Beyond the Stix (Warrior Black #2)

Chapter 12

TWELVE

Connor

We make it to the house—no. Not a house, but a fucking giant mansion on a steep hill. The place is in the Pacific Heights area, a well-to-do section of San Francisco.

When Tobias opens the double doors into the place, I decide there’s no way an owner would offer up a home like this to strangers—especially to a rock band. This place must belong to someone Ron knows personally.

And holy shit, I’m gob smacked at the pretentious sight. To compare this place to the modest home I grew up in is like equating night to day. My parents’ entire house could sit inside the open-ended living room.

From what Tobias read from his cell, it’s over thirteen thousand square feet, with ten bedrooms, thirteen bathrooms—who the hell needs that many toilets to scrub? Two kitchens, three sitting areas, and a shit ton more.

Forget all that, what I care about in this moment is the sound room.

My sour mood started back at the studio when I got a text message from Jessup. Since I didn’t get the new number I requested, I was going to ignore the message and block him. However, he immediately blew up my phone about how he’s worried about me and he wants nothing but the best for me and the band. And I should forgive him… even if he hasn’t done anything wrong.

Right fucking there lies the confusion.

For the umpteenth time I told him to fuck off, but he said he wouldn’t give up and will keep texting me until I talk to him.

Since telling him to fuck off and ignoring him wasn’t working, I finally asked what he wanted. That was when I caught John angrily staring at me. That was the first time I had seen my bodyguard show outward emotions—outside the bedroom—and I promptly shivered, then shoved the cell in my jacket pocket. From then on, I’ve been ignoring the vibrations coming from my pocket… until now.

After a fuck-ton of unread messages, I need to beat out the rage and frustration charging through my system. But first, I need to block Jessup from my phone.

Right before I hit the garbage icon, another message comes through. He said he heard from my mother that I had to leave early to finish the album, and that if I need anything, to call him.

I shake my head. Jesus. Why can’t I just take Jessup’s word, that what had happened was all a misunderstanding? Why can’t I believe him and move on?

Because you know why.

“Connor, are you coming?” Danny’s question pulls me out of my thoughts. He and the rest of the group begin to spread out.

“Wait up?” I turn and see Dante striding through the door before Pen and Dom close it.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, surprised to see them dressed in a black jogger and converse sneakers.

“Plans changed,” Dante says as they reach my side. “Ron told me to stick to you guys like glue.” They huff. “I don’t know why, but he wants me with y’all. I told him I’m not a babysitter, but Ron assures me that you are, not that kind, of a group.”

“I don’t know why you’re referring to us as that kind of a group , but we don’t do chaos.” Rafe sticks his finger up before Dante can counter. “Occasional drinking, but we’re not dumb asses, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

“And what’s with ‘ y’all’ ?” Bobby chimes in, mimicking Dante’s slight drawl that wasn’t present at the recording studio.

“Don’t you worry about it, Robert Hicks. My business is my business.” Their single, sharp red fingernail is pointed at our keyboardist like a honed talon.

“That’s Bobby—not Robert.” Bobby sneers and stalks off.

Then Dante turns their attention to Rafe. “And it’s good to hear that you aren’t ‘crazy asses.’” They do air quotes, then frown.

Rafe chuckles, a devil’s smirk on his face. Oh, I know that look. Dante’s in for a battle of wits, and that idea has me rumble out in laughter.

And so does the rest of the band.

Dante’s eyes widen, but then narrow into slits, focusing on each of us. As much as I want to see our new manager get into it with Rafe, I have a feeling my friend is going to get his ass handed to him by this feisty brunette.

Not long after, each of us finds a space of our own. I grab my bag that has all the items I need and head down to the studio to see if Dante’s right about the sound proofing.

The space is split into three sections. I enter the lounge, which has a small bar at the back wall, a blood red love seat with a matching chair, and a dark wood coffee table anchored in the middle. The control room is separated from the lounge by a door and a wall that is covered in images of different rock bands. And then finally there’s the live room, where the instruments are located. The area is dimly lit, but the soft spot light over the drums is a beacon to me.

This type of drum set isn’t my preferred brand of choice, but it will do. My fingers twitch to play, and after adjusting the leather stool, I slip on my headset, open a playlist on my phone, and crank up the sound.

I fall into the music. The beats drown out the noises in my head, and I just play until there’s nothing but notes, the riffs of guitars playing in the headset, and the melodic voices of singers.

