Or why I felt suddenly panicked.
“Vivian?” I said her name like a question. I ran my hands up and down her back, trying like hell to ignore Maysie’s crusty attitude that was funking up the room.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” Vivian said to Maysie over her shoulder, after what felt like an incredibly long time.
“Vivian,” Maysie started and I knew an epic scolding was on its way. If she started on Vivian, I would be forced to intervene. I wouldn’t let her make Viv feel bad for spending time with me.
I didn’t care if it would cause more tension between Jordan and me. I didn’t care if I would be labeled the bad guy. What else was new? But I’d be damned if I’d let Maysie or anybody else make this woman in my arms feel badly about anything.
Where did this sudden protectiveness come from?
Vivian beat me to the punch.
“Just go, Mays. I’ll call you later,” Vivian said shortly and I could tell she was annoyed. I just didn’t know if it was with Maysie or me.
Maysie didn’t say anything else. And I didn’t give a shit what she thought. I was just happy when I heard the dressing room door slam shut.
Vivian shook her head. “I’m such an idiot.”
I turned her around so that we were chest to chest. I leaned down and took her bottom lip between my teeth, sucking it into my mouth and moaned when I heard her sharp intake of breath. She was just tall enough that I didn’t have to bend too much to taste her mouth.
Her curves fit against my body perfectly. I loved knowing what this girl felt like inside and out. It made me feel territorial and proprietary.
Vivian Baily was mine.
“Shut up,” I told her, biting down on her lip with a bit more strength.
Vivian slithered her fingers up into my hair and gave it a vicious yank. I winced.
“Don’t ever tell me to shut up,” she warned, her fingers digging into the back of my skull painfully. Her eyes flashed with a heat I recognized and brought my flagging erection back to life.
“I’ll say whatever the hell I want to,” I volleyed back, tearing my mouth from hers and attacking the side of her neck. I sucked and licked and bit hard enough to break the skin.
Vivian pulled on my hair again. “Fuck you, Cole!” she seethed.
I lifted my head from the curve of her neck and grinned. My hands hastily pushed up her skirt and I ripped her panties off in one of those macho, romance novel moves. I was pretty proud of myself. I dangled the shredded white lace off the edge of my finger, twirling them in a circle before tossing them onto the floor.
Without preamble I dropped to my knees and spread her legs so I fit between them. I looked up at her from my spot between her thighs.
“I plan to, sweetheart,” I promised before helping her use all that rage to make us both very, very happy.
2
I fell out of the bed.
I hadn’t done that since I was six years old. But here I was, sprawled out on the carpet and dazed from being pulled out of a deep sleep.
“Ouch!” I whined, rubbing my elbow where it had collided with the bedside table. I got up on my knees and squinted in the poor lighting. The blackout curtains were drawn over the windows so it was hard to see. Sunlight filtered around the edges and the clock said it was already eleven in the morning.
I braced myself on the edge of the king sized bed and hoisted myself up. It was no wonder I had fallen off. Cole was taking up the entire space. His legs and arms were spread out as he lay like a starfish across the mattress.
The covers had been kicked off at some point between passing out after our marathon sex-capade and falling out of bed. His naked ass was on proud display, his lean back, covered in black tribal ink, demanding that I ogle him.
I ran a hand through my tangled hair and let out a sigh.
I sort of hated myself right now.
I got to my feet and stood on top of a mountain of condom wrappers. I grimaced as I saw five empty packets littering the floor.
When would I ever learn?
I slowly headed to the bathroom and closed the door quietly behind me, so as to not wake up Cole. Though honestly, a nuclear blast wouldn’t wake him up after a night of sex and drinking.
I turned on the bathroom light and tried not to run screaming from my reflection. I looked like a war victim. My long hair, normally a pretty and perfectly styled strawberry-blonde, hung in a gnarled mess down my back. I tried to smooth it out but it would require a deep condition and a good amount of time with the hair straightener.
I tilted my head to the side and gingerly touched the red and purple skin. I looked like one giant hickey!
Upon further inspection I could see several, very obvious bite marks on my boobs and one on my inner thigh.
I turned on the shower and cringed as I stepped inside. I was sore. My muscles ached and my vagina felt as though a tractor-trailer had driven through it.
Marathon sex with Cole Brandt was rough on the body.
And the self-respect.
I lathered the hotel shampoo in my hair and thought about what had happened yesterday.
I had flown into Dallas, Texas from Virginia to see the Generation Rejects show. The venue had been their biggest yet. After almost a year of touring around the country and playing in small bars and nightclubs, they had finally gotten a break.
A huge, change-their-lives-forever break.
Their manager, Jose, who had taken over duties from Maysie six months ago, had gotten them on as an opening act for Primal Terror, an indie rock band with a very radio friendly sound out of Portland, Oregon. Primal Terror had just been signed with a huge label and was on their first official nationwide tour.
Jose had connections. And it was lucky for Cole and the guys that he had seen something in them he liked. Because since he had come on board, their visibility and success had started to skyrocket.
What had once been nothing more than a bar band with sex appeal, was becoming something so much more.
And I was excited to see it.
I loved Generation Rejects. I had been friends with Jordan Levitt, Maysie’s fiancé and drummer in the band, since we were freshmen at Rinard College and he was dating his then girlfriend, my former Chi Delta sorority sister, Olivia Peer.
I remembered the first time I heard the Rejects play at Barton’s Bar and Grill, the local watering hole in Bakersville, Virginia, where we went to school.
I had been there with Olivia and a few other girls in Chi Delta. I didn’t know the other guys in the band. Olivia had said, with quite a bit of disdain if I remembered correctly, that they were townies, aka guys not in college and thus not worth our time.
Whoever they were, they had kicked ass. They didn’t play my normal style of music. I was typically the queen of bubblegum pop. And Generation Rejects played music meant to make your eardrums bleed and your brain turn to mush.