BANGED: Rock Stars, Bad Boys & Dirty Deeds

by Lexxie Couper

  “Just kidding. Only candy.” Moe opened his mouth wide for inspection. “Speaking of candy, your girl looks sweet.”

  He turned to follow his bandmate's leer. And she did look sweet. Standing by the craft services table talking to one of the roadies. Interrogating, probably. She had on a little black dress. Emphasis on little. It stretched tight over her body, revealing every dip and curve. He could just see the outline of her underwear. Can't have that.

  “We're not done,” he growled to Moe without turning back, then stormed his castle.

  Of course she was talking to that kid. Shit. He didn't want to get sucked into another painfully awkward conversation with Colt. He didn't have the time or the patience for his hero worship. And he didn't have the stomach to sugarcoat some follow your dreams bullshit. The last time he'd sent the kid away looking like a kicked puppy. And he'd tried to be kind. Better to ignore him completely. He focused on Hailey, sidled up behind her, gripped her hips and pressed his mouth to her ear. “Am I interrupting something?”

  She tensed. “Actually, yes.”

  Colt blinked in horror, coughing and stammering “I got work” before fleeing. If he'd moved any faster, he'd have left a cartoon dust outline in his wake.

  “That was rude. Colt and I were just getting somewhere.” He couldn't see her face, but he could hear the pout in her voice, the chide. He wanted to kiss it right out of her mouth. Swallow it.

  “I bet.” He nudged her forward until he had her pinned against the wall. A position he was starting to recognize as his favorite. He was going to have to mix it up. The last thing he needed were routines where she was concerned. This was temporary.

  “You promised I could have access to the crew to ask questions.”

  He kneaded the flesh of her ass, and she made a noise that was half moan, half yelp. A sharp sound that reminded him she was still sensitive there. Still marked. He squeezed one more time, savoring her squirm, and stepped back. “You made promises too.”

  She turned to face him, eyes downcast, veiled under heavy lashes, lips wet. “What do you want?”

  “Give me your panties.”

  Her eyes flew open then. “I thought you didn't want me walking around naked.”

  She squirmed again, hands behind her back, and he knew she was thinking about that spanking. Could only think about that, remember the feel of his palm against her ass. God, was she cupping her own ass? Protecting it? Soothing it? Warming it? It was all he could think about too.

  “I want you naked now. That's all that matters. Take them off.”

  “Here?” She tried to peer around his shoulder, but he had her view blocked with his body.

  “I don't like to wait, Hailey.”

  She sighed, and it wasn't a sigh of frustration. It was a release. His turn to squirm. He shifted his weight, covering the movement with an attempt to widen his stance and shield her body from any prying eyes that might wander by.

  She hunched over, bringing her face far too close to his crotch for comfort, and hiked up her skirt. With a shimmy she yanked the panties down her thighs and awkwardly stepped out of them.

  “Here.” A pant—not from exertion, from excitement. Oh, he could tell she liked this. She thrust a wad of warm cotton into his hand. Lips curved into a sly smile, an unspoken challenge, a saucy what next?

  He resisted the urge to press them to his face and shoved them into his pocket instead. Not his lucky pick—a new kind of talisman.

  “Good girl. Now go sit in the wings. You can talk to anyone here, but you stay put. When we go on, I want you right there.”

  He pointed to the spot stage right where he needed her, where he'd be able to see her while he performed. He tugged the lanyard around her neck. “With this on, no one will give you a hard time.”

  “Okay.”

  Disappointment edged her voice. She tried to step around him, pushing her palms into his chest, but he stopped her. If she wanted shocking, he'd give her fucking shocking.

  “Keep your legs crossed, Hailey. Unless…” He hesitated. Would she do it? Could he make her do it?

  “Unless?” She stared at his mouth. Waiting. Waiting.

