my shirt?

  I spot it on the floor halfway across the room and stalk over to grab it. I tug it over my head and shove my hair away from my face. Fucking shit.

  I hear the woman—Lizzie or Lisa or something—screech behind me. “Ajia! What the fuck?” I ignore her and look around the room. It’s like everything is different, but it’s exactly the same.

  Noah is on his feet, as pissed as I’ve ever seen him. “Yeah, Ajia. What the ever-loving fuck?”

  I scrub one hand over my face. “Don’t start with me, Noah,” I snap. “You fuckers set this up.”

  He takes a step toward me. “I didn’t have a goddamn thing to do with this fucking farce.”

  I whip a furious gaze to Zayne. “What about you, asshole?”

  Zayne looks between Noah and me. He squints like he’s totally confused. Drunk or high, more like it. “What the fuck happened?”

  The groupies around him look just as fucked up. Christ! How did this all get so goddamn, disgustingly dysfunctional?

  “Ajia?” The chick I was supposed to be making out with grabs my arm, but I jerk away.

  “Don’t touch me.” I glare at her and put as much distance between us as I can. “And pull your fucking top up, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Don’t try to blame anybody else, you asshole.” Noah is relentless. “You knew what you were doing. You always know what the fuck you’re doing. Take some fucking responsibility for yourself for a change.”

  He’s right. He’s so fucking right, and there isn’t anything I can say. No way to defend myself. I knew I was playing a dangerous game when I let Tight Dress lead me over to the couch. I knew it could—and probably would—get out of hand. And I let it happen anyway.

  No! You didn’t let it happen. You did it. You knew what you were doing and you fucking did it, anyway! My conscience won’t let me off the hook. All because you got freaked out when Bree touched you like she did. What a sorry piece of shit.

  I didn’t want to be the one whose face she touched. I knew that having her hands on me that way—in any way—would turn me into a raging, testosterone-filled monster that I couldn’t let loose. Not here and not now, and so I argued against it. It had every potential to turn into a shit storm. Just like it did.

  Zayne and Knox were so sure she’d guess anybody but me. How are they so fucking clueless?

  “I still don’t get what the fuck happened!” Zayne looks around the room like a drunken owl.

  Rye shoots him a death-ray look. “Bree didn’t like some half-naked chick shoving her tits in Ajia’s face.”

  Zayne blinks a couple of times and then finally nods like he got it. “Oh.” He doe
sn’t get shit.

  “And she didn’t fucking like Ajia touching some half-naked chick.” Noah just can’t leave well enough alone.

  “Oh.” Zayne nods again like it made more sense. “Like the chick in the garage.”

  Goddamn stupid fucker. And me? The rest of us? We’re all playing with these girls’ lives like they’re so freaking expendable.

  “But, Ajia,” Linda, or whatever her name is, says from behind me. She moves closer. “Don’t you want to—”

  I turn on her. “No! I don’t want to. I don’t want anything to fucking do with you. Leave me alone.”

  I storm away from her and go straight for the door.

  “Hey, asshole, where ya goin’?” calls Zayne over the suddenly frantic whispering of the chicks.

  I glare at him over my shoulder. “Where the fuck do you think?”

  The door slams as I leave. It’s the most satisfying thing to happen since Bree stuck her finger in my mouth. I shove the memory away and make it halfway down the hall before I hear my name.

  “Ajia. Wait.”

  It’s Rye. “What?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “What the fuck do you think?” I snap. “Apologize to her.” I hadn’t seen the look on her face, but I heard the ragged sound of her voice. It was enough.

  Shit’s already in an uproar between us, and now pretending that fucking ugly little scene didn’t happen isn’t going to fix anything.

  “What’re you going to say?”

  I stare at him for a second. “Don’t you think that’s between me and her?”

  He lifts one shoulder. “Maybe. Under other circumstances. Tonight? Not so sure. Maybe tonight you’ve fucked with her enough.”

  I drop my head, shove my hands over my face and into my hair. “Jesus, Rye. What the fuck happened tonight? What’s wrong with me?”

  “You want her.”

  “Yeah.” It takes me a minute to admit it out loud. “I do.”

  “So why do you keep doing shit to hurt her?”

  It feels like I can’t stand suddenly, and so I lean back against the wall. I shake my head.

  “I don’t know, man.” Rye is the one person I know I can be honest with. He knows my shit. He’s got some shit of his own to deal with.

  “I don’t mean to,” I add after a minute. “But…”

  “What?”

  I close my eyes and bang my head back against the wall. Jesus.

  “Ajia?”

  I blow out a heavy breath. “I’m fucking scared. Okay?”

  “Of what?”

  “You know. Of her, man. Of her. Of what could happen.”

  “You’re scared of being with Bree?” He sounds surprised.

  “Shit, yeah. Of fucking course.”

  “Ajia. Dude, c’mon. She’s—”

  “Bree. Baby girl. I know! She’s like the sixth member of Wycked Obsession. But…”

  “You have feelings for her.”

  I stare at him. “Of course I have feelings for her. We’ve all got feelings for her. There’s nobody—”

  “Yours are different.” There’s no question in his voice.

  “Yeah. I guess. They’re starting to be.”

  “You gonna do anything about it?”

  “I don’t fucking know.” I shake my head. “I shouldn’t, you know? I’m all fucked up. Jaded. And she’s…Bree. Sweet and fun and funny. She’ll kick any one of our asses. But she’s, I don’t know…innocent, I guess.”

  Rye gives a soft laugh. “You calling a girl who can cuss better than the rest of us innocent?”

  I smile a little. “That’s all bullshit, and you know it. She learned how to fit in. A bunch of fucking rowdy rockers who don’t have an inch of decency among us.”

