“They told me I could never love my friends this way,” Paxton, Muse, and Ransom sing together. Pax breaks off at the end to send a vibrating chuckle through the microphone and into the crowd.
“Not like that,” he inserts, pointing at Ransom and making the room laugh along with him.
“They told me to keep them close, but keep my enemies closer. In the backyard, that's where we'll make their graves. You didn't think I'd sing about something as simple as friendship devotees. No, my demons are the ones they helped me leave dead and buried.”
I hope the crowd gets that the song's a metaphor for hard feelings and shitty pasts, not actual people, but if they're not getting it, I guess murder works, too. After all, Copeland basically helped Ransom bury the body of his mother's rapist. When the police came, he told them he'd seen the man following Ran, seen the fight get started, and ran to get his cellphone from his car. For me that story was obviously bullshit—Copeland would never leave Ran alone in a fight—but the fact that Ransom was stalking the guy, that he attacked him first, nobody would ever have to know about that.
“There's no way for anyone to know what we've done. You guys, you scrubbed all of the blood until it was good and gone. Listen to me and follow me outside into the pouring rain. If you need me, I'll be there by your side, the next time something else awful needs to lie down and die. Just like that patch of dirt beneath my favorite tree.”
The chorus repeats, the three voices blending together seamlessly, Paxton covering up any missteps that Muse might make. Lilith and I share another glance, her pale hand moving the tambourine, my fingers teasing the guitar.
“You have no idea how awful it was to wake up alone at night. Before you guys came into my life, there were nightmares at both ends of sleep. I didn't know if I had it left inside of me to fight. Killing my demons and saying goodbye to my scars. My friends so close. Oh yes. Fuck my enemies; I just want my friends closer.”
As the crowd explodes into raucous applause, Lilith leans over and puts her lips to my ear.
“Who wrote that one?” she asks. “Ransom?”
“No,” I reply, sweeping red hair back from her ear, “that one's all Muse.”
“Don't say a bloody thing,” Pax says before we're all even on the bus. “Not one bloody thing!” he shouts as I climb up the metal steps after him and try to suppress a stupid girlish urge to hop up and down and squeal.
Paxton and Ransom.
I'm definitely into that.
In the back of my mind, Muse's song keeps playing, adding more shiny gold nuggets to my chest of clues. What could possibly be so awful in his past that's worse than mine, Paxton's, Ransom's? I don't let myself imagine anything because the places my mind wants to go are dark and terrifying. I won't go there unless that's where Muse takes me.
“What the fuck was all of that?” Michael asks, sounding pissed off. But I don't think he really is. I think he's just passionate about everything he says. “Who the hell kissed who back there?”
“I can't believe I just did that,” Ransom says, slouching against the counter and lighting up a cigarette with shaking hands. “That was weird, wasn't it? It was seriously fucking weird.”
“What the hell did Octavia have to say?” Cope asks and Pax snorts, pushing past him and yanking the fridge open to grab a beer.
“Who the hell cares?” Paxton says, grinning wickedly as he ruffles up his blonde hair and meets my gaze. There's a hunger there—and not just for Ransom. The way Pax is looking at me now, I'm not at all worried that he and Ransom might be more interested in doing their own thing than they are in me. I mean, I have no idea if they'll ever want to have sex alone together, but as far as a relationship, I don't see them breaking us up over their attraction to each other. “Come Montréal, she's done and gone.”
“She was actually pretty nice about it,” Ransom whispers, smoking his cigarette with the hood on his black and purple sweatshirt up, a quirky smile playing on his lips. For whatever reason, his mouth looks extra sexy with the surrounding stubble. “Although I can't remember what she said.”
“No, you were too busy listening to me butcher my own song,” Muse says with a laugh. It's cheerful and easygoing as usual. He's got that smile on, too, the one that says he gets everything he wants. But again, I'm seeing a total disconnect. Derek is laughing, grinning, but he's not letting the truth of that song rise to the surface. There was a lot of fucking pain there—and a lot of love, too, for his friends.
