Punishing Me (Shaft on Tour #6) (2 page)

Cock Jockey

Ireland

Wam,
wam, wam

"Ah!
Fuck, yeah."

My
back collides with the wall with every thrust of his hips. The mirror slaps
against the wall beside us in perfect rhythm with our bodies, teetering
dangerously close to falling to the floor. Anyone who walks by knows exactly
what is going on in here, but it’s no secret that I don't care what people
think of me.

"Harder,"
I command, digging my fingernails into his shoulders, scraping at his flesh. He
grunts, hissing through gritted teeth. Leaning in, I smile before nipping his
bottom lip with my teeth. "Fuck me like you mean it."

Every
slam into the wall sends a delicious bite of pain spreading through my body. I
have no doubt I'll feel the pounding assault his cock is giving me days from
now and I wouldn't have it any other way. If it isn’t memorable, it isn’t worth
my time.

My
orgasm is within reach and I chase it, desperate for the rush, frantic to feel
the release that I need before taking the stage tonight.

Knowing
that I need the extra boost to fall over the edge, my fingers slip between our
bodies and find my clit. His fingers dig into my ass so hard I know it will
leave marks.
God, yes!
The hard, brutal way he handles me has adrenaline
pumping through my veins so fast my head is spinning. I tremble and shake; it’s
fucking fantastic. My body tightens, only to shatter into the splintering bliss
that I crave. Fisting his blonde hair with my free hand, I slam my lips to his,
screaming my release into his mouth like a siren. Rolling my hips, I match his
thrusts as he chases his own release, wanting to milk the ride for all its
worth.

 “Ireland,”
Jared, my bodyguard, or should I say babysitter, booms, scaring the shit out of
me and causing the cock jockey I’m riding to freeze mid pump.

My
eyes fly open, taking in Jared’s enormous form as he stands in the opened
doorway. I swear he just appears out of thin air without making a sound. Who
the hell does that? Seriously, I won’t need protection from some crazy fan, or
blood thirsty media hound. Nope, I am going to die from a heart attack because
he leapt out of the bushes by the bus and scared me six feet under. “Say
goodbye to Austin, it’s time to head up to staging.” Crossing his large arms
over his chest, Jared steps further into the room and leans back against the
wall, silently letting me know that he isn’t going anywhere.

Forget
cockblocker, this asshole’s goal is to keep me totally beaver dammed.

“Okay,
okay, Sargent Sourpuss.” Lowering my feet to the ground, I push from Austin’s
grasp. “Mmmm, that was fun, but the stage isn’t gonna rock itself,” I say,
dismissing him as I head for the tiny bathroom.

“Yeah,
so you wanna meet up after we get the gear loaded?” Austin asks, not even
caring that Jared is standing just a few feet from him, watching like a hawk. I
could totally respect that shit enough for round two if I wasn’t running late.
Turning around, I catch Austin just as he yanks on his tight, black t-shirt
with “Shaft Road Crew” printed across the front in white letters. “We can pick
up where we left off,” he says, waggling his brows suggestively as he buttons
and zips his jeans.

“Don’t
think so,” I mutter, “but thanks.”

Sure,
I may come off sounding a bit cold and callous, but he knew what he was getting
into when I brought him back here. I say when, I say where, then I say goodbye.
All negotiations are made before the pants drop and the condom wrapper is
ripped.

No
refunds, no exchanges, and all sexual favors are non-transferable.

His
eyes meet mine briefly, hardening before he turns for the door. Pushing by Jared,
he disappears from view. “Aiden will be pissed if we’re late again,” Jared
says, his face pursing up like he just downed a gallon of lemon juice. “The
schedule we go by isn’t a suggestion, you know?”

“We’re
fine, you know they’re still eating. Untwist your panties,” I say, slamming the
bathroom door behind me.

I
take a few moments to make myself presentable while getting in the zone for the
show. I pin back my hair so that the brown and purple streaks tumble down my
back and won’t be in my way. After taking a second to adjust my red halter, and
make sure my safety pin and patch decorated jean skirt is covering my ass, I
open the door, instantly met by a scowling Jared. “You know, you should spend
less time tryin’ to scare me shitless with those ninja skills and maybe get
laid. I bet blowin’ your load down a groupie’s throat would turn that frown
upside down,” I say with a laugh, slapping his chest playfully as I walk by him
and head up the hallway.

