Page 11 of Wild Stars (Rock His World #2)

CHAPTER 11

Mateo

I let out a breath as I pinch my nose, trying to focus on mindfulness, and not on Dare, who is curled up against the side of the window, with his legs curled beneath him.

Memories flash through my brain from the previous night.

The drinks, the angels.

Dare pressing his body against mine, taunting me.

Telling me he was going to make me fucking beg.

Something flipped inside me when he made that comment—threat?—, his words activating something dormant and desperate, and I was so close to giving in. So close to coming, it should be embarrassing.

And knowing that Dare Wylde was somehow capable of infiltrating those abandoned parts of me was terrifying and blissful.

But he was also drunk, and I wasn’t in my right mind, either.

Clearly.

And then, I nearly came in my fucking pants like a damn teenager, despite all my tantric training, and that was enough of a sobering moment.

I’m not one for public displays of sex in general, and though the dungeons are private, we were still quite in the open where anyone could have seen us.

I’d forgotten where we were.

Because all I could focus on was Dare.

On the dark, cocky sound of his voice.

On his sizable hardness twitching against my own.

On the weight of his body pressed against me, like a weighted blanket that smelled like cheap cologne.

On the taste of sour apple martini permeating my tongue.

And I loved every second of it, because, for a single moment, I was free.

I wasn’t some heartbroken control freak with a laundry list of kinks.

I was under his fucking spell .

Then, I’d ruined everything with the truth.

Dare would never kiss me if he wasn’t drunk.

Because drunk Dare makes bad decisions. Because he’s young.

Young and stupid.

And I’m a reclusive man on the edge of forty with trust and control issues.

I’m a bad decision, a story Richie and Dare will tell ages from now to a table full of people who will giggle and say, “Oh, those were the days.”

But despite all of that, despite my own inebriation, I couldn’t find it in me to let the man rot as I had threatened earlier in the day, when he fell on his ass.

Instead, I’d brought him home, undressed him, and taken care of him. Because I wanted him to feel better. I wanted to soothe the tears he tried to hide, the loathing that tormented him. I despised seeing Dare so... so...

Unhappy.

Because of me.

And because I wasn’t in my right mind, I thought the best place for him to find the comfort he needed, was in my fucking bed. That I could somehow make him understand he’s not the problem.

I’m the fucking problem. I’m fucking damaged.

I’m not good for anyone. Hell, I can barely handle my own shit.

I stupidly thought I’d be able to keep my distance if I just slept on the opposite side of the bed. Though, to be fair, my bed is big enough for more than one person. At least I’d know if he was all right, because I would be close. If I would have had my wits about me, I would have slipped him into the guest room down the hall, far away from me, where I wouldn’t be fucking tempted.

But I woke up at the ass crack of dawn with one arm casually draped across his hip and a solid cock, his back pressed against me, and the chaos inside of me threatened to pull me under.

I shoved him away like he was made of fire, like he’d truly burned me.

Dare only grunted something incoherent in his sleep, and my heart felt like it was going to leap out of my chest.

And the worst part was I felt empty the moment I pushed him away.

Like the burn had scarred me deep below the surface.

That can’t happen again. It just can’t.

So, I’d done the only thing I could do. As my emotions begged to pull me under, as my breath caught in my throat and panic formed... I focused on what I could control.

I charged his phone, got him some clean clothes. Got a tray of purified water and medicine, fixed a card with instructions, I fed him a suitable breakfast that will keep him energized and feeling better than a greasy breakfast and coffee ever would, and I’d arranged for his things to be returned for him at leisure.

But I still couldn’t get the sight of his dark gaze, his perfect lips, or the warmth of his skin against mine, out of my mind.

Nothing, it seemed, would erase Dare Wylde and his heart killer ways from my psyche. Nothing but distance, of course.

I know that is what I need to do. Rip this splinter out of my fucking skin, tear off this bandaid.

