AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Everything.
I’ve watched my husband play music almost daily since we got married. He’s always fiddling around on his guitar or scribbling lyrics in a journal. Usually about me.
But this, this is different. Even from two dozen feet away, I can see Scott is covered in sweat. He used to go shirtless during a lot of his shows, but I asked him to keep his shirt on. He didn’t even question it. Just agreed. Just like I no longer post pictures of myself in skimpy bikinis.
As a result, his once grey shirt looks almost black with the amount of perspiration soaking it. I should probably find it gross, but I don’t.
It’s hot.
So. Fucking. Hot.
I shift back and forth on my feet, rubbing my thighs together and suddenly hating the leather leggings I wore tonight. They’re too constricting with all this lust pulsing through me. I should have worn a skirt or something, so I could get some air circulation to my overheating lady bits. But I wanted to look the part of a heavy metal God’s hot wife. So, leather leggings, ankle booties, and a torn Malfeesance shirt it is. And, yeah, I do look hot as hell.
Scott followed through on his promise to get me a bodyguard. Joe stands behind me about five feet, sunglasses on despite being backstage at a concert in the middle of the night. He’s kinda old but still attractive. There was even a picture of him on some blog talking about what a daddy he was. Whatever the dude literally never talks. But he does scare away all the riff-raff which likes to sniff around.
But right now, all I can think about is how we’ll ditch Joe the second Scott gets off stage. Because I need him. Like, stomp my foot, throw a hissy fit for some attention right this second if he doesn’t get off that damn stage and service me, neeeeed.
As if he can hear my thoughts, Scott whips around while he shreds his guitar. He winks at me, finishes his solo, then swings the ax behind his back and pulls the bottom of his shirt up to wipe at the sweat on his face. In the process, he flashes me, and only me, a bit of his washboard abs.
Fuuuuuuck.
I swear to Gucci this encore is going on much longer than necessary. I think he’s purposely trying to torture me.
Finally, after what feels like forever, the guys clasp hands at the front of the stage a take a bow, throwing guitar picks and drum sticks out to the audience. Dudes in the front row straight pummel each other to get to those little souvenirs. As the band all walk off stage, I can’t take the pressure building in my belly anymore and run three steps toward Scott, leaping onto himlike a damn spider monkey and latching on with ankles locked behind his back.
“Guys, I haven’t said this in years, but the dressing room is mine tonight. Party somewhere else.” Geoff groans while Liam and Brandt laugh at whatever inside joke that was, but I don’t give a shit, because Scott is purposefully stalking back to the small room the guys had gotten ready in earlier.
The second we breach the threshold, Scott whirls around and slams the door shut, pushing my back against the cold metal as he wages an all-out war on my neck. “Hottest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced looking backstage and seeing my motherfucking wife standing there cheering for me.”
“Really? That stadium had a higher population than some towns, all screaming for you, and it was me making you hot?” Fuck he smells good. Like spice and testosterone and lust and every manly thing in the world.
“I only heard you. Through a whole crowd, I could pick out your screams. They’re all I give a damn about in this world.” Scott grips my ripped-up T-shirt and tears it down the middle. The now completely shredded fabric falls away to reveal my naked breasts.
This never gets old. Scott’s eyes on me, the hunger that lives there every time he looks at me. The heat that covers my skin at his touch. The absolute maddening need that overtakes my senses when we’re pressed this close but not yet joined. A year later, and it is still as awe-inspiring as those first weeks and months together when I tried to deny the truth of our pull to one another.
“Tell me you liked watching me play. Tell me it got you wet.” He rocks his hard cock, cloaked in tight leather pants that make me pant, against my core. “When I peel these sexy as hell leggings off, am I going to find you sopping for what only I can give you?”
“I mean, you were okay. Is it really necessary to play that loud though?” It’s all lies. Sure, when I met Scott, I wasn’t exactly a metalhead. But watching him work, seeing the artistry he puts into his music, I’ve become a fan of not only his but the whole genre. But I still love my Britney, too.
A wicked smile stretches across Scott’s face. “Ahhh, there’s the brat I know and love.” Dropping me to my feet, Scott spins me around the room until I’m bent over one of the tables with a mirror hanging over. The metal cools my heated breasts, and I gasp at the abrupt temperature change.
“Think you can lie to me like that without paying for it?”
I’m so turned on, my clit seems to have developed its own pulse. “Who’s lying? Your music’s just a bunch of screaming and banging.” Lies. All lies. But, fuck, do I love what comes after I tell them.
Scott laughs and shakes his head. “I’ll show you banging.”
Before the laugh can escape my throat, Scott pulls back his hand and cracks a slap across my ass. The thin leather pants I’m wearing do nothing to soften the blow. The sting fades all too quickly, and I want more. I want his palm against my bare flesh.
Once again reading my mind, Scott rolls the tight leggings down to my knees and leaves them there. I can barely move my legs because the damn things are so tight. Another slap fills the room as he smacks my other ass cheek.
“Let’s find out the truth, shall we?” He runs his fingers up from where my leggings bind my knees, up my inner thigh, and slides them over my slit, which is indeed soaking wet. “My, my, my. Is all this cream from watching your husband play? Or is it thanks to my rough handling of you?”
The gentle slip of his fingertips over my throbbing clit has me teetering on the edge. He keeps his touch light, teasing, not giving the pressure he knows I need. “All of it. Oh god, watchingyou out there made me hot. Tossing me around and slapping my ass does too.”
“Good girl.” Those two little words cast a special magic on me and everything goes gooey and warm inside my chest. Scott kisses my shoulder then pulls back. I watch in the mirror as he lazily walks over to the leather couch placed against one wall and sits down, spreading his legs in that way men do that annoys you on public transportation but makes you drool in basically every other instance. “I gave you a show. Now it’s your turn.”
God damn, that is hot. The space between my legs grows wetter by the second. I need his cock inside me, like immediately. Slowly, I turn around and prop my naked ass on the vanity top. He wants a show? I’ll give him a show.
