Page 14 of Wild Stars (Rock His World #2)

CHAPTER 14

Dare

I stare at my ceiling, trying to convince myself I can see the stars instead of a white, boring ceiling with peeling paint.

Because as I lay here, Matty’s bedroom is all I can think about.

Well, if I’m being honest, the bed I woke up in is not all I can think about.

I close my eyes as I work my cock, knowing the release will help me sleep.

Otherwise, I’ll be tempted to stay up all night, trying to write and procrastinating sleep.

Mage Of Mercy ’s Control fills the space of my bedroom, low enough it won’t bother anyone else, and only I can hear it.

Matty’s words dance in my brain along with his gravelly, roguish voice.

There are plenty of artists who are enhanced by technology, produced to sound good, but tonight, when I heard him sing in the studio—singing my favorite Mage Of Mercy song to boot—I couldn’t deny that Matty is the real deal.

But if I’m being honest, it’s not just his voice that makes my brain turn to mush, and it’s not just the fact he’s six foot four and built like a fucking brick house that makes my cock hard.

It’s his attitude, his bite.

It’s the sliver of moments where he cracks.

Where I can really see him.

Make no mistake, Mateo Starr is a dick.

But Matty ... Matty is the man strumming away on a guitar, singing with raw emotion about needing control, about searching for satellites to call him home.

Or perhaps an alien to abduct him.

I know he said what happened between us would never happen again. That it couldn’t .

But fuck, I want it to.

I want to kiss him, touch him, and fucking eat him like a bowl of marshmallow fluff, and I want to lick that bowl damn clean.

The thought of licking Matty anywhere makes my cock wet, and I use my hand to spread the copious precum along my shaft like it’s fucking lube. The damaged warranty expired brain cell that controls my cock latches on to Matty’s dirty text.

Hopefully, you weren’t probed too hard.

“Fuck me.” I groan in the darkness of my bedroom, squeezing my thickness. My words ring out with resounding truth that only fuels my fire.

Fuck. Me.

The warmth of my hands melds with the moist feel of my precum and I know I’m not far off.

And because I’m clearly certifiable—as Matty says—I let my free hand travel up my chest to my neck, and I place my fingers around my throat.

In the privacy of my bedroom, at nearly three am, I have no reason to hold back.

So, I let my fantasy free, imagining Matty’s hand around my throat.

I let go of my aching shaft, my hand and fingers wet enough with my own juices that I don’t think twice about sinking a finger into my hole. The intrusion is sudden and causes a fresh blossom of moisture to form.

I shudder as my cock twitches, the cool air against the wetness and the tightness of my insides causing a deep moan to escape my throat.

It feels really fucking good.

My experience with men has been pretty limited to blowjobs, eating ass, and once, I hooked up with a dude at our launch party after we signed with Casualty Records, but I have to admit I was wasted, and as such, it didn’t last very long by the time I managed to get my condom on. Two thrusts into the guy and I was toast, and he was, too.

But the thought of being probed by Matty, of letting him claim land no one else has, the thought of his fingers squeezing my throat while he stretches me...

I pick up my pace, my breath catching as my rhythm becomes more erratic, as the thought of his cock buried deep inside me while he orders me to beg for it fills my brain...

It’s too much.

“Fuck me!” I groan into the side of my pillow as I come, diluting my ecstasy if only because I don’t want to wake anyone else up and have them discover me like this.

Coming hard with my hand around my throat and a finger in my ass.

Finally, when I catch my breath, I open my eyes, noting the mess I’ve made. My cock is dripping, my waist and hips painted with my guilty pleasure, and I feel like I could pass the fuck out.

I reach for some tissues off my nightstand to clean myself up, if only because I don’t want to wake up stuck to my damn sheets, and when I’m done, I close my eyes and listen to the faint sound of lyrics I know by heart.

Set me free, set me free

Baby, take control

Trap me, trap me, bury me

In your fucking soul

I don’t want forgiveness, baby

I want to reap the seeds I’ve sown

Break me, take me, baby

I’m yours to control...