“You were great, sweetie,” Ransom says, turning that quirky smile on for Muse … and then looking over at me.
“You guys don't need my approval to … go into the Bat Cave alone or anything,” I say as I put my hands on my hips, the soreness at my wrist a pleasant reminder of the way we spent our afternoon. From where I'm standing, I can see Copeland's tattoo on the back of his neck, beneath his auburn hair. Considering Muse is hardly wearing any clothing, I can see his too, right on his hip. “I already said I'm okay with it.”
Ransom laughs, the sound as smoky and hazy as the white curls drifting up from the lit tip of his cigarette.
“Only if you come with us, baby,” he says, the darkness of his voice an irresistible invitation.
“You don't have to ask me twice,” I say as Ransom raises his dark brows and then chucks his cigarette into the ashtray on the countertop. Slowly, so slowly that I'm almost positive that it's a come-on, Paxton locks his eyes with mine and tilts his beer bottle to his lips.
Mesmerized, I watch his throat as he swallows.
“Yeah, alright,” he says when he's finished drinking, setting his beer aside. “I didn't just kiss some bloke onstage to pretend like it didn't happen, now did I? Although, it was fucking bloody Ran that kissed me.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Ran says with a shake of his head, like he can't even believe this is happening. He runs a palm down his face and then reaches out to take my right hand, the slide of my mother's charm bracelet both foreign and familiar now that it's on the opposite arm. “I mean, it probably was me.”
I take one last look at the other three boys, and Muse waves at me with that cheerful smile still firmly stuck in place.
Down the hall, into the Bat Cave.
I climb right up onto the bed. Muse and I changed the sheets this morning, so everything is crisp and fresh and smelling of laundry detergent as I kick my shoes and socks off, peel my jeans down my legs and toss them aside.
My panties are white and lacy, covered in pink hearts. Both boys notice them right away.
“Nope,” Pax says as he takes his tie off and stuffs it into the pocket of his slacks. “I am not fucking gay.” He climbs up next to me without waiting for Ransom, his butterfly cuff links shimmering as he takes my knees and gently pries them apart.
Me, I want to talk about what happened onstage, see if I can get a dialogue going between these guys. Kissing and blowing each other off won't solve years of hurt and pain and frustration. But they're men, so I guess we're starting with the sex stuff.
With a mellifluous sigh, I lean back into the pillows and grasp two handfuls of Paxton's dirty blonde hair. His mouth presses against the silken surface of my underwear, and I can't help but wonder if he's still got the taste of Ransom's lips lingering on his.
“You played that tambourine like a pro,” Ransom whispers in my ear, sucking my lobe into his mouth and making me shiver. My toes curl into the black duvet cover as Paxton kisses and teases my cunt through the thin layer of fabric. “Thanks for covering for us, darling,” he adds, the sound of his voice almost enough to bring my tortured body to orgasm.
When Ransom leans in to kiss me, the stubble on his face brushes against the smoothness of my own, teasing me with a slightly rough edge that makes my heart tremble in my chest. I slip my hands inside his hoodie, feeling the warmth of his body through the tank underneath. The armholes are cut so low that I can easily slip my fingers beneath it, too, touching his bare skin, his scars, his nipples.
“I want to see your
tattoo,” I breathe between scalding kisses, my body trembling from Paxton's mouth working against my core. He seems to be taking his time tonight, kissing me the way he kissed Ransom onstage. “Both of you,” I whisper and Pax pauses, sitting up and looking every bit the supposedly royal asshole that he is.
“Do you now?” he drawls, slowly taking his cuff links off, placing them in his pocket. I swear, the man could make millions in the porn industry by simply undressing. He wouldn't even have to do anything else, just take off one of his handsome suits.
“Please,” I say, popping the P sound off my glossed lips, leaning back on my elbows.
Paxton and Ransom exchange a look, shedding all their clothing from the waist up, two gorgeous specimens of masculinity bare and open for me to look at, admire, rake apart with my gaze. I wonder if there's another reason behind all their fighting, their love for the same woman, and then their sharing of another woman's bed. Was that coincidence? Or maybe they were meant to be together with one woman all along?
