Free Rock Stars Do It Harder by Jasinda Wilder Page B

run down his scalp to drip off his nose, then another runnel down his temple and drifting into a smear on his stubble-dark cheek. He was shirtless, a plain white T-shirt gripped in his fist, which he wiped across his brow every once in a while, wearing a pair of leather pants and knee-high shit-kicker boots cris-crossed by straps and buckles and studded by short metal spikes. His thick, toned arms glistened with sweat, and his rippling abs moved as he breathed and sang, the sheen of sweat glinting, teasing, tantalizing.  
    Jamie wanted nothing so much as to jump up on stage, shove him to the floor and rip his pants off, lick the sweat from his body and rub her hands across his slick skin. She wanted to feel his cock in her hands, she wanted to taste his come in her mouth and feel him fill her pussy as he thrust into her.  
    She wanted to let him tie her up and tease her for hours. She wanted to blindfold him and torture him with a thousand kisses over his flesh and on his stone-solid arousal until he begged and pleaded with her to let him come.
    Jamie bit her lip, picturing these things. She felt her nipples harden, felt her core grow hot and damp. She found her fingers drifting down to the waistband of her skirt and slipping beneath it.
    She wanted to touch herself, thinking of Chase naked for her, tied up and blindfolded, laid out to her mercy. She wanted to make herself come thinking about Chase’s cock dripping with pre-come, smeared with her juices and her saliva, the thick purple veins standing out on the silky flesh.  
    Jamie gasped, realizing she was actually touching herself right there in the middle of the moshing crowd, with Chase watching her. She jerked her hand out of her skirt and wiped it on her blouse, then smelled her fingers out of some odd reflex. She stank of female arousal.  
    She glanced up at Chase, who seemed transfixed, his eyes wide, the cords in his neck standing out, his fist gripping the mic so tight she could see the straining tendons of his hand. He was still performing, still singing the final chorus of the ballad in his deep, rich voice. But as he stood up and turned away from the crowd, she could see a huge telltale bulge in his pants. His bassist nudged him and said something, laughing, and Chase shook his head irritably.  
    Chase didn’t turn around for a few moments, waiting as the next number began, this one another driving metal song. Jamie stood watching him, keeping her thoughts away from dangerous territory.  
    Then, after an amount of time Jamie couldn’t have measured, their set ended and Chase left the stage with a backward glance at Jamie. A few seconds later, she felt a huge hand wrap around her arm. “Miss? Please come with me. Mr. Delany asked me to bring you backstage.”
    She complied, ignoring the jealous murmuring of the other girls around her who’d overheard. She followed the security guard, who was roughly the size and shape of a silverback gorilla, through the crowd to the backstage area. He led her to a door, knocked once, then opened it, ushering Jamie through. She stepped in and the door closed softly behind her, latching with a snick of declarative finality.
    Chase sat on a threadbare couch, one long arm slung casually across the back, one leg stretched out across the cushions, the other gripping his T-shirt in a tight fist.
    Jamie stood with her back to the door, breath coming in ragged, panting gasps. It took every ounce of willpower to keep from crossing the room and covering his magnificent body with hers, tangling her tongue against his, tasting the sweat and cold water on his mouth.  
    He rose up from the couch in a lithe, graceful movement, his expression roiling with emotion. Then he licked his lips, opened his mouth as if to speak, and Jamie was undone. The sight of his mouth, lips parted, teeth white…she had to taste him.
    She lunged, crossing the three feet between them, crushing her breasts against his bare chest, wrapping her palms over