“Hey,” she mutters, glancing at her toes and curling them. A pale pink color adorns her nails, neat and well-cared for, unlike her chewed up fingernails.
“Look who walked in.” She points to me, her eyes darker after her orgasm, her lips swollen after sucking my cock. “Our beloved superstar rocker. Sloane Mason.”
He sweeps me with a sneer. I gladly return the favor. If I’d ever been his favorite rocker, I’m certainly not now.
Though he doesn’t respond, his wild laughter hints at how fucking high he is, too. “I need to get you home.”
As if I’m invisible, he reaches around me, snatches her from my hold, then takes the coke. He waves it in front of her eyes and she follows the movement. “A reward for your good behavior.”
She shoves hair behind one ear while she allows the other side to curtain her face, partially shielding it from view. “I waited for you,” she says eagerly, not addressing his fucking “reward”.
He doesn’t care because he shrugs her words away. “I got distracted.”
I’ll bet he fucking did.
After he stuffs the tiny bag into the front pocket of his slacks, he retrieves her shoes and crooks his finger to her. When she reaches him, he drops to his knees and grabs her leg so unexpectedly that she almost topples. She squeaks but grips his shoulders. One foot is guided into a pump with a high, thin heel. They must be six inches. Considering the length of the heel, I nearly miss the way asshole sniffs her by pressing his cheek on her thigh, turning his nose up and inhaling.
“Your panties are still in my pocket,” he says, helping her into the other pump and sidling me a smug glance.
If I didn’t despise him before, I do now. A primal urge to break his face rises up. I step next to him and snarl, “She doesn’t need any more drugs in her system, motherfucker.”
He glares at me. “Just because you got her off, you’re suddenly an expert on her?”
My temples pound and my throat tightens. I’ve sacrificed my soul for music under the pretense of loving it too much to abandon it. The no fighting rule that’s imposed on me marches through my head a moment before my fist connects with his jaw. Satisfaction burns into me as he sails back, landing a few feet away, on his ass.
When I step toward him again, she blocks me, her eyes frantic. “No. Don’t do this. You’re working really hard to get your band back together and it’s happening. Don’t destroy it with a fight.”
At her words, an unwelcome knot pulses through my gut and humiliation burns into me. My entire body clenches and she notices. She places her fingers on my arm. To settle me? Whatever her reasoning unnerves me. Unsure, I raise her hand to kiss the back of it. I don’t want her to look at me and see…me. The thought is the definition of insanity. She’s a fan, so, of course, she’ll know some of the band’s stipulations.
“Phoenicians always rise,” she goes on, referring to the moniker attached to the band’s fans. “You’re our leader. We can’t survive without you. One more infraction and you’re out of the band. I know that Phoenix Rising is your life. I’m an expert on you.”
Doubtful. Some secrets are vaulted away.
Once again, I take her face between my hands, happy that I’ve found another reason to do so, and brush my lips over hers, ignoring the furious protest of dickhead. He’s lucky she stopped me from kicking him in the fucking face. Perhaps, he senses the dominant male—me—and doesn’t act any stupider. His girl smells and tastes like me. Let him choke on the remnants of my cum.
She leans into me, and more satisfaction than necessary parks inside of me, firing an unusual sense of possession within me.
Maybe, she isn’t his girl and, instead, he’s just her drug supplier. It’s fucked up, but I can’t decide which role is worse. Her full attention is on me. I kiss her deeper, allowing her to take in our combined tastes. She’s so eager, clinging to me like I’m her lifeline. Her soft whimper guns straight to my heads—both.
“Tell him to give me the fucking coke.”
Hooking a finger inside my mesh T-shirt, she shakes her head. She really likes touching me. If I did relationships, I’d get her number. Give the paparazzi another reason to chase me and attempt to pick apart my actions. They’ve supposedly pegged my type. What would they say if I introduced her as my lover? Young and dark-haired. I can’t think of a better way to fuck with them.
“You aren’t an addict anymore.” Her voice breaks into my contemplations. “You’ve been clean since you demolished the record company’s studio and you’re halfway through the American leg of your tour. You’re not messing that up. I won’t allow it.”
Her defiance makes me laugh, although my heart hammers. While I consider using her for my amusement, her concern for me is genuine. “It isn’t for me. It’s for a special friend.”
“That porn star you’re dating?”