  “That ain’t innocence, dude.” He steps closer, his voice low. “It’s inexperience.”

  “Same difference,” I insist.

  “No. It isn’t. But you can be damn sure she ain’t gonna stay that way for long. If you don’t step up—” he shakes his head “—somebody else will.”

  I straighten away from the wall. “Is that a threat? You gonna be the one to step up?”

  Rye laughs. “Hell, no. My feelings for Bree haven’t changed. But this tour…” He pauses. “There are fucking guys everywhere. Drivers, roadies, merch. Hell, Edge of Reason. And none of ‘em are blind.”

  “Then you think I should…step up.”

  “Ain’t for me to say. I just know that you gotta do one or the other. Take your chance or back off. No in-between.”

  “Shit.” I shove my hands through my hair again and glance down the hall. “I gotta go, man. I gotta…fix this somehow.”

  “Good luck, man.”

  Rye turns back toward Zayne and Noah’s suite. He doesn’t say it, but we both know what he’s thinking.

  You’re gonna need it.

  I don’t have any trouble getting into Bree’s suite. I have Knox’s key card.

  The place is quiet, the living area dark. I stand inside the doorway long enough that my eyes adjust to the heavy shadows. I try not to think as I wait. Thinking isn’t going to help, not one goddamn bit.

  I swallow a sigh, one of those get-it-fucking-over-with-because-it-isn’t-going-to-get-any-easier sighs, and try to pretend that I’m not a little freaked out. It’s really, really quiet, except for the hum of the AC unit. What if I’m wrong and Bree didn’t come back to her room?

  I take a careful step toward the bedrooms, and that’s when I hear it. The sound is muffled enough I’m not exactly sure what it is. Breath? A sigh? Tears? It’s something, and it came from behind the only closed door.

  It opens easily, and I can see well enough to spot a pile of clothes on the floor by the bed. Bree is on the bed, her back to me, wearing a tank top and panties, as far as I can guess. Thank God, I think, it’s too dark for details.

  “Bree? Sweetheart?” I say as I lightly touch her shoulder.

  She gives a soft yelp and whips around on the bed. She scrambles away from me before I can say another word, so I hold my hands up in front of me, hoping she can see them.

  “There you are, baby girl. It’s okay. It’s just me.”

  She makes an odd noise, like an angry breath. “How did you get in here?”

  “Knox’s key.” I hold up the card but keep my movements slow. I don’t want to shake her up any more than she already is.

  “Where’s he?”

  “We switched rooms tonight. He wanted…well, to be alone with his…girl.”

  “He didn’t want me to hear them fucking, you mean.”

  “Uh…” Shit. I hate it when she’s like this, even if it is my fault. “Yeah.”

  “So what are you doing here? You don’t care if I hear you fucking?”

  Goddammit.

  “Bree…kitten. It’s not like that.” I try to maintain my shit, but a part of me wants to punch something. Like a very solid fucking wall.

  “What’s it like, then?”

  “I…I need to talk to you.”

  She shakes her head and pushes herself up to sit. As far away from me as she can get. “Pretty sure there’s nothing to say.”

  “No. Fuck, no. There’s a lot to say.”

  “Then maybe now isn’t the time to say it.”

  “No,” I say again. “It has to be now.”

  “Think your girlfriend would disagree.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend!” I shove my hand through my hair. “Jesus, Bree, you know that.”

  “Okay.” She doesn’t move. “Fuck buddy. Tonight’s hook-up. The one who’s going to blow you, fuck you, do whatever the rock star wants.”

  “Goddamn it, Bree!” I can’t hold back the words anymore. “Jesus Christ!”

  She looks at me with what the shadows pretend is innocence. I don’t believe it for a second. She’s pushing me, hard, and she means to do it.

  Worse, she deserves to. I can�
��t argue that she deserves to do a lot worse to me.

  “You know me, sweetie.” The endearment she uses with the rest of the guys sounds like an insult. “I call ‘em like I see ‘em. I see through the bullshit. Can’t get by with making shit up when you’ve got a brother like Knox Gallagher.”

  “I know, sweetheart.”

  I try to be sweet, because she deserves it, but I’m so fucking pissed. Not at her, but at myself. At the rest of the band. At the women we always attract. At…life. It’s so fucking unfair!

  I thought I’d come to terms with what my life would be. With taking only what I deserved and leaving the good shit, the sweet shit, for others. The night of that last party in Austin changed everything. And tonight totally destroyed it.

  “Look, honey.” I try again and kneel carefully on the edge of the bed.

  “Don’t call me that!”

  I stop before I understand the words. “What?”

  “Don’t call me honey. Ever. You call all the groupies and fangirls honey when you don’t know or can’t remember their names.”

  “Okay, Bree. Kitten.”

  I move slowly, pull off my boots and push myself up to lean back against the headboard. I stretch my legs out across the mattress and hold one hand out to her. I shouldn’t—Christ knows, I shouldn’t—but she’s hurting, and I have to do something.

  “What do you want?” she demands irritably.

  “Come here.”

  “No. Go back to Tits and—”

  “I’m not going back and I’ll never see her again.” Fuck! I have to swallow the word. It isn’t what Bree needs right now…but what about what I need?

  Jesus. It hits me again. I have to do something.

  “I know you didn’t actually come sitting there on the sofa with her, so—”

  “Motherfucker!” I can’t hold it back this time. The word explodes, and Bree flinches. I hate that, but at the same time I hope she gets it that she can only push me so far. “We are not talking about that.”

  She doesn’t respond, and so I slowly reach for her hand. I link our fingers and tug as gently as I can. “C’mon, baby. C’mere.”

  “Why?”