Chapter 25
ARDEN
The bass hits so hard I can feel it in my ribs. Sweat slicks the back of my neck. The lights blur my vision, the crowd roars, and every cell in my body feels like it’s vibrating in time with the music.
Jaxon is magnetic on and off the stage. Wild, untouchable chaos wrapped in golden light as he sings songs about angst and rebellion and survival.
His eyes scan the crowd, taking time to lock with the gazes of girls who look like they might pass out at any moment.
They scream and jump at the chance to share his air; some of them are even crying.
It’s fascinating, observing it all from our viewpoint next to the stage.
Months ago, I was like all the other girls at this concert.
Sitting on my couch, watching videos of Jaxon Wilde performing this exact song and daydreaming about what it might be like to lock eyes with him or hear him say my name.
Now I’m backstage at a fucking Roman amphitheater watching him bounce around in front of thousands of people. And this is just a typical day.
Meanwhile, Locke is still staring at me with that “don’t test me” look. I know exactly what it’s about. He’s still annoyed I didn’t shut down the rock star’s flirting. Even as I try to lose myself in the music, I can’t shake the weight of his glare.
“You’re still on that?” I ask, unable to hide the hint of a smile playing at my lips. “It was five minutes of harmless banter, Locke. It’s not like I was planning a getaway.”
He doesn’t say anything, but his jaw ticks. It just felt nice to be admired by someone I’ve respected for a long time. Though my “reminders” don’t seem to do anything for his ego.
Jax is definitely playing to the side of the stage where we’re standing.
Every time his eyes land on me, there’s an intentional, heavy focus that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.
It’s hard not to be a little amused by the sheer confidence of it.
I half-expect him to address me directly as he lifts the mic again, but he averts his gaze to scan the crowd.
“You,” he says, pointing. “Third row, red crop top. Yeah, you. Come on up here, love.”
The girl is beaming, looking completely shell-shocked by her luck, and Jaxon leans into it with practiced charm.
He gives her his full attention, smiling from ear to ear as he asks her to choose his next song.
She frantically yells out a single from his first album.
It’s funny: an hour ago, he was just a guy we were sitting on a couch with, and now he’s back to being the public property of a few thousand people.
It’s a bit of a reality check. For a second there, I’d let the eye contact go to my head, thinking I was somehow part of the show.
Watching him pull a random girl up reminds me that this is just what he does.
It’s his job to make everyone feel chosen.
I glance at Locke, making sure my face is a mask of bored indifference.
The last thing I need is his sensing that I was even remotely caught up in the hype.
Locke watches the girl reach the stage, then looks back at me, the ‘don’t test me’ glare finally fading.
He leans in close to whisper in my ear. “He’s good at that.
Making everyone feel like they’re the only person in the room.
It’s quite the show.” He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering.
“I think I prefer you back here in the dark with me, though.”
Goosebumps rise on my arms like he just slid his fingertips down my spine. He barely even touched me, but my body is acting like it’s been waiting all night for this moment.
On stage, Jaxon’s energy shifts. The way he pulls the girl in close to dance feels less like a rehearsed stunt and more like they’re sharing an actual moment.
It’s a different vibe… softer, somehow, than performances of his I’ve seen before.
I study them, my head cocked to the side, wondering what the hell I’m actually watching.
When the song ends, he hands her his guitar pick and whispers something in her ear that makes her face light up.
Instead of heading back to the floor, she comes beaming over to our side of the stage, clutching the pick like a trophy.
She looks completely breathless, wide-eyed and eager for whatever comes next.
I can’t help but offer her a genuine smile as I introduce myself and Locke; her excitement is too infectious to ignore.
The final chord rings out, vibrating through the stone floor until the lights plunge us into sudden, ringing darkness. The roar of the crowd is deafening, with cheers echoing off the ancient stone walls. It feels like the whole damn city is shaking.
In the dim blue glow of the stage rear, I see Jaxon casually drape an arm around the girl’s shoulders, leading her toward the exit with that effortless, rock star swagger.
I’m still wondering who that girl is to him as Locke steps in close behind me. I try to pretend I don’t notice and follow the rest of the crew down the hallway, but Locke’s hand grabs my wrist, and I know we won’t be going anywhere.
I turn to look at him, but he’s already backing me into the shadows. Past speakers and black trunks with silver metal edges, until my spine hits something hard and cold.
Locke presses his entire body against mine, pinning me to the wall. The sudden movement steals my breath. “How do I always end up in this position with you?” I gasp as he lifts a hand, his fingers gently dragging along my jawline and down my neck.
