Almost two hours later when the final note is struck, the guys untangle themselves from the wiring and step down off the stage into the adoring arms of Phoenix Falls’ leather-clad rock scene, ruddy-cheeked and pumped up on loud music and alcohol.
Except for Madden. Madden stays on the stage.
He unleashes his guitar strap from over his shoulder and pulls his cell from the thigh pocket of his jeans, the thick muscles underneath casting stark shadows across the denim. He steps backwards, away from the low sheathing of warm red lighting, and he catches my eye from across the room. He subtly holds up his phone, before quickly moving his thumb across the screen and then pressing it to his ear.
Guessing that’s my signal, I unlink myself from River’s elbow, allowing her to become instantly swaddled by her man-mountain fiancé, and I retrieve my own cell from the pouch of my dungaree dress, smiling like a munchkin when I see Madden’s name on the screen.
Feeling devious, I answer the call with a nonchalant, “Hello, who is it?”
I see Madden’s mouth tick upwards when my voice hits his ear.
“Your boyfriend,” he says brusquely, rolling his shoulders as he leans against the side of the stage.
I give him a look of mock-confusion. “I’m sorry, I think you must have the wrong number.”
I hear a low growl reverberate through the line. Then he replies, “Hilarious. You should come backstage so that I can show you how funny I think you are.”
I squeeze my legs together as I hide my naughty smile, butterflies fluttering in my belly and my limbs tingling excitedly.
“Ooooh,” I say tauntingly. “What are you gonna do?”
I grin as he shifts his belt uncomfortably, growing agitated as he watches me from afar. I press my back against the wall and twiddle precociously with my braid.
“Uh…” he rasps, glancing around to check that no-one’s clocked us. Of course they haven’t. No one else here is sober. When his gaze meets mine again a deep flush is staining his cheeks, working its way across his tan neck. “I could do that thing we did the second time, where-”
“How do I get backstage?” I say quickly, the warm pool in my belly suddenly overflowing.
“Follow where I go. When you dip behind the curtain there’s a door back here and it leads to the corridor behind the bar counter. There’s some offshoot storage rooms and…” he trails off, eyes looking in the direction of the backstage area. Then he winces and runs a hand down the stubble on his jaw, looking pained.
“I know it’s fucking seedy,” he says gruffly, shaking his head. “I can try and think of someplace else. Maybe I could drive us somewhere, or-”
I shake my head, looking him hard in the eyes.
“Start walking,” I say curtly.
“Yes ma’am,” he replies.
I shut off my phone and start making my way to the other side of the room, Madden watching me for a moment and then ducking behind the makeshift curtain, away from prying eyes.
I slink into the shadows until I’m just in front of the stage and then I nimbly skirt around the side until I’m peeling back the edge of the curtain and stepping behind it. I can see that his gear is bagged up but it’s too dark to make out anything else so I quickly look around for the door and then, seeing it slightly ajar, I quietly step through it.
The corridor is small and narrow and lit by two old wall sconces, a grate-covered window at the end of it showing nothing but blackness from the night outside. A series of storage room doors line the left wall at uneven intervals.
It looks all the more small and narrow when six foot four Madden Montgomery is in the centre of it, his two hundred and thirty pound frame brushing both sides of the walls.
His dark tan skin is glinting with sweat and his chest is heaving more than I realised from the back of the room. I guess two hours of arm-pumping under the heated spotlights will do that to a man.
As soon as I close the door behind me he strides my way, sliding the metal bolt at the top of the frame and then gripping his hands behind my thighs so that he can lift me off the ground.
“Oof!” I breathe out as he squeezes his way down the corridor.
When he reaches the storage room at the end of the line he kicks its partially opened door wider and then forces his way through it. Once we’re inside he shoves it closed with the hard swell of his shoulder, removing one of his hands from my skin so that he can twist the key in the lock.
It’s a beer bottle holding cell, with the back wall entirely made up of surplus stock. There’s a small table lining the right corner, most likely where someone writes down the accounts, and there’s a small bulb overhead, sunset orange, providing us with a grand total of one watt of light.
I smooth my fingers into Madden’s hair – hot, thick, and damp – and he groans like he’s being tortured as he pins my hips against the door.
“No cameras, right?” I ask, quickly scanning the corners of the room.
He breathes out a laugh, shaking his head. “I’ve learned my lesson, princess.”
He wraps a hand around my jaw and suddenly crushes us together, a low growl in his throat as he moves his lips against mine. I slide my hands down his neck and shoulders, my body entranced by the hot slickness of his skin.
