Page 10 of Volatile

By the time I made it back to my dressing room, my makeup was smeared down my face, and I’d ripped my fishnets somehow. I stood in front of the mirror and smiled at the image. I looked used in all the best ways.

I snapped a mirror selfie to post on Twitter.

@AspenCole: Boston rode me hard.

I attached the photo and laughed, tossing my phone aside.

I exhaled, coming back to reality as the rest of the guys walked in.

Royal cursed, meeting my eyes in the mirror.

I smiled, sliding my tongue over my teeth, still trying to figure him out.

Rage flashed in his eyes.

Had he been hard for me? Or was that all wishful thinking? If he wasn’t turned on, what was he? Why wouldn’t he look at me on stage? I hated all the fucking questions. The way he looked at me in the mirror made me feel like he wanted to fuck me or hit me. Maybe both.

And the worst images flickered through my mind.

A fantasy I wasn’t allowed to have about my straight best friend.

But that didn’t stop it from playing out in my head.

Royal trapping me against the counter while his fingers found my hole, like I’d seen him do more than once to a girl in a short skirt. He would shamelessly slip under their panties to dip inside them. The way he always had one hand on his belt.

The need in his eyes right before he entered them. I wanted him to look at me like that. The hunger in his reflection as he entered me.

I could almost feel it. Taste it.

I shivered at the daydream. What was wrong with me? I knew he wasn’t into me. I needed to get in the shower before the rest of the guys came in here and saw how little this skirt left to the imagination.

“Aspen?” he said, annoyed.

“What?”

“Are you listening? Will you shower so we can go out?”

I turned on him. “Christ. You do need to get laid, don’t you?”

“I fucking told you I did.” Anger crept into his tone.

A spark ran down my spine. The visuals of an angry fuck making me harder by the second. Royal fucking against his will. Against his sexuality, even. Being the only guy he’d ever had a thought about.

I wanted him to take it out on me.

I shouldn’t have been entertaining any of this. It was so wrong, but that didn’t make me want it any less.

“I’m going.”

“Then go.” He turned away, and I wanted it to be about me in a skirt.

“What if I don’t?” I asked, knowing I was picking a fight and not caring.

He was already acting off. Another snarl, and his chest heaved, moving the chain he always wore. His demeanor was ripe with aggression, and I wanted to push every fucking button he had.

“I don’t speak snarls.”

“I’ll leave your ass here.” He crossed his massive arms over his chest, over enunciating the words, finally looking at me again.

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