He chuckles, shifting me in his lap so I’m sitting with my back pressed hotly against the front of his body, his arms wrapped tight around me, locking me in place. “I can’t wait to get you out of this shirt,” he tells me in a low, gruff voice that only I can hear. Dex strokes the fabric against my stomach, making me shiver. “And that skirt…Although, maybe I won’t take it off you,” he adds, placing a hand on my bare knee. “Maybe I’ll just shove it up around your waist and fuck you still wearing it.”
I jolt with surprise, blood rushing in a delicious hum right between my thighs.
Dex chuckles again. “I love how easy it is to shock you,” he murmurs into my ear as the group talks on, oblivious to us. “How turned on you get when I talk dirty to you.”
“I’m not the only one getting turned on.” I shift deliberately in his lap, feeling the growing hardness pressing against my ass. I turn to shoot him a wicked smile.
“Damn girl.” Dex’s eyes are black with lust here in the shadows, but before he can say another word, the crowd erupts in fevered screams. Everyone turns back to the stage as the lights go out and a single spotlight focuses on Austin, sauntering out with a guitar slung around his body, totally at ease.
“Hey everybody,” he says, adjusting the mic. “I’ve got some songs I’d love to share with you, so if everyone’s ready for the music, let’s go.” Without any more preamble, he strums a couple of chords and launches into the first song.
It’s a stripped down, country-bluesy affair, with a great lazy beat and a chorus I can already hear on the radio. Right away, the crowd gets into it: swaying along, cheering for more. Any nerves that Austin might have been feeling backstage are nowhere to be seen: he relaxes into the performance, strumming his guitar and singing in a casual drawl like he’s been doing it alone for years.
I watch Dex watching him, and wonder what’s going through his mind. It can’t be easy, watching his friend and former band-mate up there on stage—the one place I know Dex would love to be more than anywhere else in the world.
As if he can sense me watching, Dex slides his hand to my knee and rests it there a moment. He keeps his eyes fixed on the stage, but in the dark shadows here at the side of the table, he slowly slides his hand higher up my thigh.
I catch my breath, my pulse already racing. Dex traces lazy circles on the inside of my thigh, holding on to my hip with his other hand. His touch shudders through me, and I squirm in his lap, unconsciously grinding against his crotch.
I feel him stiffen in response, digging into my ass.
Dex’s grip on my hip tightens. His other hand trails higher up my bare thigh, to the edge of the leather skirt. Then, slowly, he edges his thumb up under the hemline.
My body is on fire.
Nobody is paying attention to us sitting here, all eyes are on the stage, but even if they were looking, it’s too dark in the shadows to see. It’s just me and him, our bodies pressed together, my heartbeat pounding so hard I could swear he feels it through the back of my chest.
I feel his head turn towards me, dipping a hot, light kiss in the hollow of my neck.
I inhale in a rush. I can’t believe he can do this to me with the smallest of touches, the lightest pressure dancing on my bare thigh, but already I’m wet and trembling for him. He kisses my neck again from behind, and I slowly shift again in his lap, grinding back into him until I hear a low, ragged groan.
Who is this girl? I wonder dizzily. The one who revels in her sexual power, teasing and flirting—playing with fire. The girl who leans back into Dex, shamelessly willing his fingers higher on her thigh. It’s like he’s woken a part of me I never knew existed, someone reckless and brave.
I like it. I like the woman I am with him, the charged electricity of our banter; the challenge in every suggestive game. I could have never imagined doing these things, or feeling so good, but somehow Dex overpowers all my whispered doubts about what I should do, what a good girl would do, and instead just frees me to follow my instincts, take what I crave from him without fear or insecurity.
And I need him, so much it takes my breath away.
My mind is so full of thoughts and desire that I don’t even notice the music until Austin pauses between songs, searching the crowd. “This next song, I want to ask a friend of mine to come help me out. Dex, where are you? Want to come play a song for these guys?”
The crowd explodes in screaming joy.
Dex goes tense.
“C’mon, buddy, for old time’s sake.” Austin smiles encouragingly.
Dex slowly lifts me to my feet and sets me aside. “You don’t have to,” I whisper, searching his face for some hint of emotion. He looks panicked, but there’s a glint of something else there too, a naked hunger, the way I’ve only ever seen him look at me.
He wants this, but he’s scared.
“I’m right here,” I tell him, as the crowd starts chanting his name: stamping their feet in a demanding thunder. “Dex?”
“I’m sorry,” he finally tells me, his voice hoarse, but I don’t even know what he’s apologizing for as he strides up on-stage and takes the spare guitar a roadie is holding ready for him.
“Ready?” Austin asks. Dex nods, and then they start to play.
I watch, my heart in my throat. I’m nervous for him, but I don’t have any reason to be: he’s effortless up there, they both are, launching right into a song I recognize, one of The Reckless’s biggest hits. This isn’t like his performance at that restaurant opening in the spring, the only other time I’ve seen him play. That was stripped-down and intimate; this is loud and fast, full of pulsing energy as he and Austin trade off the verses, playing hard like their guitars could break apart from the force of their wild chords.