He leans in close, a low growl lacing his words as his lips hover near my ear. “Jaxon’s a great performer. He can make anyone feel special.” His tone is rougher now, lacking the annoyance and leaning into pure possession. “But I think I’m better at reminding you what’s real.”
I arch my back slightly, letting him feel how much I crave his weight against me. He grinds his hips into me harder, and my fingers curl into his t-shirt.
In an instant, Locke’s hands are roaming my entire body.
A public display that’s far too familiar.
He pushes my skirt up enough to slide a hand up my thigh.
His fingers slip through the large openings in my tights.
Hooking my thong to the side, his palm cups me and finds the slick evidence of how much I’ve been wanting this.
“Quite the show today,” he murmurs, his thumb making a slow, deliberate circle over my clit. I can’t help the moan that breaks against his lips.
“All that harmless banter,” he breathes, his fingers sliding against me, teasing my entrance before moving to circle my clit again. “All those winks and smiles you shot his way.”
He doesn’t kiss me, though his lips stay inches from mine, sharing my air. His voice isn’t cold, but it’s thick with a dark, undeniable certainty. “Even after last night, you still think you can play these games? Still want to pretend you don’t belong to anyone?”
His fingers stroke faster, a rhythmic, demanding pressure that makes my knees weak. “Well, once again, your dripping pussy says otherwise.”
He opens his mouth and bites into the base of my neck, hard enough to make me gasp, the sting immediately blooming into heat. “You’re mine,” he growls against my skin, the words a simple fact on his tongue.
His hand moves to slip underneath my shirt, his fingers finding my nipple and pinching hard enough to make me whimper.
“Say it,” he demands.
“I’m yours.” It comes out in a whisper, my voice shaky and full of need. His mouth crashes into mine, a mess of teeth and tongues.
He pulls away just enough to spin me around, his hand firm between my shoulder blades as he guides me down over one of the large black equipment trunks. The cold metal is a shock against my skin.
“I think you need a reminder of that fact,” he murmurs, his weight pressing into my back as he crowds me against the case.
I barely have time to grip the edges of the metal trunk before he lifts my skirt completely, baring me to the cool air of the night. Then the first slap lands. A stinging heat that radiates through me.
My breath hitches, a jagged sound that’s half-shock and half-surrender.
My mind tries to tell me this is too much, even for him, but my body is already arching, instinctively seeking the next strike.
The sudden contrast between the cold air around us and the burning on my skin creates a rush that leaves me lightheaded.
He leans down, his chest pressing into my back, his voice a low, heavy vibration against my ear.
“Say it,” he demands, his palm rubbing slow circles over the burning skin, waiting. “Who do you belong to?”
“I’m yours, Locke. I... I already said it,” I gasp, my head spinning.
Another strike lands. “Again.”
“I’m —” The next strike cut me off, stealing the air from my lungs. “Yours.”
Another slap landed, punctuated by his low voice. “Again.”
“I’m,” I gasped, arching into the heat, “yours.”
I’m lost in the blur of it all, unable to tell where the pain ends and my need begins.
I’m vibrating with a need I can’t explain, leaning into the very hands that are causing me pain.
It doesn’t make sense, but in this dark corner of the stage, the hurt feels like he’s pulling me closer to him the only way he knows how.
I’m falling apart in his hands, and yet, I’ve never felt more secure.
The sudden flicker of the lights above us is like a bucket of ice water, dragging me back to reality as Locke’s touch turns tender, his large hands smoothing my skirt back into place over my stinging skin.
I straighten my posture and move to walk out with Locke, but he stops me. Without saying a word, one arm wraps around my back, the other slips beneath my knees, lifting me before I can protest.
He carries me to the car, despite my repeated attempts to convince him I can walk. He just silently opens the door and places me in the passenger seat of the flashy sports car he drove us in.
Locke climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, the low hum of the car vibrating through me. I watch his profile in the dark, and for the first time, I don’t fight the feelings that well up. I’m falling for him.
He flew me to Italy just for a concert. He can say it’s ‘part of the job’ all he wants, but he knew I admired Jaxon from day one.
So he put me backstage where I could feel the bass in my ribs.
He put me in a room with the man I’ve looked up to for years.
He’s spent the past few days proving he knows exactly what I love…
and making sure I know he’s the one who can give it to me.
Seeing the quiet intensity in his eyes now, I’m finally understanding that his possessive nature is his way of holding on to what’s important to him.