Page 9 of Wild Stars (Rock His World #2)

CHAPTER 9

Dare

Everyone thinks that rockstars come out of the mold ready to fuck shit up.

But the truth is, most of us are a lot more nerdy and un-cool in our early years, and most of the badass shit is just an act.

It’s a job. At least, that is what I told myself when we signed with Casualty Records.

Whatever they want you to be, be it.

Matty’s words echoed in my brain, telling me the only way to attract ass was to want my own.

I’d taken those words to heart, more than I think he meant for me to.

So, I did the only thing I could. I performed.

I channeled the visage of badass motherfucker, the kind of man who doesn’t give two shits about anything except having a good time.

And it worked.

So good, I actually believed it myself.

And for a little while, I felt like the person I always wanted to be.

I drank with my damn idol, danced with hot guys, got tied up by pretty angels...

Life was fucking awesome.

And when I opened my eyes, staring out at the audience, I saw him.

Standing at the edge of the stage, eyes closed, grabbing himself, and when he opened his eyes, he looked right fucking at me.

Like he knew every thought in my fucking brain.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, or the way he licked his lips, or the obvious fucking tent in his pants.

Because he was watching me.

Something about that realization seemed important, but at the time, it was white noise.

Because the only functioning brain cell I had at the moment was screaming that Mateo fucking Starr was watching me.

And he liked what he was watching, that was obvious.

But then he ran away.

And I am bound, tied to a fucking chair, and I can’t get to him.

My dream turns into a nightmare as panic and heat flush through me.

When the angels finally set me free, I practically jump off the stage, nearly taking out Hans and Celina. I look around us, but I don’t see anyone else.

“Where did everyone go?” I ask.

“VIP maybe?” Hans shrugs.

“Maybe they went to get fresh air?” Celina says.

I scan the room, but my sight is blurry to begin with from the bright lights, not to mention the copious amounts of alcohol in my system.

Every time Matty told me to take it easy, I just went harder, because I didn’t want to look like a fucking pussy in front of him.

One drink had turned into at least four and I was half certain the man was trying to out drink me or something just to prove a point.

But I am too fucked to care what that point was, because the more I drink, the better I feel, and the more I believe in my performance.

I’m, like, Leo DiCaprio method acting or some shit.

I push my way through the crowd, heading for VIP, but the only person left is Geo, who seems to be much more interested in his phone.

“Where did he go?” I ask.

Geo looks up at me, raising an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Fucking Matty,” I huff, only slightly out of breath.

Geo’s lips pull at the corners. “Probably heading to the Sinner’s Playground.” He shrugs. “Especially, after that titillating theatrical performance of yours.”

I’m too fucking drunk to know what that even remotely means, but Geo takes some pity on me and points me in the right direction. “He’s talking to the ringmaster as we speak.”

I follow Geo’s direction to see Matty’s tall frame, his shoulders, waiting at the velvet rope, and I don’t think twice. I leap down the steps and I run.

Chasing something I’m not quite sure I understand.

Maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe he’s just fucking wasted, too, and forgot where he was.

Maybe it has nothing to do with me.

I call his name, but he can’t hear me.

Or worse, maybe he does and he’s fucking ignoring me. Like the asshole he is.

Except I thought... I thought maybe with all the whiskey and all the dancing... maybe Mateo Star was actually starting to thaw.

Maybe he isn’t a cold, bitter asshole.

Because as we all danced under the lights, side by side, I could have sworn he looked like he was having fun.

I reach the ropes just as he disappears and the attendant looks at me with disdain.

“I’m with him, obviously,” I bite. The devil in leather only raises an eyebrow.

“Do you have a reservation?” he deadpans.

“Do you know who I am?” I bite, frustrated and drunk as shit.

Not that I go around touting my fame like a hall pass, ever.

The man sighs. “Yes, I know who you are, Mr. Wylde.”

“Then you better open this fucking rope or I’m going to give this place one hell of a Yelp review.”

Honestly, I’m surprised my threat works.

But it does.

The man grumbles about not being paid enough for this shit, and mumbles something about room seventeen.

And then I see him, heading toward the far end of a dark hall, lit up by red neon lights.

“Matty, wait!” I call, huffing as I catch up to him.

He freezes, beneath the shadows of the hallway, just out of reach from the lounge.

I come up against him, noticing several closed doors in the alcove but otherwise it’s empty.

“Matty...” I barely get the words out before he grabs me, throwing my back against the wall.

“Why?” he growls, sliding his hand up my arm, across my neck.

His fingers twitch against my throbbing vein there, like he’s afraid.

But I’m not sure why anyone in their right mind would be afraid of a two hundred pound man with an open neon shirt, enough rolls to start a bakery, and ripped jeans.

I might look slightly menacing when I’m done up for a press shoot, but otherwise...

“Why, what?” I breathe, my cock twitching from his close proximity, from the heat of his palm against my skin. My skin feels flushed from a mixture of my run and the way he’s looking at me.

I look up at his dark eyes, and they remind me of starry skies.

Vast and all encompassing at the same time. The neon red light makes him look every bit like a devil, hungry for my fucking soul.

God, do I want to be devoured.

“Why do you keep calling me that, when I ordered you not to?” he says, through gritted teeth. “Why are you so defiant?” His fingers squeeze my neck, and the touch is surprisingly gentle, given the heat and the tone of his voice.

“Why do you fucking bait me?” he says, his dark gaze falling to my lips.

