Dead Serious (5 page)

“No more secrets you want to tell me?” she asks, and I can see where this is going. Good thing I don't often keep secrets. Hate those motherfuckers. Plague on humanity. More pandemic than that freaking ebola virus.

I take a few steps forward and Naomi lets me, stepping backwards and gasping as I lift her up and set her ass on the edge of the table. A few water bottles topple over and fall to the floor, but we ignore them. Once I get started here, a whole hell of a lot more are going to join them.

“None. I swear to God, Naomi Knox, I'm not keeping any secrets from you.” Her tongue dives into my mouth, cutting off my words before I get a chance to ramble, to reassure her over and over again that I would never,
ever
keep a secret. It's like my religion or some shit – no Goddamn fucking secrets. How hard is that? How much easier would life be if we all told the truth? This whole mess with America and Travis and Tyler-Stephen-fuckwad-asshole-bitch. This could've been avoided if everyone had been honest from the start. And maybe someone had put a bullet through the psycho's head. Maybe that. “What about you, baby?” I ask, pulling back with effort at the same time my dick springs free and begs for Naomi's heat. Why, why, why the fuck does she have to be wearing jeans today? “Got anything you want to tell me?”

I move back a few inches and watch as Naomi unbuttons her jeans with purpose, staring into my face as she does it. Once her zipper's down, she lifts her leg and puts her heel on my chest, pushing me back a few steps. Ain't no roadie's ever done that to me before. No fucking fangirl bitch neither. Maybe that's what I was looking for all this time? A Goddamn Rock Star.

“Fucking Christ, Naomi Knox,” I breathe, my voice husky and dark. My fingers find my cock as Naomi slides off the table and hooks her fingers around the waistband of her jeans. “I want to own you.”

Her smile burns my freaking face off.

“Good luck with that.” She slips her jeans down her hips, dragging her panties along with them, and then turns around, putting her hands on the edge of the table. When she glances over her shoulder at me, blonde hair streaming down her back, body lithe and perfect and fully fucking exposed, I almost cream my frigging pants again. Good thing I've had practice. Teenage Turner would've been helpless in a situation like this. As things stand, I'm damn near paralyzed as it is.

I stroke my cock a few times, fingers teasing the tattoos inked into my shaft. Hurt like a bitch to get them, but it was worth it. Oh so worth it.

“So,” I say, wanting to move forward and take hold of her, plunge my dick into her dripping pussy. But I have to have an answer first, have to be sure. Oh, and I need a fucking condom. After we have our two kids, I'm getting a vasectomy, so I can screw the shit out of her bareback day in and day out. “No secrets?” I find a condom in my back pocket and pull it out, tearing the package with my teeth and slipping it over my shaft with a groan.

“No more secrets,” she whispers, arching her back like a kitty cat. “Now shut the fuck up and screw my Goddamn brains out.”

My smirk turns into a rictus grin, tearing across my face as I step forward and run my hands over Naomi's ass, taking hold of her hips. Normally I don't like to be told what to do, but in this case, the only answer I have for her is
yes ma'am.

“Baby, you don't gotta ask me twice.” I reach between us and find Naomi's molten core, throbbing like the bass beat in one of her songs, and slide myself in, balls deep.
Keys to the kingdom, sweet stuff.
I almost moan that shit out loud, but that's liable to get my ass kicked, so I bite it back with a growl.

“Turner,” Naomi moans like a real Rock Goddess, voice like gravel and leather, arsenic and lace. Little beads of sweat break out on her exposed lower back, sliding down her skin and drawing my eyes like I've been hypnotized; I can't look away. “Fuck me like you really mean it.” I snarl and ram my hips into Naomi's ass, enjoying the soft press of flesh that greets my thrust. It's so fucking refreshing to have sex with a woman I actually give two flying fucks about. I'm not sitting here, bored, wondering how I'm going to get away from her without making a scene. Hell, all I want to do is spend my day with this chick, make some music, fuck and smoke and drink. But I haven't been tamed, oh hell no. The press wants to slather the Internet with lines like
Rock's Biggest Bad Boy Brought to His Knees
? Well, fuck them. I ain't on my knees, and I can still screw like a Goddamn Rock God, so put that shit in your juice box and suck on it.

