Page 63 of Beneath the Burn

The click-clack of multiple heels stampeded over Charlee’s shoulder. The groupies must have been released from their cage.

She straightened her spine, but in the next breath, she forgot why. Jay was on her. His hands bit into her thighs. Moved to her hips. Ripped the strings on her panties. The ruined lace dropped somewhere behind him. His tongue pushed past her lips, slashing with hers. She raised her pelvis, meeting his groin, grinding, unbidden and impatient.

A long-lost sensation uncoiled and heated where he thrust against her. The tease of penetration. The aggression. The onlookers. The threat of Roy in this public place. Her adrenaline spiked. Heaven help her. If he fucked her, she might come.

“Charlee, fuck. Tell me I’m not dreaming. You’re my here, my now, and God, if I’m lucky, my hereafter.”

The force behind his words illuminated their darkened recess. She sighed into his mouth and wrapped her fingers around his length. “If you throw me down and fuck me, I’ll be your hereunder.”

A shadow fell over them. Felica curled her pleathered body against his side, one hard nipple poking out of her low neckline.

Jay leaned in and sealed his mouth over Charlee’s, breathless and demanding. Did he not notice Felica rubbing up against him? Maybe he didn’t care.

Bristling at his disregard for her feelings, Charlee released his dick and tried to punch Felica in the stomach, but she hopped out of reach. Maybe she’d take the hint.

Charlee had an overwhelming urge to beg him to take her somewhere else, somewhere intimate. But that would’ve been running from this thing she knew she needed to confront. He’d told her he only wanted her. Had he lied? As much as her heart rejected the idea, she needed to see how far he’d let this go.

He sank his teeth into the spot below her injured ear, shooting a warming pang through her body. The pressure from his bite intensified, and he lined up his erection at her entrance, his groan vibrating down her back.

Dammit, the audacious woman pressed against him again, hands at her sides, eyes on his mouth where he nuzzled Charlee’s neck.

“Jay, wait.” Why wouldn’t he push her away? Tell her to fuck off? Charlee’s arousal fizzled by the second. “Get that woman—”

He thrust, buried in one long stroke. His neck arched, and he shouted something indiscernible to the rafters.

Stars flashed through her vision and heat exploded between her legs. “Ahhh, Jeeeeesus.”

Hips pumping, he gripped her thighs and lifted her lower body to meet him. The new position dropped her on her back, head hanging off the edge of the half-stack, the plastic casing digging into her shoulders. He followed her down, flexing his hips. The pain was so arousing, everything else fell away.

“My turn.”

The feminine voice crawled over Charlee’s skin. She snapped her head up and met Felica’s frosty blue eyes. A violence of emotions ripped through her and she reared back to punch whatever pleathered body part she could reach.

He twisted his neck and glared at Felica. “Don’t you dare touch me. Go away.” His voice dipped, low and commanding.

“Come on now. Why does she get to touch you?” Felica pointed at Charlee’s hands where they gripped his shoulders.

She had a point. His triggers weren’t tripping.

“Because she is Charlee. This is the last time I’ll tell you. Go. Away.” He swatted a hand behind him, missing Felica by a ridiculous margin.

The woman rolled her lips between her teeth, turned on her heels, and strutted away. He looked at Charlee out of glazed eyes. Was he having a hard time centering?

She shoved his shoulder. “What’s wrong with you?”

His eyebrows pulled together and snapped back. A smile skittered across his swollen lips. “I’m buried seven-inches in, baby. Ain’t a goddamned thing wrong.” He powered into her. The strength of his thrust spiraled through her womb. It burned so good, but something was off.

Clumsy. Overly confident. Unfocused eyes. Oh God, he was high. Her muscles tensed to fight him off.

His eyes dilated and he pinned her hands to her chest, stroking her womb with his lunges. She should tell him No . She should shout it through the arena.

But that would bring the wrath of Nathan with fists flying as he dragged her from L.A. Her molars slammed together. She could deal with this.