* * *

The next thing I know, Richie is shaking me.

“Wake up, man!” he says, and I groan.

“Five more fucking minutes!” I whine.

“Not today! We’ve gotta head out in, like, half an hour. I already let you sleep late.”

I whine again as I fight to throw my pillow at him, but he catches my hand mid-throw. The pillow falls between us.

“We’ve got a long day today. We’ve got the Morning Show,” he says with concern.

“Morning Show?” I murmur as I sit up, wiping my eyes. My sheets fall around my hips, and I am startled to realize I’m commando under my sheets.

Shit, how the hell could I forget to put fucking pants on!

Richie doesn’t bat an eye, though, and I’m more than thankful.

“Yeah, Karen Ingram’s show. You do remember we have a show this morning...”

I run my hands over my face, nodding. “Yeah, of course,” I lie.

Richie twists his lips. He looks like he wants to say something, but thinks better of it.

“All right, then hop to it,” he says. “Or I’ll have to sick Penny on you.”

I groan, but wave him off. “Yeah, yeah. Give me five minutes to shower and get dressed and I’ll be down.”

Richie grins, letting out a laugh as he heads for the door.

* * *

I stare at my reflection in the makeup mirror. While I arrived to the studio in my new favorite sweatpants and a Shrek shirt that reads Ogre On Board, Karen’s team had already selected an outfit for me to wear when I appear on their show.

I’m not one for suits, and as such, I’m not a fan of the black blazer and trousers with the gold shirt that draws more attention to my gut than anything I fucking own.

Richie, of course, is dressed similarly, but because he doesn’t have an ounce of fat on his fucking body, the tight-fitting clothes only accentuate his fit figure.

I’m not jealous of my brother, but sometimes I wish we could have been switched at birth, and I could have been born the pretty one .

It’s a lot easier to be confident about your looks when you look like Richie.

Thankfully, I was able to get the makeup and hair people to leave my hair alone, and at least that makes me feel like myself in this stupid suit.

Ines and Spike also sport daytime suits that cover their tattoos.

Looking up at the monitor, at the four of us sitting on Karen’s couch, I can’t help but think next to the three blond mice, I look like a fucking imposter.

Or Cinderella’s salty cat, Lucifer.

Karen’s voice pulls me from my melancholy thoughts and I realize she’s talking to me, and of course I didn’t hear her because I was too busy self-deprecating again.

“I’m sorry, can you say that again?” I say with a shrug.

Karen laughs, and Richie rolls his eyes. “You’ll have to excuse my brother, his coffee hasn’t kicked in yet.”

I shoot him a scowl, but he doesn’t falter.

Ines chimes in with his own sarcasm. “That’s what happens when you stay out all night, am I right?” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows.

Spike laughs and shoots finger guns at the camera.

“Life of a Heart Killer , baby.”

“Of course, and I completely understand!” Karen says with a giggle.

When all the laughing—my bandmates and the audience—settles, Karen implores me with her gaze.

“I was just asking if there is anyone special in your life. You boys have been the talk of the town lately, and viewers are just dying to know!” she says with a fake smile plastered on her face.

Fuck.

I wipe my sweaty hands on my knees, licking my lips as I try to think about how to answer her in a way that doesn’t make me seem like a total loser.

Or a stalker.

“Uh, not... really,” I say cautiously.

The crowd gasps.

Not helping the confidence here, ladies.

“I mean, it’s not like I don’t want there to be... someone. I just, uh...”

“I think what my brother means is that he’s not in a rush. Like us, he’s just enjoying the ride.”

Riche pulls me close, and I take his lead.

“And it’s been a wild ride,” I say as I force a smile and wink.

The crowd and Karen laugh at my obvious snarky allusion to my moniker and seem to take this as gospel, and move on to the next topic.

Our upcoming show.

Richie and Spike take over the conversations and drop our ticket information, and then we’re off the air.

Once out of sight, I unbutton the top couple buttons of my gold shirt so I can breathe.

