Rock Stars Do It Harder (3 page)

Chase idly twisted the spiked bracelets on his wrists as they neared the stage. He could feel the music in his bones and his belly before he could really hear anything specific. Until you were close enough to hear the feed from the monitors, the music heard backstage was a wall of sound, thick and impenetrable, rumbling and grumbling in your body.
 

Now that he was in the side-stage curtains watching, he could hear the band’s signature sound, a steady, growling bass line overlaid by high, squealing, technically stunning lead guitar work. Through it all, the drums pounded maniacally, topped by Cleo’s unintelligible but emotive screaming, chanting vocals. Chase wasn’t usually a huge fan of screamo bands, preferring a more melodic and artistic approach himself. He could appreciate the talent he was seeing, though. Cleo’s face twisted and contorted with angst and rage, her thin, porcelain-pale features curtained by a thousand thin dark purple dreads as she bent over at the waist, mic held sideways to her lips, cupped by her other hand. He couldn’t make out a damn word she was saying, but she sure did seem to feel it from the depths of her soul.
 

The number ended, and Cleo stepped off-stage as the lights darkened between numbers.
 

She grabbed a water bottle proffered by stagehand and stood next to Chase. “Hey. Wanna do a couple numbers together?”

Chase grinned at her. “Sure. I don’t know any of your stuff, though.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “We can do some covers. We’re more than just screamo, you know.”

“Cool. What do you want to cover?”

“You know ‘Cowboys From Hell’?”

“Hell, yeah.” Chase bobbed his head; the boys were all huge Pantera fans.
 

The bassist, a tall, willowy girl with blonde pigtails, tapped in a thrumming line, followed by the kick drum, and then the lights came on, bathing Cleo and Chase in twin spots. Cleo leaned in close to the lead guitarist, a short but svelte girl with black spiky hair and earrings rimming her ears from lobe to tip, muttering the song they were going to do. The guitarist nodded and strummed a few chords as the rest of the band cued in.

Then they were off, blazing through the beloved metal anthem, Cleo and Chase alternating verses and harmonizing on the chorus as perfectly as if they’d rehearsed it. They did “Sanitarium” by Metallica next, and then closed the set with “Killing in the Name of” by Rage Against the Machine. Chase was skeptical when Cleo suggested it, but Cleo assured him the band knew it backward and forward, and had covered it before. He found himself pleasantly shocked when the guitarist did indeed do justice to Tom Morello’s guitar work.
 

Chase had paid close attention to Cleo while they performed, and she was as sexy as Gage had suggested. She was thin and pale, with small breasts and boyish hips, which was as far from Chase’s taste as you could get, but she
was
beautiful, with wide hazel eyes and an expressive, kissable mouth.
 

Maybe she would provide enough distraction to help him forget; he had a lot of forgetting to do after all. Anna, Jamie…between the two, he wasn’t sure he’d ever truly be able to forget, but he had to try.
 

*
 
*
 
*

It was midnight, and Chase was hammered, more than half-naked, and about to lose his third straight hand of strip poker. Of course, he wasn’t necessarily playing to win, and neither were the girls from Murder Doll Asylum. Chase smirked as he thought,
Losing has never been so much fun
. And neither had winning. He was down to his leather pants, earplugs, and his socks, but then, the girls were faring about as well. He’d won twice as many hands as he’d lost, so Cleo was down to her bra and panties; Leah, the bassist, was topless in her Catholic schoolgirl–style miniskirt; and Kylie, the guitarist, was in a T-shirt and panties.
 

They’d been partying for hours, ever since their set ended earlier in the evening, with the drummer and rhythm guitar from MDA having gone with the other guys from Six Foot Tall to some after-party somewhere in Vegas.

Which left Chase to entertain three hot chicks on his own. He figured he could handle it.
 

He fanned his cards and examined them again, as if they might have changed. Ace of hearts, ace of diamonds, and three of hearts. A pair, but not enough. He was pretty sure Leah had a straight, and Cleo was holding something to beat that—a full house, maybe. He wasn’t sure what Kylie was holding, but he was pretty damn sure it beat his hand.
 

Chase sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. Leah had just raised on his bet, which meant he was beaten three ways. “All right, ladies. I’m not gonna see that. I’ve got a pair of aces.”

