Page 54

“Fuck, Drummer Boy.” Anticipation in the form of fantasies tumble through my head. Ever since that game of truth or dare where Riot dared me to get on my knees and give Bronx head before he realized he was losing control of the game... “I’ve wondered what it would be like to take you.”

Drawing his fingers away, he pulls me upright by the front of my dress. “Lift up.”

I rise on my knees, and he undoes his pants and juts his hips up so he can shove the denim and his underwear down enough to free his cock.

A second later he’s retrieved a condom from somewhere—a pocket, under the couch cushion, somewhere—and wrapped his stunning erection. “Pull your panties to the side.”

I reach between my thighs and tug the silk to one side for him.

Curling a fist around his cock, he places the other on my hip while he lines us up. “You can sit now.”

I’m so wet that when I drop onto him, he slides all the way home. Drawing back, he thrusts up again. There’s something so naughty but nice about Bronx fucking me in the middle of the band’s suite when anyone could walk in at any minute.

If it were Golden and Kodiak, would they join us? I could really earn the slut title. If it was Riot, would seeing me like this—riding his drummer—torture him the way he says it would? As much as finding him and Sonatina together did me?

Did it torture him to hear me with Kodiak the other night? When he came to listen at the door while I screamed out Kodiak’s name—Kodiak told me after—did it hurt him the way I wanted it to?

I just need him to know how it feels. But he didn’t even acknowledge that he heard us at all. And he’s still engaged to her.

I kiss Bronx while I move up and down on his cock. The place where our bodies are joined becomes almost too wet. The air fills with the sound of skin slapping against skin as our movements stop being so controlled and become about urgency.

His fingertips bite into my ass and his cock stretches and scrapes my sensitive inner walls. Each time he bottoms out inside me, the action pounds my clit into his pelvis. When my orgasm starts, it’s not quiet. It comes on fast, strong, and noisy.

Bronx keeps fucking me through it, watching me with a devilish glint in those bedroom eyes. Making sure I’m completely jelly before he thrust up one more time and pulses inside me.

“Fuck.” He rests his head on the top of the couch when it’s over. Still buried inside me, he holds my hips. “Fuck me, Kels. That was—”

“Yeah. It was...” I rest against him until my heart rate stops trying to run a marathon. Eventually I straighten and push away. “I should get cleaned up.”

His hands tighten on my hips. “Kells Bells, are we cool? I couldn’t stand you hating me before. I sure can’t handle it now.”

“I was angry. Hurt. I never hated you.” I clasp his cheek and stare into his eyes. Only Riot, for what he did to us. “But now I need to get off your cock and find some shoes if we’re going to go out.”

“Okay.” He releases me. But he must have read my mind, or maybe my expression gave me away, because as I get up, he asks, “Are you ever going to forgive him?”

I don’t know. “It seems less and less likely every day he’s with her.”

“Kels—”

“It’s one thing to forgive you for doubting me. It’s another to ignore the fact that he broke my heart and my trust. He’s engaged to her.” I scrunch up my eyes as the ache in my chest implodes. He’s literally breaking my heart all over again and I don’t know how. I never gave it back to him. “Running around in public with her at his side. Kissing her. Probably sleeping with her.”

“He’s definitely not doing that.” Bronx deals with the condom and zips up his pants. He’ll dispose of it in a minute once I’m off his lap. “Not with how much pain that tattoo he got for you has had him in. You saw his walk.”

Riot’s cock has my name on it, and by extension so does his walk. For the first few days it was a wide leg shuffle. And then it became one of those walks that makes a man look like he has a huge elephant trunk of a cock between his legs. Two weeks in and he’s almost back to his usual big dick swagger. The whole situation would have been amusing—and I might have even felt sorry for him—if he hadn’t done something so... so...

I still don’t know how I feel about it. Or if it’s really the deterrent he wants me to believe it is.

“He wouldn’t fuck her anyway,” Bronx says. “He hates her.”

“He hated me,” I remind him. “And he couldn’t keep his hands off me.”

“There’s different kinds of hate,” he says. He presses his hand to my chest just below my throat. His gaze narrows. “I’m not saying he handled it in a way I approve of. But it’s not the same as the way he feels about her. He wants to see her buried. With you he needed to work all the anger, confusion and hurt out in a way that would have worked for both of you if he hadn’t been so... uh...

“Much of a prick?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is? Because he’s been there before.” My bitterness is showing. He’s still taking up space in the chair next to my bed most nights. In the hotels we stay in. On Kodiak’s bus, which I moved to since he’s the only member of the band I’m talking to. And Sonatina hasn’t taken it over.