Chapter 23 – Damian
Chapter Twenty-Three
Damian
We tour through Thanksgiving, which is not a big deal for me. It’s hard on my mom, though. I’m sure it’s equally difficult for Cove’s family, but that’s part of having adult children.
We make it to Chicago, and our performance goes off without any trouble. We’re back at the same venue for the next two nights, so we’re in a hotel again. It gives them the chance to service the buses, and it gives us a little extra space.
Although, by the time we make it back from a late dinner, the twins have a full-blown party going on in the hotel suite.
Whoever booked us into this hotel put us in something like the presidential suite.
It has six rooms, but that’s not a problem since the twins or me and Ravvi are used to doubling up.
The main annoyance is…people.
A lot of fucking people.
The guys from Liminal and Turning Pages are here. I suppose it would have been too much to ask for one of them to offer up their suite, but I know there’s that whole thing about paying our dues.
I’m annoyed as I make my way out to the patio to smoke. I was going to invite Ravvi and the twins, but they’re busy talking to the guys from Liminal.
I’m not sure who brought the party drugs. It’s not an uncommon occurrence for shit to get passed around backstage, but having it in our private space feels like an entirely different story. It’s almost insulting.
I’m already unsure if the other bands are only nice to us because our family owns the label.
If they were dicks, it’s not like my dad would cancel their contracts.
Though, they might see it as a leg up if they can befriend us.
They might also be testing the water to see what they can get away with.
Like they’re checking how far they can go before one of us makes the call to send it up the line.
Maybe that’s me being cynical.
They’ve been good to us so far, but I really don’t like having hardcore drugs around where I’m preparing to sleep.
Weed and coke are rampant in the industry. Coke is the pick-me-up that a lot of artists prefer before heading out on stage, while weed mellows them out again so they can sleep. I can ignore those—at least they both come from a plant.
Crystal meth is fucking toxic, not to mention the benzos some musicians develop a fondness for.
Opiates are a whole different level of hell that I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. The grandfather I’m named after had a love affair with H. Coincidentally, so did Cove’s uncle Bryan, who I’m also named after.
Damian Bryan Sinclair. It’s like my family wanted to remind me of the consequences of addiction every time I have to fill out a government form.
Whatever.
It was effective.
I drew my line in the sand, and I know the shit I’m deathly serious about staying away from. Maybe it makes me a hypocrite, but I don’t care…
My family was honest about the things we’d run into on tour. They said they’d make it as safe as they could for us, but that things would come up where we would have to make our own judgment calls.
They weren’t wrong.
With how badly addiction runs in my mom’s family, I never wanted to risk it. Sure, I smoke weed, but people who say it’s a gateway drug can blow me.
The only place smoking weed ever took me was to McDonald’s. I never thought hey, what I should really do would be to go find a dealer and try the hard shit.
That’s my personal experience, though.
Damn.
I hope this place has room service. I’m going to have the crunchies hardcore if I kill this entire cigar solo.
Leaning against the brick wall, I bring the lighter to my lips and light the blunt.
My mind drifts as I take a long drag. Before I hit my teenage years, I used to wonder why my dads would cook entire meals or order half of a take-out menu at like eleven at night.
Lachlan, one of my dads, would flat-out tell us he had the munchies, at least before he knew we were old enough to catch on to the meaning.
I laugh, shaking my head.
Ehh, it’s no worse than drinking, especially because weed is legal in Colorado.
Our parents might be a mess, but one thing we never had to question was how much they loved us.
I really miss my family.
“Holy shit, we found Damian.” A chick stumbles out onto the darkened balcony and jabs her beer bottle at my chest.
“We did,” her friend says, giggling as she comes to a stop in front of me. It blocks me against the wall, and I frown. “Wow, it’s crazy how much you look like your mom. She’s my idol. I love her.”
All of that is fine.
I’m used to hearing how much I take after my mom, but I slam my head back against the brick as the woman grabs the bottom of my hair, twisting it between her fingers.
I’m sure anyone else would roll with the punches. It’s not like she grabbed my dick, but annoyance still burns under my skin.
I would never touch a woman’s hair without permission, and I can’t tell if this shit happens to me because my parents are famous or if I have bad luck with touchy-feely people.
I’ve considered cutting it to discourage this type of thing, but I love my hair.
