My brows furrow when Kylie mutters, “You weren’t fucking,” under her breath.
“I haven’ttoucheda groupie in weeks,” I clarify.
She murmurs something under her breath again, except this time, it isn’t loud enough for me to hear.
“What?”
When her eyes dart away, I growl before warning her I won’t hesitate to pin her to the wall and punish her with my cock until she tells me every damn secret I see hiding in her eyes.
Finally catching the drift on how things are about to go down, Kylie’s eyes snap to mine before waving her hand at the lower half of my body. “I saw a groupie attached to….that.”
My eyes widen. “When?”
I hate even admitting this, but excluding Kylie, no one but the waitress in the San Diego nightclub has sucked my dick the past two months.
When Kylie whispers, “Opening night,” I shake my head.
Her nostrils flare. “I saw you, Slater—"
“It wasn’t me.” I crowd her against the wall, ensuring she can feel my pulse racing through my body when I say, “I haven’t touched or fucked a groupie since I saw tears in your eyes when I walked out of the bathroom in the nightclub in San Diego. Seeing you on the verge of crying gutted me, Kylie. I’d never felt dirty, but I did that night.” When she peers up at me with big, glistening eyes, I finalize my assurance. “I’ve never lied to you, so why would I start now? There hasn’t been anyone since then, I swear to you.”
“What about the lipstick on your shirt? It was the same night.” Her words aren’t as bitter as they were earlier. They’re more curious than anything.
“If I had to change my shirt every time a fan got a little excited, I’d have a million shirts. You know what they’re like. The elbow your nose got hit with last week is a prime example of the people I handle at the end of every show.”
“But he said… You had lipstick… They were your boots, weren’t they?”
Since she appears to be interrogating herself, I don’t offer answers to her blubbered questions. I just wait for the truth to dawn in her eyes. It’s a very short three seconds.
“Sonny!”
With her fist clenched into balls, she storms through the stage curtains. I quickly follow behind her. She’s not responding like I hoped, but a feisty Kylie is just as seductive as the Kylie I was trying to convince to get freaky with me backstage.
Her angry strides are so long, it doesn’t take her much time to reach the makeshift table the roadies circle at the end of every concert. Sonny spots her the instant she walks into the room. That pisses me off more than the concerned glint his eyes gets when he sees the angry red streaks lining her face.
“You okay?” He gets within two feet of Kylie when she rears back her hand to slap him hard across the face. The crack of her hand connecting with his cheek booms around the room. It’s closely followed by the roar of a drunken road crew.
Sonny recoils, shocked by Kylie’s brutality, but the confusion in his eyes clears way when she sneers, “It wasn’t Slater behind the curtain, was it?”
Sonny shrugs, acting innocent. It’s a pity for him Kylie wasn’t born last week. “Who did you use to fool me into believing it was Slater?”
Sonny’s throat works hard to swallow but he remains as quiet as a church mouse. It’s a shame his minions didn’t understand his vow of silence was meant to extend to them.
“That was me.” Mark’s slur exposes the level of his intoxication.
“Shut up!” Sonny glares at Mark like he’s seconds from dissecting his nuts via his throat.
“What?” Mark sounds confused. “You told me to get Slater’s boots out of his dressing room, then you found that hot groupie, remember?”
When his eyes gloss over like he’s recalling a fond memory, my jaw tenses. I’m not pissed he got a blowjob from a groupie—that’s a perk of the entertainment industry—it’s the fact Sonny set me up, no doubt in the hope it would have Kylie warming his sheets.
As Kylie slaps Sonny again, hard enough to leave a mark, I storm toward him, ready to unleash my own form of punishment. Just as I grab the scruff of his shirt, Kylie slips between us, suspending my fist midair. “I’ve handled it.”
Her eyes dance between mine. They’re fired by a unique mix of panic and happiness. I know where her panic resides from—I’m seconds from beating the living shit out of Sonny—but I’m stumped by her gleeful glint. I honestly can’t tell if she’s happy she taught Sonny a lesson or because Mark’s confession proves I haven’t hadanycontact withanygroupies since she arrived back in the picture. I guess it doesn’t really matter. Either way, I love the brightness her eyes hold.
After curling one hand over my fist sitting mere inches from Sonny’s cheek, she flattens her other one over my heart. “I think it’s time for us to cross number one hundred fifty-three off my list, don’t you agree?”
My cock stiffens when the worry in her eyes switches to hunger. She’s panting so hard, her breasts thrust up and down with every breath she takes, and her cheeks are flushed, exposing her arousal. She’s the hottest I’ve ever seen her.
