You’ve got to be fucking kidding.
Chloe held onto him, bouncing in her seat. He clutched her hands a little tighter and schooled the expression on his face. He was pissed. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.
Taylor Kerrigan, lead guitarist of Venery, stood there with Brendan and Dillon—and he had his sights set right on Chloe.
“Bloody shite,” he muttered to himself.
Taylor Kerrigan listened to the babble coming from the bar as he sat hidden in Dillon’s office waiting for his cue. Why the fuck was he doing this? Even though he was used to it he hated putting himself on display, unless he was on a stage with a guitar in his hand. Without it, he was just a piece of meat to be gawked at, pulled apart, and fawned over. It came with the territory. He knew that, but he volunteered for it this time—insisted on it.
So why was he doing this again?
He scoffed. You know why.
The tour bus he’d called home for the past five months rolled back into the city late this past Friday night—actually the wee hours of Saturday morning. By the time they unloaded the bus and the town car dropped him off at his downtown condo it was near dawn. Taylor watched the first rays of sunlight appear as he gazed upon the panoramic lakefront view through the wall of glass. Then he went to his room, closed the door and the blinds to shut out the light before he fell to his bed.
It felt so good to be back in it. The tour had been grueling. He was so tired he thought he could sleep for a week. There was a time, and it wasn’t that long ago, he wouldn’t be as knackered as he was coming off the road. Taylor and the boys known as Venery had been together for fifteen years—since high school. They’d been touring almost every year for the last decade. But he wasn’t twenty anymore—or even twenty-five. Hell, he was past thirty. Were you already old at thirty? He was too young to feel this old. Maybe it was time for them to slow down for a bit. He could use a breather. Something. They all could.
That wouldn’t be happening any time soon. They had music to write and a new album to record. Another bloody tour was already in the works for next year. Taylor groaned and pulled the blanket over his head.
No rest for the wicked.
The room was dark when he woke. He tumbled out of his bed and opened the blinds as the last rays of light extinguished on the western horizon. Switching on a lamp, he fumbled through the luggage he had yet to unpack. He’d sort it later. Right then all he wanted was a hot shower, a cold drink, and…a good fuck. In his own bed.
Taylor tapped out a text and without waiting for a reply ambled into his posh, yet unmistakably masculine, en suite to shower the post-road grubbiness from his still-weary limbs. He flipped a switch and soft LED lights illuminated the water that rained down on him from the ceiling. He adjusted the temperature of the water as hot as he could stand it and rested both palms against the black marble walls. God, he’d missed this.
Heat seeped through his skin to loosen his stiff muscles. Taylor tipped his head back for a moment to savor the feeling before he pumped body wash from the built-in dispenser and lathered himself. Callused fingers snaked over the hard ridges of his abdomen to cup his balls and wash them. He always wanked off in the shower. His self-love ritual. He looked forward to the release, but tonight he was so exhausted his dick didn’t even twitch.
He threw on a pair of sweats and opened his bedroom door expecting to see nothing but a dark, empty living room. That’s not what Taylor saw at all. Muted light from the lamp on the side table softly lit the space. The mouthwatering aroma of garlic and herbs wafted from the kitchen and permeated the air. Bare feet attached to denim-clad legs hung over the arm of his Italian leather sofa. He trailed his index finger slowly down one sole and watched the toes curl in response. That woke his dick up.
“Fuck, I missed you.”
Taylor wound long, soft hair around his hands and pulled as he lowered his mouth. At the same time fingers grabbed onto his hair and full lips rose to greet him. Ravenous, he growled and pushed his tongue inside to reacquaint himself with the delicious mouth he’d been deprived of for so long. He tasted whiskey and lust. Love…home.
Yes. I’m home.
He popped the button on the denim beneath him. “I said I fucking missed you.”
His fingers grasped the zipper and he yanked it down. Eyes on the prize, he licked his lips. He could already taste it. His mouth watered.
“I missed you too.”
And those full lips latched back onto his. Teeth nipped. Fingers reached inside his sweats and wrapped around his fat cock.
“Fuck,” Taylor groaned and pushed the fabric down his thighs. “Suck it.”
He yanked the hair in his hands to his dick. The delicious mouth he missed so much swallowed him whole. Five long months he’d gone without it. Not that he’d gone without altogether—hardly. There was plenty of fucking to be had on tour. Any time he wanted. With pretty much anyone he wanted. But it was this mouth he thought of. Wanted. Missed. Loved.
Warm hands cupped his balls and squeezed as he fucked that mouth deep. No gag reflex. Fucking amazing. Though he did love the sights and sounds of a pretty bird choking when his thick uncut cock hit the back of her throat. Mascara-stained tears dripping down her face. He thrust harder and those fingers pressed firmly against his taint.
“Fuck,” Taylor growled. Cum erupted from his cock with the force of a geyser, coating the mouth still sucking him, overflow dripping from the corners. Why was that just so fucking hot?
That mouth.
He pulled out his dick and painted those lips with drops of cum that still oozed from the tip. Glazed blue eyes looked up at him and Taylor crashed his lips to that delicious mouth. He tasted his own cum. Heady. He loved the way cum tasted like nothing else. Viscous, salty semen or a woman’s sweet honey. Didn’t fucking matter to him.
He loved cock.
He loved pussy.
Most of all he loved that mouth. Had for a long time.
Taylor caught the bottom lip between his teeth and pulled, then kissed and nipped and licked salty skin. He wanted his prize. Just as he was about to reach it, hands gripped his hips and turned him over. And that was fine with him too—he was vers. They both were.
Wet fingers slid through his cheeks and a finger penetrated him. “This what you want, Tay?” Then two. “She’s perfect, by the way.”
Now? What the fuck?
“Bloody hell, Jesse!”
Then three. Jesse knew just how to distract him—and how to get what he wanted. Taylor didn’t give a fuck about the bird right then. He just wanted Jesse to spread his arse cheeks and give him his big fat prize.
And he did.
Later, after they ate the takeout Jesse had brought, they laid side by side on his bed, lazily stroking each other’s dicks. He wasn’t tired anymore. They would fuck all night. They always did, especially when he came off the road. Taylor swirled precum around Jesse’s head with his thumb.
Jesse hissed. “I want her, Tay.”
“She’s open to it?”
He’d bet Jesse hadn’t even told her yet. About him. Them. What Jesse wanted.
“I haven’t…we haven’t.” Jesse’s hand fell from his dick.
Taylor put his hand back where it was. He liked it there. “Have you fucked her yet?”
He squeezed Jesse’s fingers that he held around his cock. “No. I won’t. I can’t until…” Taylor massaged his balls. Gave them a rough tug. “Fuck, Tay.”