Page 11 of Naughty Dreams
“No.” Roy came to DJ, and placed his hands on the top of the chair. DJ was leaning forward, toward the mirror, so Roy didn’t make contact with his bare flesh, but he pinned his gaze in the reflection. He intended his next words to be as effective as a physical restraint. “No means no. And when a Dom tells you no, it means really fucking no. Don’t make me tell you again.”
Roy had put up with antics worse than this from his clients and dealt with it, no problem. But this one got under his skin, and he was too aware of it.
DJ’s hunger trembled through him, that need for a Master impossible to miss. He was barely breathing. But Roy saw understanding in the kid’s eyes.
That almost made it worse.
“Got it. Sir.” The corner of DJ’s lip curled in that sweet half smile.
Roy debated whether to leave or strangle him. It was a near thing, but he managed to do the one that wouldn’t destroy his professional reputation.
“This is bullshit,” Tal snarled. “If I want a girl to blow me, whenever and wherever the fuck I want, that’s a constitutional right.”
Pete glanced at Steve. “I may need to give the Constitution a closer read.”
“Franklin wanted to include that one, but Adams made him take out. Boston prude.”
“You’re such a history nerd.”
“Why do you think I joined a band? Between that and my pizza face, I was never getting laid.”
“Don’t forget your baby fat.”
Steve bent an arm, showing off bulging biceps. “No longer. I’m a total stud. Just ask our official fan group.”
“Ah, yes, the source of all our universal truths.” Pete nodded sagely.
Tal made a strangled sound. Since DJ was tracking the heat level of his tirade, he gauged it was time to wind up his conversation with their sound tech.
“Thanks, Lolly. Those changes will cover it.”
She gave him a sympathetic look before he rejoined his bandmates in the live room. Tal spun in his direction.
“DJ, tell your new attack bitch what’s what around here.”
He thrust a pointed finger at Roy, leaning against the wall in the sound room behind Lolly, then stomped up to DJ, bringing attitude and atrocious morning breath. It was two in the afternoon. DJ lifted a quelling hand.
“Tal, we’re not cockblocking. Just being careful.”
The first couple of days of super enhanced security Roy and his teams had imposed upon them had required some adjustments. DJ hadn’t been thrilled by how it had impacted him mentally. He’d become more wary of his surroundings and suspicious of faces he didn’t know.
He'd brought that complaint back to Moss, and Roy had sat down with him. Patiently gone over the police reports with DJ, answered every question DJ had. He hadn’t talked down to him, hadn’t told him he had no choice. He’d let him step back off the ledge himself.
“My job is to keep you safe to do your job. Tell me what you need to do and I’ll tell you if I can protect you while doing it, and then we figure it out from there.”
Steve and Pete had gone through a similar adjustment. But Tal was going to push back, because he was Tal.
“Band pussy might need extra security vetting.” Pete raised a hand, shooting a hopeful look in Roy’s direction. “I volunteer for that task.”
DJ frowned. “We don’t talk like that about fans.”
“We love our fans,” Steve said. “But Pete’s talking about the opportunistic sycophants who will blow us and sell our measurements to the Internet.”
“Give her a reason to add inches and it can work in your favor,” Pete noted.
“Bro, let Lonnie hear you talking like that and she will chop half of mine off. Shut the fuck up.”
DJ pinched the bridge of his nose to alleviate the headache brewing there. Not because of Steve and Pete’s quips. Tal was staying in his face, but he didn’t need the proximity to see his bloodshot eyes, the slight tremor in his hands. “Tal…”
