“No, Tony.” Callused fingers traced along her collar bone and down her chest to free her breasts from their delicate prison. “Fuck me, you’re beautiful.”
She didn’t have time to respond because, in the next breath, her nipple was in his mouth. Astride his lap, her fingers tangled in his long hair, Gina threw her head back, the tugging of hiswarm, wet tongue a most exquisite sensation. If her clit was pulsing before, it was screaming at her now.
Her body demanded… some kind of release. It felt strange and wonderful and foreign. Vinny had never elicited the feelings this man was stirring inside her. Hell, she’d never been able to do it herself, either. Not like this. Never like this. Urgent, and so powerful and raw, the will to lose control frightened her.
Gina felt his cock growing hard beneath her. Holding his head to her breast, she instinctively pressed down. God, how she wanted him.
Matt growled, pulling on her nipple, and she whimpered.
“You should run, bunny.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“The wolf is a hunter, the rabbit its prey.” And he captured her lip in his teeth. “I will catch you.”
“And what happens then?”
His pupils dilated, eyes burning black with desire.
“I get to keep you.”
It all began in Bo’s basement.
The music.
Four prepubescent boys tinkering with their cheap instruments to tunes on a record player never dreamed they’d become a multi-platinum-selling band back then. Those dreams came later. While all the other kids were tossing footballs in the street, building snow forts, or riding their bikes down to the lake, Matt, Kit, Bo, and Sloan were content honing their musical skills, talking about girls, and growing their hair long.
The summer before high school.
That’s when everything changed.
That’s when Taylor Kerrigan and his parents moved from London into the three-flat apartment building across the street.
He played guitar, too, and soon, the new kid with a funny way of talking was writing riffs and jamming with them in Bo’s basement. Still, they talked about girls—and boys—and their hair grew even longer, only now they shared a dream.
The music.
And now, two decades later, Matt sat in Bo’s basement, along with Kit, working out their parts on the tracks for Venery’s upcoming album. That they were doing it here only seemed fitting.
“Blast beats would fucking slap here, man,” Kit said, looking at their drummer.
He was referring to the bridge before the outro. The song started softly, building its intensity all the way through, until it ended as it began. Unlike the rest of them, Bo had studied music professionally from the time he was a small child. Classical piano. R&B. Theory and composition. He had a deep understanding of it and developed syncopated drum parts using Sloan’s vocal line as his guide.
“It would be unexpected. Greater impact.” Bo nodded, wiping the sweat from his bare chest with a discarded T-shirt. “Hammer it?”
“Hells, yeah.” Playing along to a blast beat would require extreme focus and precise timing on their part, but Matt was up for it. “Go big or go home, brother.”
Bo pounded out sixteenth notes on the snare and cymbal while double-thumping on his kick drums at two hundred and eighty beats per minute. The sound aggressive, it was perfectly suited to the build-up on this track.
“How’s that, my dude?” And with his sticks in his hands, the drummer crossed his arms in front of him and grinned. “Think you can keep up?”
“Now, that’s a stupid question.” Then Kit played the bass line in time with Bo’s breakneck tempo.
“That sounded sick.” Matt slapped Kit on the back, and hooking an arm around his neck, he planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “Your fingers are gonna end up bloody, but I’m digging it.”
“Blast beats.” His chest puffing out, a rare smile crossed Kit’s face. “See? Told you so.”
“I can already hear Sloan’s death screams.” Squeezing the bassist’s shoulder, Matt shared a happy glance with him. “Tay’s gonna lose his shit.”
