Seductive Chaos (Bad Rep #3) (15 page)

But then Cole opened his mouth and I stopped worrying about the boys’ drama and allowed myself to get lost in the show.

“I’m here to own you, bitches!” Cole purred, his voice a dark promise. He growled again, Jordan picking up the beat on his drums. Garrett slid his fingers along the strings, making them scream.

“And you’re going to let me. . .because you fucking want it! You’ll fucking love it!” The girls started going crazy and I was getting jostled from behind as a wave of arms and hair and perfume pressed forward, trying to get closer to the man who had us enthralled.

“Can I have you?” he screamed into the crowd and in one voice we all screamed back.

“YES!”

Then the music erupted and I forgot how much the man standing above me infuriated and confused me. I simply became like everyone else. I worshipped him. I desired him.

I wanted him to own me.

Cole curled his hands around the microphone and leaned out toward the writhing mass. Garrett’s head was down, his blonde hair covering his face. His arms taut as he played like he had just made a deal with the devil. Mitch’s face was now tilted toward the ceiling, his eyes closed as if lost. And Jordan was a machine, pounding the drums in an exhausting rhythm.

But we were all waiting for the magic. For Cole to start singing. And when he did I knew, without a doubt, it was something special. I understood why the record label was pushing him forward. Why they were trying to market him above the other guys. Mitch, Garrett, and Jordan were amazing. They were talented and without them, the band wouldn’t exist.

But Cole was something else entirely. He was sex. He was destruction. He was raw and desperate.

My god, he was fantastic!

Festering and bleeding I’m dying in vain

Spoiled and lost, my soul black and stained

You despise, you destroy, you maim, you control,

I hate you for the life you claimed and you stole.

Filth and defile

Loathe and revile

You dig inside and

Kiss my rotten smile.

I murder your memory,

slash it away

I rip your face from my mind,

Whatever it takes.

The blurred lines of the past,

Eat away at the truth,

Chase me, claim me,

Tighten the noose.

Filth and defile,

Hate without guile,

You pull out my insides,

And break my broken smile.

I want your death,

I want your pain,

I want to be bound

I want your chains.

Filth and defile,

I drown in denial,

You rip me apart

You kill me with a smile.

Kill me with a smile. . .

Cole ended on a long, tortured wail that made my insides shiver. This was one of Garrett’s more morbid songs. Thank god he was with Riley now. His new stuff was a lot less scary.

Being at a Generation Rejects show was an experience unlike any other. And despite the tension that seemed to echo from the stage, it was electric. It was frantic. It could be consuming.

And I wanted to enjoy it. And I would have if not for the sea of screaming, and sometimes shirtless women just waiting to become the object of my annoyance and desire’s new plaything.

I stared up at the man making love to the crowd from the stage and wished I could stop craving him. Stop wanting him with every fiber of my being. But it was like asking me to stop watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta. There were some things out of my control.

Then Cole looked down at me, his eyes meeting mine and he winked. His smile lighting up his face in self-satisfied glory. When he looked at me like that, it was as though he were seeing
only
me. And that I was the girl he wanted out of anyone he could be with.

I was enough.

I hated him for these glimmers of tenderness that made keeping emotional distance downright impossible. It was hard to hate the man when you loved the heart.

Shit, what was I thinking?

I winked back; shaking my hips a bit in the way I knew drove Cole wild and he widened his eyes and pointed at me, singling me out.

It felt good. It made me feel special.

The girl beside me started to squeal loudly in my ear. As if Cole’s sex-drenched smile, as if his attention, were for her.

Sad, delusional girl.

My face started to redden and my fingers turned into claws. The rage-fueled she-beast was waking from her slumber. The possessive, territorial dragon was ready to take this chick out.

I leaned back and elbowed the twit sharply in the gut, digging my bone in with enough strength to make her gasp. Then I body checked her out of my way, using my ample ass as leverage.

She fell on her butt with a loud screech. I looked down at her with a smile, just as self-satisfied as Cole’s had ever been. I wiggled my fingers in her direction and she glared at me, though with no retaliation.

Maysie looped her arm around my waist and pulled me farther to the side and away from the throng of people.

“I’m not wearing the proper clothing for a bar brawl. So watch it,” she warned. I shrugged, turning my attention back to the boys on stage.

The rest of the show passed without further incident. As soon as The Rejects were finished, the house music came on while they quickly broke down their equipment. I drank a few more beers, enjoying the nice alcoholic haze that had descended.

Cole was at my side soon enough.

“You ready to get out of here?” he whispered in my ear, brushing my hair off my neck and putting his lips over my steady pulse.

“You don’t want to stay and watch Primal Terror?” I asked, swaying slightly from the booze and from Cole’s touch. I wanted to ask him about the odd tension I sensed between him and his bandmates. I wanted to know why even now as he pawed at me desperately, there seemed to be sadness just below the surface.

But I was mildly drunk and incredibly horny.

I looked over Cole’s shoulder and smirked at the disappointed groupies hanging around hoping to swoop in and steal him away.

Not tonight, ladies.

This time, he was all mine.

I forgot about my questions and concerns. I forgot about all the reasons I shouldn’t be doing this at all. I caved to the hedonistic rush that only Cole could provide.

He ran his tongue along the base of my throat, tasting me. I was still high from his performance and my body buzzed in anticipation.

This is, after all, what I came down here for, right?

“I want you,
now
,” he breathed hard and heavy.