Put some distance between us, so I can focus.

Because with Dare around, my attention span seems to falter.

Probably a side effect of spending so much time with someone whose brain is like a squirrel on cocaine.

Dare turns toward me, capturing my gaze.

I’ve been caught staring. Again.

Fucking hell.

Thankfully, before either of us can say anything, the car rolls to a stop and my driver opens his door.

I breathe a sigh of relief that we are at the studio, and soon enough, I will be able to work out this... this... unsettling energy. Soon, I will lose myself in my music, and everything will be okay.

Dare follows behind me as I swipe my card to let us into the building, and I can feel his gaze on me, like a fire.

I hold the door open for him, nodding for him to enter.

Dare stands there, on the sidewalk, chewing his lip like a piece of licorice.

The sight ignites memory once more, as I recall how soft and plush they were as I nipped at the flesh with my teeth. How they crushed mine with brutal force.

I force the image away as I nod toward the open door and say, “After you.”

Dare’s eyebrows furrow slightly and he brushes past me, his form sliding against my front only slightly.

I can’t deny that he looks good in the basics. Sure, bright colors and dramatic clothing are what he is known for, but there is something about the simplicity of a man in a white tee shirt and gray sweatpants that feels so much... sexier than the former. More intimate.

The shirt itself draws attention to Dare’s thick arms, and the array of colorful tattoos that accentuate his skin. It’s also tight across his chest, and his nipples prominently poke through, which makes me think of his damn nipple rings, which makes my cock twitch, and...

Lord have mercy on my fucking soul.

“Thanks,” he says dejectedly as he enters the building.

With his back to me, I do my best to adjust my cock and close the door.

“Welcome,” I say coldly, fighting the urge to say anything else.

The clock reads eleven-thirty, and I sigh. I hate being off on my schedule.

Rehearsals are usually done by three, and usually, I like to head home for a meditation following a rehearsal. Why I let my sister and Geo talk me into going out last night is beyond me.

Clearly, I’m off my game.

Guess I’m going to have to pull some extra hours in the studio tonight to make up for it.

“Matty, listen, I?—”

I close my eyes as I give Dare my back. The desire to turn around is strong, but I need to be stronger. I cannot let myself see the remorse, the embarrassment on his face, and know I’m the cause.

I should have put up a fight. I should’ve said no to that drink, I should’ve left him in the hallway.

Because if I would have done so, I wouldn’t be standing inches away from him, feeling like the biggest fucking asshole.

“Remember to shut the door,” I murmur as I force myself toward my studio room and shut the door tightly.

On the other side of the door, Helena and Palo stand around chatting quietly. One look to the studio and I see it’s empty.

“Where’s Hailee?” I snap, feeling agitated.

Howler shrugs. “You weren’t the only one who called in late this morning,” she says. “Hailee said she’d be getting in around noon, probably.”

Palo messes with his controls as Helena raises an eyebrow.

“Have fun last night?” she asks, flashing me with a smirk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I brush past her toward the door to the rehearsal studio.

She doesn’t relent, and I sigh in exasperation.

“Oh, come on! Throw me a fucking bone, Mateo!” she whines.

“No,” I deadpan, and I throw my guitar strap over my shoulder.

Helena only rolls her eyes. “You’re no fun,” she chides.

Her words shouldn’t bother me, but they do.

Is that really how everyone sees me?

Like some anti-social, mean dick?

I mean, they wouldn’t be wrong, but..

I wish not everyone saw me like that.

Just as I’ve finished tuning my guitar, Hailee walks in.

She’s still wearing the clothes she wore last night, her makeup is smudged to hell and back, and overall, she looks like I feel.

Like shit.

I know I should say something. Tell her to make better choices. But I know it won’t get me anywhere.

It’ll only end in an argument, and I’m too fucking tired to fight today.

“Start with Satellites ?” I ask.

Hailee nods as she turns on her keyboard.