Page 2 of Edge

“Like Isaid—can’t wait,” he grumbled as he lifted his rug and looked for aloose floorboard. That would be the best place.

Soon he’d be able leaveRoger behind for good.

CHAPTER ONE

Seven yearslater

Jory

Ramsay H issuch a gentleman. He’s one of the nicest guys in the musicbusiness. And pretty on the eyes too. His long, curly hair isperfect to grip when he sucks my cock. And what he can do with hisfingers—man, there’s heaven right there. – 10 Feb 2018

Leaning backagainst the wall of the nightclub, all Jory saw through half-closedeyes were strobe lights and the flitting images of ravershighlighted in the rainbow laser streaks flashing across the dancefloor. His nostrils flared at the familiar scent of weed and sex,mixed with the gin-soaked breath of the man currently with hishands down Jory’s pants. Hurry the fuckup. I haven’t got all night. Thedick-stroking intensified and Jory grunted as the man tried to kisshim, his lips eager and wet.

“No kissing,”Jory muttered as he turned his face away. “You’re here to get meoff, nothing else.”

“Oh, come on,”the dark-haired hottie whined—Jory thought his name was Brad, hewasn’t sure—“let me taste you at least. Give a man a littleencouragement.” His fingers tightened around Jory’s dick and heclosed his eyes as pleasure took him.

He shook his head. “Nofucking kissing,” he growled, pushing his dick deeper into Brad’stight hands. The man was skilled, and Jory was close to coming. “Ifyou can’t handle it, fuck off.”

“Wanking rockstars,” Brad mumbled as he buried his face in Jory’s neck. “Alwaysthink you’re better than everyone else.”

Jory ignored him—itwasn’t the first time he’d had the complaint—and pushed his dickharder into Brad’s greedy grasp.

It took another minute ofheavy breathing before few small sounds of pleasure snuck out frombetween Jory’s tight lips and he was coming, his jizz spurting fromhis sensitive cock and soaking Brad’s frenzied hands. The dude waspanting, his eyes squeezed shut, and his lips were wet with saliva.Jory’s dick was too sensitive and he pulled away.

Brad moaned in protest.“Get me off,” he demanded as he took Jory’s hand and thrust it intohis tight leather trousers. “Don’t leave me hanging, you bastard.”He opened his eyes. “You can even suck me off if youwant.”

Jory rolled his eyes.“Not on the cards tonight. There are too many people.” He wasn’t aprude, but he drew the line at going down on a bloke in a crowd,even if they couldn’t see him. The club might be classified as a“safe place” what with the CCTV cameras and the number of bouncersaround keeping a wary eye on troublemakers, but there was always awanker with a phone camera willing to take the risk. And the CCTV,which could be bought for a price by some tabloid. The last thinghe needed was being caught sucking a man’s dick and having itplastered all over the papers.

His fingers curled aroundBrad’s hard prick—hey, the guy deserved his orgasm—and brought Bradoff with quick, tight strokes. Soon he felt the rush of the otherman’s come spill onto his fingers, and he let go.

Brad leaned back againstthe wall with glazed eyes. “Wow, good one,” he mumbled. “You havestrong hands, dude.”

Jory wiped hishand his jeans—he’d put them in the wash when he got home—andshrugged. “My guitar-playing hand. I’m not sure there’s anycorrelation.” Though it was an interesting thought.Does playing guitar make me give better handjobs? He’d Google it when he got home. He’deven leave it in his search history to piss off Roger.

At the thought of the manhe lived with again, not by choice, Jory’s good mood evaporated,and he zipped himself up. Time to get thoroughly rat-faced, and gohome smelling of sex, booze, and, potentially, vomit. That’d screwwith Roger’s head as well. Jory smiled to himself insatisfaction.

He messedwith me when I was growing up, now it’s payback time.

Brad gave a lazy stretchand finished buttoning up his fancy Levi’s. “That smile for me,handsome? I admit, we make a good couple. Fancy having another beerthen maybe we can go back to my place for a proper workout? I cantake a better look at all your gorgeous tats.”

Jory didn’tanswer. He was too busy listening to the beat of the music, lovingthe melody and the way the lyricist used the notes to bolster thewords. I might try putting somethingsimilar in one of the songs I’m having troublewith. “Moth to a Flame” was turning out tobe a real bitch of a creation.

He shook hishead. “Nah, mate, I’m not one for repeats.” Which was a lie,because honestly, with the right man, he could be. Someone tocuddle up to in bed and laugh with when John Cleese was beingnon-PC in Fawlty Towers. “But thanks for the action.”

He moved away, hoping tofind Bernard, his drummer, and have another drink. Over in the farcorner, he locked glances with his occasional bodyguard, and theband’s driver, Dumont Benoir, who, despite his French name, didn’thave a bit of French in him. Jory averted his gaze quickly. Nodoubt Dumont would roll his eyes long-sufferingly, as he did, andlight up a cigarette before turning to watch the crowd once againwith the appearance of sheer boredom. The nonchalant persona hid adangerous man, and Jory had seen him pick up a seventeen-stone manand throw him through a plate-glass window.

Jory wasn’t quite BonJovi famous yet, but he was a celebrity, and his agent/managerSooty Marcus would pitch a fit if he didn’t take precautionsagainst unscrupulous paparazzi and rabid fans while out partying orin public. Roger would have a canary, believing his meal ticket hadto be protected at all costs in public.

One of the reasons Joryloved Boulevard 53 was because the club respected his privacy andkept a sharp eye out on potential celebrity stalkers andheadline-hungry reporters. It was also a place he could pick upquick fucks with no strings and leave them when he wasdone.

A waiter passed by with atray of drinks, and Jory grabbed one. The waiter continued on,unaware it was missing. Even if he’d noticed, Jory would havegotten away with it here. His status in Manchester had risen to“legendary,” and he played up to it when the shit hit thefan.

He slammed the whiskydown in one shot, fobbed off the hangers-on, and smiled at the cutetwinks trying to get into his pants. He waved drunkenly at somegroupies who followed Stone Edge around and would fuck any one ofthem they could.

“Not tonight,”he sang as he staggered through the crowd. “Man on a mission. Bestmove out of the way.” He managed to grab another drink from anunsuspecting waiter and downed it in one gulp. A few minutes later,his head was spinning, and he knew he’d have to sit down before hefell. Somehow, he’d managed to ditch Dumont—he peered aroundblearily but didn’t see him or Bernie—and the crowds had dispersed.Had everyone gone home?

Seeing a door to hisleft, he pushed it open and fell inside. He had the presence ofmind to close the door and then sank thankfully onto a ratty couchof dubious provenance. The room was dark with only a glimmer oflight from a high window.