“Oh yeah, Knox. Ask and you shall fucking receive.”

Naomi braces her hands against the table and pushes her ass back against me, lifting her head and letting her blonde hair shimmer across her shoulder blades.

“No, I mean really fuck me. Fuck me so hard I can't even remember the letters of my own name. Fuck me so hard that I don't give a shit that I'm stuck here under America's thumb, trapped between a rock and a hard place. Make me believe it.” She pauses, sighs, and I can feel her body relaxing around mine. “Turner Motherfucking Campbell, show me what you got, bitch.”

My hand comes out and wraps around Naomi's hair, taking hold of her in a vise grip. I kinda get the impression that this sort of mood is a rarity for Naomi Knox, so I'm going to jump in with both feet and milk this fucking shit.

I pound Naomi into the table so hard that the damn thing shakes and smashes into the wall, chipping some of the beige paint from the drywall and sending the remaining water bottles crashing to the floor. But neither of us gives two shits about that.

“God yes,” Naomi grinds out between her teeth and I almost come again. Right then and there. I swear, her words know how to fuck my ears so hard they feel like they're gonna have orgasms of their own. “Harder, faster, Turner.”

“My pleasure, babe.” I pause for just a moment to lift up my shirt and toss it over my head, letting it hit the carpet near our feet as I bend over and slide my hand up her ribcage, under her little raggedy ass half-shirt, my fingers finding her breasts and her taut nipples. My torso presses up against Naomi's butt and back, sliding our sweaty skin together. I don't know what she wants from me, not exactly, but I can take a few guesses. I want Naomi to feel special, to
know
that she's special. Yeah, that might make me sound like a fag, but when it comes to love, I don't shit around. I want her to know that she's different from all those other girls, that even though I forgot our story for a little while, that I remember now and I'm sorry. “I don't usually do skin to skin, Naomi,” I growl out, letting my voice rumble in my chest. I want her to not just hear my words, but feel them in her bones. Lucky for me, I'm a singer, it's what I freaking do. “But with you, there are no barriers. I just want to be with you, body and soul, as long as you'll put up with me.”

She doesn't respond except to whimper and I know that I'm really talking too damn much. So I focus on massaging her breasts, on moving my hand up to her face, tracing along her jaw, putting my fingers in her mouth. She sucks on them for a moment as I move inside of her and then bites down, hard enough to hurt. My breath hisses out from between my teeth.

“God, you're such a bitch,” I groan and Naomi laughs, actually fucking laughs while I'm screwing her. Doesn't matter that her shirt is pushed up or her jeans pulled down, tangled around her ankles. Doesn't matter that she's bent over a fucking table getting nailed by the world's hottest rock star – yours truly – she's still in charge and I like that. I want to fight with this woman every day of my life, see her call me on my bullshit, watch her stare at me out of the corner of her eye with a smile when she thinks I'm not looking. All those other girls, the ones who threw themselves at my feet, begged for a single night on my bus, sucked my cock backstage at our shows, they were boring. This, this is what I was fucking waiting for.

“And you're a bastard. Now Goddamn
give it to me,
Turner.” I pull my hand away from her face, suck on my slightly bruised fingers and get them nice and sopping wet. My right hand keeps hold of Naomi's luscious little ass while my left dips down and I insert a finger into her ass. I'm gentle enough about it, but I push hard, sliding into her and getting the thrill of feeling my own dick in her pussy. Dude, if you ain't ever tried it, you might want to sign up now. Takes a pro to keep the flow going though, if you know what I mean.

Naomi lets out a small scream and sighs in pleasure, dropping to her elbows on the table to give me a better angle. I use my right hand as an anchor, holding her in place while I wet my dick and pleasure her ass at the same time. Not a very graceful position, but we're not fucking ballerinas; we're just trying to screw.

“You like that, Knox? Now I own your pussy
and
your ass.”