His mouth fell over hers, and she head butted him. Undaunted, he fucked her with the potency of his strength and the weight of his body. It might’ve felt orgasmic if he weren’t fucking high.

Self-loathing trembled off her in waves. She wasn’t behaving any different than his countless meaningless lays. She brushed the miserable feeling away and wrenched a hand free of his restraint at her chest. “Jay, stop.”

He drove harder, faster.

Stunned, she gasped. No air. The weight pounding into her smothered her reasoning. Roy’s heavy-bodied arms pinned her down. Fragments of shuffling down the long corridor with the chain on her ankle burrowed in her throat, strangling.

He rotated his hips and shoved a hand in her hair. Brown eyes met hers, Jay’s eyes, soothing her…until his face twisted in ecstasy.

No more. She grabbed his chin to stay his disoriented gaze. “Huntress.”

His jaw moved with his smile, twitching beneath her hand. “I wrote that song for you.” His thrusts caught a hiccupping pace and he crashed to a halt, buried deep inside her, eyes rolled back in his head. “Unngh. Fuuuuck!”

The power of her safe word faded with his orgasm. She shoved his head away. He swung it back, looking down at her, lips wet and slack. “Best. Fuck. Ever. How about you?”

She slapped him. “Not even close. Get the fuck off me.”

He jumped up and back, hand covering his cheek where she hit him. He narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck, Charlee?”

Her lip quivered. Don’t give into it. Get up, dammit .

She rose, teetered on her heels, and adjusted her clothes with trembling fingers. Her panties lay on the stage. Ruined. Just like her pride. Fucking bastard.

But the shame gripping her body was no one’s fault but her own. She’d allowed Jay to use her, trusted his sobriety, and depended on him to honor her safe word. So na?ve. “Do not follow me out.”

She turned slowly, deliberately, and schooled her gait as she walked away. The lump in her throat could stay where it was. She was not going to let it burst into a wet mess of emotion.

“Charlee.” A question lay beneath the sternness of Jay’s tone. “Don’t run.”

So he was coherent enough to know he’d given her a reason to run. Deep breath. She stopped, looked over her shoulder. “I’m not hanging around so you can fuck me again while you’re high.”

He looked down at his dick hanging exposed and partially erect. A choke ripped from his throat, and he stumbled back, shoving himself in his pants and zipping up with more force than was needed. “Oh fuck. Oh Jesus.” He raked his hands through his hair, pulled at the messy strands, and jerked his gaze to Charlee. “No. No, no, no. This isn’t…I’m not…Charlee, wait.”

The hitch and wheeze in his voice threatened to melt her backbone. For a flickering moment, the man she thought she knew looked at her, actually saw her. The sag in his eyes and the twist of his face chased her heart to her throat.

She turned away and strode toward the corridor behind the main stage toward Nathan’s back. Passing him, she tapped his hand without slowing her steady stride. “Time to go.”

As if floating out of her body, her feet carried her past the control booth and down the hall.

He was so lit, did he even know who he was fucking? He’d said her name while he was seven-inches in . Oh, but he called all his girls Charlee. Tears welled in her eyes.

Jesus, hold it together . He hadn’t let Felica touch him. It would’ve killed her had he interacted with her. And the horror warping his expression when he finally realized what he’d done was somewhat assuring.

Whatever. The fact that the asshat ignored her safe word was an unforgivable snap of a whip through the heart.

“What happened?” Nathan’s hand settled on her lower back.

“Jay fucked up. Let me deal with it, okay?” She followed the bend in the hall, veering around techs juggling equipment.

“Does this change—”

“Nothing changes. I’ll have it fixed by morning.” And she would. Jay owed her an orgasm, and dammit, he would give her one. A half-baked plan sprouted, soothing her. He wasn’t going to like it, but fuck him.

