Skylar
“Not yet, dirty girl,” Memphis rasps, removing his hand from underneath my skirt. “Spread your legs wider. Show me what’s mine.”
Gripping the edges of the speaker, I lean back and part my thighs, giving him what he wants.
Taking a step back, he rubs the dusting of dark scruff on his jaw, his gaze zeroing in on where I’m wet and warm. “Such a pretty pussy.” Digging his hand into the pocket of his jeans, he pulls out his guitar pick. “I’m gonna make a meal out of it later.”
His dirty promise sends ribbons of heat through me. There’s no way I can wait until after the show.
“I want it now.”
Sensual lips curve as he slowly grazes my clit with the tip of his pick. “You’ll come when I’m good and ready.”
“I’ll come when I’m good and ready,” I argue. “In case you forgot, I have a hand…and a toy.”
His low, taunting chuckle tickles my collarbone. “Neither of those are better than my dick, Brat.”
Nothing is better than his dick. However, the sassy retort I was conjuring up vanishes when he begins strumming. His measured plucks combined with those gifted fingers pumping inside me turn me into a panting mess.
Pleasure mixed with need coils low in my belly, but the second my body gives way to the sensation…he stops.
“Quit teasing me, assho—”
I’m cut off by the sound of frantic footsteps stomping outside the storage room, followed by Chandler shouting, “Where the fuck is Memphis?”
“Not making me come,” I mutter when Memphis returns the pick to his pocket.
“It’s for your own good.” Running a hand down the very prominent bulge tenting his jeans, he gives it a not-so-subtle squeeze. “Don’t want you getting too attached to this.”
Irritation flares through me. The last thing I want him to think is that I’m some hopeless fiend who’s obsessed with him.
“Don’t worry, friend,” I bite out as he heads for the door. “That won’t happen.”
Expression impassive, he stares at me for several long beats…
Then he leaves.
My heart spasms as I hop off the speaker. Liar, liar pants on fire.
“Shut it,” I hiss under my breath.
The stupid organ has a habit of barging in uninvited and wrecking the place. Then scurrying off to lick its wounds while my brain busts its ass trying to clean up the mess left behind.
I won’t put myself through that again. This time around my head—and logic—are in the driver’s seat.
I’m smoothing down my skirt when the door flies open, jolting me.
Startled, I spin around. “Jesus—”
Memphis takes several steps in my direction, backing me into the speaker. “You seem to have forgotten something.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
His stony glare pierces through me like a fatal arrow and his next words are spoken through clenched teeth. “We’re not friends.”
Faster than I can blink, rough hands seize my hips and I’m spun around.
I barely have time to register what’s happening when he bends me over the speaker, lifts my skirt, and shoves his cock inside me in one fluid, ruthless thrust.
“Does Phoenix stretch your tight pussy like this?”
Say what now? He knows I’d never have sex with Phoenix.
“Huh?”
“Answer the question, Sky.”
When I don’t, he delivers a stinging slap to my ass cheek. “Does he make you come so hard you drench his bed every night?”
“No,” I whisper as he kneads my tender skin. “No one but you does.”
“Damn right.” He wraps my ponytail around his fist and tugs. “And don’t you ever fucking forget it.”
Pleasure spirals through me as he takes me in harsh, punishing thrusts.
I can’t tell if he’s teaching me a lesson or giving me a reward. All I know is nothing has ever felt so good.
Sharp teeth scrape the nape of my neck. “You take my dick so well.”
I dig my nails into the speaker. He’s buried so deep it almost hurts.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Chandler yells on the other side of the door. “What the hell is Memphis doing?”
Making me come so hard white spots form behind my eyes and everything around me ceases to exist. My legs tremble violently with every surge, threatening to give out.
He fastens his arm around my waist, holding me steady while his free hand slams over my mouth, keeping me quiet.
My muffled moans fill the small storage room as my orgasm blazes through me like a bolt of lightning.
His deep, throaty groan rumbles in my ear. “Mine.”
“Yours,” I breathe as the last wave subsides.
Fingers digging into my hips, he ruts like a feral animal in heat, claiming what’s his.
What will always be his.
A moment later he collapses against me. I try not to focus on the frantic pounding of his heart battering my back. The ragged breaths tickling my sweat-soaked skin. Or how the weight of his body makes me feel safe and secure instead of anxious and confined.
He’s right…
We’re not friends.
Balancing the pizza box in my hands, I tread through the rear venue door. The mouthwatering aroma of melted cheese, tomato sauce, and pepperoni invades my nostrils. My stomach rumbles loudly, demanding I stuff my face before it has a hissy fit.
I pick up my steps, making a beeline for the backstage area.
I’m sure the guys are equally famished after the phenomenal show they put on tonight. Which means I better steal a slice—or three—before they spot me.
Thinking quick, I make a left toward the bathroom, but it’s too late.
“Hell yeah,” Phoenix calls out. “I’m starving.”
Like flies on shit, the four of them swarm me.
I do my best not to recoil when Josh smacks a sweaty kiss on my cheek. “You’re the best, babe.”
Things have been more strained than usual between us ever since I found the bag of heroin.
He claims he was just experimenting, and it was a one-time thing, but I wasn’t born yesterday.
Lifting the top of the box, Josh makes a face. “I take that back. This ain’t no pizza. It’s lasagna.”
“We’re in Chicago,” I remind him. “Deep dish is what they’re known for.”
“Deep dish? More like deep shit.”
Laughing at himself, he looks at the rest of the guys, waiting for them to join in, but no one does. Not even Phoenix.
Probably because it’s not freaking funny.
“Looks good to me,” Memphis exclaims. “Come on, let’s eat.”
The five of us head to the greenroom where we find Alexis tapping her foot and Chandler more livid than usual.
