Page 85 of Spotlight Hearts

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go do the soundcheck. The real version.”

I nod, a smile tugging at my lips.

We step back out onto the stage together, trying to look composed. Michael raises an eyebrow at us but doesn’t say anything. Min-ho just gives a tiny, knowing smile before looking away.

Tasha eyes us both suspiciously but doesn’t comment.

We take our positions on stage. The music starts, filling the space. We still follow some of the choreography, but anything physical is new, and they are more teasing touches. Things that make me so horny I can’t wait for the soundcheck and show to be over.

Luca stays close during the verses, his shoulder brushing mine on every downbeat. During the pre-chorus he steps in behind me, chest almost touching my back as he sings the harmony right next to my ear, his breath hot against my skin. His hand ghosts along my side, a light drag of fingertips over my shirt that makes my stomach tighten.

In the bridge, he turns me toward him, fingers hooking briefly into the front of my shirt to pull me closer for the shared line. His thumb presses against my lower stomach for half a second, right above my waistband, before he lets go. The touch is quick, but it sends heat rushing straight down.

Later, during the build to the chorus, he slides behind me again. This time his hips brush my ass as he leans in to share my mic, his hand resting low on my hip for two full beats—possessive and teasing, gone before anyone can really notice. My cock twitches hard in my jeans.

The worst (best) part comes right before the final drop. Luca steps in front of me, facing the empty arena, and reaches back to grab my hand. He pulls it forward and places it flat against his stomach. His fingers press mine there for a moment, holding them against his warm skin while he sings. I can feel the muscle flex under my palm every time he breathes.

I’m painfully hard by the time the last note fades.

Every teasing touch lingers. My body is buzzing, skin too tight, cock straining against my zipper. I can barely focus on the notes anymore. All I can think about is dragging him back into that changing room, shoving him against the wall again, and finishing what we started earlier.

Luca glances over at me as the music cuts out, eyes dark and knowing. The corner of his mouth lifts in the tiniest smirk.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

And he’s enjoying every second of it.

Tasha calls for notes from the sound booth, but I barely hear her. All I can focus on is Luca standing a few feet away, sweat already glistening on his skin, looking far too pleased with himself.

Soundcheck can’t end fast enough. I need this night to be over. Because the second we’re alone again, I’m not letting him tease me anymore.

I’m going to make him pay for every single touch.

TWENTY-SIX

LUCA

The arena is electric.

The second we step on stage for the actual show, the crowd loses their minds. The energy feels different than normal, but that could be just me.

Telling Harry off should have happened a long time ago. I know that’s not the last of it, and after this leg of the tour, I’ll know the full extent of what I’ve done. But I don’t care. I was serious. I’ll walk away.

I can find a different band. Sure, it might be my dad’s name that gets me my place, but I’ll be able to secure my spot. And prove myself.

If I won over Kai, I can do fucking anything. I’m like superman or some shit.

We still follow some of the choreography, but anything physical is new—lighter, teasing touches instead of the heavy scripted stuff. My hand lingers on his lower back during the bridge. I brush my fingers along his side when we share a mic. During the build to the chorus, I step in close behind him, chest grazing his back as I sing the harmony right against his ear. My hips brush his ass for half a second on the drop.

It’s tame compared to everything we’ve done in private.

But the crowd feels the change anyway.

They scream louder every time I touch him. Phones are up everywhere, lights flashing like a sea of stars. The energy in the room is thick and hungry, feeding off whatever is crackling between us. My blood is boiling. Every teasing brush of my fingers against Kai’s skin makes heat pool low in my gut. I’m half-hard through half the set, and the way Kai keeps glancing at me—dark eyes, flushed cheeks, lips parted—isn’t helping.

I want to drag him off stage right now.

I want to shove him into the nearest dark corner and show him who he belongs to.