Milo stepped into the light.
Fuck.
Leather jacket open over a bare chest, tattoos gleaming under the sweat already starting to sheen on his skin. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he gripped the mic like he wanted to fuck it. That sharp, beautiful face scanned the crowd before his gaze sliced sideways, straight toward the wings.
Straight to me.
A slow, wicked smirk curved his lips. He knew I was watching. He wanted me watching.
“She got that backstage glow, cherry lips and sinner’s soul…”He launched into the first verse, voice raw and gravelly. The crowd sang every word back at him. Hundreds of phones in the air, lighters swaying, girls screaming his name. Hell — I almost screamed it, too.
“I’m your secret VIP — your unholy greed — c’mon, touch me here — make me scream—”
Oh, baby. I had to borrow Dahlia’s backstage pass ‘cause I was starting to feel some sorta way.
Dahlia nudged me with her elbow, grinning. “He’s performing for you, babe. Look at him.”
He was. Every time the chorus hit — that dirty, grinding“On your knees, baby, worship me”— his eyes found mine. He dropped to one knee at the edge of the stage during the bridge, mic stand tilted like a lover, sweat dripping down his chest, and mouthed the next line straight at me:“Swallow every drop, don’t you stop…”
My thighs pressed together. I wanted to climb him right there in front of three thousand screaming fans.
The song built to a screaming crescendo, Milo’s voice breaking into that ragged snarl he was known in the music industry for. When the final chord crashed and the lights exploded white, the entire venue lost its mind.
Now that was one hell of a way to open a show.
The set flew by in a haze of heat, noise, and Milo’s larger-than-life stage presence. Every song felt like foreplay. He prowled the edge of the stage like a predator, leather jacket long gone, sweat carving shiny paths down the grooves of his abs. During the slower ballad they closed with, he sat on the drum riser, guitar in his lap, voice dropping into something intimate. His eyes were closed as he sang, and for a moment, I thought I saw something I hadn’t before. The actual Milo. The man he was beyond the arrogance, the stage lights, the leather jackets, and the tattoos.
And I think…
I think I fell in love with him at that moment.
“[..]you said we’ll meet tomorrow, but tomorrow always stays the same — you said we’ll save each other, but we still float astray[..].”
By the time the house lights came up and the encore chants started, I realized my cheeks were wet.
Burgundy reached out to wipe a tear from my cheek. She said nothing, but I still felt heat rush to my face.
What the hell was wrong with me? I’ve never cried for any man, and yet here I stood, bawling my eyes out because the song had struck a chord. No pun intended.
The encore hit like a second wind. The crowd was stomping and screaming for one more song, and Black Psalm gave it to them — a raw, stripped-down version of their breakout hit that somehow sounded even dirtier live than on the record. Milo’s voice was thoroughly wrecked by the end of it, that gravelly rasp turning into something almost broken on the final note. Whenthe lights finally cut to black, the roar that followed shook the walls.
I was still wiping at my stupid tears when Dahlia slung an arm around my shoulders. “Girl, you good?”
“Yeah,” I lied, laughing shakily. “Just… the lights. Or allergies. Or something.”
Burgundy smirked but didn’t call me on it. “Sure. The lights made your coochie throb too, I bet.”
I didn’t even deny it. My whole body was buzzing.
Security cleared a path for us back to the dressing room. The hallway felt narrower now, charged with leftover adrenaline and the bass line that was still echoing inside my head — or maybe that was tinnitus, who the hell even knew anymore. When we pushed through the door, the party had already restarted — bottles popping, laughter, the smell of weed and victory thick in the air.
Milo spotted me instantly.
Still shirtless, still sweaty — actually, more than sweaty — he was thoroughly drenched — he crossed the room, grabbed my face with both hands, and kissed me like he’d been starving for it the entire set.
When we broke apart, I was breathless and he was grinning.
“I was serious about what I said,” I told him in a low voice.
