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Our gazes lock, a secret smile curving his lips. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and he loves every second of it. My clit has a pulse, and it matches the rhythm of the baseline.
I’m left breathless, my heart racing. If I were a different kind of girl, differently shaped in mind and body, he might actually want me. But I’m not and I know he doesn’t. He’s playing a part. I’m playing mine.
I won’t be throwing my panties on the stage. There’s hardly room for any more up there anyway.
Griffin stands, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He winks at me before turning to the crowd and unleashing the final chorus.
The stage goes dark, Griffin disappearing into the shadows. My heart clenches at the loss. But hey, maybe I’ll glimpse him backstage.
“They are so hot. I’m so horny, I’m going to fuck all of them if I can,” Trish says, grabbing my hand and heading toward the VIP area.
Trisha and I are obviously very different.
She is going to ditch me backstage. I know she is. She used to do the same kind of thing in high school at the few parties I attended. I’ve never been mad about it. She’s a free spirit and I envy her as much as I don’t understand her.
We make our way through the throng of people. It’s forever before we’re flashing our backstage passes at the bouncer guarding the restricted area entrance.
He steps aside, and we slip through. The din of the crowd, some still chanting, fading behind us.
Backstage is a maze of corridors and rooms, but we follow the sound of laughter and music. Stepping through an open doorway, I stop short, heat flooding my cheeks.
Half-naked groupies drape themselves over various band members, some engaged in explicit acts that leave little to theimagination. The air is thick with the scent of weed and sex, bodies writhing and grinding to a primal beat.
Holy cow. The show hasn’t even been over for thirty minutes yet. Mayhem happens fast, I guess.
Panic rises in my chest, the reality of my situation hitting me. I’m in over my head, in a place I don’t belong. I’m just a preschool teacher from the suburbs, not a wild rock star’s conquest. What if one of the band tries to talk to me? Or touch me? What would I do?
I turn to leave, eager to escape this orgy and the piercing disappointment settling in my gut. I’ll get a rideshare home.
“Lost, little dove?” A gravelly voice stops me in my tracks, a shiver running down my spine.
I know that voice.
Summoning my courage, I turn. And there he is, leaning against a wall, arms crossed over his chest.
Griffin Grimm in all his tattooed glory, crystal blue eyes staring into my soul.
Chapter Two
Griffin
The roar of the crowd still rumbles through the walls, their screams echoing in my ears long after leaving the stage. Backstage is its own kind of chaos—half-naked groupies, roadies shouting over the din as they break down the set, music blasting so loud it vibrates in my chest.
But in the middle of all this madness is a single point of stillness. She stands by the exit, pale hands clutching her purse as she takes in the scene with wide, frightened eyes. So out of place here in her modest dress and cardigan, a rose trembling in a sea of thorns.
The beast within stirs, drawn to her innocence, salivating at the thought of sullying it, my heartbeat quickening with every step.
And to think I was bored only moments ago.
I push off the wall and she startles, watching me very intently as I get closer. I lean down and growl in her ear, “Aren’t you a long way from Sunday school?”
Her cheeks flush the deepest crimson. She squeaks, “I’m waiting for my friend. She wanted to meet the band.”
“I’ve been waiting for you,” I purr, brushing a loose tendril of hair from her face.
“You have?” The words come out a breathy whisper.
“A pretty little thing like you?” My knuckles glide down her cheek in a feather-light caress. Her skin is so soft. “How could I not notice you out there, singing along to every word?”