  “Unless Krist looks at you.” He gripped her ass again, slid his palms down her thighs, and hoisted her up until her legs were wrapped around his waist. Her skirt rucked up to her hips, her naked cunt pressed against his jeans. Not so prim anymore. His lips found her ear, and he trapped the lobe between his teeth. Tugged. She shuddered against him.

  He'd forgotten all about his stage fright. “Krist looks at you? I want you to flash him.”

  * * *

  Hailey bit her lip. “What?”

  “You heard me.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. Man, he was cute like this, all dolled up for his show. His hair was a beautifully arranged mess of midnight blades. His eyes were traced in kohl, reminding her of a pharaoh. That was how he seemed too—like some sort of god, deigning to speak to a mortal like her. He had everyone’s attention, the backstage crew casting him glances as they bustled by.

  But his attention was only on her.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Well? I want to hear you say yes. When I’m out there, I need to know you’re going to obey me.”

  A faint sound escaped her throat. Reluctance? Lust? They two were tied up so tight she couldn’t tell the difference. “I want to…to obey you. I just don’t know if I can.”

  He leaned in. “You can. I’m about to go onstage in front of fifty thousand people. Expose myself to them. The least you can do is show yourself to one person. Can’t you?”

  Her breath sped up. She hated that he sounded so reasonable. It made sense when he whispered low and hoarse in her ear. She’d follow him anywhere, do anything when he cradled her body with his heat. The Pied Piper of sex, and she was drowning.

  But he wouldn’t be holding her when she was supposed to flash Krist. He wouldn’t hold her ever again in two days’ time. His hold on her was so temporary it made her ache. If all they had was now, she’d make it count.

  “Okay,” she breathed. “I’ll do it.”

  He closed his eyes. “Jesus. You don’t know what you do to me.”

  That was when she noticed the slight sheen of sweat across his forehead. At first she thought it was some shimmery makeup, but he seemed jittery too. Was he nervous? She’d just assumed that he’d done this so many times, at even larger venues, that this would be old hat. Apparently not. And feeling nervous, he’d come to her. He hadn’t come for her panties, not really. He’d come for comfort, and that she would freely give.

  Sliding her hand behind his neck, she tugged him down. And nipped his earlobe for good measure. Comfort disguised as sex, the Trojan horse of bodily interaction.

  “You look great.” She brushed her lips over his Adam’s apple. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better now,” he rasped.

  “I’ll be waiting right here, after the show. Ready for you. Wet for you.”

  His breath caught, and she went to find it, licking along the seam of his lips, darting inside to meet his tongue. I want you, she said with her kiss. I believe in you. He responded with groan of gratitude.

  When he broke away, he pressed his face into the side of her neck and took a long, slow breath in, as if it were a drag and she were the drug. It warmed her in a way that made her want to protect him. It made her want to run and hide, and, torn between the two impulses, she could only remain still, pinned by his smoky gaze.

  “Break a leg,” she murmured.

  He winked, already sliding into character. “You got it, babe.”

  She watched him stalk away and disappear into the crowd. Man, she had no idea who all these people were. Some of them worked at the stadium, while others followed the tour.

  Standing on her tiptoes, she searched the hectic crowd for sight of the guy she’d been talking to before Lock interrupted. His name was Colt something. He worked sound for the band, which meant he had a backstage view of every show. He would have seen Chl
oe around. He’d know if she was hanging with a specific band member. She’d been just about to ask when Lock had barged in and scared the guy away. Now she’d lost her informant…and her panties.

  Someone rushed past her, sending a breath of cool air up her skirt. God, why was it so short? Chloe was two inches shorter than she was, sure, but even so, this was ridiculous. Keeping her knees together, she slid onto a wooden stool just beside the tall black wings of the stage.

  This way she’d be able to see Lock…and he’d be able to see her. All of her, if her legs parted. Did she really want that? A shiver ran down her body and clenched right in that freshly exposed place. Yes, putting on a show for Lock while he put on a show for the world. She could see the appeal.

