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I licked my lips and turned away from the poster, but the image was already seared into my brain.
The three heartthrobs posed on a huge rock by the seaside. According to the small photo credit at the bottom, it was taken in some Irish town where they’d performed the year before. The trio wore low-rider jeans and nothing else—which was exactly how the fans liked them. Water from the sea splashed up their long, rippling legs and soaked their jeans, the damp material emphasizing those muscled physiques.
Unable to help myself, I turned back around to stare at the poster. Brody’s bulge was massive.
Was it a sock? That’s what I thought at first, but maybe it wasn’t…
My curious tongue flicked out to stroke my lips.
What would it taste like?
Shocking even myself, I tried to pull my gaze away from Brody’s crotch. Then, wandering eyes stumbled across Gunner’s rippling abs. The tingle low in my stomach grew into heat. It sank lower, settling into the place that touched my panties.
Again, I looked away, but my eyes collided with Hudson’s nipples, flat and dark against his chiseled chest. There was no way to fight the way that the trio made me feel.
Those masculine nipples would feel so good under my tongue.
I groaned and stumbled back against the door of my trailer with a thud, unable to control the lust any longer.
It was wrong. But my hand was already unzipping my khakis, sliding into my soaked panties. I bucked at my own touch.
They had made me so wet. My clit was thick and throbbing as I thought about those three hard, sexy bodies. One stroke then another. If only the band were there to see my reaction. A pinch of my clit and I gasping and sliding down the door, shivering from the force of my orgasm.
Oh god!
Tremors shook my frame, my cunt pumping furiously.
But that was enough.
The image of the men alone had made me into a horny whore, touching myself while thinking of them.
Limbs still twitching, I felt like I had been pounded by a hurricane.
Taken by Hard Fought.
Owned by them.
Oh no, I thought to myself. This obsession is going to be a problem.3Brody“There’s nothing like having your own ride in the skies,” I said, dropping into one of the many plush leathers seat on the charter plane. It was one of several private planes from our private fleet.
In high school, we were the scrawny weird kids that liked the type of heavy metal music that everyone hated. After years of being teased and turned down for dates, things had really turned around for the better. We owned an airline.
Life really works out sometimes.
Considering how much money we had in the bank, buying the airline seemed like the right thing to do. At least that’s how Helena, our manager, put it to us. Constant travel was part of the gig, and to tour properly, we had to bring all of our equipment. Booking flights was a hassle, and then everything still seemed to go wrong. They always lost something. Gunner had to buy new drumsticks the last three times we traveled on a public flight.
It was tiresome, especially since the group flew first class to avoid such inconveniences. There was no amount of booze and warm nuts to make me okay with them losing my shit—and Gunner got even angrier than I did.
After a lot of discussion with Helena, Hard Fought bought Elite Air. It was one of those airlines that has always been used by rich guys who wanted to throw around their money. Years ago, the three of us would have scoffed at owning a plane, let alone several.
But now, it’s a necessary. Lost luggage is a pain when there are shows to be played. Groupies that ask us for signatures get tiresome. So yeah, we took the ultimate plunge, and now we have our own plane. This is rock star level shit.
There’s nothing wrong with throwing around a little cash if you’ve got it.
Sometimes, it was easy to forget that we had so much money because it’s incredibly far from our humble beginnings. Once upon a time, Gunner, Hudson, and I were just three punk kids with nothing but dreams and barely a hundred dollars between us.
I chuckled to myself, but the guys read my mind like they always did.
“Yeah, crazy isn’t it?” Gunner said with a low laugh. “We don’t fly first. We fly private.”
“Plus, it’s not just this baby,” Hudson said wryly. “We own six of these toys.”
“Touché,” Gunner grunted. He was spread out on what amounted to a damn sofa on the plane, dressed in a white T-shirt and shredded jeans. “What’s next? The world? How do we buy that?”
Hudson gave his usual subdued smile. “I don’t want to own anything except life, dude.”
Because Hudson can be a stick in the mud sometimes, a responsible adult who puts a damper on things. And frankly, we need that sometimes. Me and Gunner are still kids, goofing off and having fun. Hudson’s the one who actually moves us forwards.
