Chapter Twelve #2
“Means you give a shit.” He shrugs like it’s obvious. “You’ve worked your ass off for this, Mama. You’re allowed to be nervous.”
And there he fucking goes again.
One minute he’s trying to negotiate a quickie before my set, the next he’s saying exactly what I need to hear without turning it into some cheesy motivational speech.
Very inconvenient.
I look down and finish straightening his shirt. “You’re getting dangerously good at this supportive thing.”
“Yeah?” His fingers slip around my waist again. “Still comes with benefits?”
There he is.
I snort. “You lasted, what, thirty seconds?”
“Progress.”
I laugh, grabbing my bag from the desk. “Come on, pretty boy.”
His hand closes around mine before I get two steps.
I look back.
He pulls me toward him just enough to kiss me, slower than I expect, then lets me go.
“Go fuck that stage up, Mama.”
My stomach flips for an entirely different reason.
I recover with a roll of my eyes. “So inspirational.”
“Thought it was pretty good.”
“It was terrible.”
“You smiled.”
“Shut up.”
His grin follows me toward the door.
“Still saw it.”
“Ay, cállate and get your ass in the elevator.”
He laughs, but follows.
****
Within the first thirty seconds of being behind the booth, all the nervous bullshit from the hotel has burned off.
This is the part I know.
The stage is hot beneath my boots, lights cutting through the haze above the crowd in flashes of red, violet, and white while bass pounds hard enough to vibrate through my ribs.
There are bodies everywhere, packed together beneath me, hands in the air as the beat builds. Every time I pull it back, they wait.
Every time I give it to them again, the whole fucking place explodes.
God, I love this.
I’m halfway through a transition when a familiar hand slides around my waist.
Revel.
He’s been hanging off to the side for most of my set, giving me space to work, but apparently, his self-control has officially expired. He comes up behind me, moving with the music, his chest brushing my back as he leans close enough that his mouth is right beside my ear.
“Fuck, Mama.”
I keep my eyes on the controls, but my smile gives me away.
“What?”
“Nothing.” His hand settles against my hip. “Just enjoying the show.”
“The show is out there.”
“Nah.” His gaze drags over me before his mouth brushes close to my ear again. “Best view’s back here.”
Of course it is.
I shake my head and reach for the next control, trying to concentrate while he moves behind me like he has absolutely no interest in making that easy. His body stays close, following mine with the beat, one hand loose at my waist while the other braces against the edge of the booth.
The crowd can see us.
That should probably make me tell him to back the fuck up.
Instead, I lean into him.
His fingers tighten slightly against my hip.
“Careful, Mama.”
I glance back over my shoulder. “Thought you could handle me.”
His grin flashes beneath the stage lights. “Never said I couldn’t.”
I turn back before he gets any more pleased with himself, bringing the next track in as the lights sweep over the crowd. Revel stays behind me, dancing against me just enough to make concentrating a hell of a lot harder than it was five minutes ago.
Then I reach for my headphones and knock one of the small adapters sitting beside the mixer.
“Fuck.”
It bounces once against the edge of the booth and disappears underneath.
“I got it,” Revel says.
He drops down behind me before I can stop him.
I keep working, cueing the next track while he reaches beneath the equipment. A few seconds pass.
Then a few more.
I glance down and find him already with the adapter in his hand.
Yet he’s still crouched there.
My eyes narrow with confusion.
Revel looks up at me from beneath the front of the booth, that slow, wicked grin spreading across his face as he holds the adapter up between two fingers.
Ay, no.
I know that fucking look, and judging by the way he settles onto his knees instead of getting his ass back up here, finding what I dropped is no longer the reason he’s down there.
The booth hides most of him from the crowd, but not from me. I can see him perfectly between the equipment and cables, crouched directly in front of me with that smug expression that says he’s already come up with an idea I’m going to regret agreeing to, and there are people fucking everywhere.
Crew moving around behind the stage. Security posted near the barricades.
Other artists and their teams coming and going.
Cameras sweeping across the stage every few minutes.
Beyond all of that, thousands of people are packed together beneath the lights, jumping and dancing, phones in the air, all of them looking in my general fucking direction.
Fantastic.
I shoot Revel a warning glare, but my hands stay busy on the decks. I can’t exactly stand here staring between my own legs without somebody wondering what the fuck I’m doing, so I turn my attention back to the crowd, twisting the EQ as the bass rolls out over them.
He doesn't move fast.
He takes his time, letting the tension build
I feel his breath first—hot, and steady, hitting the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. Then, his fingers hook beneath the hem of my dress, pushing the short black fabric higher before catching the waistband of my panties.
He doesn't yank; he just tugs, a slow, possessive slide that pulls them down, leaving me exposed beneath the booth while the thigh-high boots stay firmly in place.
I gasp, the sound swallowed by the bass, and my body reacts before my brain can catch up.
Ay, cono.
I straighten immediately, forcing my hips still.
"Revel," I hiss under my breath, a warning that sounds more like an invitation.
He doesn't answer with words. Instead, he leans in, his tongue dragging in one long, wet stripe from the base of my opening up to my clit. I nearly jump out of my fucking skin, my fingers twitching slightly on the mixer.
I have to force myself to focus, sliding the fader up, keeping the beat steady while my world narrows down to the point where his mouth meets my skin.