Heavy Metal Heart Page 5

  Lee’s woman waited for him in the living room. She lay across the arms of a high-back chair, slowly unbuttoning her top. He carried a bottle of vodka down to her. The two of them wound themselves together on the chair.

  “You’ve never been here before,” Trevor rumbled next to her. “But this temple’s never seen anything like you, either.”

  His hand ran along her back. She wore way too many clothes. So did he. The muscles of his arms and chest bunched under his shirt. But she needed his skin. Every tattoo had to be traced. With her tongue.

  He tilted his head toward the living room. “Descend with me.”

  Three steps down. The music still swirled, mixed with the moans of the others in the room. Trevor led her to a plush loveseat. On the left, Lee detached himself from his woman and knelt before her. She hiked up her skirt. He pulled her panties down. She slid low on the chair, draping a leg over his shoulder.

  Misty shouldn’t look. She couldn’t tear her eyes off the shocking scene. In the same room. Two people, so absorbed with each other’s bodies, it didn’t matter if anyone was watching. The initial shock faded. That was how it should be. The old rules were dead. The only laws were desire and flesh.

  Trevor turned Misty away. His kiss spun the room. His hands and arms wrapped her up. Her breasts pressed against his chest. His cock was hard within his jeans. She ran a hand down his hip, then outlined the shape of his erection. He gave a little growl into her mouth. The rocker might be able to make music with his hands, but she had powers of her own.

  The room tilted further. Pushing with his kiss, Trevor laid her down on the loveseat. He broke off the kiss and crouched over her. Nostrils flared, eyes hot. He was more myth than man or idol. A hungry beast from an ancient forest painted on an album cover.

  She had her needs too. Misty balled a fist in his shirt and pulled him down on top of her. Her body stretched out. He touched against every curve. They kissed, mouths open. His hands roamed along her hips, her ribs. She bit into his lower lip when he palmed her breast. He moaned encouragement as she bit harder.

  He pushed past the neckline of her top. Under her bra. The hard calluses on his fingers from the guitar strings rasped against her nipple. The noise she made didn’t sound like her at all. It hardly sounded human. An animal in need. She pressed forward, urging his hand around her breast.

  Trevor whispered, “There you are.”

  Her reply caught in her throat as he pinched her nipple.

  “Don’t disappear,” he insisted. “I’ll find you. Even in the night. You’re burning too bright.”

  Gathering her senses, she grabbed the front of his shirt. “Find me. Right now.” Dragging her hand down, she ripped the buttons from his shirt. She reached up again and drew her nails down his chest, from his collarbone to his flat stomach.

  He showed his teeth. Then she felt them on the side of her neck. Her nails raked along his ribs, his back. He lowered himself, spreading her legs with his. Denim on denim, their hips ground together. God, her pussy was so wet she could soak through her jeans. Even all that fabric didn’t stop her from feeling his thick erection against her.

  Someone came. A woman’s clipped yelps gasped through the room. Lee’s girl. Inspired, one of Wolfgang’s ladies moaned and slapped some flesh. Wolfgang laughed, husky. The loud rock mixed with the sounds of sex, grinding and wailing.

  Once Misty had made out in the back of a cab during a trip to NYC. That had been risky enough. Every other intimate encounter had been behind closed doors. She’d never even walked in on her roommate getting busy in college. God, she never knew what she was missing. The sexual energy of the others liberated her, letting self-consciousness drop away. Hearing a neighbor get it on had always been erotic. Now she was in the same room with people who let all the rules go with wild abandon.

  A quick glance around the suite revealed Wolfgang on the couch with two fingers in a very energetic woman on her hands and knees. She rocked back into his hand while her friend tugged on her nipple rings. Lee still knelt before the woman in the chair. Her chest rose and fell with long breaths. She ran her hand through his hair, gently at first, then tugged him hard back between her legs.

  And looking at the man above her, Misty took in the most amazing sight in the room. Trevor Sand. Sweat glossed over his tattoos. Those intense eyes focused only on her. Across his lips, a devilish grin.

