17. Chapter Seventeen #2
But the moment I make it to the wings, Mika’s camera is there, catching the comedown while the crew weaves around us with flight cases and coils of cable. Megan stands behind him, eyes sharp.
The guys spill out after me, feral from the last set.
Kai slaps a heavy hand between my shoulder blades. “We fucking killed it tonight.”
“Damn right we did,” I say, passing my guitar to a waiting tech. My hands are still shaking, but this time it’s nerves fizzing from the high.
Theo already has two girls clamped under his arms, both giggling and trying not to inhale his post-show stench. Xander’s got one woman pinned to his side, palm cupping her ass while he murmurs something in her ear that earns him a breathy laugh. Business as usual.
Then there’s Vi.
She’s leaning near the mouth of the hallway that leads to the green room, camera loose in her hands. Her hair’s pulled over one shoulder, long, black, and shiny. She isn’t smiling, but when her eyes find mine, they spark.
Her throat works once as she swallows.
My own does the same.
Everything narrows in that moment. The shouting, the laughter, the scrape of cases over concrete all fade. It’s only her and me, and this thick charge between us.
She lifts the camera.
Lens up.
Shutter click.
And then the spell cracks. I drag my gaze away before I do something obvious.
We tumble into the green room. The door’s propped open, and people are flooding in with beers and towels and the last of their adrenaline. I keep moving.
Theo’s voice follows me. “Where you going?”
“Dressing room,” I throw back.
X laughs. “We have to celebrate, man. That was insane.”
“I’ll catch up with you guys later.” I toss a hand up in the air.
I don’t slow down.
Groupies call my name and a crew member tries to shove a bottle of water into my hand. But I don’t stop. Mika shifts to block my path for a different angle. I sidestep him and keep going.
I need a minute before I haul Vi into the nearest dark corner and fuck her so hard that we both forget where we are.
I take the quieter corridor to my private dressing room.
The door shuts behind me, cutting off the noise, leaving only the ringing in my ears and the hammer in my chest. I strip my way to the bathroom, clothes hitting the floor in a wet trail.
My hand slaps on the light, and I catch myself in the mirror.
The skin around my eyes looks wrong. There’s a faint yellow tint that wasn’t there a week ago. I squint and step closer. It’s got to be the shit lighting in here and post-show dehydration.
I look away before the worry can lodge any deeper, crank the water straight to cold, and step under the spray. I scrub hard, hands dragging over shoulders, chest, thighs, trying to wash off the show, the sweat, the yellow, the rush that won’t quit.
It doesn’t work.
I shut the spray off, wrap a towel low around my hips, and slick my hair back, out of my face.
Standing in the middle of my dressing room is Storm.
She’s got my damp singlet bunched in her hands, eyes closed, breathing me in through the fabric.
Her head lifts slowly.
Those gray eyes lock onto mine—wild, stormy, blown wide—and there’s no hiding what she’d been doing.
The towel suddenly feels very fucking optional.
I don’t move.
Neither does she.
The tension pulls tight between us, thick and hot, sucking the oxygen out of the air. I swear I can feel the ghost of her breath from across the room.
“Take your dress off.” The words scrape out of me, voice rougher than it was onstage.
“Take your fucking dress off. Now.”
The moment I say it, her response is visceral. Her inhale stutters. Her grip on the singlet tightens before she lets it drop to the floor. Her pupils flare until the gray is just a thin ring around black.
She reaches for the buttons on the front of her black dress, fingers trembling but moving fast. The dress opens and slides down her body to pool at her feet. Her black thong and bra fall onto the floor right after. She bends, boot halfway off her foot.
“Keep them on,” I instruct.
She straightens immediately, stamping her foot back into the boot, gloriously naked before me.
I’m right on the brink of fucking losing it. Having her react to my voice like this, with pure obedience and want, is a dream come true. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
“Now, get the fuck over here and sit on my face.”
She practically launches herself at me.
I catch her, hands full of her bare ass, her legs locking around my waist. Her mouth finds mine, hot and greedy, and the second my tongue slides against hers, the rest of the world just melts off the map.
She moans into me, sucking on my tongue. We stagger back until the couch hits my legs, and I twist, dropping us sideways so we land flat, her weight straddling my lap.
Breathing hard, I break the kiss. “On my tongue, Storm.”
Her eyes flash at the nickname.
My hands guide her hips up my chest until her slick pussy hovers above my mouth. Hooking my arms under her thighs, I drag her onto me, burying my face in her delectable cunt.
Soft, hot, and soaked.
A low groan leaves me, the sound swallowed by her body. She shifts up so I can run my tongue along her seam, tasting every inch, and suck her lips into my mouth, one by one. My tongue spears inside her, fucking into her tight heat as if it’s my cock.
She gasps, grabbing the back of the couch for balance. “Fucking hell, Carter.”
Her hips start to move, small, helpless rolls over my mouth.
I drag my tongue to her clit and circle it, before sucking it between my lips, and giving it a light nip with my teeth. She floods my tongue, more of her arousal dripping down my chin, and her thighs tremble around my head.
“Ride me,” I instruct against her.
Tongue back inside her, I draw her down, settling her fully on my face. She gets the memo fast, grinding on me, back and forth over my mouth, using me, chasing whatever she’s feeling. Her boots squeak against the leather couch as she rides me harder.
If I suffocate and die, it’ll be well worth it.
Her moans climb higher, getting ragged. Her thighs start to shake for real now.
My hand slides between us, finding her clit, rubbing it in tight, fast circles.
“Ahh—Carter—”
Her legs clamp around my head as she comes, her whole body tightening.
Her pussy pulses around my tongue, and she gushes, hot and wet, into my mouth.
I don’t stop. I keep my tongue moving, shallow little thrusts now, coaxing her through it until her muscles start to loosen and her weight becomes heavier.
When her thighs finally loosen their grip enough that oxygen becomes an option again, I drag in a breath and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
She’s boneless above me. I move her with quick hands to where I want her, because if I don’t get inside her in the next ten seconds, I’m going to fucking die.
Hands and knees on the couch, face pressed into the cushions, ass high for me. Perfect.
I rip off my towel, and my cock springs free, heavy and aching.
Grabbing her hips, I push forward, sinking deep into her pussy in one long, slow thrust.
Heat clamps around me, and I hiss through my teeth. “Jesus . . . fucking Christ, Storm. This cunt.”
Her wetness coats me, dripping down my balls as I bottom out. I pull back and slam in again, hips snapping, driving her into the cushions. The wet smack of our bodies fills the room, her breath coming in rough pants.
She grinds back against me, and I know she’s close to the cliff again. I bring my hand down on her ass, a sharp smack that leaves a red handprint blooming on her skin.
“Not yet,” I rasp. “You come when I say.”
A shiver runs through her. She nods into the leather without lifting her head.
I grab a fistful of hair, wrap it around my wrist twice, and pull her slowly upright until her back is flush with my chest, her spine a hot line along my front. My other hand slides around her throat. I lay my fingers there first, feeling her swallow, her pulse racing under my thumb.