Riffs That Ruin (Survival Records #2)

14. Raina

T here’s a certain adaptability you have to learn as a performer. There’s never time when you’re on stage to pause and adjust anything, you’re locked in until the end. Which means if anything goes wrong you have a split second to find a solution.

If your ears go out, you have to deal with listening to the band live and push past the distractions of the audience screaming. The mix is off? You can try to signal to the sound engineer to fix it with pre agreed upon hand gestures, but sometimes that ends up fucking things even more.

A string snaps? A roadie can run out with your backup guitar, or you simply have to continue playing without. Keaton has a stash of backup sticks ready to grab if he needs them.

It’s a never ending list of things that can go wrong, and there were times where I wasn’t able to adapt fast enough, especially when I was too drugged to react to anything out of the norm. Those are the times my trainwreck fans lived for.

But this time, I was smooth as fuck with the snap decisions, something I never could’ve been capable of if I wasn’t sober. I’m actually really proud of how I was able to keep singing through the fall and then continue without missing a beat when I was back firmly on my feet. Add to it the change of having Darius step into the choreography.

My steps feel light as we leave the venue, making our way to The Storm. Fans cheer as they try to get my attention and security holds them back. I’m too happy with the performance, which is why I make a rash decision to do something I never do—I stop to interact with the fans.

Reaching for an album someone holds out in hopes I’ll sign it, a new wave of excitement rolls through the crowd. “Oh my god! Raina, you’re my favorite singer! I love your music so freaking much!” they say, handing over a sharpie for me to sign with.

I smile and hand the album back before reaching for a bobblehead of me holding a microphone. It’s so damn cheesy I have to hide my wince at seeing it. “You’re so talented! Your voice is amazing!” the owner says when I hand it back.

“Can I get a selfie with you?” someone down the line screams as I hand the sharpie back to the first girl and continue walking.

“Did you enjoy the show?” I ask everyone as I wave past a section of fans. There’s an overwhelming response of people cheering.

Reaching the person who asked for a selfie, they bite their lip before pointing and saying, “Can he be in it too?”

Searching for where their finger leads, my gaze slides past a scowling Keaton, and Nash with his arms crossed, to find Darius smiling and waving to the fans, chatting them up. It surprises me that he’d so seamlessly slip into the razzle dazzle of adoration that comes with fame.

“Dare?” The nickname slips from my lips before I even think about it, but it seems to fit the handsomely dark British god. I’m not sure how he even heard me say it, he’s not that close and there’re so many people screaming around us. He turns and cocks an eyebrow. It sends a rush of attraction through me that I do my best to ignore. Pointing to the fan, I tilt my head and say, “Picture?”

“Absolutely. Here, let me.” He reaches for the phone from the fan and presses in on my other side. His hand comes around my hip and secures me close to him. He holds out the device and we all smile for the picture before he hands it back. “Make sure you tag us in that.”

I’m surprised when he doesn’t drop his arm, instead using it to usher me along.

“You guys are so cute together!”

“Is he the band member you’re dating?”

“How long have you been together?”

“The cutest Valentine’s Day couple ever!”

The phrases hit me like a slap across the face. Why are people such assholes ready to jump to conclusions so quickly?

“You haven’t interacted with your fans in a long time,” Darius says to me. “It’s nice to see you doing it again.”

We reach the bus and he walks away with a wave, stopping me from my scoff. How would he even know that?

“Where are you going?” I call out, not that I care. I shouldn’t, right?

“After party,” he responds with a shrug. “It’s Valentine’s Day after all, bound to be a good night.” He winks, but it only makes me frown this time. Is he talking about finding an easy hookup? “Plus, I think whichever one is your boyfriend is about to blow up if I’m around you any longer.”

Keaton steps into my line of sight, gaining my attention. “In,” he growls, opening the door to the bus. His body vibrates so much I wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t a second away from picking me up and shoving me in.

“What’s wrong?” I step onto the first level of the stairs and catch the back of Darius’ sweatshirt as he swaggers to one of the fleet vehicles ready to take everyone to the after party. Thank god I don’t have to go.

Keaton’s hand lands on my lower back, urging me to go faster so the rest of them can get on and close the door, shutting us out of view from everyone else.

“Ugh, that asshole was eating up the attention. I don’t like how he’s moving in on you,” Nash says, his stomping footsteps adding to how annoyed he is. He opens the fridge and grabs a few bottles of water, then hands them out. “Get hydrated, roomie.”

I can’t help but laugh at the sincerity with which he says it. “Why?” Keaton’s front presses to my back as he reaches around me. He takes the lid off the water bottle and tilts it to my mouth. “Okay, okay, I’ll drink.”

“It seems pretty obvious to me,” Nash answers. “You heard Darius; he won’t be back for a while.”

I’m still lost to what he means. I study him, trying to figure it out as I drink half the bottle in an attempt to hydrate after an exhilarating show. It’s been so long since they’ve cheered like that. Slowly, my gaze moves to Blake, who’s watching me as carefully as I am him.

