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Saint ~ Two Years Ago

T he first time I saw him, it felt like a lightning strike. His aura electrified my chest like a physical force, knocking the wind clean out of me. But then, what did I expect when he was so beautiful that he grabbed me by the throat and squeezed?

Dark blond hair, longer on top and styled into a scruffy mohawk, and icy blue eyes glowing like gems under the stage lights.

A square jaw, carved by Michelangelo himself with the obligatory smattering of stubble.

His body was large and muscled, with thick thighs and a high ass that I knew would rock a pair of jeans.

He held the kind of beauty that haunted a girl, but it wasn’t just that; it was the restlessness bubbling under his pretty tan skin that mesmerized me.

On the surface, he held halcyon-like control, but under the black suit, crisp shirt, and earpiece, I could sense his rawness. I knew with one glance that he could wield his power in a way that I’d find both terrifying and magnificent.

Something about him represented security in every sense of the word, and it wasn’t because that was his job. Just being around him made me feel safe.

My eyes closed at the thought of those big, muscular arms wrapping me in their warmth, and a shiver shook me from head to toe because I’d never experienced that feeling before.

Not ever.

Blue chips of ice slid my way, and I held my breath as they passed through me before veering back again, and my throat burned as his stare rested on mine, and everything inside me stilled.

I was a straight-up person who shot from the hip.

Playing the mating game didn’t interest me.

If I felt it, I acted on it, and that night was no exception.

Maybe I should’ve blushed and allowed my gaze to skitter away coquettishly.

Perhaps I should’ve smiled serenely and lowered my gaze to the ground before taking another glance up again to convey my interest.

But that wasn’t me.

Instead, my eyes held his, challenging him, while one side of my mouth hitched slightly.

I wanted to know him, and I didn’t care to play coy.

He’d passed the first hurdle by grabbing my interest, especially since not many men did these days.

Now, I needed to see if he could handle me being my usual confident self.

He looked me up and down, and then my heart took a nosedive as his eyes drifted away.

My lungs expelled the air I’d almost suffocated myself with.

Well damn .

Maybe he just wasn’t that into me.

I wasn’t everybody’s type because I carried some extra weight.

It never bothered me because why should it?

I’d met the models everybody saw in magazines, and nobody could airbrush them in real life.

I saw the smoke and mirrors and knew all the right angles to stand in and pose if I wanted the camera to catch my best angle.

I was familiar with the extent of editing and photoshopping that went into making famous people perfect.

Except perfection to me wasn’t about image.

For me, it went deeper, so it was disappointing when a man who I felt an instant connection to dismissed me with one look.

I turned away, so caught up in the empty feeling in my chest that I didn’t notice him turn back to me.

Therefore, I also didn’t see his lips quirk as his stare raked down my body, or his icy eyes glint like a cold winter frost when they rested on my ass as I gave him my back and walked away from him.

My mind was already elsewhere, forming words and melodies because he’d made it so I couldn’t help myself.

Art was created when I was inspired.

That was my life, my everyday, and the consequence of having a poet’s soul.

I felt things deep, even fleeting looks with beautiful men who I didn’t need to interact with to know they could have been something to me.

Those things touched me in ways that made words erupt from my pen like a spitting volcano, its lava burning my soft poet’s soul.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my notebook and began scribbling words while simultaneously moving toward my dressing room.

Stage lights, sultry nights, halcyon ice blue.

Crowd chants, and your face haunts. Empty without you.

Lost pride, lost chance, lost love, lost souls.

Beyond my comprehension. Beyond my control.

Crowd chants, but your face haunts. I’m empty without you...

I was so into the music playing inside my head, the cadence of the lyrics, and so completely caught up in the writing process that I didn’t sense anything was amiss. The words kept flowing, and I kept scribbling, not looking where I was going and completely unaware of my surroundings.

You mattered, though we had no time,

Invading my bones, though you were never mine.

Lost prize, lost luck, lost bet, lost wants,

Still, the crowd chants louder, and your face still haunts.

Stage lights, sultry nights, but I’m hollow without you...