“You’re drenched,” I whisper against him, my fingers sliding up his black shirt so that I can feel his thick abs.
He swallows hard and pulls away, looking down at his soaked clothing as if he’s only seeing it for the first time.
“Shit,” he mutters, his breathing still ragged. “I didn’t even… I didn’t realise. I’m sorry, princess, I should get a shower first.”
I shake my head adamantly, forcing him to meet my eyes.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” I explain breathlessly, hands desperately tugging up his top. I get a low-lit preview of his abdomen and my thighs squeeze around his thickly-muscled middle. “I love it. I love your sweat.”
He tilts his head back, groaning, and then rips his shirt off from the back of his neck. He tosses it onto the table behind him and then stands still for my perusal.
Dark, swollen, meaty. I palm my hands across the breadth of his chest, thanking God that he spent his teenage summers hauling boulders on construction sites. He’s obviously kept up the weight work and Lord does it look good on him.
“Huge,” is the only word that I can whisper out, my eyes trailing across his heaving pectorals. I tentatively move my fingers until I’m caressing his happy trail.
“Jesus,” he grunts, hips jerking involuntarily. He bucks me against the door and I let out a little moan. His hands grip their way from my thighs to my ass.
When his fingers reach beneath the bottom of my dress he pauses for a moment as if he’s puzzled. His palms roam around for another few seconds and then his eyes flash up to mine, a hungry glint shimmering beneath them.
“No panties?” he asks quietly, his jaw flexing hard.
I let my silence answer his question.
Then his gaze drops to my dungaree straps, face almost setting into a sneer when he realises that there are no bra ribbons peeking out from under there either.
“No… no underwear,” he murmurs slowly, his body swelling against mine.
I nod my head and he sets me down. No more nimble fingers – after two hours on stage his movements are rough and impatient, and he shoves my dungaree straps off my shoulders without grace or delicacy.
It’s a micro mini dress that’s supposed to be tight and fitted, but I’m a micro mini person so it doesn’t exactly work the same for me. As soon as the straps slip down the whole dress drops to the floor, leaving me bare in nothing but my neckerchief and cowgirl boots.
Madden undoes his belt.
“Holy fuck,” he grunts, crouching down so that he can pull off my boots.
The second that he sees my white pop-socks he shoves his fist into his mouth and bites down hard.
“Can we leave those on?” he asks desperately, his eyes on their cute lacy trim as he stands upright again.
I bite my lip and nod, sliding my soft inner thigh back up to the side of his bare ribcage.
He snarls instinctively, then tugs hard at his lip-ring, two fingers tucking beneath the cloth around my neck so that he can pull it loose. He pockets it in the back of his jeans and then shoves his pants down to his knees, spreading his legs wide so that he’s in a strong position to take me.
My eyes lower to his groin and I feel my body grow drowsy at the sight of his muscle. It’s thick and extended, the fat domed head glistening with pre-cum.
“Oh my God,” I whimper quietly, my belly muscles clenching with need.
He pulls my face up to his, both of his hands gripping at my jaw, and when our lips finally meet he slides his tongue against my own. I claw my fingers into his hair and press my chest flush against his, my body writhing in agony as his tongue works me until I’m soaked.
“God, you’re fucking sweet,” he says hoarsely when he finally pulls away. I’m already moaning in pain and he hasn’t even started yet. With one hand massaging my ass he uses the other to present himself to me, firmly tossing at his length and then cupping his palm beneath his sac.
I can’t even keep myself upright anymore. I let my back press into the wooden door panel, too weak to keep it together.
“Want lube?” he asks, his voice a low scrape.
“You… you have lube?” I ask back, too puzzled by his question to give him the actual accurate answer. In other words: I definitely do not need any fucking lube.
He looks away almost nervously, cheeks flushing as he tries to answer.
“Uh, not exactly,” he rumbles quietly, brow creasing as he decides whether or not to tell me what he means.
I raise an eyebrow, too turned on for comprehension.
“I meant that I could, uh…” he trails off uncertainly.
He pauses momentarily. Then he shows me.
He looks me straight in the eyes as he raises his right hand and then, after a second’s hesitation, he spits clean into his palm, immediately dropping it back to his length and fisting it all over himself.
“Holy sh-!”
“You should do it,” he says breathlessly, the veins in his bicep bulging as he prepares his shaft for me. “You should spit on it,” he clarifies, his face almost grimacing with arousal.
“I can’t,” I say helplessly, one minute away from melting to the floor.
“I want you to,” he growls, still giving himself long, hard tugs.
