Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) (42 page)

Tears prick my eyes. Anger tightens my chest.

He strums the opening chords, and they couldn’t sound more perfect. Not many people can do Hendrix justice, but Dylan plays the Strat with expert fingers, holding his own. The moment Jesse hits the drums, I force my lids closed in a pathetic attempt to steel myself for Dylan's voice. That raspy, deep voice will break me.

And it does. The instant the first verse passes his lips, I swallow back a sob bubbling up from my lungs.

I don't want to look at him, but I can't help myself.

He's baring his soul in front of this crowd. I hate it. I hate that he's taken something that is ours, something that should be private, and let the world in on our secret. I feel like a scab has been ripped off of my heart. I'm too raw, too bared. My trembling arms wrap around themselves, trying to shield this pain.

I hate that he sounds so perfect. The emotion lacing his vocal chords has turned this into more than just a cover. This is something else, something powerful. It's one of the best versions I've ever heard. And it's too much. It's way too much.

The song is a little over two minutes, but I swear he's been up there for an eternity.

He
sings the last words, telling Little Wing to fly on. Shadowed eyes meet mine. They're a harsh mirror, reflecting my emotions. His pain. My pain. They suffocate. Hot tears flow down my cheeks. I swipe them away, but it’s fruitless.

Keeping my head down, I peer over at Jamie. He's busy clapping and chatting with Nigel. I whisper into his ear, telling him I forgot to do something, and I'll meet him backstage after the show.

Before he can see my tears or ask questions, I’m pushing past the people, moving away from the stage. I nearly trip over my own feet, my legs moving too fast towards the back of the venue. I'm taking the ass backwards way, but I don't care.

By the time I make it outside, I'm sobbing. People stare, but I don't care about that, either. My mind is absorbed with getting somewhere discreet where I can continue to break down in private. I’ve already lost the battle. Tears and hiccupping breaths pour out in unpredictable waves as I walk around the venue and towards the back entrance. I flash my VIP pass for security, and all three men guarding the doors flash pitying looks of concern.

Once I'm in the backstage area, I push through the door into the dressing room the manager of The Showbox was nice enough to let me use tonight. I grab a half-empty bottle of vodka and an opened two-liter of Sprite from a table, and shut myself into the private bathroom. I just want to be numb. I don’t want to feel this anymore. Three shots of vodka chased with flat soda are down my throat in record time.

I stare at myself in the mirror. Wavy locks are a mess. Black mascara shadows my eyes.
So much for being waterproof.
I shake my head and curse the makeup company who plastered my mascara with lies. The only thing that’s remained intact is the red lipstick covering my lips.

How can I face anyone like this?
My fingers brace the sink as I focus on slow, deep breaths. I stay like this for God knows how long, eyes shut, hands white-knuckling the sink.

The door slams open, startling me.

Dylan's eyes meet mine in the mirror. He shuts the door and locks it. His gaze grips mine, and then he catches sight of the bottles of vodka and Sprite on the floor. “Start without me?” he asks.

My body trembles. “What are you doing in here?”

“You’re in here,” he says. Want and need and anger etch his face. His hair is a disheveled mess, making it obvious he's probably run his fingers through it a thousand times.

And I’m mad. I’m so fucking mad, yet I've never wanted him more. I want to feel his mouth on me, growling into my neck. I want to kiss him, actually
feel
his lips against mine. It’s been too long since I’ve tasted those lips, that mouth. It’s been too long since I’ve felt his body pressed against me.

God, I want him more than I've ever wanted anything.

“You need to leave,” I demand, but my voice is too shaky to back it up.

“Leaving is not what I need to be doing right now.” His voice dips, sharp like a knife, and deep enough to cut through all of my lies.

I grip the sink again, bracing myself as he walks towards me.

“You and I both know that me leaving this room isn't what we need.” Dylan stands behind me, not touching, but I feel the heat of his body wrapping around me.

“People are going to wonder why you're not out there.” They’re probably wondering right now. He should be chatting with fans and signing autographs, not holed up in some backstage bathroom with me.

“I don't give a fuck.” His gaze is equal parts heat and pissed off. My skin burns underneath it.