  But that’s where her eagerness ended. She’d signed a contract with him and him only. Hadn’t she? She wanted him and him only. Not Krist.

  Even if Krist did have that tattooed-bad-boy thing going on.

  She wasn’t into bad boys. She’d always wanted white picket fences and two-point-five kids. She’d wanted to know that her husband would come home every night, that he wouldn’t bail, that he wouldn’t leave her with nothing but a sperm donation and half a pack of cigarettes. Which was all Lock was really offering her. The donation process might be fun, and whatever the band smoked, it was probably sweeter than Marlboro, but it didn’t change the bottom line.

  She crossed one foot over the other, undecided about following his orders. She preferred to follow through when she gave her word, but this was…uncharted territory. Panty-less in a public place. Flashing a virtual stranger. She’d tumbled into the wild west of sexual exploration, and she had no choice left but to draw her gun. Figuratively, that is. In reality the only weapon she was packing was far softer, far wetter, and far more dangerous.

  The opening act went on, and she lost sight of the guys in Half-Life. She supposed they were together, ready to go on next. The crowd didn’t need much warm-up. They clapped in appreciation and clamored for the main act, their energy turning the air electric and raising the hair on her arms.

  She hadn’t fully understood the scope of Lock’s celebrity. She hadn’t wanted to understand. Why would he be into a girl like her? She knew the answer. He’d spelled that out in the contract: lots of sex and a short fuse. All the benefits of a relationship, but with a ticking time bomb in the middle. And if this awful, inappropriate yearning was any indication, she’d be caught in the blast.

  The floor beneath her feet rumbled, the whole building shuddering in anticipation as the opening act left the stage. Lock made his entrance from the other side, and she watched him with a sort of detachment. That sexy saunter and überconfident smile—at once familiar and so foreign. It angered her suddenly, this act of his, even as it endeared him to her. She had an act too, with this too-short dress and her pathetic little plan. They were both pretending, both seeking refuge in a game, in a contract, but none of it could make the pain go away. She’d already figured that much out, and she suspected he knew too.

  Moe was the drummer, which fit him perfectly, a wild cacophony in perfect beat. Lock was on the guitar, and Krist played bass. Unlike Lock, with the single black tattoo on his arm, Krist’s body was painted with colors: the blue of the sea, the red of a woman’s lips, his skin left bare to fill in the lines of hers.

  His body told a story, but then maybe everyone’s did. Even Hailey’s, with her pale, uninked porcelain. Usually so bland but now…now her ass was bruised. Her skin had pebbled into goose bumps from the cold and excitement. The folds of her sex were slick, endlessly caressed by the air around her.

  This was the story she told when Krist turned his head to her at the end of the second song. She met his green gaze, feeling determined and terrified. His eyes widened, a small sign of weakness that soothed her. Not gods after all. Just men. Her knees parted, and for the final act, she lifted the hem of her black dress.

  It could have been enough, just that. She’d fulfilled the terms. She’d followed through on her word. Except she finally understood why Lock went onstage even though it scared him. Exposure was a drug, and a single hit left her wanting more. While Krist’s eyes burned with heat ten feet away, she slid her finger through her folds, then sucked the wetness off, tasting salt and sex.

  His body jerked, nostrils flaring. He missed a beat in the song they were playing; she could tell. Her skirt was down and her legs crossed again by the time Moe sent her a suspicious look. The look Lock gave her a few beats later, though—that was pure pride.

  She felt proud too. Her pulse was erratic, her heart racing. Lights danced in front of her eyes, though that may have just been the strobe lights from the rafters. But she’d done it. She might be new here, but if this had been the sexual shoot-out at the O. K. Corral, well, she was the last woman standing.

  TWELVE

  One sour note humming up his spine and he knew she'd done it. Krist wouldn't fuck up this song they'd played so many times it was burned into their fingers. A sense memory. A reflex. They'd played it in their rented rehearsal space before the band had a name, on the road when they toured out of a beater conversion van, in the studio after they landed a record deal, and onstage for thousands of screaming fans. Their “Free Bird.” Their “Stairway.” They'd played it drunk and stoned and tripping balls.

