My cheeks burn and heat spreads across my face like wildfire.
He pulls my belt loop and my body crashes to his hard chest. Excitement jolts through me. And I want to lie my head on his chest and wrap my arms around his waist. He gazes down to my lips then he bites his. My chest clenches and my panties are damper than the Chattahoochee River. How can he make a simple lip bite so sexy?
“You’re hot, Felix. Every woman with a pulse knows you are. Ninety-nine-point nine percent of the women’s population wants to fuck you.” My tone comes out matter of fact. And the corner of his lips curls up into a gigantic smile. Dimples dig into his cheeks making him look boyish.
He let’s go of my belt loot and we leave the tiny room and I exhale loudly. If I stayed in that room, I would’ve passed out. We rush past the security and technical team and make it to the stairs that’s connects to the stage. He rushes past me, swaggering across the stage as thousands of people chant. Gods. Gods. Gods.
I stand by the black curtains witnessing women screaming at the top of their lungs with tears in their eyes, throwing their panties on the stage. Others hold poster signs in remembrance of their late band member Natasha Cohen. Cameras click and flash. People holds their phones in the air wanting to hold the performance in their hearts forever.
Felix hits his sticks on the drums. The rest of the band plays their instruments as Easton’s god-like voice booms through the mike and the fans lose their shit. And butterflies bloom in my stomach and my soul is lifted off the ground as the dark music vibrates through my bones.
The Wakening of Gods gives their fans what they want.
Making love to them with their words.
Inking their words into their souls.
Being the rock gods that they are.
Felix
It’s the same shit, different day. We’re having band practice in Easton’s basement. Easton sings through the mike. And Aurora, Azrael and I play our instruments like it’s the last time we’ll do it.
I slam on the drums hard as the rhythm vibrates through my blood and syncs with my heart.
But for some reason I can’t concentrate because I have my mind set on a five-foot-four that’s more sassy than Regina George from Mean Girls. Sadie Bennett. She’s more beautiful than a rare painting that catches every freckle. Those almond eyes, soft supple pink lips, ivory creamy skin tone, and very curvy body can bring a man down to their knees.
I’m a liar, hypocrite, and thief. I own those titles fair and square. I stole Sadie’s journal.
As soon as she went to the bathroom during the meeting, I snatched that shit and tossed it in my bag. I’ve been wanting her since she signed up to be our manager seven months ago. Since my schedule is crazy, I need a warm hole to park my dick in until my next tour starts, and Sadie is the perfect candidate. She isn’t like most women that wear their emotions on their sleeves, and she doesn’t get emotionally attached to people. She’s too obsessed with her dad’s business which is A-OK in my book.
I’m not like Easton, the band leader, who has to cramp my dick in everything that has a pussy, and I’m not like Azrael who likes to fuck with women’s emotions. Because a) I want my dick disease-free and b) It’s not right to treat women like shit.
My morals are more questionable than the OJ Simpson murder case but my conscience, well, has its own brain and wants to do whatever the fuck it wants.
I wanted to know what Sadie’s thoughts were.
I wanted to know what’s in that brilliant mind of hers. I appreciate women who are smart so that they can challenge me. And not the airhead groupies that want to get a taste of my dick so they can brag to their airhead friends.
So last night, when I got home, I read the first half of her diary. I read her thoughts on fashion and global shit. You know, chick’s shit.
I read her filthy thoughts about me. The ones where she wrote about taking my cock in her mouth, coming down her throat. Or how she wanted me to slide my dick in her ass and come on her tits. Sadie is a filthy girl. As a woman that comes off assertive, outgoing, and sassy, I didn’t think she was a virgin. And fuck, she wants me to pop her cherry. Knowing that she hasn’t been with anyone else makes my dick harder than metal.
Normally, I don’t do virgins. Most of them want more, they want someone they can be in a serious relationship with. And right now, relationships look as appealing as watching granny porn.
But that’s what Sadie would be to me, a dirty fuck. I don’t do relationships. Period. Ever since I caught my ex-girlfriend, Mae, on her knees sucking off my uncle, and ex-manager, Brody in the living room that we once shared. And instead of fighting for us. She went on and on about how he made her happy and gave her the attention that she deserves. Our relationship was more of a joke than the Jerry Springer show. I was publicly humiliated when the media got their greedy paws on the story. They twisted and dragged my life through the mud.
Fuck Brody. Fuck Mae. Fuck the media. In that order.
We finish the last song of the day from our current album, Love Defies Us. I rest my sticks on my lap. Easton has a band set-up, and when we are not on tour, we have practice here every Saturday. Stale chips permeate the air, and the floor is sticky like someone drenched the carpet in syrup. A torn and tattered red couch is across the room. Easton needs to get off his lazy ass and clean up the
