Page 14 of Vengeful Melodies (Heaven’s Guilt Revenge Tour Duet #1)

Chapter Fourteen

Alix

The final note dies, but the storm in me only gets louder.

My skin buzzes like I’ve been wired to a live current, every nerve lit up, every heartbeat punching raw against my ribs.

The roar of the crowd dulls to a muffled pulse, stage lights burning like interrogation lamps in my peripheral, but all I see is her.

Dreya.

Flushed, breathing ragged, eyes black with something dangerous. The heat rolling off her is a weapon, slicing through the space between us until I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t fucking wait.

I grip her hips hard enough to bruise and drag her into me, swallowing the small gasp she makes as my mouth claims hers.

Not a kiss—a collision. My teeth catch her bottom lip, biting until I taste her, copper and salt bleeding into the sweetness of her chapstick.

The taste is filthy and perfect, and it floods my veins like poison I’d gladly take again and again.

She doesn’t give in—she bites back. Nails rake my scalp, a sting that makes me groan low and dark into her mouth. Her tongue tangles with mine, hot and slick, a fight for control I have no intention of losing. My hands shove beneath her shirt, greedy, taking, mapping the slick heat of her skin.

The rest of the world ceases to exist. No stage, no fans, no eyes watching—just the two of us locked in something too sharp to be safe. She tastes like sin, like fire, like every bad decision I’ve ever wanted to make twice.

She breaks just far enough to breathe, eyes catching mine with a feral light, and whispers, “I want you.”

That’s it. The thread snaps .

I drag her off the stage and into the chaos behind the curtain—past startled crew, past cold glares—but nothing can touch us. We’re not walking. We’re burning. And God help anything that gets in our way.

The second the RV door thuds shut, it’s like the air gets sucked out of the space. I’ve been holding back all night, and now there’s nothing between me and the only thing I want.

Dreya’s pressed against the couch before she can even breathe, my hands on her hips, dragging her skirt up over those thighs like I’m peeling back wrapping paper.

The black fishnets bite into my palms, her skin already warm, her scent already dripping in the air between us.

She’s wearing our band shirt—cut low, stretched just enough to show a perfect line of cleavage.

It’s so fucking hot I could rip it in half.

I drop to my knees in front of her, pushing her legs open until the fishnets stretch and threaten to tear. The black thong’s already wet, slick to the touch, and I grin against it before biting the band and dragging it down slow.

“Look at you,” I murmur, eyes on hers as I toss the thong aside. “Wet for me before I even touched you.”

She shivers when I run my tongue up the inside of her thigh, stopping just shy of her center.

Then I bury my face there—tongue flattening, lips sucking, teeth scraping—until her hips jerk and her fingers clutch at my hair like she’s drowning.

I lap her up like she’s the first meal I’ve had in weeks, sucking her clit into my mouth and flicking it hard, dragging her higher with every pass.

She gasps my name, one hand fisting in my hair, the other braced on the back of the couch.

“That’s it, baby. Take it,” I growl against her, before sliding two fingers inside, curling them just right until her breath catches and her thighs clamp around my head.

When she starts to tremble, I pull back just enough to make her whine, standing and yanking my fly open.

My cock’s already aching, hard enough to hurt, the cool metal of the ring grazing my fingers as I wrap a hand around it.

Her eyes drop to it—just for a second—but the way her breath hitches makes my smirk deepen.

I line myself up, rubbing slow along her soaked folds so the head and the metal brush her clit in passing. She gasps, hips bucking, nails digging into the couch cushions.

“You feel that?” I murmur, voice low and dirty. “That’s mine. Every inch of you—mine.”

I push in just the tip, pulling back, rubbing over her again, dragging it out until she’s panting.

“Alix—” she warns, desperate.

I shove in deep, to the hilt, and the way she cries out nearly wrecks me. She’s tight, hot, clutching me like her body’s trying to keep me there forever.

The couch creaks beneath us as I set a brutal rhythm, my hand sliding to her throat, thumb under her jaw, tilting her head back so I can see every flicker of pleasure on her face.