“Why did you do that?” I shut my eyes. If I keep looking at him, seeing my desire reflecting in his eyes, I won't be able to hold back. “Why did you say all of that on stage and then sing that song? You know what that song means to me…
to us
.” I'm trying to stay mad at him, trying not to give in to this suffocating desire.

Large hands grip my waist. Warm lips suck at the sweet spot behind my ear, whispering hotly. “Because you needed to be reminded. You need to remember what makes us so right. The minute I saw you sitting on that train, I thought you were every fantasy I’d ever had come to reality. I couldn't take my eyes off you. Your long hair, full lips…” He pauses, thumb reaching up and brushing across my bottom lip. “And eyes that I swear could see right through me. You were so fucking beautiful, Brooke. You're still the most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes on.” His mouth moves to my neck, kissing and sucking at my skin, hard enough to mark me.

I moan in response.

He presses into me, his body hard and ready. “And then I got to know you. Spontaneous. Free-spirited. The biggest goddamn heart. And when we were together, the second I was inside you, you turned into this wild, reckless girl, giving me everything she had.” His fingers slide down my thighs and under my dress. “That's when you let all the lies, all the bullshit holding you back, go. That's when you're Little Wing. Painfully beautiful, giving yourself to me, making me fall in love with you, and then taking it away too quickly. I want more, Brooke. God, I
need
more. I need
everything
.”

My eyes open at the hoarse tone in his beautiful voice.

He grips the material of my dress, pulling it above my waist. His mouth is on my neck again. And I'm lost to the feral attraction that pulses between us. It ebbs and flows and fills every one of my senses until I'm drenched in him.

Dylan turns my body towards his, and now, it's his hands’ turn to grip the sink, blocking me in. Green eyes stare at my lips, then at my eyes, and then at my lips again.

What is it about him that makes me lose all rational thought? When it comes to Dylan, I'm a lost fucking cause.

I prove that point when I crush my mouth to his. He groans against my lips, hand fisting my hair. He kisses me like he’s never kissed me before. All of this time I’ve refused him this, and now I can feel the anger, the need, the passion pouring from his lips to mine.

My hands clutch his shoulders. Legs wrap around his waist. His hands cup my ass, holding me to him. I'm lost in a sea of sensation, drowning in his presence. His touch, his smell, his tongue dancing erotically with mine…All of it consumes me.

The top of my dress is pushed down, freeing my breasts. His mouth latches on to a pert nipple, sucking and licking hard enough to spur moans from my lips. “Tell me you want me,” he says against my skin.

“Oh god, yes…yes…”
Shaking hands work at his jeans until he’s freed for my wanting gaze. I slide my hand around his hardened cock, stroking him roughly. There's nothing gentle about us right now. We're lips and tongues and incomprehensible words laced with desperate hands and heated eyes.

Two long fingers slip inside my panties, running along my sex, feeling my arousal.
“Bloody hell, you're so ready, Brooke. So fucking ready.” He growls into my neck. His hand grips my thigh again, hitching it above his hip. My dress is bunched around my waist, exposing me.

“I want you,” I whisper.

He rips,
yes rips,
my panties off my body and thrusts inside of me. Large hands cup my ass as he pounds into me at a furious rhythm. My head falls back against the mirror, eyes heavy lidded. I grab a handful of his t-shirt, pulling him to me.

Deeper,
I think.
I want you so deep that I won't know where you end and I begin.

A soft chuckle escapes his throat. I flush from the idea that whatever is running through my mind is also running straight past my lips.

His mouth covers mine, kissing me deeply. His tongue moves against mine, mimicking the way our bodies are desperately connecting.

“Don’t get shy now, love,” he says against my lips. “Give me all of that wildness I love so much.” He lifts me off the sink, moving us.

My back is pressed against the door, legs still wrapped around his waist. I can see our reflection in the mirror. His jeans hang loosely from his hips. His ass moves with each thrust as he slides in and out of me. His neck strains tighter with each moan that spills from my lips.

I’ve never been so turned on in my life.

“Are you watching us?” His eyes are on mine again, pulling my gaze to his. “See how much I need you? How much I want you? The way my body is desperate for yours?”