Fuck, but I want to be that woman.
I study the tattoo on Ransom's elbow, the way the circle of bass and treble clefs surrounds the fine point at the end of his arm, taking up what little space was left there. His black and grey tattoos—including the one of his mother—surround it, draping the thick muscular width of his arm in art. Maybe as an artist I appreciate their bodies for what they are? Fucking canvases.
Paxton perches himself on the edge of the bed and proceeds to remove his leather boots in a way that should probably be rated X, the new tattoo on his chest almost invisible in the sea of ink that cascades down his chiseled form.
The way I compared Michael to a werewolf before, and Paxton to a vampire, that still holds true. He moves so slowly, so carefully, his cruelty this fine cover for his emotions, like a glittering black masquerade mask, so beautiful to look at. Paxton's movements are practiced, perfect, each fluid contraction of his muscles exacted with deadly efficiency.
Watching Pax and then glancing over at Ransom as he yanks his bulky buckled boots off, I'd have to call him … some kind of demon. A dark one, one whose exterior doesn't match the beautiful lightness of its heart. He has this feral grace, but it's controlled. It's not bestial or animalistic like Michael's just … dangerous. Deep. Capable of cutting until it leaves nothing but blood and an aching heart, still beating for the whisper of his shadowy wings.
Carefully, moving like I'm in the middle of two predators, I take my shirt off, Michael's necklaces jingling as they clink together against my chest. My bra is new, a perfect match to my panties. I decide to leave it on. It feels sexy and feminine, a soft but powerful beauty in the midst of all this masculine energy.
“Will you kiss for me again?” I ask, but I'm not sure that I even need to ask. The two of them are watching each other, moving back to the pillows. At first, I'm not sure who's going to start kissing who, but then Paxton pushes Ransom down next to me, a palm on either side of his head, and he moves until their mouths are pressed together.
From this view, I can see that both their cocks are hard, straining against their pants, brushing against one another as they move, hands roaming experimentally but not tentatively. Whatever sparked to life between them tonight, it's at least temporarily burned away their fear.
My hand slides down my belly and under the lacy waistband of my underwear, touching the silken heat of my sex, fingers slippery with the proof of my desire. My eyes take in the sight of those two muscular bodies rubbing together, nipples hard, sweat dripping down their chiseled frames.
Ransom's moans are low and deep, as velvety as his voice. Paxton's are wicked, as ferocious and sinful as always. I gasp as he curls his hands through Ran's, tattooed fingers pressing the other man into the bed. My fingers start to move more quickly, rubbing my aching clitoris in circles.
The sight of them kissing turns me on so much that I find myself moaning shamelessly, lost in the erotic sights and sounds that drench the Bat Cave in sex. Our only source of light is from the moon, dripping in through the open curtains. From down the hallway, I hear jovial laughter, but I don't have it in me to pay much attention.
My eyes squeeze shut as I arch my hips, bringing myself to climax with just my fingers on my clit. The groans that escape past my lips draw the attention of the boys, breaking their focus on each other.
“Don't worry about me,” I pant, wanting them to keep going, exploring, finding out what it is that they see in each other. But they come to me anyway, Paxton covering my body with his, the same way he did Ransom.
“Do I look worried?” he asks me, kissing down my sweaty throat, kneading my breasts through the cute white and pink cups of my bra. “Stop fretting so damn much, Miss Lily.”
Paxton reaches down and unbuttons his slacks, yanks down his zipper. He glances up at me, over at Ransom.
Before I can even figure out his next move, he's pushing aside my panties and shoving himself into me, making my head fall back, my body fall to pieces.
“At least now,” he whispers, voice slightly ragged with pleasure, “you can watch me fuck your girlfriend.”
“At least there's that,” Ransom whispers, taking over Pax's mouth again, kissing him with all the passion and strength that he gives me. My body rocks with the hard push of Paxton's hips as he drives himself forward with merciless abandon.