The blow to the back of my head, when it came, was so unexpected that I just stood there, swaying and shell-shocked.

I groaned out loud as throbbing pain began to radiate through the back of my skull, and I cried out as I was shoved hard against a wall.

Bile rose through my throat as the touch of cold hands slithered under my top and curled hard around one of my breasts.

That was when my senses rushed back to me like a vacuum whooshing inside my head, and I knew I was in trouble.

I’d never been touched like that before. Handsy stylists had brushed my skin inappropriately once or twice, but a hard look usually made them back off, especially when the band was in the same room.

But this was something else. This was full-blown sexual fucking assault.

With a shout, I tried to shove my attacker away, but he was too strong.

Suddenly, I found myself pinned by his body.

My eyes darted around, looking for a means of escape, trying to engage my brain and work out how the hell I was gonna get the asshole off me, which was when I felt his erection pressing against my stomach.

I gagged, my eyes darting up, trying to see if I knew the asshole. Maybe if I’d seen the guy around or spoken to him, I could have reasoned with him, but he was pressed against me so closely that I couldn’t see above his stubbled chin.

“Get off!” I shrieked, but he just pawed me harder.

My eyes lowered, and I spotted a tattoo on his chest. A holy cross with roses wound around it, their green stems thorny and sharp.

That was when I heard a rip, and I knew he’d torn my top.

His hands ran over my skin, everywhere he touched, crawling with ants under the surface, and I knew I was in deep trouble.

Iceman

The blonde was gorgeous. So gorgeous in fact, that I had to consciously drag my eyes away from her face and focus my attention back on the crowd.

Dischordium’s management had hired me and a few of the brothers to cover their personal security at a festival they were playing in Napa.

The sponsors of the gig had supplied their own men, but now Dischordium had recently had a single enter the charts and were riding on such a high that their manager wanted to increase their protection.

After a quick scan of the audience, my stare flicked back toward the hot chick, and my mouth watered.

The blonde had turned her back to me, so I got an eyeful of her ripe, juicy ass.

I had to adjust my crotch at the thought of grabbing a handful of that while sliding in and out.

If that hot piece walked into the clubhouse, I’d be all over her like a cheap suit, but I was here to do a job, so I had to make like one of Snow White’s dwarves and say it’s off to work I go.

As I turned back toward the crowd, I caught sight of some dude slipping past one of the security guys and jumping up onto the stage near the wings.

I glanced around to see if anyone else had caught it, but there was nobody around except for me.

My eyes narrowed when I saw him go after the blonde, furtively looking around as he went.

Alarm bells went off like sirens in my head. The entire sitch felt shifty as fuck, but he didn’t notice me checking him out, which meant I’d get the jump on him if I needed to.

I followed, watching closely as he kept his ass to the shadows, which only put me on even higher alert. The asshole was an idiot. He was acting so suspiciously that he may as well have stuck a flashing beacon above his head that spelled out, ‘Weirdo stalker.’

It was fucking laughable, but then he was probably a rock groupie stoner who was too herbed up to give his surroundings a second thought.

I suspected this because the stench of wacky baccy that wafted from him was eye-watering.

I’d also been on his ass for a while and he hadn’t made me.

He was so caught up in the girl that he’d forgotten to check his six.

The tool was giving more Joey Tribbiani vibes than Joe Goldberg.

Fuck my life.

The blonde, completely unaware she was being followed, made her way deep backstage toward the dressing rooms. She passed a roadie and acknowledged him with a fist bump with her pen and notebook still in hand, before continuing on her journey and going back to her writing.

A corridor loomed ahead, and she headed right and fell out of sight.

The guy followed closely, and that was when I heard her cry out.

I hauled into the corridor, my temper flaring when I saw the weirdo had the girl pinned against the wall. Her shirt was torn, and she had a dazed look about her that made my blood boil.

“Get off,” she shrieked.

His reply was to roughly grab a breast and try to kiss her.

I moved toward him before grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and dragging him away from her. Then, I pulled my fist back and smashed it into his jaw. With a curled lip, I watched as his head snapped to one side with the force of my punch, and he fell to the ground with a loud grunt.