Chapter 8
SHILOH
FA-LA-LA-LA-LA FUCK MY LIFE
The cold didn’t stand a chance in this cabin.
I am on my knees, trapped in the heat that’s radiating off of three of the hottest men I have ever encountered in my entire life. I couldn't drop to my knees fast enough.
Sure, I haven’t seen their faces, but the rest of the world hasn't either, and honestly, does it really fucking matter? Not to me it doesn’t. Not when my skin is still buzzing everywhere that they’ve touched me so far, and burning up in the places they haven't yet.
My drummer boy, the one who earned the title of Daddy a few minutes ago, is wearing nothing but a pair of black, faded, ripped jeans, and god-fucking-dammit, he’s smoldering.
His hard, pierced dick has me salivating, and all I want to do is lick it.
I won't pretend to be an angel. When I say he has a pretty cock, I mean it.
When he removed his leather jacket, I had to focus and make a conscious effort not to drool like an idiot because this man is pure art.
His chest is a map of ink, black lines, and sweeping branches that cut across sculpted muscle, and every flex, every movement he makes sets me on fire.
Dark brown hair spills from beneath his mask, perfectly messy, and I find myself jealous of any other woman who's ever laid a hand on him before me.
The band is quite private, keeping their personal lives out of the media, but with everything happening here, with the way he's using me like I'm some kind of puppet, tells me that this is not his first rodeo. It isn't mine either, but that's beside the point.
My eyes drift from the Adonis before me to the very large, very naked men standing on either side of him. I can feel their gazes tracing every inch of me, and my pussy clenches, dripping at the thought of having them all at once.
Drummer boy gives a silent nod to the others, an order I assume, and without question, they circle me like bloodthirsty hunters, drunk on the scent of my surrender, and I know they can already taste my defeat.
The air is thick with the sound of the crackling fire and our combined heavy breaths.
And when the lead singer tugs at my cropped band tee, my heart kicks into overdrive, hammering behind my ribs with excitement.
In one swift movement, he tears the fabric from my body, leaving me kneeling before them in nothing but my short skirt and torn fishnets.
I look up, noticing the desire swimming in each of their eyes as they drink in the sight of my now exposed breasts.
Feast your eyes, boys. Look all you want, just as long as my tits are coated with cum at the end of this.
“Perfect,” one of them praises, and I look up at the lead singer, my songbird, staring down at me like I am the answer to all his midnight prayers. I can't hide the heat flaming my cheeks when I realize he’s staring at my pierced nipples.
“You like that, don’t you, Shiloh? You like having men worshipping you, caught under your spell,” drummer boy says, and I won't waste time denying it. I smile in answer, and he chuckles. “It seems our girl has a praise kink.”
Ding ding ding.
That would be correct.
All the assholes I've been with in the past weren't really the vocal or the dominant type.
I had to do all the work most of the time, and even then, I was left to get myself off afterward because they were all one-and-dones.
These guys haven't even fucked me yet, and they've already managed to send me catapulting off the edge, using nothing but their words.
“On your knees, baby,” drummer boy commands, his deep, husky voice slicing through my thoughts and bringing me back to the present. But it’s the man who moves beside him, my songbird, dropping to his knees that steals all the air from my lungs.
God, he’s like sin incarnate.
I love that they call each other baby. Their voices carry authority, yes, but beneath it lives something pure, tender, and sweet.
I don't miss the adoration and devotion shared between them, and it's obvious to me that they are each other's safety.
They move around one another so effortlessly, each knowing exactly where to put their trust.
It's beautiful.
Rare.
I’ve only ever witnessed a love like this once in my life, and I was beginning to believe it no longer existed.
The masked man shifts before me, his body glistening in the amber glow of the fire and flicking Christmas lights, as I wait patiently for our instructions. I’ve been so caught up in the drummer, like a little moth hypnotized by his light, that I never let myself really see the others.
Until now.
The lead singer’s masked gaze burns into me, and in the flicker of the firelight, I notice that his eyes are the deepest blue, just like the ocean.
They’re both mesmerizing and menacing. Familiar in a way that makes my chest tighten and my stomach knot, but I’m sure he gets that from fans all the time.
There aren’t any solo shots of the band online, and if ever they do an interview, it’s always in print.
There is no online footage of them, apart from the occasional glimpses of fans’ shaky recordings from their concerts.
So, seeing his eyes up close like this does something to me, and for the first time in my life, I feel… nervous.
He’s like a barely contained storm, and with the way that he’s looking at me, lust doesn’t even begin to cover it.
His shoulders are broader than the others, powerful but disciplined, and I can’t ignore the current crackling between us.
The same electricity that hit me when he sang to me, and only me, earlier tonight.
My eyes drift down, tracing the riot of ink dancing across his chiseled body. A battle of Greek gods and villains colliding with clouds, sunshine, and storms. So unique, and so completely him, that I almost wish I had been the one to put it there.
Then I see it.
The name etched across the skin above his heart.
A shiver of awareness snakes up my spine, freezing everything in its path, and the noise in my head falls silent.
My heart starts to beat heavily inside my chest because, that name?
That name is mine.
My head snaps up, and our eyes collide.
Surely I am mistaken?
I look over at the others, staring down at me unflinching, as if they’re afraid that if they move, they’ll scare me off. I look back at the man on his knees in front of me, and I notice the second he sees it too. The realization detonates this entire interaction, destroying my nerve along with it.