The protective team’s familiar faces popped up at every corner, bend, and open doorway as she weaved through the flow of roadies with Nathan’s hand a bolster at her back. They formed a comforting perimeter around her, adjusting their formations to maintain a circle of protection as they moved through the back-of-house.

The exit came into view, and a man in a suit flashed through the bustle of crew members rolling crates through the door. The suit and dark hair were familiar. Too familiar.

She skidded to a halt, her pulse thick and distant in her ears.

Nathan stopped with her, hand pressing against her spine. “Charlee?”

The man in the suit looked up, complexion dark beneath a thick mustache. Not Roy. Relief settled through her shoulders. Until he narrowed his eyes on her.

“That man is looking at me.” Did he know her? What the hell did he want? Oh God, he was walking their way.

Nathan pushed her behind him and held up his hand. “Identify yourself and don’t take another step.”

“Alan Patera. Executive Assistant to the CEO of Oxford Industries.”

She locked her knees and gripped the back of Nathan’s shirt.

“What do you want, Mr. Patera?” Nathan’s clipped tone did not invite idle conversation.

A technician in baggy jeans pushed a cart past her, its wheels screeching with each rotation.

Patera extended a thin hand, holding a crisp white envelope. “Mr. Oxford sends his regards.”

Shooting an arm toward him, Nathan grabbed the envelope, but Patera hung onto it.

Patera narrowed his eyes. “A response is expected.” He released it.

Shifting back with an envelope in hand, Nathan grabbed her wrist and led her around the smiling Craig.

“What was that about?” Her heart pounded an impatient tattoo as she glanced over her shoulder. The Craig was gone.

Outside, Colson opened the door to a waiting SUV.

Nathan’s attention swept left to right as he stuffed the envelope into his breast pocket. “Message from Roy.”

A throb erupted behind her eyes. He wrote her a letter? Was he out there, watching her? In one of the hundreds of cars in the lot? Standing behind one of the windows veneering the building? Waiting for an opportunity, for the millisecond of time when all of her guards might be looking the other way?

“Please, get in the car, Miss Grosky.” Colson waited, eyes on the exit behind her, hand on the door of the car.

She shivered and bolted in, sliding across the bench and bumping into Vanderschoot with a screech. “Oh, hi. Sorry.” Damn her out of control pulse.

The seat bounced with Nathan’s weight beside her. He reached for the door handle and pulled.

A hand shot through the crack of door, gripping it and preventing it from closing.

She gasped, frozen to the seat, as Nathan wrestled to close the door. His free hand stretched for the gun at his hip.

The knuckles around the door frame were grooved with callouses. Callouses from guitar strings.

She clamped down on Nathan’s hand over his holster. “It’s Jay.”

Nathan squinted at the door and let go of the handle.

Jay’s drawn face lowered into view. His gaze moved through the car and stopped on her. A tornado of emotions whipped across his weary expression. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he ducked his head, wedging into the third row behind her. The leather seats creaked as he scooted in, Tony following.

Colson steered them into the concert traffic, and Charlee decided to be the first to break the tense silence. “I said not to follow me.” Sandwiched between Vanderschoot and Nathan, she kept her eyes on the windshield.

“And I said you were not to leave my sight.” His deep, dominating tone caressed her back, the bastard.

“Are you still high?” Good grief, she sounded petulant. Maybe she was. She shifted to look at him.

“I’m coming down.” He studied her face, his own pinched in pain. “I’m so sorry.” A whisper.

She would find out shortly how sorry he was. She turned back and looked into Nathan’s soft blue eyes. Looked at the envelope in his breast pocket.

His fingers were hesitant as he pulled it out and handed it to her. “It’ll be obtuse, you know. Anything in writing will be worded in a way that won’t implicate him for what he’s done or plans to do.”

Flipping the white envelope over in her hands, she nodded. “I know.” She couldn’t stop the resignation from dulling her voice. “I’m expecting a legal-team-approved death threat.”