“’Bout
time,” Aiden, our drummer and OCD-prone cuckoo clock blurts the second I step
into the room, not even bothering to take his eyes from the container of hot
wings he is finishing off at the table.

“You
know, Jared,” I sigh, shaking my head as I make my way over to the sofa. I take
a seat next to Chase who sits talking to her husband, Hunter, the mostly
reformed manwhore frontman, and Daisy, who, since we are just a few hours from
Nashville, drove up for the show tonight to see her husband Grayson in action
on lead guitar. “You can’t tear him away from the groupies.” Looking up at
Jared, I wink. Rolling his eyes, he rubs a hand over his nearly bald head and exhales
roughly. “Besides, the smell of the flesh you’re eating makes me want to vomit.
The only thing worse is Hunter’s bacon.”

“Blasphemous
vegetarian! May the bacon gods smite thee with their hot metal tongs and
stainless steel skillets!” Hunter shouts, leaping to his feet and pointing at
me as if condemning my soul to hell. “This is a no bacon bashing zone. Just
because you like to steal food from fuzzy wildlife, instead of eating meat like
normal people, doesn’t mean I’m going to fight Thumper and his furry friends for
cloves and carrots,” he argues, scrunching up his nose in disgust. “It’s just
unhealthy and unnatural.”

“I’m
vegan, not vegetarian,” I fire back, flipping him off. Daisy and Chase giggle,
making it hard to keep a straight face at his ridiculous outburst. “There’s a
difference between the two, Carnivore. Educate yourself. I believe animals
deserve to live their lives without fear you’re going to be waiting in the
wings with an axe to slaughter them for your breakfast burrito. Oh, and
newsflash: I’m not the only person on earth to feel this way. Not everyone
makes orgasm noises the second a piece of flesh hits a heated skillet.”

“All
lies and propaganda the produce farmers tell you all to sell their plants so
they can buy… wait for it… Meat!” he laughs, making me roll my eyes. “I’m not
saying you should abandon all your morals and eat meat; I’m simply suggesting
you eat bacon.”

“You
wanna reel that sermon in a bit, Reverend Porkshire?” Henry, the head of the
security team, asks, walking around the sofa and clapping Hunter on the
shoulder. “Just agree to disagree with the woman and move on. No one is asking
you to sell the hog and start a community garden. Besides, we’ve got a show to
do in—”

“Eleven
minutes,” Aiden interrupts, putting an end to the debate Hunter and I have been
having constantly ever since he found out I live a vegan lifestyle. He can’t
wrap his head around the idea that some people just won’t eat bacon and is
determined to convert me at all costs. Standing to his feet, Aiden tosses his
container into the trash can before wrapping an arm around Camaron, who is busy
texting away on her phone.

“Lucky
for us, we get a week’s worth of downtime before heading up the east coast to
kick off the last leg of the tour,” she says as her fingers move furiously,
tapping on the screen. “I’m exhausted.”

Yeah,
fantastic. Downtime. Exactly what I don’t need. I like the hectic, busy life we
lead while moving from city to city. Too much time on my hands is never a good
thing. I need my mind and hands to stay as busy as possible.

There
is nothing I hate worse than being alone. I had enough of that shit growing up.
Now, I surround myself with noise. People, music, chaos. Without it, that anxious
little girl I used to be finds her voice, bringing every insecurity I have
buried down deep to the surface making them all too present and very real.

“It’s
hard to believe this time tomorrow we will be home,” Chase says, smiling
brightly as she stands. “I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed.”

“Yeah,
sleep. Can’t wait to get some much needed sleep in my own bed,” Hunter says,
grinning wickedly. “Plus, it’s hard to fuck with Mack from so far away. Someone
has to keep that jackass on his toes and Jazzie’s not the best at executing my
pranks.  Kid has no poker face.”

