When the act was done, the stagehands quickly set to work breaking down the equipment and setting up for Six-Ninths. Grateful for the evening, for the joy, for the awesomeness of going wild with the man I loved, I turned and threw my arms around Gideon’s neck, mashing my lips to his.
He lifted me and urged my legs around his waist, kissing me violently. He was hard and pressing against me, luring me to grind into him. Around us people whistled and catcalled things that ranged from “Get a room” to “Fuck her, man!” but I didn’t care and neither did Gideon, who seemed as swept away by the sensual craziness as I was. His hand on my buttocks rocked me into his erection while the other fisted in my hair, holding me where he wanted me as he kissed me as if he couldn’t stop, as if he were starving for the taste of me.
Our open mouths slid desperately across each other. He tongued me deep and fast, fucking my mouth, making love to it. I drank him in, licking and tasting, moaning at his insatiable need. He sucked on my tongue, the circle of his lips sliding along it. It was too much. I was slick and aching for his cock, nearly frantic with the need to feel him filling me.
“You’re going to make me come,” he growled, before tugging on my bottom lip with his teeth.
I was so into him and the ferocity of his passion for me that I barely registered when Six-Ninths started. It wasn’t until the vocals kicked in that I was jolted back to where I was.
I stiffened, my mind clawing its way up through the fog of desire to process what I was hearing. I knew the song. My eyes opened as Gideon pulled back. Over his shoulder I saw handwritten signs held up in the air.
BRETT KLINE IS MINE! And BANG ME, BRETT! And my personal favorite, BRETT, I’D HIT IT WITH YOU LIKE THE WRATH OF GOD!!!
Hell. What were the chances?
And Cary had known, of course. He’d known and hadn’t warned me. Probably thought it’d be hysterical for me to find out by accident instead.
My legs loosened from around Gideon’s hips and he set me down, protecting me from the frenzied fans with the shield of his body. I turned to face the stage, feeling a mad fluttering in my belly. Sure enough, it was Brett Kline at the mic, his deep, powerful, sexy-as-hell voice pouring over the thousands who’d come to see him in action. His short hair was spiked and tipped with platinum, his lean body clothed in olive cargo pants and a black tank top. It was impossible to see from where I was, but I knew his eyes were a brilliant emerald green, his face was ruggedly handsome, and his killer smile revealed a dimple that drove women crazy.
Tearing my eyes away from him, I looked at the other band members, recognizing all of them. They hadn’t been called Six-Ninths back in San Diego, though. They’d been called Captive Soul then, and I wondered what had led to the name change.
“Good, aren’t they?” Gideon asked with his mouth to my ear so I could hear him. He had one hand on the railing and the other around my waist, keeping me pulled up tight against him as he moved to the music. The combination of his body and Brett’s voice did insane things to my already raging sex drive.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the man behind me and the unique rush I’d always felt while listening to Brett sing. The music throbbed through my veins, bringing back memories—some good and some bad. I swayed in Gideon’s arms, desire pounding through me. I was achingly aware of his hunger. It poured off him like heat waves, sinking into me, making me crave him until the physical distance between us was painful.
Grabbing the hand he had pressed flat against my stomach, I urged it downward.
“Eva.” His voice was harsh with lust. I’d been pushing him all night, from the moment I told him my period was over, to the hand job beneath the restaurant table, to the scorching kiss in the intermission.
He gripped my bare thigh and squeezed. “Open.”