“No one sounds like you,” Dave explained, when Brian started to get antsy and tried pawning off strum-duty on their mohawk-sporting roadie, Jake.
When Dave was finally satisfied the nonexistent feedback had been squelched, he let Brian go and started having a coronary over one of Eric’s off-sounding bass drums. Dave wasn’t typically this high-strung, so his agitation must have had something to do with being in the company of Exodus End’s legendary soundboard operator, Mad Dog McFarley. The dude looked like a startled bulldog, but he was second to none in mixing a live show. Dave kept wandering over to Mad Dog’s soundboard and peeking over his shoulder, as if trying to photograph top-secret documents with an implanted eye-cam.
Brian shook his head, trusting that the guy would keep his shit together for the show.
He headed toward the dressing room, hoping that Myrna would “catch up” with him soon. He couldn’t think of anything but getting lost in her for twenty or thirty hours. As he passed a door, a graceful hand reached out and grabbed him by the T-shirt, tugging him into the dark confines of a closet. She found his mouth in the darkness, pressing her naked body against his. Brian grabbed her bare ass before it dawned on him that several things weren’t right. More specifically, that her ass was in the wrong place; it was several inches too low. And she didn’t taste like Myrna. Didn’t smell like Myrna. Wasn’t Myrna. He shoved the unfamiliar woman away and reached for the doorknob to escape.
The woman was surprisingly strong as she wrapped both arms around his waist and pulled him away from the door.
“Don’t deny me this, Master Sinclair. I want you so bad.”
“Let go,” he demanded, trying to pry her iron grip from his waist.
“Just let me suck your cock. Please.”
Her needy voice made his skin crawl. “I said let go. I don’t want to have to get rough with you.”
She’d somehow managed to get his belt buckle unfastened. He covered his crotch with one hand and tried to fend her off with the other.
The woman emitted a throaty chuckle. “I want you to get rough with me. Leave marks on my skin. Nail me hard as fuck so that my pussy remembers you in the morning.”
She grabbed his ass, and his balls tried to climb up into his belly. There wasn’t anything about this attempted seduction that turned him on in the slightest. Brian managed to get a hand on the doorknob again and opened the door. His gaze was lowered toward the floor, but the space at his feet wasn’t empty. He’d recognize those high heels and shapely calves anywhere.
“Myrna,” he gasped, a lump of cold lead settling in his stomach. His head jerked up automatically. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“So there isn’t a naked woman plastered to your back with her hand on your crotch? You aren’t coming out of a dark closet with your belt unbuckled?”
“No,” he denied.
“I’m not blind, Brian.”
“I mean yes, but—”
“Nor am I stupid,” she added.
He forced his gaze to hold hers, but she looked away and glared at the woman accosting him.
“Get your fucking hands off my husband,” she said.
Her uncompromising tone made the hairs on the back of Brian’s neck stand on end.
“Your husband?” the woman gasped.
“Yes, my husband. Mine. Get the fuck away from him.”
“I didn’t know—When did he—Well, how was I suppo—Just let me get my clothes.”
The woman moved away from Brian’s back, and he stepped outside the small, dark room. She closed the door quietly.
“Honestly, Myrna, I was trying to get away from her. There’s no way I would have done anything with her. She just grabbed me when I walked past the door.”
“I trust you.”
“I would never destroy what we have over something so stupid.”
“Brian, I trust you. Chill.”
Myrna slid into his arms.
“You do?” His body melted against hers with relief.
“Of course. Do I have a reason not to?”
“No. All I want is you.” They’d just danced to a song with those exact words as the title. Surely she knew he meant what he said.
She lifted a hand to cup his cheek. “I feel exactly the same way.”
He kissed her, his soul buoyant with joy.
The door behind him opened again and naked-chick, now mostly clothed, brushed past them as she fled. Still kissing him, Myrna walked Brian backwards into the empty closet and shut the door.
“I’ll have to thank your groupie for pointing out this place,” she said. “I wondered how I was going to get you alone backstage. I had settled on a bathroom stall, but the last time we tried that, it didn’t end well.”
Brian laughed. “It ended well for me.” He laughed again and squeezed her in a tight embrace. “But not so well for my lucky hat.”
“Or Eric.”
“Every time he wears that hat, I think I’m going to bust a gut trying not to laugh.”
“Less talking. More satisfying kisses.”
She clung to his shoulders. In the darkness, her kiss landed on his chin. She nibbled her way to his lips and caressed them with deep sucking kisses. As she warmed, her scent—a sweet combination of coconut, sex, and Myrna—intensified, blotting the scent of antiseptic cleanser coming from somewhere in the closet.
She nipped Brian’s lower lip. Lust slammed into his gut, hot and heavy. He moved his hands to her ass—which was in exactly the right location, thank you very much—and ground her pelvis against his rapidly engorging cock. He’d just got the damned thing under control, and hoped to God she wasn’t going to leave him unsatisfied again. He wasn’t sure he’d survive.