Page 55 of Give Me What I Want

“Yep.” She raised her chin and pulled on a natural expression that gave nothing away.

Mav raised a brow at me as if to say, ‘yeah fucking right’, but we both stayed quiet, allowing her to think she was fooling us. And then she began to walk, throwing open the bedroom door and strolling out of the room looking like she’d just shit herself.

We both cracked up, and she threw us an icy glare over her shoulder, then tried to walk normally. I knew that if we could see her face, we’d see her looking as though it was taking every ounce of concentration to put one foot in front of the other.

“Give it time, Bea. Just give it time,” I called after her.

“Give what time?” Elijah called back from the lounge, popping his head out to see her walking towards him. “Oh.” His brows shot up, and he snorted, then schooled his expression. “Yeah, Bea, it’ll pass. Don’t worry. Do you want a peppermint tea instead? Something to settle your stomach?”

“No,” she snapped. “I’m perfectly fine.”

She sat down beside him and let out a little grunt. Mav and I cracked up again, holding each other through our laughter, and Bea lost her shit.

“Fuck you guys. Seriously. Bunch of bloody cock-wombles!”

“Are you okay?” Jordan asked Bea as she blew out another heavy breath as we headed down the corridor that lead to one side of the stage. “You look really flushed, and I know you’ve not been doing…” he trailed off, glaring over his shoulder at the rest of us.

I tapped my drumsticks on the wall, making an excited beat, ignoring the disgust in his eyes and grinning back at him as we continued to walk, the corridor seeming to go on forever.

Jord still wasn’t okay with what we were doing, and although he had made an effort to say less to Bea, he still made plenty of shitty comments to the rest of us, well, to me and Ro.

“I’m good,” she replied, adjusting her earpiece and fluffing up her hair. “Just excited, you know?”

“For the show?” Jord gave her a curious look, and we all snickered behind them. Mav and I had filled Ro in, and he had taken every chance he had to wind Bea up. Her ass was no doubt throbbing from how many times she had been spanked by each of us in passing, and her panties were probably entirely soaked through. I couldn’t wait to get her out of them.

“Yep,” Bea said cheerily, shooting us daggers over her shoulder, then pulled Jordan in close, slinging her arm around his shoulder. “It’s going to be a great show. A great night.”

She pressed her lips to his cheek, and he pulled away, swiping at his cheek where she had left a deep-red lipstick print. “Beatrix, I can’t go out there like this,” he complained.

“What, are you worried you won’t pull tonight if you have another woman’s lipstick on your face?” Ro sneered.

“You know, you wouldn’t have to worry about that if you just—” Mav began but Bea gave him a warning look.

“Jord doesn’t look at me that way, do you, Jordan?” She didn’t sound bitter, but there was something in her voice that made me wonder if it bothered her that he didn’t.

He shook his head, but it wasn’t in agreement with what she was saying, it was frustration, highlighted with a growl as he muttered, “This is ridiculous.”

“Oh. So you think it’s ridiculous that we’re all man enough to share a woman? That we can put her happiness first, even if it means getting blue balls?” Ro gave Bea an apologetic look as he started to lay into Jordan, but she stepped between them.

“Let’s not start shit now. Remember, we’re going to put on a great show, and we’re going to have the best night. Aren’t we, boys?” She was glaring, her ocean-blue eyes lined with black piercing into each of us as she made her way around the four of us.

With a satisfied smirk at our silent nodding, she turned back to the stage just as Mark appeared to tell me that I was in the wrong place and that it was time to go on. The lights ahead of us dimmed until the venue was plunged into darkness, and I hurried off back down the corridor, finding a doorway halfway back and shooting through it, turning corners until I was met by one of the stage crew who pointed to the stairs and told me to run. I flew up them and jumped over my stool seconds before fire shot up all around me.

My ass landed on my stool, and I raised my hands, sticks ready, then crashed them down on the snare. Two rapid strikes, followed by a single beat from the bass drum. I paused a moment, taking in the cheering crowd as another shot of fire erupted, then repeated.

Bea turned to face me, looking up at me on my platform, her back to the crowd and spread her arms wide, mic in one hand, feral grin on her face. She nodded at me, then her lips parted in an orgasmic looking ‘o’ as my foot started to rapidly hammer on its pedal. Holding eye contact, I poked my tongue between my teeth mischievously, and watched as she bit down on her lip, released it, and rolled her eyes as though she was already having the time of her life.

Then a spotlight hit her back and she pulled the mic close to her lips. “When you think of a place of worship you might think of a church or a temple. But when you worship a deity…” She turned slowly just as Ro and Mav closed in on her, each of them on either side of her. “You do it at her feet.”

The guys dropped. Knees hitting the floor, head snapping back to gaze up at her. Ro took her hand, kissed her fingers, and stared at her as though he was a poor sinner, begging for forgiveness at his goddess’s feet. Mav began to play his guitar, his head slowly dropping down, focusing on his fingers. He played the opening to Hollow, and Jord hesitantly stepped closer, his hands still, not a single sound coming from him as he stared into the crowd and drank in the wild screams, declarations of love, and excited eyes staring back. There wasn’t a single face in that crowd that wasn’t captivated by Bea’s surprising new opening. They were obsessed, going crazy for her, for us all. And I watched as Jordan’s face twisted, but for the first time in months, it wasn’t disgust that was written in his expression, it was something dangerously close to desire.

“Jord,” I shouted, and he twisted to face me, just as Mav got to his feet and took over for Jordan, frustration in his eyes as he stared at our other guitarist who wasn’t playing. “What are you doing, bro?”

“Shit,” he hissed, then grabbed the neck of his guitar, jumping in, the transition from Mav playing to Jordan so smooth you’d have thought that it was planned. It wasn’t though. Thank god we were all professionals, damn good at what we do.

My arms were burning when we were on the final song of our set. There were balloons all around me. The drop two songs ago had been wild, and I had stopped drumming momentarily to launch balloons back into the crowd when too many had come flying my way. Bea was twirling in circles, singing her heart out, sweat glistening on her skin, hair twisted messily and held back with a giant clip. She was having the time of her life.

I loved watching her perform, seeing her lose herself in the music, knowing that it helped her in more ways than anyone would ever realise. It wasn’t just the sexual stuff; it was her escape. Her way of dealing with everything. The good, the bad, she threw it all into every show, every song. She sang her pain, she sang her joy. And the rest of us did the same. It was why we worked. The reason we had made it to the top. It was the reason I could look on the bright side of everything. I had my release right here. Crashing into symbols and hammering my foot so hard it was a wonder I didn’t break the skin on the bass drum.

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