For an irrational second, I consider following him. Consider walking into the men’s room and standing before him, giving him a look that he just knows means “take me now.” He’ll push me up against the porcelain sink and yank down my pants. He’ll realize I’m not wearing panties and it will thrill him. Then, he’ll enter me from behind with a force that’s beyond nature. He’ll grab my hair and make me look at myself in the mirror as he fucks me again and again and again . . .
I fall back against the wall behind me and swallow hard. If this coke is gonna give me visions of sweaty sex with strange drummers, maybe I should start using it more often. I consider my current options.
I could go find the guy I was dancing with and get him to take me home.
I could go drag my brother away from his blow-up doll and force him to come home before he gets himself in trouble.
Or I could head straight for the men’s room and never look back.
But then, the drummer comes barreling back out of the bathroom and stops a few feet from me. This time, he has a towel wrapped around his injured hand, but he’s wearing a different kind of fierceness as he looks right into my face.
“Hey—you know Lennon Tucker, right?”
I lick my lips, then nod. “He’s—uh—my brother. He—he’s around here somewhere. Last time I saw him, he had his tongue down some blonde chick’s throat . . .”
I trail off as the drummer’s eyes scan me from head to toe, and this time the fierceness in his face has changed. Evolved. It’s more like lust and I can smell it from a mile away.
“Lennon’s your brother?”
I nod again, sort of stupidly, watching as the drummer stalks a little closer. His eyes are almost glassy in their focus, like he’s seeing all of me and right through me, all at the same time.
“What’s your name, gorgeous?” he asks then, his voice raspy and thick.
I bite my bottom lip and his eyes flash with heat.
“Carson,” I say slowly, savoring the approval that crosses his face. He leans in even further until we’re practically nose-to-nose.
“So, tell me something, Carson.”
“Sure.”
“What would you say if I said I wanted to fuck you?” he asks.
I blink at him.
“Um, what?”
“I said,” he says, his words even and measured, “that I want to fuck you. And I want to know if you’d like to fuck me.”
Wow. Direct. I like that. Especially when I can’t seem to find any words. I open my mouth, then close it. Instead, I lick my lips again.
He takes that to mean yes.
The drummer’s lips come crashing down onto mine. He is anything but gentle. He’s as brutal and as fierce as his expression, as his music. He maneuvers my mouth open with his, then plunges his tongue inside. I’m pinned up against the wall with his body. My back bows and I press my breasts into his chest, feeling my nipples pebble against the pressure of him.
“You know what I’d like to do with you, Carson?” He murmurs against my mouth.
I can only whimper as he dives back in, licking my lips and tongue like a treat he’s been hungering for years. He grabs my ass hard, squeezing a handful of my flesh for good measure, then lets that same hand coast up my body to the nape of my neck. And there he anchors his fingers in my hair and tugs it. Hard. My head tips back involuntarily and I groan with the pleasure of it.
I’ve never had it like this—this rough. This passionate. It’s the opposite of drunken fumbling. It’s the opposite of my average Friday night.
“I’d like to take you home with me,” he’s saying now in my ear, his tongue and teeth coasting over my lobe. “I’d like to bend you over my kitchen table and fuck you nice and hard and deep. Would you like that, baby?”
I don’t know if it’s the drugs or the dirty talk, but I’m legitimately losing feeling in my lower half. At least until I feel his free hand move from my waist to hover just above the fly of my jeans.
“Then I’d take you to the bed and tie you down tight. I’d get my mouth all over your tits and your skin and your sweet, sweet pussy. I’d lick you until you went crazy. I’d eat you from the inside out.”
The moan that comes from my mouth is far more animal than human. I feel myself pressing my body, my belly and my core, up toward his hovering hand. He chuckles a bit, then lets it fall right between my legs. Right where I want it.
“Please,” I whimper.
“Oh, I like hearing you beg,” he growls in my ear, then coasts his tongue down my neck to my collarbone. I’ve got my hands in his hair now and I’m surfing the wave of my high like it’s some kind of sporting event. This beautiful man who plays the drums like a god is now playing my body in precisely the same way. I don’t protest when he lifts his hand, only to plunge it down under my jeans. When his fingers hit my wetness, I’m done for and I know it. I’m keening and he’s got one finger inside me while another strokes my clit with a maddening rhythm.
The drummer lets me ride out a swell before pulling his hand out of my pants. He’s got a wicked glint in his eye and I watch as he puts his fingers in his mouth and sucks.
“Sugary sweet, baby. I shoulda known.”
I reach for his shoulders—maybe for balance, maybe to make him stay and he’s got his hands at my waist when a guy with dark hair comes barreling into the corridor. He stops short when he sees us, looking from the drummer to me and back again.
“Yo, dude, we gotta get outta here. Zeb’s gonna get behind the wheel and someone’s gotta stop that shit.”
The drummer glances at me, then curses softly.
“Fucking lead singers—they’re always the biggest drama queens.”
The guy guffaws. “Dude, you should talk—you fucking laid that guy out back there. Zeb just finished him off, then finished off a bottle of Jaeger. The least you can do is drive him home.”
I rock back on my heels and let go of the drummer’s body, immediately missing the sensation under my hands.
“Go take care of your friend,” I say. He gives a curt nod, then leans forward to claim my mouth again in a brutal kiss.
“You’re a firecracker, Carson,” he whispers against my mouth. “Don’t think I’ll forget the way you taste.”
And then he’s gone.
I practically collapse against the wall behind me, blinking. It feels almost like a dream, save the fact that my pants are unbuttoned and my body’s strung so tight, I could come again at any moment. Slowly, I turn around and head back to the dance floor. This time, the music isn’t half as good, but I start swaying to it anyway.
I think of the drummer again—the intensity he exhibited playing his set, the heat emanating from his body when he kissed me, the lightning in his eyes as he stroked me, and the desire that’s roaring through me like a freight train now. I wonder if I’ll remember any of this tomorrow.
For the first time in a long time, I actually hope I do.
Annie Kelly is the pen name for writer Kelly Fiore. After graduating from Salisbury University with a BA in English, Kelly went on to get her MFA in poetry from West Virginia University. When she’s not writing romance, Kelly loves cooking, rocking out to ’80s hair metal, and spending time with her son.
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