“Are
you seriously using our daughter in your shenanigans,” Chase asks, her eyes
locking on her husband.

“Hey,”
Hunter shrugs, running a hand through his perfectly mussed up, dark brown hair.
“Desperate times require desperate measures. It was a judgment call.”

“Well,
as much fun as this conversation is,” I interrupt, rolling my eyes at the
mention of Dominick, or Mack, as he’s known now. Joining Shaft was a dream,
until I was standing face to face with
him
again. Luckily, he’s back
home in Nashville playing the domesticated bodyguard to the nanny and kids, and
not here causing me to lose focus of what is important. Bouncing on my feet, I
grin in anticipation of getting out there. “There’s a sold out arena and a
neglected Ibanez calling my name.”

Gesturing
with his large hand, Henry chuckles. “Well, don’t let us keep you waiting. Lead
the way.”

Every
step I take toward the stage, the chanting of thousands of screaming voices
grows louder and louder. Every cry is like a shot of adrenaline straight into
my vein. Music is my drug of choice: overdosing is mandatory.

After
our customary hands in chant, Aiden wastes no time getting to his kit. Running
out onto the stage, he takes his seat on his throne and begins pounding out a
punishing rhythm. Grabbing my axe off her stand, I slip the strap over my head,
making my way out as the sound of my bass guitar merges with the pace he sets.

Every
slam of his foot on the pedal matches the beating of my racing heart as we amp
up the crowd. The rush of playing sold out stadiums is something I hope I never
get used to. The screaming fans all chanting our names as we rock the fucking
place to the foundation still gives me butterflies. It’s a rush that is
incomparable to anything I have ever felt in my life.

My
fingers take on lives of their own, moving along the frets of my bright purple
Ibanez. They don’t need me to guide them; every finger knows each chord by
heart, as if engrained in my DNA.

Stepping
into the spotlight, Hunter begins belting out the lyrics of
Slaying Dragons
.
Every note on point, as usual, and the crowd goes fucking insane. Grayson comes
in on the chorus, shredding his guitar, almost sounding like it is crying out into
the night while Aiden and I anchor down the steady hypnotizing rhythm that
holds the song together. People underestimate the bass player, thinking we are
a non-essential, background fixture. Truly, if you were to take us out of the
equation, every song, every riff, would be lacking that edgy anchoring effect
that only a rich bassline can provide.

I
binge on the high. The music flowing around me just as vital to my existence as
breathing. Every riff pours from my bleeding heart. Every word to the song,
every musical note that weaves its way through the arena evokes emotion, a raw
interpretation of life that touches the heart and soul of every person packing
the place tonight.

That’s
the thing about music. It has the power to transport you to the place you were
when you first heard that song. Your senses tie to that bar, that lyrical
genius, catchy tune, or even annoying as hell jingle on television, and you
can’t forget it even if you tried.

It’s
an amazing entity and much bigger than just people on stage playing instruments.
It has a life of its own. You may not be able to physically see it or touch it,
but you know without any doubt it is there and can’t deny the affect it has on
you. You can close your eyes and simply feel it coursing through you as if it is
engrained in your very soul. It transfers from person to person and though
everyone hears the same song, the experiences and interpretation are rarely the
same.

Damn,
I love my job.

“Ladies,
and those guys smart enough to have brought you here so you’ll let them in your
pants later, I’m Hunter Chesterfield and we are happy as hungry hookers during
rush hour traffic on payday to be here tonight,” Hunter says into the mic, with
a huge smile. “We have hit our quota for badassery for the night and now
they’re kickin’ us out. May the only humps you have in life leave you spent,
shaking, and screaming. Goodnight!”

Flicking
my pick into the crowd, I exit the stage. My blood still roaring in my ears
from the rush and excitement. My body is buzzing, every nerve ending pulsing
from aftershocks.

“You
guys killed it!” Daisy says, slipping off the stool.

“Thanks,”
I reply, bumping her fist.

“Fucker,”
Hunter says, shoving around us as he points toward the stage where Gray steps
up to the mic. “He’s about to make us all look bad. Again.”