“You okay?” Richie asks as I pop a button off.

I hope I don’t have to pay for that.

“I can’t breathe in this fucking outfit,” I say with a huff.

“I’m heading to craft services,” Ines says.

“I’ll come with you,” Spike chimes in, leaving Richie and I alone.

I speed-walk toward the dressing rooms, wanting nothing more than to get out of this costume and put my comfy clothes back on.

“Somehow I don’t think this is about the outfit,” Richie murmurs.

I stop and look at him with disdain. “Really? Since when did you have time to get a shrink degree?”

Richie crosses his arms. “What is your deal, man? You’ve been a basket case since Sylvestro’s.”

“I have not!” I say like petulant child.

“Yes, you have. Something is going on with you.” His eyebrows furrow as he takes a step closer to me.

I rub my neck, trying to re-circulate my blood flow from this tight ass shirt.

“You can tell me, you know,” Richie says softly. “You used to tell me everything.”

My heart breaks and I feel like an asshole.

How am I supposed to tell him something I barely understand myself?

What would I even say?

“I know, Rich. I just... don’t think you would understand.”

I don’t miss the way his gaze falters or the frown on his face.

“Why? Is it a... guy thing?”

I’ve never been the type to remain quiet about my preferences. My brother was the first person I officially came out to, years before I came out to anyone else.

I wish I could tell him everything. About me, about Matty.

But something tells me now is not the time, and it’s certainly not the place.

“Oh, my God! Richie! I didn’t know you guys were on the show today!” A sweet, melodic voice pulls both of our attentions.

But my attention doesn’t fall on Hailee Starr, oh no.

Like a laser beam, it falls right on the tall glass of fucking water next to her.

Who is wearing his usual leather pants, black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His chocolate brown hair is gelled back, and it gives him an almost debonair gentlemen look.

Gentleman of fucking hell.

My brother’s entire demeanor shifts, and I don’t miss the way his eyes light up when he looks at Hailee.

“Hailee! So good to see you,” he purrs as he leans in and hugs her.

Matty meets my gaze, his expression as stoic as ever with his vast, starry gray eyes. He doesn’t move an inch.

“Dare.”

“Matty,” I reply cooly, though I can’t help but think about our conversation last night.

Or the seriously fucked up probing fantasy that followed.

My cock twitches and I shift my weight, not wanting to draw attention to these tight ass pants, just as Hailee squeals with excitement, her ombre curls bouncing like a basketball on hot concrete.

“I absolutely can not wait to see your show tonight!”

My burgeoning erection dies as all the blood drains from my body at her words.

“What show?”

Richie turns to me, his shoulders falling as he replies, “You know, the one at the Palace... at eight? It’s been on the schedule for like six months.”

I blink furiously, realizing I have no idea what he’s talking about.

Panic sets in, because now I feel—and look—like an absolute idiot.

“Oh yeah, that one. Of course.” I flash them with a forced smile. “How could I forget?”

Matty raises an eyebrow, just as Hailee hits him in the arm.

“You should totally come with me!”

I don’t miss the way Matty snaps his head in her direction. “What?”

Hailee grins. “It’ll be fun, just you and me. Like old times.” Her blue eyes sparkle as she sways back and forth on her lithe legs, which are covered in opaque black tights with speckles of glitter.

Combined with her plum sheath dress and her gothic makeup, she and her brother look like they could pass as members of the Adams family.

“Yeah, it’ll be a blast. We can even do something afterward... if you want,” Richie says his demeanor cool and collected, but I don’t miss the excitement in his eyes.

Matty glances at her, then at me, almost as if he is waiting for me to say something.

I clear my throat, glancing at Richie, who implores me with his gaze.

Oh, right, it’s my band...

“Mateo, Hailee, we need you on set.” A stagehand comes up, breaking our conversation.

Thank God.

Matty looks at me, then at my brother, and shrugs.

“I guess we’ll see you later, then.” His tone is cool, almost disinterested, and it takes a moment for his words to settle on me.

He’s coming to my fucking show.

Tonight.