He laid his cards down and tried to keep his face neutral.
 

Leah whooped. “Hells, yeah! Straight, baby. Take ’em off, Delany.”

Chase grinned and stood up, ran his hands over his abs teasingly. He watched as all three girls froze in anticipation. He decided to toy with them; he drew off one sock, and then the other.

“That wasn’t the bet!” Cleo yelled. “Your pants, Chase. The bet was, if you lose, you take off those sexy leather pants.”

Chase looked down at himself, as if surprised to see his customary leather pants. “The pants?” He glanced with overdone incredulity at the three girls. “You want me to take my pants off?”

“YES!” all three girls said in chorus, and then burst into a fit of giggles.
 

Which was funny in and of itself, since none of them were the giggling type. They were the type of girls who could hold their own in the most brutal of mosh pits, who could breed a sonic massacre onstage and then drink half their male counterparts under the table afterward. And they were giggling.

Chase laughed, swaying in place. Those last two shots of Patrón were starting to catch up to him. “Well, let it never be said that Chase motherfucking Delany ever welched on a bet,” he announced, a little too loudly.

He eyed each girl in turn, his gaze lingering on Leah’s perky C-cup breasts, and then unbuttoned the top of his pants. He grinned when Cleo licked her lips, shifting in her chair. The zipper went down, and now they were loose around his hips, his semi-rigid cock bulging in his skin-tight CK boxer-briefs.
 

And then he paused. “I have an idea. How about the three of you play one last high-stakes hand.” He poured a shot for each of them, handed out limes and the salt, and then, when everyone was ready, he lifted his shot glass in a toast. “Winner of the last hand helps me take off my pants.”

Leah, Cleo, and Kylie exchanged looks, then grinned. Cleo scooped up the cards, shuffled, and dealt. Chase planted himself unsteadily into his chair, blinking at the double images he was starting to see. Time to slow down a bit; they were just starting to get down to the fun part of the night.
 

He watched the girls play, each one keeping her face straight and hard, giving nothing away. Watching them play, he started trying to figure out each girl’s tell. Leah was worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth absently, fingering one of her cards with her thumb. Kylie was blinking a lot and uncrossing and recrossing her legs—either nervous, or she had to pee. Cleo was the hardest. She was perfectly still, no obvious sign of nerves or excitement. Then she glanced at Chase and licked her lips, pink tongue swiping with exaggerated slowness between her black lipstick–painted lips.
 

She’s going to win
, he realized. She wasn’t nervous or excited, only confident, which meant she had a killer hand and she knew it. Chase found himself hardening at the thought of Cleo’s hands stripping him of his pants. She
was
pretty sexy, in her own way. She had knowing eyes, busy hands, porcelain-doll features. Like a china doll turned goth-anime.

Chase shifted in his chair. This would definitely be a welcome distraction. He’d hoped the night would provide a few hours of forgetting, but he hadn’t dared hope it would go
this
well.
 

He pushed away the doubts concerning what was about to go down. He owed no one anything. He could do what he wanted. If he wanted to spend the night in a
ménage à quatre
or whatever this would be called, then he had every right to. He was a goddamn rock star, for fuck’s sake. Rock stars fucked three girls at once.
 

Cleo’s whoop of triumph jerked him back to the present. Leah and Kylie were pouting while Cleo stood on the table, gyrating her hips and pointing at Chase. “Get over here, Delany. You’re mine, now, bitch.”

Chase stood up slowly, eyes on Cleo across the table from him, Leah and Kylie between them. He circled behind Leah. He paused with his lips at her ear and put his index finger on her bare knee near the hem of her skirt, then dragged it up her thigh, hiking her skirt higher as he went. He felt her breathing cease entirely as his finger moved up her hip to her naked side. She gasped when his finger traced the underside of her breast, and then whimpered when he flicked her rigid nipple.
 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispered in Leah’s ear, his eyes fixed on Cleo’s. “I haven’t forgotten about you.”

He pinched her nipple, nipping her earlobe, letting his hot breath huff into her ear. She tipped her head sideways to offer him better access, and he took it, planting a hot kiss on her neck.
 