“Madden,” I say pleadingly, just needing him to soothe this ache, this emptiness.
Hearing his name seems to snap something in place and he nods apologetically, dipping down again to kiss me.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have asked that,” he whispers as he hoists me up, arms encasing me protectively, and he positions himself against my entrance.
I squirm in agitation as soon as his smooth tip touches my heat, and he grips at the back of my neck, trying to keep me in place.
“You said you’d never had a quickie,” he says, looking down at me from above. I peer up at him and nod, tingling with anticipation.
His length, his girth. My body clenches before he’s even put it in.
He lets out a low grumble as he aligns us just right and then he says, “I’m gonna give that to you,” his palms both moving to the sides of my hips.
“Okay,” I whisper up to him, lips moving softly against his sweat-covered chest.
Then his hips are thrusting upwards, his hands are shoving me down, and his entire solid length plunges straight inside of me.
My nipples pinch in shock and I let out a whimper, keeping my sounds muffled as I press my face against his pecs.
“I’m gonna sort you out,” he grunts, his strong hips pumping fast. “Get this pussy nice and full.”
My eyes roll into the back of my head as he slides himself in and out of me, quicker than ever before.
He rubs his palms down from my hips so that they’re positioned behind my knees, and then he shoves them both backwards so that they’re pinned against the wall.
My body splays open and he clenches his jaw as he slides in deeper.
I can’t comprehend how strong every inch of his body must be – his thick forearms, his large thighs – to keep me in place like this right now, but the hard set of his face shows me that I’m his sole mission, the only thing in his mind as he relieves himself after his show.
I wrap my arms around his neck and softly nip and graze at his throat. He presses himself closer to me, his hips bucking faster.
“You’ve gone all limp, baby,” he grunts, his feet spreading wider as he ruts in from a new angle.
There’s no arguing with that.
I try to cling onto him harder, to give him something back, but he shakes his head and kisses the top of my hair.
“No, it’s okay, you don’t need to do that,” he says quickly. “It’s my job, princess. It’s my job to sort you out.”
I clench tight around him and a strangled sound leaves his chest.
He suddenly pulls me from the door, clutching me roughly to his body as he turns around, surveying the rest of the cupboard. As soon as his eyes land on the little table he swipes his forearm across the paperwork, whipping them onto the floor. Then he tilts me down onto the emptied surface, repositioning himself so that he’s standing upright between my thighs and my body is spread beneath him.
His palms massage my breasts as he pounds me into the wood.
“There you go, princess,” he says gruffly.
I let out a little mewl.
“You’re almost there now, aren’t you? Almost ready to soak me.”
My calves cross behind his back, pressing him down onto me, and a snarl rips from his chest. He heaves his elbows down onto either side of my head, pumping into me harder as my nipples brush against him.
“Give it to me, princess,” he rasps, face sneering. “Give me your orgasm and I’ll let you take my load.”
The tightness inside of me snaps. My thighs fall backwards and my spine arches up, my body only kept in place because of Madden’s hands holding me there.
He finishes me as fast as he can, his chest heaving as he watches me take him, and then he lets out a deep sigh, spreading my thighs wider.
My gaze falls to where we’re joined and I feel his hands on me tighten. His hips are barely moving as he slowly slides himself in and out, inches of thick muscle glistening in the low lighting.
He leans down so that he can kiss his way across my forehead, too much taller than me at this angle to be able to reach my lips. He groans in pain when I nibble love bites into his throat.
His palms cup my cheeks and he looks down into my eyes. The veil of lust has almost completely lifted and there’s something much more potent shimmering beneath the surface.
“I need to come,” he whispers, and his deep timbre makes little flames lick their way up my core.
I nod my head, begging him to do what we both know he shouldn’t. My period’s due so it shouldn’t be too much of a gamble, but in the heat of the moment it’s a gamble that I’m willing to take.
“Inside of you?” he asks quietly, slipping back and forth a little faster now.
“Yes,” I whisper. Then add, “Please.”
That does it for him.
On the sound of my plea his hips jerk forward, hard and uncontrolled, and with a low animal growl he thrusts his spend into me.
“Milk it,” he snarls, and my body tightens in shock, encouraging him to give me all that he can. His large palms find my ankles and he pins them down against the table. “Such a good girl,” he grunts, releasing himself, warm and thick. “You take it so good.”
He pumps my body a few more times and then, with a final rough jerk, he exhales slowly and presses us forehead to forehead.
“I don’t wanna pull out,” he whispers as he begins the painful process of leaving my heat.
