by Anthology
When the chorus started, Simon backed off and let Deacon shine. His eyes were closed as if he didn’t know he was on display. The cameraman zoomed in, and every emotion was caught. The reverence for the song, the lyrics pulling out of his soul, and the passion coasting through every note he played.
When he opened his eyes and realized they’d left him alone in the song, his dimple flashed before he let loose with a vibrato that made Simon rock back with a clap. The crowd followed, and they all finished the song together.
“We just wanted to thank everyone for all your support. We couldn’t have done this without the fans that make us feel welcome every single night. I know we kinda pussied out with the acoustic set tonight, but the night was so perfect, and the mountains were just calling out for a stripped-bare set. We’ll leave you with ‘The Becoming’.”
The crowd roared out and clapped.
It was like nothing she’d ever seen or heard. This was the reaction people gave to a veteran band with millions of fans. This band mowed down the unwilling and dragged them into the fold like a religion.
Here, with the music in its most basic form, and on a perfect night, she saw the beginnings of a future that promised only more of the same.
Jazz scrambled behind her kit, finally, and the driving beat was like a heartbeat. Harper had heard the song a million times on the radio, had even caught them playing it a time or two. But not like this. Layers of guitars where there was usually only Deacon’s bass. It was beautiful and haunting. Especially when there was one set of chords playing over and over thanks to Deacon’s constancy. That metronome of unwavering notes could only be him.
Like when he touched her. Never stopping, even when she thought she was going to burst with release and insanity. He never wavered. He held on. She wasn’t sure when she started working her way down the stone steps. The crowd was on their feet and cheering for the band.
She blazed her way through the streaming people. Her only focus was Deacon. She caught a glimpse of his smiling face as they took their bows. The five of them, a unit, linked hands and soaked in the fan outcries.
She pulled her all-access pass out of her shirt and slipped past the barricades. More people blocked her way. Fans with VIP access, concert promoters with clipboards, roadies pulling down one stage set up for another, bands of every fandom, all of them held her back.
Then she saw him. Head and shoulders over most people, he was easy to pluck from the crowd. A circle of reporters tightened around them with Simon and Jazz holding court. She bypassed all of them to get to the back of the pack. All the while, Deacon’s shoulders were in her sights.
She snaked through security until finally, his warm skin was under her hands. He didn’t immediately recognize her touch. How could he? Constantly pawed at by fans and security pushing him from section to section back stage, he had to be immune to skin on skin contact.
But then he stilled, and his wide palm covered hers. He laced his fingers through hers to hold her hand against his lower belly. She pressed her nose into his back and drew in the healthy scent of him. Warm, clean sweat and the ocean. God, she’d missed being near him.
He lifted his arm to pull her forward, but she tugged him backwards until every firm line of him was pressed up against her.
She slid their linked fingers along the loose waistband of his jeans. His groan of understanding was exactly what she was hoping for. She rose on her toes and got as close to his ear as possible. “Come with me.”
He looked around. She could taste the indecision on him. Responsibilities were such a large part of Deacon. Just as she was going to tell him no, not to leave his band right now, he hooked his arm around her waist and turned her into the backstage area.
Years of touring had netted her a few tips when it came to the inner workings of a festival. Wordlessly they circumvented the small backstage to the rockface that butted up to the back of the amphitheater.
She dragged him around the still sunbaked, nature-made wall until the sounds of people faded. He crowded into her back, his hand above her head on the rocks. His chin brushed along her neck. “I’ve missed you.”
Harper closed her eyes as his lips coasted up her neck, groaning when he nipped her earlobe before brushing his nose around the shell of her ear.
“I can’t wait, Deacon.”
He stilled behind her. “Here?”
She nodded. His music inside her and now his skin behind her. She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to pick apart the why they should, why they shouldn’t. She just wanted him to fill the ache. She rubbed her ass along the front of his jeans and stepped into one of the crevices in the boulder in front of her. She gained a few precious inches in height.
Cripes, she probably looked like a groupie in heat, but right now she didn’t care. She was a groupie in heat. She was his groupie. And she wanted him to use her, plunge inside her with all that raging energy from the stage.
When his fingers slid around her belly and up under her shirt, she moaned her thanks. She wanted him inside her with the murmur of people around them and yet apart from them at the same time. With the stain of rock chalk on her hands and him inside of her, she might be able to breathe again.
His touch was soft where she wanted impatient. She wanted to ride the madness crawling inside her. She dragged his head down to hers in a hot, open mouthed kiss. She searched out his tongue to tangle with hers. The bite of his grip on her hip fueled her. She knew it was inside him. As gentle as he always wanted to be, she knew the fire. She’d felt the fire before. And she wanted it now.
Tension transferred from his body to hers and his grip tightened. Breathless at the thought of his fingerprints on her hip she ground herself against his cock. He dug his chin into her neck and she reached up for a handful of his hair. She pressed her cheek to his. “Hard,” she whispered brokenly. “Fast.”
He groaned into her mouth, jerked up her skirt, and his fingers slid into her panties. “You’re fucking dripping.”