“I believe Keaton means to remind you whose girl you are,” Blake tells me. I almost choke on my water, not expecting him to say that. It almost seemed like the bus was an area we were trying to avoid being intimate, although that’s probably because we didn’t want to give Darius anything he could pass on to Dickless. Or worse, the media. He still hasn’t shown where his loyalties lie.

“Plus, it’s Valentine’s Day. We need to shower our girl with orgasms if we aren’t able to wine and dine her like she deserves.” Nash smirks and licks his lip ring.

Keaton returns the cap to the bottle and puts it on the counter as Nash hits play on his phone that’s hooked up to the bluetooth speakers. House music runs through the bus as Blake flips the switch, plunging the room into darkness while simultaneously activating the soft, glowing ambient lighting.

I’m not sure when it happened, but at some point, they conspired to seduce me.

A smile splits my lips as Keaton’s hands land on my hips. For once his sticks are missing, surprising me, but I know they have to be close by. He spins me around, so I’m facing him and our eyes meet.

That’s not the only thing you need to be reminded of, you need to learn what it’s like to dance with your men, he says with the way he smirks and lifts his eyebrow in a challenge. It’s easy to see their jealousy now. They didn’t like the way I danced with Darius in front of everyone. It’s somehow different from my backup dancer in their eyes.

Nash pastes himself to my back, I’m not sure he could get any closer, and moves his body. Mine instinctively follows his lead, my ass swaying across his hardening dick. His fingertips trail from my shoulders to my wrists where he grabs them tightly like cuffs.

Keaton moves a leg between mine until my pussy is pressed against him. I’m suddenly thankful I wore a skirt, but wish I’d been more spicy tonight and left behind the underwear. What a surprise that would’ve been for them.

My arms lift and Nash positions them so I’m holding on to Keaton, then he uses a finger to move my chin to the side. I spot Blake shifting the coffee table away from the couch before Nash is on me. His lip ring bites into my plump lip as we kiss, his tongue swiping against mine as Keaton’s hands roam over my body.

Another hand lands on me. It glides along my collarbone and up the column of my neck until it’s palming the side of my face. “My turn,” Blake instructs, guiding me from Nash’s mouth to his own.

A wave of arousal floods my panties, soaking them instantly. Any more and Keaton’s pants will get wet, too.

“Have room for one more?” Nash whispers, not having moved when Blake came in for the kiss. His breath brushes over our lips, pausing for a moment before coming in for threeway, sloppy lip action.

At this point, it’s hard to tell whose hand is where, but I’m guessing it’s Keaton who lifts my leg to wrap around his waist. Now his hard cock rubs against my clit as our bodies move to the music. Someone palms my tit, running their thumb in circles around my nipple.

Blake breaks away and Nash kisses along my neck, letting me stare forward with half lidded eyes at my drummer. His thumb swipes under my lip, removing a line of spit. “Gorgeous.”

“Let me help you with this,” Blake says, and a moment later, Nash’s shirt is removed between us.

“Good idea,” Nash grunts. His hands reach for the bottom of my shirt, and I lift my arms to help him remove it. Someone else unhooks my bra and strips my top half bare. Keaton reaches behind and grabs his tee, tugging it over his head to show off his chiseled chest.

I can’t help but stare and lick my lips. Damn, am I a lucky girl. I reach out to run my hands over his smooth skin, but he catches my wrists and lifts my arms above my head while rolling his hips so his cock head bumps against my clit.

A fresh wave of arousal hits my panties, and a whimper spills past my lips. My nipples tighten, and my clit pulses with need. Something about Keaton being dominant does it for me. I’m surprised it’s not triggering anything from my past. Probably because this is all about pleasure and mutual respect, a connection we’ve been forging for weeks. A relationship that I want, not something being forced against my will.

“Who do you belong to, Peaches?” Keaton asks, a wildness in his gaze as his eyes flick back and forth between mine.

“What has you so territorial tonight, big guy?” I cock my head to the side and buck my hips, wanting the sweet friction against my clit again.

He growls, and I feel Nash shaking his head before his body disappears. Keaton takes a step toward me, and I have to lower my leg if I want to remain standing. He doesn’t stop, though, backing me up until my calves bump against the couch.

“Let’s put it like this,” Nash starts as he follows behind and takes a seat on the couch next to me. “Darius has enough charm to tempt a nun, and he has his eyes on you. Shit, even I find him attractive, and I want to hate his guts.”

“You guys have nothing to worry about. I’d never choose someone else over what we’re building.” My heart thumps hard in my chest, a pain blooming that they’d even be worried about that happening. “You mean more to me than I have words to explain. The only thing missing is Tristan, and my heart is complete.”

“Shh, baby. Let’s not think of him right now,” Nash says, pressing a finger to my lips. “If we do, then I don’t think any of us will be up for this.” He gestures to indicate the sexual tension about to pop.

“You let us know if anything changes, okay?” Blake adds, watching me carefully.

I swallow, feeling the weight of my impending promise. “I will.”

“Answer,” Keaton demands, bringing my attention back to him and the question he asked. He presses my arms to the back of the couch, holding them there for a moment, telling me to not move before he releases them. He reaches behind him and grabs his sticks from his back pocket.