I whimper in protest despite knowing that he has to, and he groans loudly when he’s fully extracted. He immediately cups a palm over my sex, keeping me warm.
“Keep your hips up like this,” he murmurs, as he kicks himself free of his jeans and boxers.
At first I don’t understand what he’s doing but when he slides his underwear over my pop-socks I finally get it.
His eyes meet mine almost shyly, his face flushed and drenched with sweat, more from the after-party than the actual show.
“Gotta put these on you so that it doesn’t all…” His face is blushing and he bites roughly at his lip-ring. Drip out are the words that he’s looking for.
Once I’m fully dressed he kisses at me sweetly, then tugs his jeans over his hips, carefully sliding up the zipper. He reties the scarf around my neck and then strokes at my jaw, my plaits.
He slips his tongue into my mouth even as we’re leaving the store room, my head tilted backwards as he rolls gently against me.
“I could go again,” he murmurs quietly as we leave the corridor.
I stumble over my boots at the thought of another round.
He presses his face into my hair, laughing at my reaction, and then gives my breasts one final squeeze before he falls back, letting me go on without him.
I turn around and see an unidentifiable expression hardening his features, his eyes narrowed.
“This is the part where we’re supposed to get into the shower, make you all warm and clean, and then go back to bed and just…” He shrugs. “Hold you for the rest of the night.”
I don’t know how to respond to that without screaming that that’s exactly what I want. I don’t want this to be a secret anymore – I never wanted this to be a secret. But in order to stay in Kaleb’s good books whilst simultaneously not getting too attached to Madden before he gets back on the road, this is the way that it has to be.
Sensing our emotional synergy, he leans forward to give me one last kiss, light and gentle. Then he buries his face into my neck and takes a shoulder swelling inhale.
I stroke the thick muscles in his back and he shudders beneath my fingers.
“What do I smell like?” I whisper, putting a smile in my voice to try and keep this moment from getting heavy.
“Like you’re mine,” he murmurs back, before pressing a firm kiss into my collarbone.
I reluctantly pull away and step backwards until I’m touching the curtain.
“I’ll see you back at the ranch,” he promises, gesturing behind him to his kit.
For the last time, he doesn’t add, because we both know that he’s leaving on Friday.
I nod anyway, then walk away.
I already accepted this fate.
*
Kaleb spent the post-show wind-down rekindling his spark with Chastity, so I make my way over to Tate’s truck to say goodnight to River before we all leave. When I step outside of the bar I feel the gentle tap of rain droplets, so I look up to the sky sensing that the storm that’s been brewing is en route to letting loose.
River is sat in the passenger seat, feet dangling over the blacktop, whilst Tate hunches through the car doorframe, pressing kisses over her cheeks and attempting to strap her in. When River catches my eyes over Tate’s shoulders she gives me a mischievous smile.
“Passenger princess,” I say to River when Tate removes himself from the car interior, not sparing me a glance as he rounds the front so that he can get into the driver’s side.
“Yeah,” she replies naughtily, pulling her knees up so that she can curl on the seat like a cat.
“Must be nice,” I say, gesturing vaguely behind me in the direction of the Chevy, parked somewhere on the other side of the lot. “I’m cruising with my brother. I’m lucky if I’m a survivor.”
River laughs and then glances behind me, trying to catch a glimpse of our pretty blue truck. I squint my eyes skyward as the pellets begin coming down harder, fat cold raindrops hitting off my cheeks and exposed shoulders.
I shudder slightly at the feel of the cold, foreign to me now after so many weeks of scorching heat.
When I look back down to River, about to say my goodbye, I notice that she’s suddenly frowning, leaning up onto her knees as she tunes into something that’s going on across the lot.
“What’s going on over there?” she asks, pushing her glasses further up her nose. Tate gently un-straps her so that the belt doesn’t cut into her chest.
I glance over to where she’s looking, hearing the low sounds of an escalating spat. I snort and shake my head.
“Probably two idiots about to fight,” I say, re-braiding the end of my plait.
River throws me a serious look that makes me still my fingers and then jabs her thumb towards the scene, eyebrows climbing higher by the second.
“Isn’t that your idiot?” she asks, her eyes shooting back to the growing noise.
Now it’s my turn to frown.
What?
Unsure of what she’s talking about I stand on my tip-toes to try and catch a glimpse of where the hushed growls and grunts are coming from.
As soon as I do catch a glimpse, I’m no longer interested in fixing up my hair. I’m running as quickly as I can to the other end of the lot.
Oh shit.