The sounds of people milling about in the band’s backstage room echo against the door. I think I can make out Jesse and Alex talking with Jamie.

They are a mere fifteen feet from us, but might as well be living on another planet in another galaxy. I’m too lost to care. I know I should care, I should pull myself away from Dylan and make a getaway, but I can’t. My world is reduced to the place where he fills me, where the hot skin of his hips presses against my thighs, where he rubs firmly against my clit with each hard stroke.

“Don’t even think about asking me to stop, Brooke.” His warm breath washes over my ear.

Voices move closer to the door, and panic starts to pull me from my trance.

Dylan’s hips swivel against my thighs, pushing him deep, so deliciously deep.

And just like that I’m back in the trance. Our mouths fall open, lips pressing against each other’s, but not actively kissing. The feel of him consuming me so intensely pulls desperation into my voice. “Don’t stop. Don’t. Ever Stop.”

“Yes. Fuck
yes
. I’m never stopping. You’re mine, Brooke.
Mine
. Only I get you like this.” The ferocity of his words fuels my burning need. What started out as a small fire has now ignited into something too uncontrollable to slow down.

The room grows quiet again. A door shuts in the distance.

I should be happy, relieved, that no one found us in here like this, but I still don’t care. I only care about Dylan staying inside of me for eternity. I only want him—his body moving against mine, his lips on my neck, his hands touching me everywhere.

Neither of us has the power to form words.

My back scrapes against the door. Sharp nails scrape down his t-shirt, catching on the cotton fabric. The space between us fills with quiet sounds of urging and praise.

The only words filling my brain are
yes
and
fuck
and
harder
and
Dylan
.

My teeth bite at his neck as shaking hands grip his shoulders. I’m afraid I’m going to fall over some proverbial edge that I won’t come back from. A place where no one else but Dylan can satisfy my needs and make me feel this good.

“God, Brooke, you’re beautiful.” He leans back, staring down. “I can’t stop watching myself sliding inside of you.
Fuck.
I can’t stop staring at your perfect skin…I can see how wet you are. My cock is soaked with your come.”

The light of the bathroom filters between us, and I follow his eyes. Slick and hard and
so big
, pressing into me with each pass. He starts to move faster, more urgent, and the most delicious grunts pass his lips.

If someone were on the other side of the door, there would be no question what was going on in this bathroom. My skin flushes hotter at the thought, my eyes latching onto our reflection in the mirror. The throbbing sensation at my core grows stronger at the idea of someone hearing us, watching us. It’s a fucked up thing to be turned on about, but I want everyone to know that this man belongs to me. I’m tired of sitting back and watching women like Chrissy throw themselves at him, thinking they have a shot at making him theirs.
You belong to me. You’re mine.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” he says. I don’t know if it’s in response to the feeling of this, or if I actually said my thoughts out loud again.

My head falls back against the door, and I start to feel it.
Really feel it
. Starting in my belly, it builds with each deep thrust. It peaks, reaching a climax, until I’m pushed over the edge, crying out. My voice echoes loudly inside the small bathroom, and probably carries out into the adjoining room. If anyone is in there, they can definitely hear me.

“Bloody hell.” He’s watching my face, watching me fall apart at the seams. Dylan’s hips pound into me harder. Their movement is erratic, jagged, and rough. There is no perfect rhythm; he is merely racing towards his own release, just as desperate as I am to
feel this good
.

His lips latch onto the skin of my neck, sucking hard. I have no doubt he’s left a mark. I want him to bruise me in other places.
Bruise me,
I scream inside of my head. I want him to leave his mark outside and inside of my body. I want to wake up tomorrow with a reminder of him.

He grunts into my skin, releasing himself inside of me.

Dylan stills, his body pressing heavily into mine. His lips are still against my neck, now softly kissing at my skin. “I love you, Brooke,” he whispers.

I love you.
Simple as that. He loves me. Even after everything I’ve put him through, he still loves me. My heart clogs my throat as I stare at our reflection in the mirror. Dylan’s head nuzzled into my neck, the muscles of his shoulders bulging as he holds me tight to his chest.