The sight of them makes my pulse speed up, and my breath hitch in my chest. If my pussy wasn’t already soaked, that sight would do it. He spins one between his fingers, waiting for me to answer.

“Yours,” I pant in anticipation, thoughts of what he might do with his sticks this time flashing to mind. “I’m yours.”

“That’s right,” he rumbles, his eyes searing a path over my skin. After a moment of letting my admission sink in, he says, “Nash, panties.”

Thankfully, his friends are used to the limited talking and have learned to navigate through the minimal communication. Nash shifts from his spot and kneels before me, his fingertips causing a tingling sensation as they trace from my ankles along the inside of my knees and to my inner thighs. Then, he moves to the outside and grabs onto the edges of my panties.

He draws them down in an achingly slow pace, his gaze holding me in place and so freaking starved for me that it takes my breath away. He deftly untangles my panties from my high heels and winds them around his wrist before gliding his hands over my legs again and spreading them wide.

Blake scoots over and wraps his hand around my knee, dragging my leg over his to keep it there as he soothes his thumb back and forth. The way I’m held open has my skirt flipped up exposing me to the three of them. Nash moves to my other side, mirroring Blake and somehow it has me feeling like I’m even more exposed to Keaton.

“You’d make such a beautiful kit, Peaches. Let me play you.” He spins his sticks in either hand. “Close your eyes. I want you to hear the music.”

I take him in, not wanting to do what he says. It’s not everyday you get to watch your drummer use you as his kit, but after a moment, I lean back and rest my head on the couch, closing my eyes.

Next to me, Blake smooths his hand over my hair and brushes a kiss against my temple. And then Keaton begins tapping his sticks on me. He uses my thighs, then adds in my breasts and even nipples, then finally my clit. He’s so accurate with where he lands, and with how much pressure that it has my body singing to his beat.

It’s easy for me to hear the music he creates, each tap a building note, as if I’m the instrument he’s been fine-tuning for years. The rhythm starts slow, delicate even, like a whisper on my skin. His sticks glide over me, tracing my curves with the kind of ease that only comes from someone who’s mastered their craft. It’s not just music—it’s a performance. I feel every beat reverberate through me, like I’m part of the song he’s constructing.

Blake’s hand never leaves my hair, his touch grounding me as I sink deeper into the sensation. Nash kisses my neck, his breath warm against my pulse a steady counterpoint to Keaton’s growing tempo. My breath quickens, matching the pace, as Keaton’s drumming turns into something more intense, more intimate. The soft, teasing taps on my thighs shift, and now he’s exploring my body with a deeper, more deliberate touch.

“Do you feel it?” Keaton asks, his silky voice flowing over me sends a shiver down my spine, but I keep my eyes closed, allowing myself to fall into the rhythm of it all. The sound of his sticks against my skin creates a melody that only we can hear, a private symphony played out in quiet breaths and soft moans.

Every tap on my breasts, every flick of his sticks against my nipples sends electricity through me. He doesn’t miss a beat—each touch precise, like he’s been studying me for this moment alone. By the time he reaches my clit, my entire body is vibrating, tuned perfectly to his rhythm. His drumming isn’t just something to hear—it’s something I feel in my bones.

Blake’s lips press against my temple again, a silent reassurance that this moment is ours, shared between the four of us, but centered on me. I bite my lip as Keaton’s pressure on my clit increases; the beat becoming impossibly steady, precise, like he knows exactly how to make me unravel.

“You’re a natural, baby. You play so beautifully,” Nash says against my neck, his voice now thick with lust. I peek my eyes open and find him stroking his hard cock. I reach for him, wanting to take over, but he blocks me. “Not right now. You enjoy this.”

A soft moan escapes me, and I feel Blake’s smile against my skin, his fingers sliding to cradle my jaw, holding me steady as Keaton pushes me closer to the edge with every tap of his sticks.

Keaton chuckles under his breath, the sound deep and rough, filled with the kind of satisfaction that comes from having complete control. My body is singing, every nerve alight, and all I can do is submit to the music he’s creating with me.

Just when I think I can’t take any more, Keaton changes the rhythm, slowing his taps to something softer, almost teasing, pulling me back from the edge only to build me up again. It’s a slow, torturous symphony, and I know he’s enjoying every second of it.

“Keaton…” His name barely escapes my lips before he finishes me off with one final, sharp tap to my clit. He continues on as the music he’s creating crescendos, my body arching as I finally lose myself in it. Blake and Nash hold me steady as I come undone.

When I’m able to catch my breath, I open my eyes, tremors still rocking through my body, to find Keaton staring down at me with that self sure grin of his that I love. He rests his palm against my heart, his sticks pressed between us. Did you feel it? All the emotions I’m not able to say aloud?

He created a masterpiece for me, the flow of the rhythm, the ups and downs, the excitement of it—it was all a story he created for me. I reach my arms out for him, and he leans in, letting me drag him against me. Our kiss is passionate and deep, making me curl my toes against my shoes almost as hard as the orgasm.

“Yes, Keaton,” I pant against his lips. “I felt every word. You delivered your message perfectly.”