“You take my cock so well, Dreya. So fucking perfect, darling'” I praise, my other hand gripping her thigh and shoving it higher.

The RV door slams open.

Everything freezes for half a second—until I see them.

Wren. Grey. Takoa. Kaiser. Bash. And Bradley.

His face is pale, jaw tight, eyes locked on where I’m buried deep inside her.

I look right at him as Dreya grabs my face, dragging my attention back to her. Her voice is breathless, fierce.

“Don’t stop.”

I grin—slow, cruel—and glance back at Bradley while I drive into her harder.

“You hear that?” I say loud enough for him to catch every word. “She wants me to keep fucking her. While you watch.”

Dreya moans—louder now—her nails clawing down my back, her hips rolling to meet mine.

“That’s it, baby. Let them all see how you fall apart for me,” I murmur in her ear, then louder, for Bradley, “She’s perfect like this—wrapped around me, begging for more.”

I shift, grinding deep so the metal ring drags against her sweet spot, making her gasp and arch.

“Fuck, yes,” I growl, “that’s my girl. Make those pretty sounds. Let him see exactly who you belong to.”

Her eyes lock with mine, blazing, and she whispers, “Yours.”

I slam into her, over and over, the small space filled with the sounds of skin on skin, her gasps, my grunts—until the only thing that exists is this filthy, raw, unstoppable claim.

She’s daring him to watch—to see what he lost. To see me bury myself deep inside her, fucking her raw and hard, breaking and building her all at once.

My cock throbs, aching to fuck her harder, to carve this claim into her skin where only I can reach it.

Her legs lock around me, nails scraping down my back as I slam into her with brutal, savage thrusts.

She screams my name, gaze locked on Bradley like she’s daring him to try something.

The room falls silent except for the wet, messy sounds of our fucking—the slap of skin, her desperate moans, my growled curses.

“Look at me, babygirl,” I growl, forcing her chin up. “Let him see who owns your cunt now.” She sobs, “You. Only yours.”

She shatters around me, and I lose it, spilling inside her with a feral growl, arms crushing her to me as she trembles and shakes beneath me. My cock twitches deep inside her before I finally slip free, her slick and mine running down her thighs.

I’m still catching my breath when Bradley moves—lunging toward her like a fucking idiot.

I’m already spinning, muscles coiled tight with rage, shielding Dreya with everything I have. “Touch her again, and I’ll fucking kill you.” Her taste still lingers on my tongue, her cunt still dripping down my thighs.

Dreya buries her face in my spine, trembling fingers clutching at my waist. I take a step forward, towering over that useless fuck. “Try me, Bradley. I’ll bury you in the crowd outside and dedicate the next song to your fucking bones.”

He snarls, stepping forward like he actually believes he can win—until Sebastian’s hand snaps out, smashing him against the wall with a heavy thud. “You don’t belong here,” Bash hisses, cold and low. “Not in our space. Not near her.”

Bradley spits back, face red, chest heaving. “She’s not yours. You think because you play in a band, you get to fuck with what’s not yours?”

I laugh—sharp, venomous. “You think she’s something to own? No wonder she left you crawling through hell. She doesn’t belong to me… but she chose me. Chose this. She screamed my name while you watched.”

Dreya lifts her head, eyes like steel. “You watched me cum on his cock,” she spits. “And for the first time, I didn’t feel broken.”

Bradley lunges for her throat, but Wren’s faster. A brutal punch cracks into Bradley’s jaw—bone crunching—sending him crashing into the metal chairs. “That’s one,” Wren says, shaking out his fist. “Try again, and I’ll make it two.”

Dreya stands behind me—naked, messy, dripping with what we made. Wild hair frames her swollen lips and bare tits, her thighs shining with our marks. She doesn’t hide. She doesn’t back down.

She’s a fucking goddess draped in war paint and sweat. “You hurt me,” she says, voice sharp as a blade. “Broke me and expected me to stay shattered. But you don’t get to crawl back into my life just because you can’t stand someone else picking up the pieces.”

