Chapter Twelve #2
“No, it’s Aussie for argument. And no, we’re good, right?” I glance up at him.
“Yeah, Effa and I are fine. No purple dinosaurs here,” he replies with a smirk, earning a round of laughs.
Luke and Andi aren’t so convinced.
“Good! Let’s keep it that way,” Luke says. “If Effa’s screwing this up, let me know. I’ll straighten her out.”
I plant my hands on my hips. “Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I’m on the side of the band,” Luke counters. “And you screwing around with the best lighting director we’ve ever had? That concerns me.”
“Luke, whatever Effa and I choose to do…” Mercs steps in, calm but firm. “That’s between us.”
Luke falters, unsure how to respond.
I step in this time. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
The elevator doors open, and I pull Mercs in with me before anyone else can follow. The doors close, sealing us in our own little world.
“That wasn’t awkward at all,” Mercs mutters.
I groan. “Luke was out of line. But he’s just trying to protect the band. I get it.”
Mercs nods. “I get it too. Still, we need to talk.”
We walk in silence to my suite. My muscles ache from the show, and my shoulders are now tense. Nerves have taken over because if he wants to talk, that means something’s sitting heavy on his chest.
The rest of the crew’s noise echoes down the hallway, but I rush to swipe the keycard and pull Mercs inside before they catch up.
The suite is beautiful—on the top floor, with full views of the glittering city, floor-to-ceiling windows that give us the illusion of floating in the stars. But none of it matters right now. Not with the way Mercs is watching me.
I move to sit on the edge of the coffee table, chewing my lip.
He stands a few feet away, arms crossed, gaze focused entirely on me.
“What are you looking for?” I ask quietly.
He steps closer. “Signs you’re high.”
I stiffen before my jaw clenches. “That’s what this is about?”
“Yeah. I need you to know that there are two things I don’t fuck with… drugs and cheating.” He scans my eyes, probably looking for any signs of red. But I didn’t smoke enough for it to show.
“Effa, I know your upbringing. I know weed’s normal in your world. But I’ve seen what it does. I’ve seen it ruin people. It always leads to more. It kills creativity. It kills people. And I don’t want that for you.” He reaches out and takes my hands.
“I only smoke herbs,” I say, my voice quiet. “Nothing heavier. That’s more Casey’s thing. For me, it’s a habit. A comfort. It helps unlock something creative.”
He rubs his thumbs over my skin, gentle and warm. “Have you tried to create without it?”
I tilt my head, thinking. I’ve always smoked when I write… except for the one time. The song I wrote with Danger. The one that blew us up.
“That one hit that made us famous? We wrote that sober,” I admit with a small laugh.
“Maybe it’s time to try again. No haze, no filter, just you. I’m not here to control you, Effa, but I’ll always fight for your health. I won’t sit back and watch.”
“So you’d prefer I didn’t smoke at all?”
His eyes darken, not with judgment, but with something more primal. The tension shifts, tightens, twists, and his gaze drops to my collarbone, before his tongue darts out across his bottom lip.
My breath hitches, and the room thickens with heat.
His hands trail up my arms, sparking goose bumps across my skin. His eyes pierce mine. They’re deep, dark, and full of fire.
“If you were mine, I’d demand it,” he says, voice low, rough. “I’d grip your hair, hold you tight, make you promise you’d give it up for me. Then I’d run my tongue down your neck and make you beg for more until you belonged to me. Fully… always.”
My thighs squeeze together, desperate to ease the throbbing ache at the center of me. His words… god, his words. They light me up in ways no drug ever could.
“I’d make you moan, Effa. Make you scream my name. Not from smoke or herbs but from me. From everything I can give you.”
I want to say something, anything, but I’m melting too fast.
“We can’t risk losing you, Mercs,” I murmur. “The band needs you. If we cross that line—”
He slides his hand into my hair, gripping tight. My scalp tingles with the sharp edge of his touch.
“That’s Luke talking. Not you.” I inch closer, my heart pounding.
“I want you, Effa.” He smirks, his gaze dropping to my lips.
“Tonight, on that stage, watching you tease me… then climbing those rocks like it was nothing? You amaze me. I want in. I want you.” He presses closer.
“I’m not walking off this tour. We handle this like adults, and nothing changes.
Now, is that enough sweet talking to let me fuck you? ”
I giggle and press myself to him, feeling the thick bulge between us. “You think you have all the power?”
His brow furrows in playful confusion, right before I spin him and shove him onto the bed. He bounces with a laugh, propping himself up on his elbows.
I strip slowly, peeling off the daisy-chain headband, pulling my dress over my head, revealing white lace and nothing else.
His eyes go wide.
His smile? Wicked.
I straddle him, knees on either side of his legs, my pussy grinding against the hard line of his jeans. He grabs my ass, pulling me tighter.
I lean in, my breath short, hair falling like a curtain around us. While the energy zings between us, I know Mercs is a high I could get addicted to.
More dangerous than any drug.
More powerful than any hit.
I kiss him hard, deep, messy. Our tongues tangle, our bodies grind. His hands rake up my back and fist in my hair. Then he groans, flipping me, dropping me to the bed. His shirt rips open, buttons flying as he tosses it to the floor.
Holy hell… that body.
Mercs’ chest presses against mine as he devours my neck, teasing, biting, sucking. My clit pulses in time with my heartbeat, desperate. He moves down, grinding into me, making me writhe beneath him.
“Kaden,” I breathe.
He bites my earlobe, dragging a shudder down my spine. I arch into him, hungry for more. Our mouths crash together again, hot and frantic. His hand cups my breast, squeezes just hard enough to make me moan.
And then…
I open my stupid mouth.
“If we do this… it doesn’t mean you’re like them.”
He freezes. His eyes narrowing.
“Like who?”
Shit.
“Like the rest of the crew.”
He pulls back, his jaw clenched. “What the fuck does that mean?”
I flinch because that is not how I meant it. It was supposed to be reassuring, not insult him.
“I didn’t mean—” I lean in to kiss him, but he dodges it, clicking his tongue with a shake of his head.
Fuck.