Page 35 of Dangerous Pursuit
And then he moans into my mouth and lifts his leg, trying to wrap it around me and buck his hips in his usual fashion, grinding his hardening cock against my thigh.
I wanted this man.
I wanted him, intensely and urgently, ever since he stage dived, because maybe I've always wanted to do it myself. Maybe I always wanted to do all that little crazy shit he does on the daily, but never allowed myself to. Never will. Maybe there's a part of me that wants to live vicariously through him, as if the proximity to wilderness would somehow make me wilder myself.
Xander's hands are on my ass now, squeezing, kneading. He's getting greedy. Cocky. Wild. And I'm here to tame him.
I grab a handful of his hair and pull hard, making him gasp as he lets go of my mouth, looking at me with heavy-lidded eyes.
"Walk."
He does, taking small steps backward without question.
Yes, Xander does what he wants, when he wants, how he wants.
Except when he does what I say. WhatIwant.
He walks until there's no more room to walk, his back hitting the wall behind him, his eyes on me the entire time.
I cage him, putting one arm against the wall next to his head, dropping my other hand to his crotch, groping his already-hard cock that tries to tear through the fabric of his slim fit jeans.
Xander clenches his jaw, breathing heavy through his nose, trying not to make a sound.
It wouldn't matter if he did. His moans would dissolve, mingle with the muffled, but still loud music. And that's exactly what I intend to make him do—moan.
Loud noise has its downsides, though. It makes you less vigilant, careless even. So much so that I don't hear footsteps, don't hear doors opening or closing, and it's only pure luck that makes me turn my head with the intention of sucking the side of Xander's neck, allowing me to see a large, shadowed figure stepping through one of the many, many doors and inside the room.
I leap back, severing every point of contact I have with Xander like he's on fire, hoping he'll be able to get with the program.
He does, pushing off the wall, wiping the glazed-up look off his face momentarily, his hard-on disguised by the color of his jeans as a large, angry-looking man approaches us.
"You can't be here," he barks before either of us can make a peep.
Shit. "Sorry," I mumble. "We're—"
"Friends of the band," Xander deadpans, cutting me off mid-word. "Yeah, we're friends with the band. Just hanging out till they finish so that we can hit the afterparty, y'know?" he explains in a fake accent that belongs to absolutely nowhere.
Obviously, the guy doesn't buy it. "I don't see any badges." He jerks his chin toward Xander's chest.
I take a sharp inhale, ready to apologize profusely and bolt, like we should have done in the first place, but Xander's faster yet again. "Matty," he says, rolling his eyes. It takes me a second to realize he's reading the security guard's own badge that, in fact, reads Matthew. "You know how they are about all that admin stuff." He sighs theatrically. "Fine. Here," he says after he pulls out his phone and hands it toMatty. "Just from two nights ago. Don't make me show you the rest. Shit got pretty rowdy, if you know what I mean." And then he fucking winks.
I'm holding my breath as I watch Matthew take one look at Xander's screen before his expression changes from pissed off to apologetic. "My bad, my bad. But you should still move to the other room," he points to one of the doors behind him. "I mean," he quickly adds, "if you could. The techs get pretty rigid about anyone even breathing around the gear. Ask Mario, he'll tell you how he almost got his ass whooped by his own tech last night."
"Yeah, well. You know Mario." Xander makes a face, repeating the drummer's name. I'm sure he's just now heard for the very first time. "Always looking for a brawl." Matthew shrugs and smiles knowingly. "Anyway, we'll scram. Cheers!"
"Have a good one," Matthew says, and, miraculously, leaves.
My head snaps to Xander so fast it spins. "What the fuck?" I mouth and snatch his phone from his hand. "What did you— Oh, you're kidding me." I'm staring at a very blurry, very obviously stage selfie Xander managed to snatch with the singer earlier. "That was a fucking long shot."
Xander rolls his eyes and takes his phone back, shoving it into his back pocket. "Please. Like he's gonna grill a friend of Mario's."
A fresh wave of that inconvenient feeling, the same one I felt when he stage dived, the one I can't, or don't want to name rolls through me. I make sure to nip it in the bud. "Walk," I say.
Xander looks between the two doors in front of him. "Which one?"
I laugh. "Does it even fucking matter at this point?"
He picks the one to the right, which turns out to be an excellent choice. The room in small, marginally larger than a janitor’s closet, and very dark. So dark, in fact, that when I close the door behind us, there isn't a single point of light coming in, my vision turning pitch black. The music grows duller, flatter, yet somehow more vibrant. Much, much more vibrant.