Her gaze locks on me, blazing. “You matter,” she says, voice low but cutting.

It slams into me like a fist to the gut.

Wren steps in closer, eyes scanning her like he’s counting every mark. “We need to get you cleaned up,” he says, steady but edged with fury.

Grey shrugs out of his hoodie and drapes it over her shoulders, blocking the view of her bare skin from anyone still hanging around. “Come on,” he murmurs, guiding her toward the back of the bus. His movements are careful, deliberate—shielding her from every angle like a wall.

Behind us, Bradley’s still groaning, trying to drag himself upright. He doesn’t get far before two of the roadies grab him, shoving him toward the parking lot where pissed-off security guards are already closing in. His curses fade as they haul him out of sight.

Dreya glances back at me over her shoulder, fire still burning in her eyes. “We talk later,” she says—not a question, not a plea. A command.

“Yeah,” I rasp, still tasting her on my tongue, still feeling the ghost of her nails down my back.

Not now. Not when my pulse is still hammering from the feel of her wrapped around me. Not when every part of me is ready to claim her again the second I get her alone.

She showers upstairs in her little room behind the black door while the rest of us linger outside.

Bradley’s already been dragged off and barred from ever coming back.

Someone orders greasy diner takeout. Bash starts a stupid story, Kaiser chimes in, and I keep my mouth shut—eyes fixed on that door.

By the time she comes back down, she’s quieter. Ate a few fries. Laughed once or twice when Bash aid something crude. But her eyes didn’t stay on anyone for long.

The night air outside the RV hums with muffled guitar strings and low laughter, the guys still hanging out under the glow of the parking lot lights. We’re not leaving Remington until morning, but up here—past the narrow steps and behind the black door—it feels like a different world entirely.

She’s in my hoodie. My hoodie. The same one I’d shoved into her arms earlier when I saw her shiver over takeout with the guys. It swallows her, sleeves hiding her hands, the hood loose around her face, but her bare legs stretch out across the bed like an invitation I’m not supposed to take.

I’m in loose shorts, no shirt. The dim LED strip along the wall throws shadows over my skin, making the raised lines across my chest stand out like a confession I never planned to give. She notices. Of course she notices.

Her eyes drag over every scar like she’s trying to memorize them. Then she reaches out—slow, deliberate—and her fingertips make contact. A shiver works its way through me that has nothing to do with the cold.

“They look like stories,” she murmurs, voice low, almost reverent. “Like you bled and survived… and kept bleeding anyway.”

My breath catches. I should deflect, make a joke, turn this into something lighter. But I don’t.

“I’m still bleeding,” I rasp. “Just slower now.”

Her gaze doesn’t break. If anything, it sharpens. “What if I want to bleed with you?”

The words land between us like a lit fuse.

I should tell her no. That it’s dangerous. That people don’t just bleed with me—they drown. But my shields crack instead, one by one, until there’s nothing left to hide behind. And in that moment, I know—she could be my ruin, or the love of my life. Maybe both.

“I think you could be,” I admit, voice rougher than I want it to be.

The air feels heavier now. She doesn’t pull away, and I don’t either. Instead, I lean in, slow enough for her to stop me. She doesn’t. Her lips meet mine, not with heat, but with something deeper—like we’re signing something without paper or ink. A vow neither of us is ready to say out loud.

Her hand slides up, fingertips ghosting along the back of my neck. My palm rests against her jaw, feeling the steady beat of her pulse under my thumb.

When we part, she doesn’t say anything. Neither do I. I just shift closer, curling into her side like it’s the only place I fit. Jack hops up, sprawling across my legs with a lazy sigh.

The movie plays quietly, flickering across her face, and I watch her instead. The way her breathing evens out. The way she tucks her knees up a little tighter inside my hoodie. I don’t even realize I’m falling asleep until my eyes close for good, my head resting against her.

And for the first time in a long time, the bleeding feels… bearable.