And also…fuck people.
I twist around the woman in front of me and make it to the table, dropping the blunt into a random can of Dr Pepper.
“If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I need to find my girlfriend before she gets scooped up by another rock star.” I shake the can around to make sure there’s enough liquid to put it out, eyeing the door and wondering how complicated it’s going to be to make my escape.
“Hey, handsome. I’ve been looking for you,” Cove says, coming to a stop in the doorway.
The women spin around, and I use it as my opportunity to sneak by without being touched.
I don’t know how she knows when I need saving, but I’m really fucking grateful she does.
Sometimes I wonder if the label books the entire floor under us or maybe the hotel blocks it off to avoid complaints. The music is loud, and the people are louder, but I’m doing an excellent job of tuning it out.
Cove started sitting across my lap. At some point during our make-out session, she moved to face me, and my hands landed on her ass. I have to continually remind myself that there is a room full of people, and she’s in a dress. I don’t want to accidentally flash them her ass.
Her fingertips dig into my jaw, and she whimpers against my lips as she grinds over my cock.
“Yo, you two might want to take yourselves somewhere with some privacy. Declan just snatched a chick’s phone because she was trying to take pictures of the two of you,” Creed says, popping up at the edge of our chair.
Part of me doesn’t care. I’m proud to call Cove mine. I also know industry policy is to keep all relationships on the down-low to keep up the facade that any lucky fan could land one of us.
“Wanna get out of here?” I ask against Cove’s lips.
She nods. “Yes.”
I didn’t realize what a sensual experience undressing could be. Not until I lost the ability to focus on anything outside of Cove’s face as she peels me out of my clothing.
She must have taken Declan’s advice about kissing. The top of her head comes up to my shoulder, but she bends, flicking her tongue over my nipple as she tosses my shirt aside.
It makes my knot pulse.
I didn’t even know my nipples could be an erogenous zone.
She stretches up, and I wrap my hand in her hair, capturing her swollen lips. I’ve gained a new respect for making out. I love the little moans and whimpers she releases as we kiss. Not to mention the grinding she did while we were in the chair.
No one else in the room mattered. It was only me and her, which is quite similar to how I feel now.
She gets my belt and jeans open, and they fall, bunching at my feet. I kick out of them while Cove pulls back from our kiss, ripping her dress off over her head. She tosses it aside and shakes out of her flats. I left my boots by the door when we came in, so I’m good there.
My hands fall to her waist. She isn’t wearing a bra, but her barely-there panties are lined in lace.
Her hands land on my shoulders, and she tackles me to the mattress.
I grin as we bounce. “It’s kinda sexy when you take control.”
“It’s kinda sexy when you let me.” Cove plants her pussy over my boxer briefs, grinding my shaft into my pelvis. Her hair falls over my face and chest as she moves to suck on my neck.
Declan wasn’t kidding.
I’m a big fan of kisses on places other than the lips.
My dick is hard, pushing against the material of my underwear.
I relocate my hands to Cove’s ass as her tits push into my bare chest. I want to touch and tease her too, but I have to work around the lace.
Luckily, her panties cover very little of her skin.
“I love it when you grab my ass and pull my cheeks apart,” she whispers close to my ear.
The warmth of her breath makes me shiver, but I also grimace.
It’s not sexy to admit that I will cringe away if I have to touch lace.
It’s fine now because my boxer briefs protect me from feeling, but things could get questionable fast.
“I have a weird… Um, shit.” I sigh. “I have a texture thing about lace. I want to touch you. It’s just…”
“Damian,” she says softly. “God, you should have said something sooner.” She plants a hand on the mattress next to my head, holding herself up as she rips out of her last piece of clothing.
Once she’s tossed her panties aside, she settles back against my front.
“This is sexier, anyway. I can feel you so much better, but your boxer briefs are going to be coated in my slick.”
The naughty omega grinds over my cock with her pussy perfectly framing my shaft. I groan, both from the friction and the imagery.
Cove smiles, pushing her mouth to mine, and I lose myself in the kiss. My head gets foggy with every gasping breath I suck in.
Orange creamy heaven.
That’s what she smells like.
And mine.
Fucking hell.
My head gets foggy, and a low growl rattles out of my chest.
What are the signs of rut again?