Not sure how long I sit here playing, but sweat is dripping from my hair, trickling down my face. The t-shirt I’m wearing is drenched. And for the first time since I got the call about my father, I’m able to breathe a little easier. Feel more like myself. And for a while all the texts from my uncle evaporated from my thoughts.

As I stand and stretch, I find John in the doorway, watching me. “How long have you been standing there?” I ask, while putting my sticks back in the bag.

“Not long.” He shrugs his broad shoulders.

“What time is it?” I yawn.

“It’s hitting three in the morning.” He glances down at his Casio watch, and a tic begins in his right cheek. It’s John’s usual tell when he’s frustrated.

Christ, I’ve been playing for almost three hours straight. No wonder I’m stiff.

“Bedtime.” I try to move past him, but John doesn’t budge from the doorway.

“Who have you been texting?” His low timbre sends a rivulet of lust through my veins. Ever since I met him last year, even through Danny’s chaos, his voice has enticed me to whip out my dick and stroke until my balls are empty.

“No one.” The lie comes out so clean, that I almost believe it. Yet, I don’t know why I lied to John. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to argue with my bodyguard about why I should block my uncle. On the other hand, I’m a glutton, and I know that if we fight about it, that will lead into something else. Like John bending me over and fucking me hard and fast until we both empty our nutsacks.

Just tell him the truth, because John bending you over doesn’t sound like a bad idea .

I inwardly groan. Sometimes I want to stab my subconscious.

John steps further into the room and closes the door, snapping me out of my head. “Tell me, damn it,” he growls.

As he gets in my space I automatically step back. “There’s noth?—”

“Stop lying.” His chest bumps against mine, but I don’t move. “What are you hiding from me, Connor?”

“No-thing.” I draw out the word. “Now get out of my way.”

“We’ve been pushing and pulling this whole time, and it’s going to stop now . I want the truth. Who were you texting earlier?”

I rear back. “What the fuck does that mean? Stop what?” But I know what he’s talking about. Ever since the night at the Independent, there’s an unresolved something between us. No matter if we had sex, or that my desire to have John is far from quenched—the pull of my attraction to him is only physical. And I can control it.

The emotional part? I don’t know how to face the truth that I have feelings for John, so I keep pushing him away. But I’m too damn tired to fight about it now, but apparently, John wants to hash it out now.

So, what do I do? I shift the argument. “Why didn’t you get me a new number, like I asked?”

John’s eyes narrow. “We are working on it. And stop changing the subject.”

“We?” I yank my phone out from my pocket and thrust it at him. “Once you get me a new number, we’ll talk. Until then, you can handle all my calls. I’m fucking done.”

“No.” John crowds me further, ignoring the phone I’m holding at his chest. I stumble back until my spine hits the wall and I drop my cell.

He’s so close that his minty breath drags into my nostrils. His pupils have enlarged, even under the diffused light. He showered and I can smell his deodorant. I have to curb the sudden urge to bend slightly and shove my face into his armpit.

Is he attracted to me as much as I’m attracted to him?

I open my mouth to give him one more chance to back off, but he slams his mouth over mine. I’m a goner from that point on. Lost in the sensation of his hungry kiss. Lost in the pressure of his chest and pelvis pressing against me. Lost in the mind-blowing need this man is giving off.

“Our talk isn’t over,” he says against my mouth.

“Just fuck me already,” I counter, wrapping my arms around him. “But I want to suck you first.”

Without hesitation, John steps back, and says, “What’s stopping you?”

I drop to my knees, my face inches from his groin, and I work the front of his black slacks until I can push them down and have him stepping out of them.

I groan, idolizing the length and girth of his cock. The rush to have him in my mouth turns into a tangible craving that surely rivals a vampire’s desire for blood from his victims.

“You want this?” John questions as he’s holding his stiff shaft in his hand.

He doesn’t stroke it, just holds his dick down by the root, the tip inches from my mouth. I so want to swipe my tongue along his slick head, and taste the precum that is pooling at the tip.

A smile slides across my face and I utter, “Mine.” I trace the veiny lines along his rigid length with my tongue until my lips wrap around the mushroom head and the slightly bitter taste of precum hits my pallet.

“You make me crazy.” John grips the hair on top of my head, pulls his cock out until just the tip is in my mouth. He pauses, like he’s asking permission for what he wants to do next.

“Don’t stop,” I say, almost demanding it.

John tightens his hold on my hair and begins to pump in and out of my mouth. Slow at first, then he increases the pace until his cockhead hits the back of my throat. I choke and gag, saliva dripping down from the corners of my mouth. But I don’t fucking care. The pure pleasure on John’s face has my dick going from hard to steel in seconds.