  “We’re still going down.”

  He sat back and lifted her up with him. They uncoiled until sitting side by side on the loveseat. It was almost like two teens before the prom in her parents’ living room. Except for the rock-and-roll drummer fucking two women on a couch ten feet in front of them.

  Trevor put a hand on her knee. So gentle, though he could probably tear all her clothes off. If she didn’t first.

  He said, “I’ve been writing all these songs about you, but you’ve never been in my world.”

  He’d read any lie. “I’m off the map.”

  “But not lost.” He moved his hand slightly up her thigh.

  “No.” She spread her legs and leaned back. “Found.”

  His hand moved higher. “Look at her.” She followed his glance to the girl on the couch with Wolfgang. “Watch her face, her eyes half closed in a dream.” The woman reclined against Wolfgang’s chest. He reached along her body to finger her pussy. Her friend sat against the opposite side of the couch, skirt hiked over her hips so she could touch herself.

  “The arch of her back,” Trevor continued. “Grinding. Getting all she can.” His hand paused between Misty’s legs. “It’s not enough. Look at her pulling the ring on her nipple.”

  Watching the woman touch herself was fucking raunchy. In all the right ways, Misty discovered. It inspired her to be dirty too. No one in the room was judging anyone. Her hand moved without thought. Fingers slid past her shirt and bra to circle her own nipple. Her limbs started to shake with need.

  Trevor undid the top button of her jeans. “See how wet her cunt is.” The woman was shaved bare and glistened around Wolfgang’s fingers. “Her breath’s fast. Biting her lip. Holding it in before letting it all go.” Trevor dragged down Misty’s zipper.

  Misty swiveled her hips, grinding against the heel of his hand. Tear it all away. Her clothes, herself. It was yesterday. Forgotten. She could be anything she wanted.

  Right then, she was a woman who took what she wanted. “Fucking touch me or I’ll burn this whole place down.”

  No hesitation, he plunged his hand into her jeans. Over her thin panties, his hand was hot and rough. She arched up to meet him. Those fingers she’d watched play countless songs rubbed against her clit and down over her pussy. She was thick with blood. So goddamned wet.

  Trevor whispered, his voice piercing through the loud music, “She’s coming.”

  Wolfgang’s girl bucked hard and let out a series of short gasps. His muscled and tattooed arm held her against him. He smiled, wrapped in her pleasure. Her moans were like opium smoke, thick in the room. Wolfgang’s eyes rolled back as he soaked it all in. Her limbs jolted a few times before she lay back on him, sated. Their chests rose and fell together. With her friend temporarily out of action, the woman on the other side of the couch turned her attention to Misty. Heavy-lidded eyes looked her and Trevor over. The woman licked her lips and whispered words lost to the music. Quick fingers flicked against her bud, then disappeared into her pussy.

  Trevor’s lips brushed against Misty’s ear. “You can make a spectacle of yourself.”

  She barely breathed out, “Hell, yeah.”

  He pulled her panties aside and ran a finger along her slit. But it wasn’t the crashing impact she needed. He barely touched her clit and lips. Teasing.

  She thrust forward, but he kept his finger just at the tip of her clit. Like dying of thirst in the desert, seeing the oasis but knowing she’d expir
e before she made it. She gritted her teeth and grabbed his wrist.

  Her voice was as firm as her grip. “I won’t beg.”

  Holding him hard, she tried to bring herself against his hand. But he was too damn strong. Supernatural almost. The tip of his finger was always just at the edge of her sensitive flesh. Tantalizing. She gasped for breath. Mouth open, pussy wet. She needed to be filled.

  “We dance around the bonfires and let ourselves be demons.” He licked the side of her neck. “Fire starts with striking a single flint.”

  He rubbed along her pearl, blasting sparks through her body. But it wasn’t the damn bonfire yet. And he moved his finger away before she could build it.

  “You’re a son of a bitch.” She dug her fingernails into his wrist.

  “Taste it.” He grinned. “You ever been this close?”

