I think I'm having a heart attack.
She's got curves inallllthe right places, and I can tell just by her demeanor that she can hold her own in the bedroom. There's just something undeniably hot about a woman knowing who the fuck she is, what she wants and doesn't apologize for it. The thought of Shiloh taking what she wants from us has my balls fucking aching for her.
“Hi,” Phoenix finally says, his voice all husky and awestruck, and I relax a little now that the ice between us is broken. “It’s… uhh… nice to meet you,” he adds, extending his hand to shake hers. Oh, real fuckin’ smooth, Nix. She shakes his hand, a shy smile tugging at her gorgeous face as she looks up at him with her wide, ocean-blue eyes like he hung the moon in her darkest sky.
“Likewise. Honestly, thank you for taking the time to meet me. I didn't think I’d get to… with the weather, and all that. I'm Shiloh, by the way.” Zane and I watch, hanging on to every word that escapes her full, red-painted lips, and I have to check myself because now all I can think about is how they'll look tasting our cocks.
Zane rises from the couch, the lazy grin never leaving his face, as he crosses the space between them with effortless swagger. I want to sock him for abandoning me. Instead, I trail behind him like a lost puppy, and inwardly tell myself to get my shit together.
This isn't exactly my usual charm card. My A game has clearly left the building.
“Hey, I saw you out there. Nice ink by the way.”
Nice ink by the way?What the fuck was that? I'm on a one way fucking ticket to the friend zone.
Shiloh chuckles.
“Thanks. I'm actually an artist.”
“No fucking way?” Zane says, and I'm grateful for his ability to make shit less awkward. On the other hand, I have zero chill tonight.
They start comparing ink, talking about her tattoo shop in the city,Lady Death, which I think is a fitting name for a killer like her. As if she wasn't already perfect before, hearing how passionate she is about her work, and watching her eyes light up when she talks about it makes her even more beautiful.
I don't remember the last time it felt this easy to talk to someone. Fame has really fucked us as far as normal interactions go. Especially after a show. But this feels… natural. Effortless, despite my heart beating a thousand miles a minute. Yet, there's a calmness in it somehow.
The moment breaks with a sudden bang as the door slams open. Travis stands in the doorway, shirtless, chest heaving. “Guys, you gotta go. Storm’s hitting in less than an hour. All the main roads are shut down, but the route to your cabin is still open. It won't be open for much longer. There's a police escort waiting. Get your shit and move.
We all blink, a little caught off guard.
“Wait! I have to get home,” Shiloh says, turning to grab her coat that's resting on top of an old guitar amp. “Thank you so much for everything. Your songs literally saved my life,” she says frantically pulling her coat on.
“Stay,” Phoenix chokes out, his arm reaching out to touch her forearm. Shiloh pauses, looking from the place where they're connected, and up to meet his masked face. She studies him for a long moment, and an electric heat charges through the room around us.
She knows whatstayactually means.
Question is, does she want to?
Her gaze flicks from my brother, to Zane, then to me, before settling on Phoenix.
“Come back with us,” Zane says, his voice thick with innuendo, and the next words out of her mouth shatters the tension that’s been simmering between us. She tilts her head, and a knowing, seductive smirk teases the corner of her lips.
“And what exactly would I be coming back for?”
There it is.
My time to shine.
I step forward, my hands shoved casually in my pockets, leaning down just enough for my words to brush against the shell of her ear. “You have about ten seconds to decide how your night ends, baby… and one of those choices better involve those greedy red lips of yours wrapped around our cocks.”
CHAPTER 5
SHILOH
I PUT THE ‘HO’ IN HOLIDAY
Somebody pinchme because this has to be some kind of fever dream.
I'm wedged between not one, but two famous rock gods in the back seat of a cop car, their broad shoulders pressing in on either side of me, inching closer and closer with every bump in the road. Heat pours from their bodies and their smell is so fucking intoxicating. A combination of leather, sin, and bad intentions that I'm sure leads to great sex.