“Shut the fuck up, Turner,” she gasps, pushing herself into me, her throaty moans ascending into staccato whimpers.
Bingo.
I roll my eyes to the ceiling and let out a little prayer to the Horny God of Bastards. He's certainly smiling down on my ass today.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, the sound of a door opening registers, but I'm too busy getting my fucking shaft milked to do much about it. Naomi's coming, letting her forehead hit the table as she screams and spasms in my grip, muscles tightening in her back, her soft flesh rippling as I pummel into her. If somebody's just come in, then fuck 'em. They can watch for all I give a shit.

“Right there, Knox. That's the spot.” I slide my fingers from Naomi's ass and let myself go as her body relaxes in my arms, slumping forward, so that I have to hold her up with my right hand.

When I come, there's a smirk firmly planted on my lips.

“He makes me so Goddamn … ” I grit my teeth and try to come up with a word that describes Turner Campbell. Nothing appropriate comes to mind. The only adjectives I can think of that apply to that asshole aren't allowed in print. I pause and shrug and then sigh. My body's still humming, singing a song under her breath about happy places and naughty spots that shouldn't be touched, but that feel oh so good.

Blair leans back in the chair near the window and tucks her feet up. She's got on this vintage slip with lace around the neckline, totally impractical, definitely not something I'd ever want to sleep in. But it looks good on her. I spend my nights in sweatpants and band T-shirts.

I stop my frantic pacing near the window and turn to look at her. Turner's not the reason I came up here. I mean, not really. In all honesty, after what just happened between us, I wanted to
get the fuck out.
I'm falling in love, and it's scary. Everyday, earth rumbles beneath my feet and I stumble, sliding even further and further into the abyss. I can't stop it. When I look at that pigheaded menace's face, my breath catches in my chest and my body heats up from the inside out. I might have to start wearing panty liners because I'm always ready and willing downstairs.
His lip rings, his tattoos, those perfect abs, that fucking tongue ring.

“You don't want to hear this,” I say, holding up my hands and taking a step back. After I practically sprinted away from Turner, leaving him with his pants still down around his ankles, I decided I should make the rounds and talk to my band members, see how they were feeling after America's threat on our lives.

Blair smiles at me, her face strangely bereft of makeup. I'm used to seeing her with rouged lips and carefully applied eyeshadow, faux lashes in rainbow colors. I guess this tour is showing me sides of people I never thought I'd see. I suppose if I'm stuck here, I might as well make friends with the people I know I can trust. Or … at least who I
think
I can trust. For all I know, Blair is Stephen Hammergren's illegitimate child. Would not surprise me. Would not surprise me at all.

“I don't mind,” she says, reaching up and scooping her blonde and black hair into a ponytail. Blair takes a hair tie off her wrist and ties it up. “I mean, I won't lie. At first I was pissed off for Dax. I felt like you were making a huge mistake choosing Turner over him, but … ” She shrugs again, and I try not to gape.

“What? You were
mad
at me?” I point a finger at my chest and then feel a light flush cross my cheeks.
You just let Turner finger your ass, Naomi. What the fuck?
God, and the worst part was that I
loved
it.

“Yeah,” Blair says with a shrug. “I was, but I suppose I can't be anymore. I mean, the way he looks at Sydney, it really makes me wish I was gullible enough to believe in love at first sight.” I purse my lips and cross my arms over my chest.

“I'll try not to feel offended by that statement,” I say sarcastically and Blair laughs, looking up at me with her blue eyes sparkling. Despite the fact that Hayden just died, that our manager just threatened to shoot us, she seems okay. Good humored. I wonder why?

“Don't be. I don't mean it as an insult. I can see that you really love Turner, and Dax needs someone that wants him for him, not as a consolation prize.”

“I … have no idea what to say.” I pull out the chair from the table near the window and flip it around, sinking into the seat with a sigh. I want to deny that
love
is what I'm feeling for Turner, but … I said no more secrets. That means not even to myself. I love him. I always have, even after I woke up in that hotel room and found him gone. In spite of the odds against us, we found each other and the prospects in my personal life are looking up. It's just, you know, the business and physical harm departments where I'm lacking. Hey, I got a new beau, but I might get my head blown off by a sniper after my next concert. Interesting how life gives you something amazing to hold onto at the same time it attempts to throw you off of a cliff.
Go fuck yourself.