Her vision blurred when he dipped two fingers inside her. She rolled her hips in time with his thrusts wanting more. Needing more.
His name was a stunned whisper as the first orgasm choked her. He dragged her against him, his relentless thumb that same metronome from the stage, steady pressure with no end in sight. She strained up on her toes, her back arching as the flash of pleasure sizzled into a sweet pain she couldn’t breathe through.
The snap of latex reverberated in her chest. “Yes. Yes, now.”
He brought his arm around her waist, and then the blunt end of his cock was pushing in between her thighs and finally where she needed it. She clamped down on him as he crouched behind her.
Damn height difference.
His thrusts were too shallow. She lifted one foot and found another crevice in the rock face. There. “God, yes,” she moaned as he finally filled her. “More,” she sobbed. “I need…”
He slapped his hand against the wall beside her neck and lifted her off her toes. His arm braced her as he slammed inside her again and again.
The scream built inside her so fast she couldn’t find breath, words, or a way to hold it back. She turned her cheek in and found his forearm. She hoped to God his skin muffled some of it, but at that point, she just didn’t care.
He enveloped her, railing his cock into her like they were made to come together like this. Power and strength, matched in ways she’d never thought were possible. He curved around her, his shoulder jammed up against the wall as he cradled her but he never stopped.
And when his fingers found her, she let herself fall. She tipped her head back against his chest. The night, the lights, the ocean scent of him swirled inside her until she felt as bright as the stars above them.
A moment later, those fingers dug around her thigh and held her open for him. And he followed her. Her world slowed, the stars winked into her vision, and Deacon’s arms never let her go.
He slid up her thigh, brushing his knuckles across her still throbbin
g pussy before he wrapped both arms around her, his cheek resting against hers. Life intruded with voices and music, lights, and the hiss of hydraulics. But she couldn’t quite give up the closeness.
Not yet.
Thank God he didn’t seem to be able to either.
* * *
He was pretty sure he had the exact outline of the rock face embedded into his hand and hip. Her cornsilk soft hair slid around the neckline of his t-shirt and he was still buried inside her.
Hell, he was hardening again. The wildness of her and the outdoor arena paired with the almost two days they’d been apart left him off balance. Just once, he wondered if he could be gentle with her.
A whisper from Harper that she needed more, and he lost his fucking head. For fuck’s sake, he’d nailed her into the goddamn rock face. And the worst part was he didn’t want to step back.
A shimmer of a voice in the back of his head prodded for more. To see if he could do it again, push her harder, demand more.
He slid his palm along her velvet soft belly, sliding his pinkie back down into the crease of her pussy. He stroked around the distended flesh just under her hood. His cock hardened further as she shuddered.
With teeth grazing against her jaw and his cock already on board for round two, he wanted to follow her down the rabbit hole again. Because there was nothing but madness when he got inside of Harper Pruitt.
And he was certainly grinning like the Cheshire cat when he was done with her.
Rational Deacon reared up and knocked. Condoms were for one use, rocks weren’t a bed, and they could be found out by the reporters that were slinking around. He wanted to ignore all of that.
He wanted to rip off the fucking condom and take her bare. He wanted to feel every tissue inside of her open and sliding around him. He wanted to bury himself in her heat until there was nothing left of him.
He slid out and then back inside her. Her moan buzzed through his chest and his pinkie had yet to stop stroking her. Barely aware of the fact that his body was attuned to her, he could have massaged around her clit for an hour.
“Deacon.”
Her broken whisper should have brought responsible Deacon back out, but it just stuffed him down further. Instead, he curved his fingers down and opened her wider so he could tap the top of her clit and circle it rhythmically. She was the perfect sheath for him.
Each time he tapped, she jerked and her teeth bit into his arm. The haze of lust had faded and he simply enjoyed her without the violence crowding his brain. He found the spots that pleasured her and circumvented the places that gave him no response.
The harder he pressed, the more she bucked. The deeper he plunged, the more she urged him for more. He gritted his teeth as her pleasure clasped around him.
Her head rolled along his chest, and her body bowed until he almost slipped out of her. He pulled his hand off the rock and used his shoulder to shield her. Need flooded his brain, and he gripped her hip to angle her for the best fit.
She gripped his neck and his hair, dragging him down to her neck. Hiccupping cries turned to an outright sob, and he held her tighter.
Her nails bit into his wrist as she tried to stop his fingers.
“Too much,” she said shakily.
He pulled her flush to his chest even as his thighs burned at the angle he had to find to get inside her. She soaked his hand, and he knew if he looked down at where they were joined, her lips would be the same hectic color as her cheeks.
Fuck, he wanted a bed to splay her out on and lick her for hours. He wanted her thighs wrapped around his ears until all he could feel was her heartbeat under his tongue when she exploded.
He wanted to own each and every shout that she was stuffing down inside of her now. And when her voice broke, and his name stuttered off her lips, he hung on. He pumped inside of her and stilled.
She vised his cock and he threw his head back with a groan of his own as he came again. The condom was full to bursting, and he was a damn mess, but he was lodged inside of her and there was nowhere he’d rather be.