  And now Lock played it sober, if he could call this dizzy edge of control sobriety. Sweat dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes, but he just shook it off and kept playing. Thrashing. Ignoring the pyrotechnics, the bright lights. He didn't dare turn to look for her, to see if her legs were still spread.

  It shouldn't shake him. He'd already buried his face in that sweet pussy, branded her ass with the palm of his hand, but the idea of her flashing Krist on his command was intoxicating. A dangerous thrill coiled in his belly, warmer than whiskey, hotter than her mouth on his cock.

  “I'll lead you down, into the belly of the beast.” Their voices merged in a ragged harmony on the chorus. Then heat, as Krist leaned into him. Back to back, all muscle and bone, they pushed against their demons together. Screamed into the night.

  “Down. Down. Down.” The crowd roared with them.

  How far down did she want to go? How far could he go before he couldn't get back?

  He turned to face her, but Krist was between them. Of course. His head bent over the slick red bass, fingers working hard, it was almost sexual. No, not almost. It was sexual. And sexy as fuck. Lock craned his neck. He needed to see Hailey. Needed to find a center to ground himself, because he was spinning. Not from nerves, not anymore. From excitement.

  And then everything stopped. His little church mouse sat right where he'd left her. She pressed her palm to her chest, and it looked like she was trying to slow her own beating heart.

  “Let me lead you.” He sang alone now. To her. To Krist.

  Her mouth fell open. He couldn't hear anything but the music and the crowd, but he could almost feel her panting, feel the warm, sweet brush of her breath against his neck. Her other hand skimmed over her thigh, inched her short skirt even higher.

  “Into the belly of the beast.” He drew out the last note until it rang like a primal scream as she dipped her fingers between her legs and showed him exactly what she must have shown Krist—only Lock didn't miss a beat. This time she had to know what the words meant. She’d beg him to take her there before the night ended. Maybe he’d make her beg Krist too.

  He stormed offstage, tossing his guitar to a roadie before he reached her.

  “That was amazing.” Her eyes were wide, pupils blown. Probably with adrenaline and lust.

  “What? The set? The flash?” He pushed her knees apart and forced himself between her legs.

  “All of it.” She let her head fall against his chest, and now he really could feel her breath, cool against his overheated skin. She clawed his sweaty back. His pulse stuttered.

  “Do you want him?” She had to know he meant Krist.

  “I want you. I want what you w
ant.” She pressed a kiss to his pec, right over his heart.

  He'd have to figure that out. What he wanted. Soon.

  “That's good, baby. Now, keep your knees together for the rest of the show.”

  “And if I don't?”

  Her wicked grin, all sin on an angel's face, grabbed him by the balls. All he could do was kiss it off, slant his mouth over hers and swallow that smile, trap her bottom lip between his teeth with a sharp nip. “I think you know, but I'll be forced to get more creative.”

  A roadie coughed beside them, vibrating with anxiety as he cradled Lock's Fender. He retrieved his guitar and jumped back onstage, his fear barely an echo.

  * * *

  Hailey’s anxiety rose along with the intensity of the concert. By the time it crescendoed with a blaze of pyrotechnics and a roaring crowd, she was an electric mass of nerves. Lock wouldn’t really share her, would he? When Krist had claimed so, she’d assumed it was bravado. Even when Lock ordered her to flash his bandmate, she’d assumed that would be the end of it.

  But those assumptions had been willful naïveté, those of an ostrich with her head stuck in the sand of inexperience. The reality was something far racier. The reality was that most of the women in this impromptu backstage after-party were wearing fewer clothes than she was, and considering her short-short dress, that was saying something.

  The reality was…exciting.

  But also scary. Was she really ready to be shared? At least she knew Krist, a little bit. At least she found him attractive, with his colorful tats and perpetual sardonic expression.