  “Too far.” Everything reduced to that millimeter between his finger and her clit.

  “How far did you travel today?” He looked as hungry as she was. It wasn’t a tease. He drew out the sensations, letting her feel every vibration of every nerve. “We’re alone in the forest. Come on, Misty. Light the fire.”

  It didn’t matter how damn strong he was. She was going to fucking take what she wanted. Pulling hard on his wrist and pushing her hips forward, she brought his hand fully against her.

  The fire lit. The lights of the room flared to white. Vision was erased as her body took over all sensations. His hand was rock hard on her clit, along her wet lips. Finally. She soaked in every sweet spark.

  Trevor kissed her mouth. Teeth clashed. She licked along his lips. His tongue slid into her. His song echoed through her mind.

  Until there’s nothing left

  Nothing left

  Until I’m

  Feeling the disappear

  Inside you

  Now. It had to be now. She held his wrist in place and drew herself up. He wasn’t going to make her wait and kept his hand where she held it. But she remembered the tantalizing tension. Slowly, she moved herself down. Hot and slick, her lips opened to him. His finger slid inside. On her clit, he’d been crashing sparks. In her pussy, he thundered rolling waves of heat.

  The kiss ended so they could lean hard into each other and breathe. Sweat ran down between her breasts. She pinched her nipple. He used his free hand to pull her top up and her bra down. Skin exposed. To Trevor and anyone else in the room. Let them watch.

  She set the pace, taking his finger slowly inside her, then drawing it out. He reached his free arm around her and cupped her other breast.

  “How do you do this?” he asked. “Make me so hungry, then tell me I’ll never have enough.”

  “How far did you travel?” She licked the stubble along his jaw. “Just to make me come?”

  “Hundreds of years. Thousands of years.” No wonder he was so good at making money by setting poetry to music. She almost believed him.

  The tease was over. He rocked with her, going wherever she needed. She released his wrist. As he fingered deeper into her, he pressed his palm against her clit.

  Her voice joined the growling rock and roll.

  The muscles of his tattoo-covered forearms jumped as he held her. His hand disappeared into her open jeans. Pink and insubstantial, her panties stretched away from his strength.

  Her stiletto heels dug into the old carpet, bracing her as she ground harder against his hand. His finger slid in and out. Not deep enough. Not full enough.

  “This the hunger you were talking about?”

  “You understand?” He sounded shocked.

  “Make me come, or we’re both going to die.” She reached along his leg until the outline of his erection stopped her. His breath hissed against her neck. Two pistols made up his oversized belt buckle. She tugged at them until the metal released from the leather. Each pop of his button fly brought her hand farther down.

  Of course he didn’t wear underwear.

  His thick cock angled out of his jeans. He would fill her. Not yet. Using just the edges of her fingernails, she traced lines from the base of his shaft to the tip.

  A string of his curses and prayers ended in “Fucking yes.”

  She wrapped her hand around his cock. He surged forward in her grip, as if he sank into her wet folds. He kept thrusting, matching the rhythm of his finger in her pussy.

  Los Angeles blurred. The lights bled into haze. Hot wet breath condensed on the windows, separating her further from the outside world.

  Across from her, Wolfgang’s other girl prowled toward him as the first woman held his exposed erection by the base. The drummer looked over at Trevor and Misty, tilting his head back with a knowing and appreciative grin. His attention was stolen away as both of his women brought their mouths to his cock.

  It wasn’t like watching the internet or some secret DVD. Misty was truly off the map. Which meant no one here knew her either.

  She whispered to Trevor, “You stay hungry until I’ve had mine.” Sliding her hand all the way to the tip of his shaft, she felt the precome at the tip. She gathered it on a finger and ran the slick around the rim of his glans.

  Something other than English filled his curses.

  Trevor Sand controlled his guitar and the audience and conservatives on TV talk shows. But he was in her hands now.

  “Make me come,” she demanded, moving her finger away from his cock. “Then you can fuck my mouth.” She didn’t even know herself.

