24. Wren
He was touching me.
Hawk Jameson was touching me, and the first thing I did was ask about his fucking guitar?
To be fair, it was an epic guitar.
Turning my head, I tried to look again at the gorgeous beast sitting on a rack behind me, its incredible cherry wood finish gleaming in the low light. The key word being tried, because when I went to look, Hawk tightened his grip, his large palm and long fingers clutching my skull and holding me hostage.
“What did you say?”
Blinking, I licked my lips, and as his gaze darted to my mouth, I was suddenly unable to find my voice.
“Uh.”
“Come on,” he cooed, untangling his fingers from my hair now that he was certain that I wasn’t about to look away. Instead, Hawk gently traced his fingers over my cheek, his eyes focused on the movement as he lightly grazed my skin over and over. “Repeat what you just said.”
I couldn’t deny him.
“I asked if this was an original 1961 Gibson SG Standard? In Cherry Red?”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure he would even answer, but after two more strokes of my cheek, Hawk blinked a couple times and met my gaze. There was something about this moment, something about the way he was looking at me, that had my heart racing. I had spent a lot of time in the last decade dreaming of a time where I might meet the lead singer of my favorite band, but never in my wildest dreams had I imagined he would look at me like this. As though I was some strange and unique creature he’d never seen before.
It felt almost powerful, despite the fact that he was standing and I was on my knees. As though for the first time in my life, I was in control and there was nothing and no one who could stand in my way.
As my heart continued to pound, I curled my fingers into my thighs, digging my nails through the wide diamonds of my fishnets and into my flesh, trying to ground myself. Because as much as I may have dreamed about this moment, I needed to remember that a moment was all it was. Somehow, the universe had spun itself into a position where Hawk and I were in the same space, but I knew that before long it would spin us apart again. I couldn’t allow myself to get addicted to this feeling, because I understood better than most that disappointment was a bitter pill to swallow.
“Nah, babe,” he finally said, and I exhaled, glad that one of us had broken the tension. Taking his hands off me completely, Hawk clenched them into fists and stuffed them into the pockets of his dark jeans, turning his attention to the guitar. “It’s the 2005 reissue. Looks the same, though, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I breathed, my mind trying to wrap itself around the fact that Hawk and I were discussing guitars like it was the weather. I reached my hand out again, just dying to run my fingers over that dark cherry finish, but I paused before I actually made contact and forced my hand back to my thigh. “How’s the sound? Is it as good as the original?”
Hawk gave a quiet laugh, the dark sound rolling out of him, and the way my spine tingled was almost embarrassing. I’d thought hearing him on stage had been overwhelming, but that was nothing compared to experiencing him up close and personal. Being able to smell him, like leather and spice, or see the subtle divot that dipped between his pecs where his t-shirt stretched across his chest. It was utterly surreal.
Still unable to really look at him, I shifted my eyes to the side, watching from the corner as he came up beside me and crouched down, his long fingers—fingers that had just been touching my bare skin—reaching out and plucking at the guitar strings. The dull twang that the strings made, the sound distinctive to an unplugged electric guitar, had me biting my lip.
Why was everything he did so goddamn sexy? I wanted to convince myself it was just my obsession talking, but there was no denying that every single movement the man made was sex incarnate. The way he moved, the way his thighs stretched the denim as he crouched. Even the way his veins stood out on his forearms, the winding paths like a road map leading to the most magical fingers in the industry.
Taking a breath, I tried to subtly squeeze my thighs together, a useless attempt to relieve some of the hot sensations that were building beneath the hem of my skirt.
I needed to get a grip. Hawk was only here because he thought I had been touching his guitar. Now that he knew I meant it no harm, he’d head back to the half-naked girls scattered around the room.
“It sounds pretty fuckin’ sweet, that’s for sure,” he said, the pride in his voice unmistakable. He continued to stroke the guitar, his palm flat against the strings as he slid his hand up and down the neck like he was touching a lover.
His movement distracted me, and I couldn’t think of another thing to say, my focus completely on watching him pet the fucking Gibson as though he’d hypnotized me.
“You play?”
I turned to him, taking him in as I considered the question. His hair was long, brushing his shoulders and still damp from what I assumed was a recent shower. In profile, he was near perfection, his strong nose and full lips balanced beautifully with his deep eyes. Hawk had a face that most people would call broody, always looking deep in thought, as though he was one second away from either throwing hands or throwing you out. He was the kind of guy who always looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I had the strangest urge to touch him, to offer him comfort and solace and safety.
It was a bizarre feeling, considering I’d barely spent four minutes in the same room as him, but I couldn’t deny it. Something inside me wanted to give Hawk a hug.
Instead, I just shrugged, brushing off his question.
“A little.”
Turning his head, Hawk looked at me, surprise in those broody eyes. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak again, there was a loud squeal from one of the other girls in the room and it drew both our attention. Sitting up on my knees, I peered over the edge of the couch to see one of the girls who had been in the VIP area with us was now straddling Lewis, her skirt drawn up and her ass exposed as she bounced up and down, clearly fucking him right there on the couch.
“Jesus Christ,” Hawk muttered, sounding pissed off. “Make up your mind, you stupid fuck.”
“What?” I asked, confused.
“Nothing.” He stood, holding out a hand to help me up. I didn’t need it, but I took it all the same. We stood there, side by side with our backs to the wall, watching as the room descended deeper and deeper in to a full-on orgy. It seemed that once Lewis started it, everyone else was happy to join in, with roadies and other crew members sucking on exposed tits or getting blow jobs right out in the open. I’d never seen anything like it, even on a night when our football team won big.
Searching the room, I finally found Sabrina, standing off to one side with Gavin, of all people, looking to be deep in conversation, her arms gesticulating wildly as she spoke and he scowled at her, shaking his head.
Leave it to Bri to meet a rock star and immediately start giving him shit.
“You wanna get out of here?” Hawk suddenly asked me. I turned to him, seeing that he was slouched back against the wall, his fingers toying with a strand of my hair, twirling it around and watching the pieces switch from blonde to red and back again as he did. When I didn’t say anything, he looked at me, taking the piece of hair he was holding and bringing it up to his mouth, running the ends over his lips like a paintbrush. He closed his eyes at the sensation, and I felt another one of those tingling thrills dance through me. “I wanna show you something. Will you come with me?”
I didn’t know where he wanted to take me, and I didn’t know what he intended when we got there.
What I did know was that for this moment in time, I had Hawk Jameson’s full and undivided attention, and I wasn’t going to waste a second of it.
“Yes.”