I’m powerless underneath his touch, his gaze.

I can’t speak, under his spell.

All I can do is focus on my cock, because Matty leans against me, and I know he can feel my fucking erection.

Because I can feel his.

My heart beats like a drum as I lick my lips.

And because I’m drunk, I don’t think twice about saying shit I know I shouldn’t.

“I fucking bait you?” I growl, pushing back against his chest. My nipple ring catches on his silk shirt, tugging a bit, but I don’t feel pain.

All I feel is alive.

“How am I supposed to keep up with your fucking moods? One minute you’re a dick, the next you’re renting limos because you think it’s what I want,” I snap.

“I didn’t rent the limo for you, little shit.”

“Yes, you did.” I push my body against him, knocking him back against the wall on the opposite side. His back thuds against the wall, and I don’t miss the shock in his gaze.

The way his eyes glisten causes my cock to twitch, igniting a fire within me I know isn’t entirely to blame on the alcohol.

I brace my hands on the wall beside his shoulders.

He’s got a few inches on me, so I have to look up at him.

His chest rises with heavy breaths.

He grabs my neck, his hand around my throat.

I’m far too keyed up, far too drunk, and far too past the point of fucking caring.

I throw my last operating brain cell to the wind as I crush my mouth against his like an avalanche.

Matty’s body stiffens beneath me, but he opens his mouth.

He fucking opens his mouth.

He pulls away for a moment, eyes wide with shock.

And then he pulls me against him, setting one hand on the exposed flesh of my hip, while the other squeezes my throat and fucking kisses me back.

The reality is too much to comprehend.

All I know is that I want more.

I press my body against him, pinning him to the wall. His cock twitches against my own, and clearly, I’ve lost all my marbles in this fucking place, because the words that come out of my mouth are not mine.

They can’t be, because I would never say, “You like that, don’t you?”

Matty bites my lower lip with his teeth before plunging his tongue into my mouth, which only fuels my temporary bout of insanity.

“Fucking hell, Dare...” Matty’s voice is blurry, like my vision.

I thrust my hips against him, rubbing my erection against his, and he curses in my mouth.

“I want you to beg for it,” I growl.

“Fuck,” Matty groans. “No,” he fights. “I will not!”

I thrust myself against him, kissing, licking, and doing everything I can to keep this version of Matty alive. He groans as I do so, so I keep doing it.

Because I can’t deny I like him like this.

Hard, needy, and fucking beneath me.

“This is what I bring to the table,” I say like a fucking idiot. “And I’m going to make you fucking beg for it.” I flash him a lecherous grin.

Somewhere in my drunk mind, I think that’s a zinger.

“Fuck!” Matty growls in return, shivering beneath my weight.

He pulls away from me, breathing heavy as he drops his hand between us, cursing again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he barks out, turning away from me, and I fall back against the wall, losing my footing.

“I can’t do this, I can’t...” Matty pulls out his phone.

I fall on my ass.

“I’m calling the driver back. I think it is time we ended this nightmare.” He punches a number into the lit screen.

Nightmare.

He called me a nightmare.

Fuck.

I fucked up.

Bad.

“Matty, I–”

“Be out front in ten minutes, Dare,” he snaps, his voice cold, calculating.

Gone is the needy, sexy Batman that pushed me over the edge, and in its place is the bitter musician who thinks I’m the bane of his damn existence.

My eyes glisten as shame and guilt rack me, because the way he looks at me cuts me to my core.

It’s the opposite of praise.

It’s remorse.

No, no, no...

He starts to walk away, leaving me in the shadows of this empty hallway.

He is halfway before he turns around.

A deep sigh leaves him as he grabs me, attempting to lift me up.

He wraps my hand around his shoulder and holds my waist, and a sob tears through me as I lean against him.

“Matty, I?—”

“Darren, for once, fucking listen to me. Please. Don’t.” His voice softens for a moment. “You’ll forget about it in the morning, anyway.”

A part of me recognizes the sadness, the loneliness in his voice. I want to tell him I won’t, that I could never forget him and his sexy grin or his Batman voice, or the hunger in his eyes while he watched me on stage.

And I would never forget the way his fingers felt when they squeezed my neck, the way his tongue felt in my mouth, or the truth that lay buried underneath walls of stone.

I could never forget Mateo Starr crumbling underneath me if my life depended on it.

“Where are we going?” I ask like a sad little kid.

“I need to keep you safe.” He guides me through the crowd, his grip on my waist solid and firm.

“Are you mad?” My stomach flips, fear shaking my tired bones, and I feel like I might throw up.

Should I tell him that?

“You are asking me if I am mad?” He scoffs.

“Yeah, you seem like you’re mad...” I mumble as we reach the cold air out outside. I try to stifle my sniffle, but I can’t. I feel like the biggest asshole ever. “Like you’re mad at me.”

Matty guides me into the limousine, and I all but fall over onto the seat. The leather is chill against my skin and makes me feel a fraction better.

Matty sighs, trailing his fingertips down my back, letting his hand settle on the small of my back, which isn’t small by any means. He gently rubs my exposed skin, his touch warm and smooth.

I like it too much to pretend I don’t.

I’m hot, sweaty, drunk, and feel like shit. Also, I might throw up in this car.

He’ll be really mad then.

“No, Dare,” he says softly, like a tired Batman. “I’m not mad at you. Go to sleep.”

My eyes are heavy, and I don’t have the will to fight his order.