  “You’ll come,” he growled, “with my fingers inside you.” He slid another finger into her, stretching her pussy just enough. “With my tongue on your cunt.” She was filled with his fingers and his words, pushing her closer to a looming climax. “You’ll come and then I’ll fuck you every way you need it.”

  Faster, she rocked against his hand, drawing him deep. He pinched her nipple, adding a sweet edge of pain to the hot waves that racked her. She was free from any old definitions of herself to relish the climax building bright. All the little moves, the teasing touch of his finger, the song at the concert, everything led up to this.

  Right there, in front of her lips to taste, close enough to her throat to swallow. A thirst burned.

  Then she came. The climax pulsed hard through her. Her body shuddered. Pressing her clit hard against his palm, she drank up every sensation. She called out, gasping. Trevor was a rock next to her, strong enough to withstand her bucking body and clawing fingernails.

  After a few breaths, her blood grew quieter than the music. But her body still raged, alive. Wanting more.

  Trevor’s hot blue eyes showed a need that could never be satisfied either. He slowly withdrew his hand. The smile was the same as if he was about to start a particularly raunchy song. Instead of singing, he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked her wet from them.

  The sight began another climax growing in her.

  Other voices of pleasure rose in the living room. Wolfgang remained on the couch, his cock disappearing into one woman’s mouth, then the other. In the high-back chair, Lee’s girl straddled him, whipping her hair into her face in a wild ride.

  Trevor helped Misty to her feet.

  “The bonfire’s lit.” They organized their clothes enough to stand. Feral hunger sharpened his face. “We have to dance for the demons.”

  Together, they parted the atmosphere of hazy gold and rock and roll. They stepped out of the living room but didn’t ascend. She was still falling, tumbling through the unknown.

  Trevor led her to a bedroom doorway. No horizons at all. Her only compass was the pounding need in her body.

  They stepped through the doorway. The threshold was crossed. No return. No hesitation. She descended with Trevor Sand. She was a new Misty she hardly knew and needed to discover.

  He closed the door behind them.

 
Chapter Four

  The room was old. Not as old as him, but the finer details had been sanded away by the years. With the lights off, the glow from the city outside glazed the landscape of the bed, side tables and reading chair. The drawn gold curtains were ragged, like the robes of a charlatan. Paintings hung crooked. The four-post bed sagged a bit. It stood on a slight platform. An altar. Fitting. This could be where he was finally given back to the powers who created him.

  After millennia of knowing what life was, tasting each ripe fruit, Trevor was finally faced with a change. Because of her. She could be a sorceress. Or a beautiful monster, sent by the Philosophers to destroy him.

  Anything but the Muse. It couldn’t be true. The legend was merely a fable to torment demons like him. A biting scenario meant to shake all they knew. What if you can’t feed from the audience? What if there is only one?

  If the lore of the Muse was real, then it couldn’t be one of everlasting love and inspiration and life. The legend stated that the Muse would become the only source of life for the demon. They would feed each other’s creative and passionate energy, living forever—harmonized like a perfectly tuned instrument. But Trevor knew the myth was really about destruction. Because the hunger that grew in him could never be sated.

  Fucking impossible. But standing in the bedroom with Misty, he was starting to believe. He had led her here, closed the door. The control, though, seemed to be out of his hands.

  The muted rock of Kent Gaol pulsed through the wall and door. It seemed so distant. The world of performance was so far away. There was only her. And if she really was the Muse, she was his only way to feed. The only way to live. But he still wasn’t sure if it was Misty.

  After tasting her on his fingers, he understood some of her power. Did she know? This hotel room had been the stage for his raging parties hundreds of times. With her there, it all seemed new again. He discovered her and himself.

  Just feeling her come, bucking against his hand, had shaken him. His limbs could turn as hard as Parian marble, yet her force seemed to shatter him. The woman who had knifed through the audience in the club, stealing his attention, now had all of him. Sleek curves, full lips, sharp eyes. Not just her body, but her mind and will. The wit of an alchemist and bold confidence of a priestess. And she might have the power to destroy him or make him live forever.