She deflated when he moved away, letting her breath out, her head lolling back on her shoulders. Kylie was next, and she was watching him out of the corner of her eye, palms flat on the table, drawing slow, deep breaths. He paused behind her as he had Leah, but instead of immediately touching her, he simply stood behind her, mouth against her ear, his hands planted to either side of hers. She was frozen, head turned slightly so she could see him. He waited. Chase could feel the anticipation rolling off her in palpable waves.
 

“I haven’t forgotten about you, either,” he whispered.
 

Kylie turned in place so her lips brushed his. Chase felt a bolt of lust hit him when her soft, moist lips touched his.
 

“What are you gonna do?” Kylie asked, breathless.

“I don’t know. What do want me to do?”

She shrugged. “I’m awful hot in this shirt.”

Chase grinned and touched her lip with his tongue, tasting the salt and the tequila and faint traces of lipstick. “Hmmm. I might be able to help you out with that.”

Kylie sucked in her belly when Chase’s fingers brushed the skin of her abs, lifting her tight red baby-doll T-shirt up over her head and off. Her spiky black hair was mussed by the shirt’s removal, so Chase took the opportunity to run his hands over the spikes. She shivered when his palm grazed down her neck and across her shoulder, hesitating on the shoulder blade before plunging down her chest to her breasts, cupped by a plain black bra.
 

Chase dug his fingers into the cup and lifted one breast free, tweaking the rosy bud of her nipple. He lifted the strap and let it snap back. “Is this in the way, too?”

She nodded, unable to speak. Chase winked at Cleo, who watched the exchange with an amused lift of her eyebrow, arms crossed over her chest.

“You’re next, Cleo,” Chase said. “And you have a bet to keep.”

Cleo just smirked. “Bring it, sexy pants.”

Chase froze. “What did you call me?”

Cleo frowned. “Sexy pants. Why?”

Mr. Sexypants.
Anna’s voice echoed through his head, her nickname for him tugging on his heart.
 

He shook his head to clear it of the memory, and her voice. That was past. This was now, and he had three beautiful, willing women waiting for his attention.
 

“Something wrong, Delany?” Cleo asked.

“No, sorry. It’s nothing.” He turned back to Kylie, slipping the bra strap off her shoulder, then the other. “Now, where was I?”
 

Kylie reached behind her head to slide her hands over Chase’s back, clawing with her nails. “I think you were helping me off with my bra.”

“Oh, yeah,” Chase said, “now I remember.”
 

He deftly unhooked her bra with one hand, nibbling on her ear and cupping a breast as the bra fell away. He felt Leah’s eyes on him, hungry. Cleo was watching, too, and he tried to decide if he was seeing hints of jealousy in her eyes or not. Cleo shook her head slightly, poured a shot of tequila and downed it sans salt or lime, then turned her attention back to Chase, who was prowling around the circumference of the table once more.

He stopped beside Cleo, who turned in her chair to face him. “My turn?” she asked.

“Your turn.” Chase ran his thumbs around the inside of the waistband of his underwear, but didn’t lower them. “You’re the only one who’s wearing a top,” he pointed out.

Cleo laughed. “It’s not exactly at a top,” she said. “But I take your point. Want to fix that?”

Chase smiled, licking his lips, then lowered his mouth to her ear. “It would be my
extreme
pleasure.”
 

He suited action to words, unclasping her bra and tossing it away from her body in a single motion. Cleo stared up at him, lifting her chin defiantly, as if refusing to feel embarrassed by her nudity. Chase let his gaze rove down her body, taking in her small breasts with their nickel-sized areolas and beaded nipples. He reached down and carved a narrowing circle around her nipple with his finger, feeling the skin tighten under the pad of his fingertip.
 

Cleo bit her lower lip, sliding her eyes closed slowly and then opening them again. “I don’t think this was part of the bet.”

“Nope.”

“So what are you doing?”

Chase shrugged. “Three sets of beautiful bare breasts? How can I not touch them?”

Cleo didn’t answer. She continued to stare up at Chase, then hooked her fingers through the belt loops of his pants and tugged them down. They were tight enough that his boxers shimmied down with them, revealing the broad tip of his cock, now fully erect.