“Meeting now,” Chandler snaps.
Josh snatches the pizza box from me. “Can’t. I’m eating.”
“Oh, no you’re not.” I promptly take my pizza back. “You don’t get to shame my pizza and then use it as an excuse.”
Josh gapes at me in disbelief. “What the fuck, babe? You’re supposed to have my back.”
I have more than his back.
I’m the one who takes care of him, cleans up his messes, and then shoves all the remaining evidence under a rug so no one else will ever find out.
“This little lover’s spat will have to wait.” Chandler snaps his fingers. “Asses in seats. Now.”
There are grumbles all around.
“We have a problem,” Chandler states as we plop down on the furniture. “A huge problem.”
Phoenix grins. “So, we’re having a meeting about my dick? Nice.”
“No.” Chandler looks at Storm. “His dick.”
Beaming, Storm leans back and drapes his arm along the back of the couch. “Thanks, Chandler. My dick appreciates the compliment.”
“This is serious, boys,” Alexis states, her expression solemn. “A woman has come forward claiming Storm got too rough with her last night. She’s gone to the police.” A wrinkle forms between her brows. “To make matters worse, there are photos of her injuries.”
Mouth agape, Josh turns to Storm. “Injuries? Dude, what the fuck did you do?”
A stunned Storm bristles. “I didn’t do shit.”
Alexis holds up a photo of a young woman sporting a nasty bruise around her eye. “Her bruises seem to suggest otherwise.”
“That’s not from me,” Storm protests. “She was fine when she left my room.”
My mind scrolls back to the night I did ecstasy. Storm could have taken advantage of me when he brought me to his room, but he didn’t.
He was kind, compassionate, and gentle.
Hell, he put clothes on me instead of taking them off.
There’s no way he’d hurt that girl.
Josh shakes his head. “Yeah right, bruh. Everyone knows you’re into that dominatrix shit.”
“First of all, a dominatrix is a woman,” I inform him. “Second, Storm—”
“Isn’t a fucking dom,” Storm interjects. “I just like using handcuffs sometimes.”
“And the occasional ball gag,” Phoenix adds.
“Quit cracking jokes before I use one on you,” Chandler warns.
Phoenix opens his mouth, but Alexis cuts him off. “These allegations are serious.”
“These allegations are bullshit,” Memphis—who’s been quiet until now—chimes in.
A dejected-looking Storm nods. “I’d never assault a woman.”
My gut says he’s telling the truth. Problem is there’s no way to verify it.
Or is there?
Sitting forward, I straighten my spine. “Do you have any text messages between you two? Anything that might help prove your innocence?”
“No. I only met her after last night’s show.” He sighs. “I didn’t even get her name.”
Welp. There goes that idea.
“Her name is Brooke Fiches,” Alexis murmurs, her dainty fingers flying across her phone screen.
Josh snickers. “Apparently Fiches get stitches.”
Stunned, everyone turns to him.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Memphis bites out.
So much.
“I’m still trying to figure out how to tackle this.” Bringing her phone to her ear, Alexis ambles toward the door. “If you think of something that might help, let me know.”
“So, you’re on board with renaming the band Sharp Ponies?” Memphis questions.
“Uh-huh.”
Determined, I continue scrolling through my phone. I tossed and turned all night trying to figure out how to help Storm. So far, I haven’t come up with any solid ideas, but I’ve been scouring Brooke’s social media profiles all morning.
“Really?”
I click on a recently uploaded pic one of her friends tagged her in a few minutes ago. “Love it.”
What I don’t love is that this girl was out partying less than forty-eight hours after supposedly being assaulted.
I zero in on the photo, dissecting every little detail. The club is dark, and the filter doesn’t give me the clearest view of their faces, but Brooke doesn’t appear to have a black eye.
Then again, a good concealer can do wonders.
A nagging feeling twists my guts. Makeup or not, this still isn’t adding up.
“Something’s fishy.”
“I’ll say,” Memphis replies. “The barista just asked if you take your coffee black and you said yes.”
When I glance up, I find him scrutinizing me over the top of his dark sunglasses. “Don’t worry, I set her straight. Four sugars and a half cup of cream.”
I take the paper cup he hands me. “Thanks.”
“Uh-huh.” Slipping his glasses back into place, he grabs the bag of pastries off the counter followed by the cup holder containing various coffee orders. “What’s fishy?”
“Brooke.” I hold the door open for him as we exit the bakery and head back toward the hotel. “I’ve been gathering some intel on her.”
“What kind of intel?”
“Just her whereabouts…and stuff.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because it can tell you a lot about a person. For instance, I know she checked into her local gym early this morning, and she’s currently having brunch with a girlfriend…
the same one she was partying with last night.
” I click on her profile, where sure enough, a different friend tagged her in a status.
“It appears she’ll be going to a club called Blue Ocean tonight. ”
Memphis doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed by this news. “Okay…”
“I just find it a little odd that someone who got…” I make air quotes with my fingers. “‘Beat up’ two days ago is going on like nothing happened.”
“Fair enough. But you know better than anyone that…” His lips compress into a firm line. “Things aren’t always what they seem.”
He’s right. And normally I wouldn’t condemn this girl for being human and living her life since we all handle trauma differently.
However, I also know you shouldn’t ignore your intuition. Storm might look like a scary guy with a short fuse, but he’d never hurt a woman.
This girl’s accusations have the potential to not only ruin an innocent man’s career, but his life.
“You and I both know Storm didn’t hurt this girl.”
Hell, he’s known as the teddy bear of the group.
“Yeah.” His sigh is expansive. “Too bad he can’t prove it.”
“I know.” And just like that, a plan starts formulating in my head. “He can’t…”
But maybe I can.
“No.” Memphis’s steps come to a halt. “You are not playing detective, Sky.”