When she shuddered against him, this time from a chill, he finally pulled from her and tied off the condom. He glanced around the little cove they’d found for themselves. Miracle of miracles, they were still alone. After tucking himself back into his jeans with a wince, he pulled her skirt down. He kissed the slice of skin that showed at the base of her spine, turned her, and did the same to her belly. He stared up at her.
Starlight cloaked them, and he wished he could see what was going on in her eyes. She was so quiet. But then her fingers slid into his hair, and he could taste her smile on the breeze. He stood, pulling her close.
“I missed you.”
The puff of air against his chest was her only response, but considering she dragged him away from the crowd and down here, he was pretty sure she felt the same way.
“Come back to the bus with me.”
She tipped her head up and again, he could feel her grin. “I had no idea you were so insatiable.”
“And I had no idea you were so lawless. Doesn’t change the fact that I want you in my arms tonight.”
“Lawless?”
“Every single time I’ve been inside you, we’ve been outside.”
“Oh.” She pressed her cheek to his chest. “I guess that’s true.”
As much as he loved her wildness, he wanted to go slow with her tonight. He didn’t want to hurry in the shadows any more. “I want to hold you tonight.”
“Okay.”
Her voice was quiet, almost tentative. So unlike the Harper he was used to. Did she feel it, too? That the night was different. That they were different?
He curled his fingers into hers and drew her down the path to where the busses were stashed. The shows were still raging, and the music pulsed in the air. Now it felt distant. He wanted the distance from his friends, the music scene, the people.
The stage had been a heady mix of terror and elation. It was exactly how he felt with Harper. Terror that she was going to slip away, and elation that he’d found her.
He wanted to hold both of them tonight until the memory was fused to him like his tattoo. Without words, they hiked the asphalt hill cut into the beauty that was Red Rock.
The bus was dark, just the running lights up the middle on so they didn’t kill themselves when they got back. Joe was gone, enjoying the show as the rest of them would.
Her fingers tightened on his as they went deeper into the bus. The swish of a curtain and thud of shoes surprised him. “Who’s here?”
A sliver of light cut through the piles of laundry strewn across the floor as someone came out of the bathroom. “Gray.”
“You bunking down?” Deacon tried to push the disappointment out of his voice. He lived with four other people. He couldn’t be pissed if they wanted time on the bus.
But he wasn’t like Simon. He didn’t want an audience tonight. At least for a little while.
“Nah, just wanted to get cleaned up a little. I’m going out to listen to Mumford.”
“That’s going to be a killer set, I bet.”
Gray’s eyes glittered in the near darkness. “There’s always another show, not always another girl.”
Harper slid her fingers around his forearm. “Hi, Gray.”
“Chef girl.”
Deacon felt her smile against his skin. He pulled her in front of him and rested his chin on her head. “Think you can send out the all good for a few hours?”
Gray bounced on the balls of his feet. Adrenaline must still be spiking through him. It was hard to shut off after a show. Emptying some of that tension into Harper had helped, but he already felt it welling inside him again. “You got it, Deak.”
And just like that, they were alone. Deacon kicked the worst of the laundry away from his bunk. He didn’t want guy funk ruining what little alone time they could wrangle. He held up a finger and leaned into the bathroom for the jar candle Jazz had bought.
He lit it and set it on th
e small storage bin built into the space next to the bathroom door. The flicker of flame and scent of clean sheets banished the shadows and let him imagine a better scenario for them, a room just for them instead of a cramped bus. Candlelight suited Harper. Her sunny hair glinted in the low light and the sweep of her lashes hid her blue eyes.
She stood in front of him, lifted the bottom of her shirt, and dropped it to the floor. Next came her skirt and then her bra. He watched the firelight accentuate the high rise of her ribs, the blush pink tip of perfect breasts, the curve of her shoulder, the little point at the end of her chin.
He sucked in a breath as she lifted her hands to cup her breasts, then trailed the tips of her fingers over her ribs to the flair of her hips. She slowly rolled down her panties and flicked them into the pile she’d made.
She stepped forward and did the same to him. Gliding fingers and unhurried movements were exactly what the night required. Maybe she knew it, too.
She knelt at his feet, pulling one foot and then the other out of the cluster of denim and shoes. The light rake of her nails followed up his calves to the back of his knees and around to his inner thigh.
His cock stood proud in the candlelight, already stiff to the point of aching. He hissed as she nuzzled along the underside of his shaft. A tiny flick of her wet tongue pushed him too close to the edge.
He couldn’t have her mouth around him right now. Tonight needed to be about her. Finally, he had a moment where he didn’t have to hurry, didn’t have to watch out for interruptions or storms, and he certainly didn’t have to curb his needs.
He twined his fingers in hers before she could circle his cock. Being at her mercy would put a halt to his plans. He pulled her to her feet, shuffled her back to his bunk, and rolled her inside.
She opened her mouth, but he shushed her with a finger to her lips. He leaned up over her and flicked on his ancient iPod in its docking station. The lilting guitars were a welcome backdrop.