Page 70 of Backstage

“Hands on me? He put his hand on my hip!” she yells as she turns around and tries to open the bus door, not realizing that in her fury, she has confused ours with theirs.

“I know, and I’m apologizing. I saw you flirting with him, and I couldn’t take it anymore,” I confess.

She turns in amazement and watches me, wrinkling her forehead. “He asked me to make the bartender jealous for turning him down.” She’s annoyed, and her explanation makes me feel like even more of a complete asshole. “And you were jealous?” There’s hope in her voice.

I can see in her eyes that she’s hoping to detect some real interest from me. I don’t know when it happened, or if my confession had any effect, but it’s disarming to see a woman trust me so blindly. She’s not afraid I might hurt her. The question is simple and damned difficult at the same time.

“I don’t know...maybe.” I sound like a fifteen-year-old boy in a hormonal crisis. I look down.

“Really?” she asks incredulously.

“Do you want a written confession?”

I don’t get an answer, but suddenly her arms are around my neck and her lips are glued to mine. She’s giving me the trust I don’t deserve. My body reacts instinctively, before my brain has time to process it. I push her against the side of the bus and stick my tongue into her mouth, savoring that taste that I missed like air. I detach myself from her only when I feel her push slightly, and immediately a twinge in my chest makes my legs shake. Does she regret that kiss? The very thought terrifies me, but I immediately see she’s just trying to open the door. I smile as I take her hand off the lock, grab my keys out of my pocket, and open it.

“How the hell...” she swears softly.

“This is my bus, not yours,” I whisper in her ear as I open the door and push her up the stairs.

She looks up, puzzled. “Oh,” she admits, embarrassed.

I laugh as I let her up and close the door behind me. When she turns around, I see her waiting for me to make the first move, leaning against the kitchen cabinet with a shy, damn sexy look.

“Are you sure?” I don’t want her to regret our night together.

She nods and puts her hands on my chest. I’m sure she can feel my heart pounding in my ribcage against her fingers. I grab her butt and lift her off the ground, taking her upstairs to my room, while she sinks her face into my neck and covers my skin with kisses and small bites that literally make my head spin. I kick open the door of my room and throw her onto my bed.

She giggles amusedly until she meets my yearning gaze, and then she starts to tease me, unfastening the button of my pants. I bend down to take off her shoes, then I grab her jeans and panties and slip them off quickly. I grab a condom from the bedside table and tear the packaging open with my teeth, dropping my pants and boxers down to my ankles. I slip my cock between her legs, sinking in, enjoying her sighs and moans. There’s no foreplay, there’s no game, we don’t need it; we’ve stayed so far away for so long that our bodies and hearts attract each other in an almost primal and animalistic way, relieving that tension that has grown between us these past weeks.

I hear her moan and sink her nails into my butt, pulling me towards her. Seeking such closeness with our skin we almost fuse together. I don’t think my heart has ever exploded with so much happiness as it does right now.

“Lilly, are you in here?”

Luke’s voice makes me jump. I take one look at Damian struggling to hold his breath and laugh. “Yeah, I’ll be right out.” My voice is shrill, panting, and completely unnatural.

“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t tell me you’re still locked in the bathroom with Damian,” my friend blurts out, exasperated.

“ Hi, Luke, can you leave the room, please?” asks Damian, about to burst out laughing.

Luke mumbles something we can’t hear, but eventually, he closes the dressing room door, and we both sigh with relief. Damian laughs while I’m not amused at all. Having secret sex in the most unthinkable and indecent places has become a constant that’s making me nervous. At least this time our bandmates know about it and help keep things under control. I push him away and see his smile turn into disappointment.

“You’re leaving me like this? Without finishing?” he asks, pleading.

“Honestly? Luke’s intrusion ruined the moment for me.” I raise an eyebrow as I fix my pants and the tank top that half slipped off my shoulder.

His expression is indecipherable. He looks repentant, a little disappointed, but not irritated. “Next time I’ll close the dressing room door,” he mumbles as he fixes his pants.

“Or maybe we don’t fuck in a bathroom behind the stage and do it in a bed like normal people,” I blurt out angrily. “I feel like a prostitute doing it like this, in these places, afraid someone might open the door and catch us at any moment.”

Damian grabs me by the arm before I can leave, studying me for a few seconds, and I struggle to keep a calm and smiling face. I’m not serene at all.

“You told me you were okay with how it is between us, without commitment,” he says thoughtfully, almost worried. “If you didn’t want to sleep with me, you could have just told me, it’s not like I’m forcing you or anything...I mean, you’re free to say no whenever you want. I hope that’s clear.”

His voice sounds worried, or guilty, like he thinks he’s forcing me to do something that hurts me, that I feel like I have to say yes. It couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m so into him that right now, I’m okay with whatever Damian wants to give me. I don’t want to force him into a relationship that embarrasses him because he can’t handle it. I get why he’s acting like this with me. I know it’s not me, but he is. As much as that’s a cliché, it’s a simple truth: Damian can’t handle a relationship with another person because of what he went through when he was a kid. I can understand it, I can accept it, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel bad about what I want but can’t have. Because, despite everything, Damian is someone you love effortlessly. It’s impossible not to get lost in his grumpy but protective attitude. The problem is that you fall in love with him, but he doesn’t let himself be loved, and what hurts me most is that he thinks he doesn’t deserve to be loved by anyone.

“Damian, stop. I know. You don’t have to ask me that again. I said yes, I’m fine with it, and I was honest. But I don’t like doing it in a dirty, smelly bathroom. I just like it better when we’re in your room, where no one can bother us, and we can take our time,” I explain with a smile that this time, luckily, doesn’t come out forced.

He studies me for a few moments and scrutinizes me with his intelligent eyes that often make me feel like he’s reading me and I’m afraid of what he sees. He nods, then comes closer and holds me in an embrace that lasts longer than any other he has ever given me. He kisses me on the head, profoundly inhaling my perfume as if wanting to imprint me into his memory. It’s such a tender gesture, one he’s never done before, that it almost makes my legs quiver. It feels like the action of someone who really cares about me—a feeling that doesn’t last, and when he detaches from me it slips away.

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