Sure, I haven’t seen their faces, but the rest of the world hasn't either, and honestly, does it really fucking matter? Not to me it doesn’t. Not when my skin is still buzzing everywhere that they’ve touched me so far, and burning up in the places they haven't yet.
My drummer boy, the one who earned the title ofDaddya few minutes ago, is wearing nothing but a pair of black, faded, ripped jeans, and god-fucking-dammit, he’s smoldering. His hard, pierced dick has me salivating,and all I want to do is lick it. I won't pretend to be an angel. When I say he has a pretty cock, I mean it.
When he removed his leather jacket, I had to focus and make a conscious effort not to drool like an idiot because this man is pure art.
His chest is a map of ink, black lines, and sweeping branches that cut across sculpted muscle, and every flex, every movement he makes sets me on fire.
Dark brown hair spills from beneath his mask, perfectly messy, and I find myself jealous of any other woman who's ever laid a hand on him before me.
The band is quite private, keeping their personal lives out of the media, but with everything happening here, with the way he's using me like I'm some kind of puppet, tells me that this is not his first rodeo. It isn't mine either, but that's beside the point.
My eyes drift from the Adonis before me to the very large, very naked men standing on either side of him. I can feel their gazes tracing every inch of me, and my pussy clenches, dripping at the thought of having them all at once.
Drummer boy gives a silent nod to the others, an order I assume, and without question, they circle me like bloodthirsty hunters, drunk on the scent of my surrender, and I know they can already taste my defeat.
The air is thick with the sound of the crackling fire and our combined heavy breaths. And when the lead singer tugs at my cropped band tee, my heart kicks into overdrive, hammering behind my ribs with excitement.In one swift movement, he tears the fabric from my body, leaving me kneeling before them in nothing but my short skirt and torn fishnets. I look up, noticing the desire swimming in each of their eyes as they drink in the sight of my now exposed breasts.
Feast your eyes, boys. Look all you want, just as long as my tits are coated with cum at the end of this.
“Perfect,” one of them praises, and I look up at the lead singer, my songbird, staring down at me like I am the answer to all his midnight prayers. I can't hide the heat flaming my cheeks when I realize he’s staring at my pierced nipples.
“You like that, don’t you, Shiloh? You like having men worshipping you, caught under your spell,” drummer boy says, and I won't waste time denying it. I smile in answer, and he chuckles. “It seems our girl has a praise kink.”
Ding ding ding.
That would be correct.
All the assholes I've been with in the past weren't really the vocal or the dominant type. I had to do all the work most of the time, and even then, I was left to get myself off afterward because they were all one-and-dones. These guys haven't even fucked me yet, and they've already managed to send me catapulting off the edge, using nothing but their words.
“On your knees, baby,” drummer boy commands, his deep, husky voice slicing through my thoughts and bringing me back to the present. But it’s the man whomoves beside him, my songbird, dropping to his knees that steals all the air from my lungs.
God, he’s like sin incarnate.
I love that they call each other baby. Their voices carry authority, yes, but beneath it lives something pure, tender, and sweet. I don't miss the adoration and devotion shared between them, and it's obvious to me that they are each other's safety. They move around one another so effortlessly, each knowing exactly where to put their trust.
It's beautiful.
Rare.
I’ve only ever witnessed a love like this once in my life, and I was beginning to believe it no longer existed.
The masked man shifts before me, his body glistening in the amber glow of the fire and flicking Christmas lights, as I wait patiently for our instructions. I’ve been so caught up in the drummer, like a little moth hypnotized by his light, that I never let myself really see the others.
Until now.
The lead singer’s masked gaze burns into me, and in the flicker of the firelight, I notice that his eyes are the deepest blue, just like the ocean. They’re both mesmerizing and menacing. Familiar in a way that makes my chest tighten and my stomach knot, but I’m sure he gets that from fans all the time.
There aren’t any solo shots of the band online, and if ever they do an interview, it’s always in print. There isno online footage of them, apart from the occasional glimpses of fans’ shaky recordings from their concerts. So, seeing his eyes up close like this does something to me, and for the first time in my life, I feel…nervous.
He’s like a barely contained storm, and with the way that he’s looking at me, lust doesn’t even begin to cover it. His shoulders are broader than the others, powerful but disciplined, and I can’t ignore the current crackling between us. The same electricity that hit me when he sang to me, and only me, earlier tonight.
My eyes drift down, tracing the riot of ink dancing across his chiseled body. A battle of Greek gods and villains colliding with clouds, sunshine, and storms. So unique, and so completelyhim,that I almost wish I had been the one to put it there.
Then I see it.
The name etched across the skin above his heart.
A shiver of awareness snakes up my spine, freezing everything in its path, and the noise in my head falls silent.