The current that had been simmering between the two of us has changed somehow, forming into something unexplainable.
“Shi—”
“Don’t.” I cut him off, though my voice comes out shaky and quiet as I try to process what the fuck is going on. His reaction, the look in his eyes, is all the confirmation I need to know that I am not imagining this.
I push myself off the floor, ignoring the lingering heat of their presence, and stalk across the room to the spot where they had me pinned a few moments ago.
I snatch my coat from where it lies crumpled on the floor, shove my arms into the sleeves, and walk toward the front door.
My fingers fumble with the zipper, every step fueled by a sudden need to get out of here.
“I need some air,” I mutter, and I hope that the words are enough to stop them from following me. Or at the very least, give me a head start. I need space to make sense of what the hell just happened, because I’ll be damned if I let myself fall apart in front of them.
“Shiloh,” one of them calls after me, his voice laced with confusion and something that sounds dangerously close to fear.
Or is it regret? Who can even tell?
“Shiloh! Baby, wait—” calls another, but I don’t. My fingers grip the handle, and then I’m shoving the door open, stepping straight into the snowstorm.
The cold hits me like a thousand tiny little razors slicing across my skin.
“Stupid f-fucking o-outff-it,” I whisper to myself, ignoring the way my teeth immediately start to chatter.
This would have to be the worst idea I’ve ever had, especially with the snow whipping sideways like it is.
Each flake is almost blinding, stinging my face and plastering my hair to my cheeks.
Still, it has nothing on the panic I feel in my chest, knowing that Stone Cold isn’t so anonymous after all.
The band that Jovi and I have been obsessed with for the past six years, the band the media called ‘the polarizing new heartbeat of the rock era, are not the strangers I thought they were. They're so much more than that.
They are my ghosts.
Axl, Phoenix, and Zane.
God, they all must think I'm so fucking stupid. For acting like a damn fan girl, practically drooling over them, all while they probably laughed at me behind their masks.
That’s not even the part that has me all twisted up. It’s the fact that my best friend in this entire world, the one person I tell everything to, the person who has seen me at my highest highs and my lowest lows… kept this from me.
Look, I know that Jovi is not in any way obligated to tell me a damn thing, especially given the circumstances.
They are Stone Cold after all. Knowing their identities would be a huge risk for the band, not to mention a PR nightmare if it ever got out.
I understand that side of things. But understanding doesn’t make it hurt less.
What hurts isn’t the secret itself, it’s that Jovi didn't trust me enough to keep it, and I just need a minute to think.
My Doc Martens sink into the snow with each slow, heavy step, which about an hour ago I could walk through easily. Thank fuck I didn’t take them off because it’s so damn cold out here, I would have lost my toes for sure.
I head in the direction of the barn, or whatever the building is beside the cabin, to seek refuge. The wind howls around me, but the real chaos is inside my head.
I have wanted them. Dreamed about them.
I've imagined them claiming every inch of my body and making me theirs in every way possible over the years. But never did I imagine this.
They made me come? Ohmyfuckinggod!
Younger me would be ecstatic about that twist of fate, and part of me is. I just can't help but feel like I'm the punchline of a six-year long joke.
The minutes blur together until I can no longer tell how long I’ve been sitting here, surrounded by the sound of the wind battering against the workshop walls and shaking the frosted windows.
Thankfully, the place looks rather new, or at the very least renovated, because I am fairly certain the storm would have ripped right through it otherwise.
The only thing keeping me from freezing to death is the steady hum of the radiator I found in the corner, filling the space with enough warmth to keep me comfortable.
A high, eerie whistle cuts through the snowstorm, almost mockingly, causing the hairs all over my body to stand on end.
My chest tightens, and a shiver rolls over me, even though I am perfectly warm, huddled up in the corner of this workshop.
Another whistle follows, only this time, it’s coming from the other side, closer than in the direction of the other sound.
The wind grows louder, adding to the already spooky atmosphere, although I can still hear the strange whistling noise.
Three short haunting notes, moving closer and closer with each echo of the wind, and a wave of unease hits me.
I am usually the total opposite of a scaredy cat, but here I am, starting to panic.
“Little Doll,” a deep, distant voice calls over the howling storm, and I am torn between rolling my eyes and feeling afraid. My pulse quickens, and I can feel my blood pumping loudly in my ears, because apparently my body thinks this is real.
“We know you’re hiding from us,” another voice rumbles, raspier than before, coming from somewhere just beyond the entrance.
“But you can’t hide from us forever, can you, baby?” This came from somewhere behind me, and I can’t help but feel like the raging blizzard outside is the least of my concerns.
My heart is pounding, and my limbs feel heavy as my every instinct screams for me to make a run for it.
To bolt back to the cabin and lock the door behind me, but my body refuses to move.
I inwardly scold myself at my reaction because it’s so fucking obvious that it’s the guys.
Maybe that’s the part that terrifies me?
Even as fear claws its way up my throat, I can’t ignore the other feeling simmering right beside it.
Excitement.
I swallow hard, my throat is dry as shit, but I press myself tighter into the shadows anyway, frantically scanning the dark for a place to hide, anything to keep them from finding me, but there’s nothing.
I have no choice but to face them head-on, and I’ll be damned if I make it easy for them this time.
If they want me? They’re going to have to try a hell of a lot fucking harder than this, because I’m not handing myself over easily.