But just as fast, he pulls out of my mouth and hauls me off my knees. “I need to fuck you,” John bluntly says between kisses and nips across my wet lips.

“I need you to fuck me,” I counter right back with equal fervor.

“I don’t have condoms or lube.” There’s hesitancy in his passion-filled eyes.

“Lucky for you, I’m locked and loaded.” Then I take his mouth, my tongue demanding ownership.

Between our hands doing fast work, we both end up naked and groaning with want.

John pushes me toward the couch in the far corner of the room, where there are mirrors on the wall. It didn’t dawn on me earlier how odd it was to see a black leather sofa and mirrors in that corner of the live room. Then, I had just wanted to play.

But now, my sole focus is on John’s solid body and his heavy cock pressing against my equally hard rod.

John turns me around, his gentle command in my ear, “Face the wall, your knees on the cushion, hands on the back of the couch.”

As I stare at my debauched reflection, I can’t help but admire my lips, knowing that they are swollen from sucking John’s cock down my throat. But the best is yet to come.

John is standing behind me, studying my face, and a shiver of lust slides up my spine at the fucking I’m going to get from my bodyguard.

A rush of pure desire surges throughout my body—down to my balls as I take up the position he gently demands.

Sure, I love to bottom, but I also like being in control. Though, lately I hold on so tight sometimes, that I don’t know how to let go. When that need for total domination overpowers me, I don’t see the end game, and fall short on my climax.

I found out the other night with John that even though he let me hold onto the reins the entire time, it was him who had all the control. And I secretly loved it. However, I crave something more. More of the obvious dominance I know John can give me. But in order to try—in order to cross that line, I have to trust him.

Do I trust John? I ask myself that while looking at his reflection in the mirror.

Yes, I do trust him to protect me. But can I let him have ultimate control of my body? Of my sexual needs?

John can make me careen over the edge. This push and pull—as John aptly described it—is us. A foreplay of some sort. But the question still remains the same. Can I trust him with my heart?

Then I realize John hasn’t moved. My eyes meet his, and an unspoken question is expressed across his face. He’s waiting for me to give my consent.

The tension in my body relaxes as I look over my shoulder and stare up at his gorgeous rugged face. “Yes.”

“Eyes front. Don’t move. Not even a twitch.” I then watch John through the mirror as he walks to my pants, pulls out the condom and a lube packet from my wallet and strides back to me.

I’m so mesmerized by how his body moves with every step, that when cold wetness drips onto my hole I nearly yelp. But I remain still, as John’s fingers circle my rim.

“So pretty, and tight.” His gentle touch makes goose flesh of my skin before he slowly slides a finger inside me. “And hot.”

“Don’t tease me,” I hiss.

John pulls his fingers out, then presses against my back, giving me his full weight. “I’ll tease the fuck out of you for as long as I want, and you’re going to take it until I say otherwise.” He nips my ear; at the same time, he plunges two fingers into my ass. The burn and stretch have me teetering on the edge of spilling my seed.

A groan leaves my lips. “John.” I close my eyes and ride the sensation I’m being bombarded with.

“That’s it. Take what I give you.” He pulls out and inserts three until I can’t take the stretching anymore. And before I can moan out my protect, John removes his fingers and I can feel the blunt end of his cock at my pucker.

As I let out a slow breath, John slowly pushes his dick inside. He pauses after his head passes the first ring of muscle. “Are you okay? Are you still sore from the other night?”

“I’m good. Now get on with it, Brand,” I mumble out, absorbing every inch he slides inside me. He doesn’t stop until his pelvis presses against my ass. “Fuck yes.”

“Shit. Don’t move.” John has a firm grip on my hips. “Give me a second or I’m going to come.”

I hold still until he’s ready, but I’m dying. John’s so deep, his cockhead presses against my prostate, that I’m ready to explode myself. Before I tell him to move, John almost pulls out and shoves back inside, hitting that small bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” I cry out.

“Hold on.” It’s all he says before his grip on my hips tightens to the point that it’ll leave bruises, and he thrusts hard and fast. “Touch yourself.”

He doesn’t have to say it twice. While he fucks me into oblivion, I jack my dick until I’m already cresting. “Yes.”

A low groan from John sends a signal to my drawn-up balls. I jack faster, and a surge of electricity zaps down my spine and I come.

His hands grip onto my shoulders now, and he bucks fast into me. A few more hard thrusts, and John explodes, with my name crooning from his lips.