Page 23 of Knot My Band: Part Two
I flash a smile. “Aiden needs a minute with me. All good, we’re safe.”
Jack nods, though his eyes are narrow in concern, and a silent communication passes between him and Chase before they turn away. Aiden, still silent, presses closer, if possible, and the intensity of him envelops me like a shadow. This isn’t just post-performance adrenaline—it’s something far more carnal.
“Hey, talk to me,” I whisper, turning within the circle of his arms to face him again. The corridors backstage are dimly lit, casting deep shadows that seem to mirror the darkness flickering across Aiden’s usually tender brown eyes.
“Can’t… control it,” he growls, the words strained, as if pulled from the depths of his gut.
My heart hammers against my ribs, a staccato echo of the fear and excitement coursing through my veins. Rut. It’s the only explanation for the feral look in his eyes, the barely restrained power in his frame. Triggered by the past few days? The roar of the crowd? Or maybe just the proximity to his omega.
“Okay, we need to get you somewhere private, Aiden.” My voice comes out steady despite the quiver in my belly. But he’s not listening, his gaze locked onto mine with an intensity that speaks of raw, untamed need.
“Mine,” he repeats, the word a dark promise that sends shivers down my spine. Every cell in my body screams to submit, to be claimed right here, right now, by this alpha whose scent wraps around me, intoxicating and potent.
“Let’s find some—”
But he cuts me off with a searing kiss, desperation lacing his touch as his fingers dig into my hips. It’s all heat, teeth, and unspoken pleas, and I can’t help but melt into him, my desire flaring to life.
“Need you now,” Aiden rasps against my lips, and there’s no room for argument in his tone. The urgency in his grip tells me we won’t make it back to the bus, not like this.
“Then let’s at least find cover,” I manage to gasp out, half-dragging, half-guiding him toward the heavy curtains that line the edge of the backstage area.
“Here,” I whisper desperately, pulling one aside to reveal a hidden alcove shrouded in darkness. It’s not perfect, but it will have to do.
“Yours,” I assure him, and that’s all it takes for him to surge forward, the alpha claiming his territory, his omega, in the darkened recess of the backstage maze.
His large and demanding hands reach my waist, and before I can protest, he lifts me as though I weigh nothing. The world tilts, and my back slams against the cool concrete wall hidden in the shadows backstage. My breath stutters out, a mist of desire and surprise clouding the scant space between us.
“Someone will see,” I whisper, my voice betraying me with its tremble of anticipation rather than concern.
“Let them,” he snarls.
Aiden’s body presses into mine, an unyielding force of nature. His hardness is evident, a testament to his raw need, and it’s all for me. I gasp at the contact, sparks of pleasure igniting along my nerve endings.
Crew members bustle by, oblivious to the tempest brewing in our secluded corner. Or maybe they choose ignorance, accustomed to the turbulent passions that often accompany life on the road with rockstars.
I should be scandalized, push him away, and demand privacy, but the truth is, I don’t want to. The thought of being taken by Aiden, here, now, where every vibration of the bass from the cooling speakers can be felt through our bodies, is exhilarating.
“Fuck the bus,” I breathe out, and it’s all Aiden’s alpha needs to hear.
Urgency thrums through me, an electric current that draws Aiden like a magnet. He’s a tempest, barely contained, and I’m the only anchor holding him steady.
We are behind the heavy stage curtains, shrouded in shadows, where the world narrows down to just us. It’s darker here, intimate in a way that sends a thrill up my spine. The thick fabric cocoons us, creating a veil between the bustling activity of the crew and the raw intensity that crackles in the air around us.
His hands are on me, rough and demanding. There’s no finesse as he grabs the thin material of my panties, and with one sharp tug, they’re gone—shredded remnants of lace and satin fall forgotten to the ground. The destruction is swift, a testament to the fierce need that’s overcome him.
Aiden’s pants are next, his movements jerky, almost violent in their haste. He fumbles for a moment before freeing his cock, and I catch my breath at the sight. He’s impressive, always, but now there’s a wildness to him that makes him seem even larger, harder, more insistent.
The heat between us flares, and it’s not just lust—it’s something primal, an instinctive dance between alpha and omega. We’re locked at this moment, tangled in a melody only we can hear, and nothing else exists beyond the heat of our bodies and the relentless drumming of desire as he pushes into me roughly and in one thrust.
The world narrows to the point of singularity, the epicenter of my universe now the relentless thrust of Aiden’s hips againstmine. No more stage, no more roaring crowd—just the pounding rhythm he sets, hard and wild, a tempo that matches the frantic beat of my heart.
“Omega,” he grunts, each syllable punctuated by the driving force of his body into mine. In the dark backstage corner, I’m pinned between cold concrete and his searing heat, feeling every inch as he fills me completely. My fingers claw at the curtains, desperate for something to anchor me in the storm that is Aiden.
“Please,” I gasp out, my voice lost beneath the cacophony of sounds around us—the distant hum of electrical equipment, the muffled voices of crew members unwittingly nearby. We’re playing a dangerous game, teetering on the edge of discovery, but the risk only fuels the fire that burns within me.
“More,” I beg shamelessly. The word is a breathy moan, which seems to ignite something wilder in him. His pace quickens, each thrust a promise of oblivion, a guarantee of pleasure so intense that worry and reason have no place here.
I’m lost, utterly consumed by the desires of our scent match, the invisible bond that pulls taut with every movement, every connection of flesh to flesh.