“Then let’s go,” I murmured, consequences and lingering emotions be damned.

“I
can’t open my eyes! Oh my god! What did you put on my face?” Vivian screamed, wiping at her skin.

Shit. This was not going how I planned.

Okay, so when I found out Vivian was coming down to Raleigh, I got a little excited. Believe it or not, the most action I had experienced since we were last together in Texas was with my hand.

And my palm desperately needed a break.

I had all sorts of debauchery planned. My sex-drive was going thermal nuclear. So maybe I took it a step too far. Maybe I got a little
too
creative.

“Why can’t I open my eyes, Cole?” Vivian asked, panicking.

I started trying to scoop heavy, warm, slowly solidifying liquid off her face but the sticky stuff wouldn’t budge.

“What is this stuff?” Vivian demanded, swatting my hands away.

I was still in my boxers and Vivian was only in a hot pair of black lace panties. My erection, which had been large and in charge only moments before, was losing its steam.

And things had been going so well too.

We’d barely gotten out of the bar without mauling each other. Vivian practically deep throated my tongue on the cab ride back to the hotel. The elevator ride up to my room had been just this side of indecent. The elderly couple sharing the lift had gotten more than an eyeful of her fantastic backside.

It was awesome!

When we got to the room we had slowed it down a notch and taken our time, which was unusual for us.

We didn’t take our time. We didn’t linger. We were all about going full throttle to the finish line.

Not tonight.

Tonight I wanted it to be special. I wanted to share things with her. I wanted to indulge in some fantasies, goddamn it!

Unfortunately for me, I had learned one very important lesson...Google was
not
my friend.

“It’s honey,” I admitted, watching her flail about, thick stringy globs rolling down her face and smearing the pillow.

“Honey? Are you kidding me?” Vivian yelled. And I didn’t blame her. The whole thing was seriously stupid.

But it had seemed like such a great idea at the time.

“It’s supposed to be an aphrodisiac,” I muttered, trying to help her again. I grabbed the end of the blanket and started wiping her face. Her eyelids appeared to be fused together.

“If you
eat
it dumbass! Not wear it! What the hell were you thinking? You put this shit on. My. Face!” Vivian rolled off the bed and landed with a thud on the ground. She got unsteadily to her feet and started waving her hands in front of her, shuffling about hesitantly.

“Watch out for the. . .” I began just as she rammed her knees into the bedside table.

Vivian snarled at me.

“Do you want any help?” I asked, making sure to stay out of kicking range.

“No! You’ve done enough for one night!” she huffed, walking into a coat rack and knocking it to the floor.

“Are you sure?” I called out, knowing I should probably help her anyway. But she looked like some sort of sludge monster. And her snarling and growling was freaking me out. I figured if I had any sort of attachment to my appendages, I should stay the hell out of her way.

My poor dick had deflated anti-climatically. I nudged it through my boxers, where it flopped pathetically.

So much for my night of pussy-filled fun. It seemed the gods were against me. I had become the king of masturbation during the last few weeks, forgoing any and all female attention that wasn’t Vivian-scary-honey-monster-Baily.

And when I finally had the only woman my poor, neglected penis seemed to want in my arms, I fucked it up by literally blinding her with condiments.

I licked the stickiness from my fingers and wondered what the likelihood would be for me getting some action if I went into the bathroom with her.

“You fucking asshole!” Vivian hollered from behind the closed door.

Hmm, I’m thinking slim to none.

I pulled the ruined sheets off the bed and called housekeeping to have them bring up some more.

I tugged on my jeans and sat down on the couch, putting my feet up on the small coffee table. Housekeeping showed a few minutes later and remade the bed. I gave the young, Hispanic girl my sexiest grin and she was too flustered to take note of the strange, sticky substance covering the sheets.

I could hear the shower going and I started to get impatient. After housekeeping had left, I pulled on the elastic waistband of my boxers and looked down at my dismally limp cock.

“Sorry, buddy,” I intoned sadly.

I had officially given up on any plans for a night of no-holds-barred monkey lovin’ and decided to make do with some porn. Because Deep Inside Misty Rain never let me down.

I was mid-wank when a pillow bounced off the side of my head, ruining my flow.

“I’m in danger of losing my eyesight and all you can do is rub one out? Are you kidding me?” Vivian stood over me wrapped in a robe, her hair wet and tangled around her shoulders, her face scrubbed red. And her eyes were open. Frighteningly so.

“What else was I supposed to do?” I shrugged and turned my attention back to good ole Misty.

Vivian threw another pillow and this time I had to accept defeat. I tucked my junk away and promised the poor fellow extra care and attention some other time.

“I’m glad you take me so seriously,” she fumed and I knew some careful maneuvering was going to be required here.

Or I could just rile her up even more.

“It was fucking funny, Viv. Stop throwing such a bitch fit about it,” I said, getting to my feet and grabbing a T-shirt off the floor and pulled it down over my head.

I was getting a tad cranky. And the screaming and aggressive pillow throwing wasn’t helping matters. I rubbed at my temples feeling a headache coming on. I needed a drink.

I went to the mini-fridge and pulled out the so tiny it should be illegal bottle of whisky and quickly unscrewed the cap. I tossed it back and coughed. I was vaguely aware that Vivian was still yelling at me.

Her face was flushed and I could still see some honey stuck in hair. I probably shouldn’t mention that. If I had any sense of self-preservation I really shouldn’t poke the snarling bear.

“You’ve still got shit in your hair,” I pointed out.