She slid her hands under his tight T-shirt and sucked on his neck while he found protection in his wallet, unfastened his pants, and applied the condom. He met her eyes. The intense feral hunger in his gaze turned her knees to jelly. He grabbed her roughly and forced her to face the wall.
“Don’t move,” he said. The deep timber of his commanding voice alit her nerve endings with excitement.
She held still while he sought her opening with his stiff cock. He filled her slowly. She whimpered, wanting it hard and fast. Buried deep, he arranged her body to ease his possession—nudged her thighs apart, encouraged her to bend her back more. Her entire body quivered with anticipation. It had been a while since Ethan had fucked her like this. She didn’t realize how much she needed it. Thankfully, he did. He grabbed her wrists and drew both arms above her head, holding her firmly. His hips began to move. He plunged into her hard and deep, possessing her with a certain fury that drove every thought from her mind. She surrendered to him completely, trusting him to fulfill her by taking her power and using her body. He pounded into her harder and faster, answering her moans of excitement with deep growls. He maintained the same rigorous motion until her pussy ached from lack of fulfillment, and even though his possession felt fantastic, she couldn’t take anymore.
“Now, Ethan. Make me come.”
He released her wrist and moved his hand around her body to find her swollen, throbbing clit. Two strokes of his fingertips against the overexcited nub of flesh sent her flying over the edge. Her core convulsed with blinding pleasure and she bucked her hips against him involuntarily.
Behind her, Ethan grunted. He plunged deep and tightened his arm around her waist to hold her still as he spent himself within her.
His body leaned heavily against her back as he regained his bearings. His breath came in hot and heavy bursts against her shoulder.
There was a knock on the door. “Ten minutes,” someone called on the other side.
Ethan pulled out slowly and then released the wrist he was still holding. “You okay?” he asked.
“I needed that,” she said and turned to face him.
Ethan chuckled. “Trey would punch me in the balls if he saw me treat you like that.”
“He likes to be treated like that too.”
“At least I know I’m good for something.” Ethan removed the condom and worked at rearranging his clothes.
Reagan didn’t have time to assuage his fears. She had to be onstage and she was quite certain her two hours in hair and makeup had been destroyed by ten minutes of hard fucking with her face smashed against wall. “We’ll talk later,” she promised Ethan and hurried into the bathroom to clean up, return her clothes to their proper locations, and fix her lipstick. At least her hair hadn’t moved. Not that it could with the amount of product they’d gooped on it. Reagan hurried out of the dressing room with Ethan on her heels. Backstage, someone handed her a guitar, and she tossed the strap over her shoulder. The new stage setup allowed for no transition time between their set and Sinners’, so when the last note of Sinners’ encore went silent and the crowd roared its approval, Reagan felt her stomach drop into her boots.
“Knock ’em dead, baby,” Ethan said and wrapped an arm around her shoulders to give her an encouraging squeeze. “I’m so proud of you.”
When she passed Trey, who was just coming offstage, she couldn’t meet his eyes for some reason. She didn’t have time to puzzle out her sudden feeling of guilt.
Trey caught her arm and tugged her against his body and out of the flow of traffic from the stage. “You’ll do great.”
“Promise you won’t watch. I’m nervous enough.”
“You don’t want me to watch?”
She shook her head. Accompanied by a mechanical whir, Eric’s drum kit was moved offstage in one piece on a platform so Steve’s could rise from the floor at the initiation of the first song. The sound of the stage realigning kicked Reagan’s heart rate up another notch. This was really happening.
Trey brushed his fingers over her jaw. “If that’s what you want.”
“Thanks for understanding,” she whispered. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Now break a leg.” He hesitated. “Not literally.”
“No guarantees in these damned boots.”
“Reagan, take your place,” Exodus End’s soundboard engineer, Mad Dog, said in her ear.
She pecked Trey on the cheek and entered the little door beneath the stage. It was dark under the stage, but someone in the stage crew was standing next to her platform with a flashlight. She was careful not to hit the strings of her guitar as she carefully stepped onto the flat piece of metal. She could just make out the forms of Dare at the opposite end of the stage and Logan who was between them, but farther back. She heard a mechanical whir and then the hard heavy thump of a bass drum as Steve and his entire drum kit were lifted up from behind the stage. The crowd was going insane. This was an entirely new and innovative stage design. If it worked properly it was sure to wow everyone. If not, well, Reagan would be trapped under a dark stage for the rest of her short life.
Logan entered with the deep repetitive bass line of the first song, “Ovation.” His platform started to rise first, lifting him out of the floor of the stage into the spotlight. Reagan played the rhythm riff on cue and almost took a tumble when the platform beneath her lurched into motion before rising at a snail’s pace. When a bright blue light hit her in the face, she forced herself not to wince. I’m a rock star. Be Maximilian Richardson. You can do this. Don’t mess it up.
Dare entered the song and his platform didn’t lift slowly like Logan’s and Reagan’s; it propelled him upward at a faster velocity and he used the momentum to jump out of the floor onto the main stage, wailing out his intro in true rock star fashion. The crowd went insane. Dare Mills was a star. Reagan was an imposter. She did her part though. Playing the rhythm guitar sections so close to Max’s style that his own mother probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Assuming her mother listened to metal.
There was a sudden explosion of fire and smoke—part of the show, but it still made Reagan start—and Max appeared center stage, singing the first long note of the song like a metal angel who had descended from the heavens.
The entire crowd was one huge mosh pit. No one seemed to care that Reagan was playing guitar instead of Max. They were all too enthralled with music to pay her any mind. She watched Dare work the crowd. Logan work the crowd. Max make the people in the crowd ricochet off each other like bowling pins. Even Steve stood up behind the drum kit at one point and tossed a cracked drumstick into the audience. Reagan stuck to the song. When it ended, Max spoke to the crowd. “How are we feeling tonight, Los Angeles?”
The crowd roared its enthusiasm. Steve played a drum line to get them to settle down. “Did Sinners rock your world?” Max said/screamed/sang.
The crowd cheered again. Sinners rocked Reagan’s world, too. Especially the naughty one. She peeked over to the side of the stage, hoping that Trey had gone against her wishes and was standing in her corner. She didn’t see him.
“Carpal-fucking-tunnel is a very serious malady for a guitarist,” Max said, sounding incredibly grave.
“Who’s a pussy?” Logan said in a deep, announcer’s voice. “Max is a pussy.”
Max used his good hand to give Logan the finger. “You might have noticed we have a new band member up on stage with us tonight. Reagan, come up here and say hi.”
Heart racing, Reagan forced her feet to move forward, concentrating hard on not tripping over anything in her spike-heeled ankle boots. “Hi,” she said into the microphone on her end of the stage.