I reach my hands up, touch them both, revel in the feel of their hard warm bodies beneath my palms. I decide in that split second that they were actually the ones in the right in this situation—this is so much better than talking. And haven't the six of us been using sex as a communication device all along? Since that first night I dragged myself wet and sad and tired onto their bus, haven't we been using it to fucking heal?
So Paxton and Ransom … whatever they are, whatever label they want to use, I decide that they need this, need to fuck each other, feel each other's heartbeats, taste each other's mouths.
“Fuck, I love you guys,” Ransom says in that delicious dripping voice of his, making me shiver, making my mind race with the implications of that statement.
Paxton pauses, stills, freezes with his cock still buried inside of me. For a second, I think he's going to run away again—it does seem to be a habit of his.
Instead, he gestures with his chin at Ransom.
“Take your fucking knickers off and get your arse over here,” he says, his eyes silver in the moonlight, ethereally beautiful, impossible to look away from.
Ransom does what he's asked, but slowly, baring his scarred lower half and shucking his jeans and boxers aside. Completely nude, he looks like a statue, something I'd study in pursuit of my art.
I need to paint these guys, I think as the scene in the bedroom heats up, takes an interesting turn.
Ransom moves close to us, near my head where it's pillowed in black silk and feather stuffed cushions. He pauses there as Paxton leans forward and takes Ran's cock in his mouth. Seeing those tattooed fingers curl around Ransom's shaft does all sorts of things to me—especially since Pax picks up the movement of his hips.
I tease his blonde hair with one hand, play with the silken strands and wrap them around my fingers. I use the other to gently squeeze and caress Ransom's balls, feeling them tighten up as pleasure coils in his body and he comes with shuddering, gasping breaths. Paxton keeps his mouth wrapped around Ran's shaft, swallowing as he sits up and wipes his arm across his cruel mouth.
“Well, fuck, that was certainly easier than I thought,” he says, looking down at me and then dropping his mouth to mine for a kiss. He tastes like Ransom's come, the smell of violets clinging to his lips. It's that sensation almost more than his driving shaft that draws my hips off the bed, yanks me to another climax and leaves me a sweating, quivering mess. “Now, what the hell are you two arseholes going to do for me?”
Ransom and I exchange a wordless look that speaks volumes.
Should I? he asks me with his eyes.
Oh, yes, you should, I respond with a slight tilt
of my lips.
Paxton slides his thick, swollen cock out of me, shimmering with the satin silk of my cunt.
I sit up, using my hands on his shoulders to guide him around, kissing him until he's the one lying on his back. By the time he realizes what's happening, it's too fucking late.
“Oh, hell no,” he says as Ransom slaps a handcuff on one wrist and hooks him to the spindles in the headboard bat's mouth. But he's got gravity working against him, so even though I'm guessing he and Ransom are at about the same level of strength, he can't fight Ran off when he grabs the other wrist and locks that up, too. “You bollocking prats,” he growls as Ransom and I sit back and look down at him.
Somehow, he still manages to look like a dickish asshole with both hands bound above his head.
“After all the shit you've put me through over the years,” Ran says, his voice even and steady, “the least you can do is put up with this.”
I sit on my knees next to him as he pulls one of the drawers out, finally getting to look for myself and see what's inside.
“Oh,” I breathe as I see leather paddles, nipple clamps, candles, rope, and dildos. There are straps I wouldn't know what to do with, as well as vibrators, lube, and plenty of condoms. “Can we bring some of this on the plane.”
“Honey, you don't even have to ask me that,” Ran says as he grabs a flogger, much like the one Paxton himself was wielding in the back room at the Silver Skull.
“He's got this shite stashed all over his house, too,” Pax murmurs lazily, like he's not at all concerned at being tied up. Maybe he isn't? Hell, I bet he likes it. “You'll probably get tired of it before long.”
Ransom shoves the drawer closed as I dig around in another, finding the cock ring that Copeland and I used together.
“Are you going to beat me senseless?” Pax asks as Ransom straddles his legs and drags the black and purple tails of the flogger down his chest, teasing his hardened nipples, sliding it over his erect cock.
Roadie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 2) Page 19