Author: Olivia Cunning

“Regular,” she whispered.

Regular? Since when was anything he did regular? He stifled a laugh, trying to be sensitive to her feelings. “I assume by regular you mean vaginal sex.”

She nodded.

“Say it.”

He found a condom in the back pocket of his jeans and tore it open with his teeth. She watched him as if amazed, but she didn’t say a word as he applied it.

“Tell me what you want,” he pressed. He had already decided she needed the added psychological stimulation to get off. Demands and directions. Whatever she liked was fine by him. He was game. “I want you to say it.”

She grabbed his hair in both fists and said, “A slow, hard fuck against the wall, just like you said.”

“Where do you want me?”

She shuddered as if the very thought had her near orgasm. “Inside.”

“Inside what?”

“M-my vagina.”

“Your pussy?”

Her hands tightened in his hair, and the last shred of her resistance crumbled. “My cunt. Fuck it hard, Trey.”

He lifted her off the floor, pressing her against the door for leverage, and then directed his cock inside her. He loved losing himself in mindless fucking. No worries. No heartache. Just pleasure. He gave her what she wanted, possessing her with hard, deep, slow strokes, but she gave him what he needed to. A temporary reprieve from his turbulent thoughts and his perpetually broken heart. Trey concentrated solely on sensation. He felt no emotional connection as he thrust into her. Never did. Hadn’t since Brian had made love to him back in high school and he’d tossed his heart at the guy’s feet. Twelve years of sex without love. Twelve years of love without sex. And now that Trey had given up on Brian ever loving him or making love to him, he just felt hollow. Empty. Desolate. He doubted anything could fill the empty chasm inside. Certainly not some pretty nurse he’d just met and was fucking in a supply closet. He didn’t even know her name. Didn’t care to.

When she came, he followed her over the edge, his release bringing him that state of tranquility he craved. He wished it lasted longer than thirty seconds. And didn’t have to be followed by a whole lot of awkwardness. He pulled out and removed the expended condom, tossing it in a convenient garbage can on the janitor’s cart, and then refastened his jeans and belt. He let her find her panties and scrub pants. Waited until she was dressed before he looked at her. Not that he didn’t want to watch the hot stranger he’d just fucked slide her panties up her legs. He just knew that if he did, she’d start seeing things that weren’t there. Feelings. With feelings came attachment. With attachment came complications. That was the last thing Trey ever wanted.

“I…” she said breathlessly.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said. He pinned her with the look that got him almost anything he wanted. He’d perfected it as a child, modified it as a man, used it unabashedly. She flushed and leaned against the door for support.

“Sometimes a beautiful woman just needs a hard, slow fuck against a wall with a perfect stranger. I understand.”

She gazed at him, looking more dazed than a pothead at a Grateful Dead concert. “Yeah… Perfect.”

“I’ll leave first. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Yeah…”

He waited for her to collect enough sense to move out of the way of the door. One hand on the doorknob, Trey took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and kissed her trembling lips. “That is the best sex I’ve ever had against a door in a hospital supply closet.”

“Yeah…”

“You’re an amazing woman.”

“Will you call me?” she gushed.

He shook his head slightly. “I want to keep my memory of this moment untainted. Let’s not complicate it. Let it be what it’s meant to be. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure.”

Her face twitched with disappointment, but she nodded.

He gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead and then let himself into the corridor. He strode toward the bank of elevators at the end of the hall.

Hot nurse a fuzzy memory already, Trey dug his cell phone out of his pocket and called his brother.

“What’s up?” Dare answered.

“Brian and Myrna had a boy.” Trey smiled at the thought of holding Brian’s perfect son for the first time. “They named him Malcolm Trey.”

Dare sniggered. “What the fuck are they thinking? Poor kid.”

“You home?”

“Yeah, but I’m busy.”

Trey grinned. “Busy, huh? What’s her name? I’ll help you entertain her.”

“Not that kind of busy. Remember that stupid contest our publicist came up with: Guitarist for a Year with Exodus End? Today we’re auditioning studio musicians to identify the winner. We do need to find someone to take over for Max on rhythm guitar, but this is fuckin’ stupid.” Max was the lead singer of Dare’s band, Exodus End. Max had also played rhythm guitar until recently. “We hoped his carpal tunnel surgery would get us out of this mess, but the surgery fucked up his hand even more. He can’t stand the pain of playing, and he’s been advised not to move his wrist for several weeks.”

“That should make jerking off a challenge,” Trey said.

“As if Max needs to jerk off.”

True. The man could have any woman he wanted.

“Hey,” Dare said, “you should come try out. We can make it seem like you entered the contest.”

“You know I can’t do that. I’d never leave Sinners. Not even for you.” Trey stepped on the elevator and made his way down to the lobby. The well-built guy in the elevator smiled at him and let his eyes drift down Trey’s body with appreciation. Trey had to admit he was tempted by the open invitation, but he had a powerful need to hang out with his big brother. Dare understood him. Trey needed that at the moment. More than he needed more meaningless, but amazing, sex with yet another attractive stranger.

“You can help us decide then,” Dare said, drawing Trey’s attention from the way elevator-guy was gnawing on his lips and making Trey want to kiss him. “We’ve narrowed it down to five guitarists based on their demos, but there’s no way to know how many times they redid them before sending them in. They’ll all be playing live for us in about an hour. They can’t fake that.”

Trey stepped off the elevator, winking at Open Invitation before wandering toward the exit to find a cab.

“Okay, sure. Sounds like fun.” Trey’s phone beeped. “I’ll be there in a few. I’ve got another call.”

“Later.”

Trey disconnected and checked his phone’s screen. Mark? Shit. He considered ignoring him but knew Mark would just keep calling and calling until Trey finally talked to him. The guy could not take a hint. Might as well get this over with.

“Hey,” Trey answered.

“Are you in town?” Mark asked.

“I’m on tour. You know that.”

“The Sinners’ News Blog said you flew into L.A. this morning because Brian’s wife was in labor.”

Trey wasn’t sure how the owners of that blog knew what was going on with Sinners so quickly. Sometimes they knew more about Sinners’ goings-on than Trey knew and he was living it. He guessed he couldn’t deny that he was in town. “Yeah, they had a little boy. Adorable little shit.”

“Yeah, that’s what the site said. 7 pounds 9 ounces. 21 inches. Named him Malcolm Trey. Are you still at the hospital? I could stop by.”

Stalker alert! “Mark, we’ve been through this. I’m not interested in a relationship with you.” Men! They could be such a pain in the ass. Especially if they didn’t know what they were doing back there. Trey had slept with Mark more than once. They’d met in Portland over a year ago and after relieving him of his anal and oral virginity, Trey had taken him to get a tattoo. The guy had moved to Los Angeles a few months later. Trey suspected it was because of him, as Mark was relentless in his pursuit. Trey had no problem fucking him, but when Mark had started trying to forge a commitment, Trey was finished with him. The guy could not take a hint. Or blatant rejections. Or flashing neon signs that read: Go the fuck away.

“Who said anything about a relationship? I just wanted to congratulate Brian,” Mark said.

“Do whatever you want. I’ve already left the hospital.”

“Oh.” Mark hesitated. “Are you hungry? I could take you out for breakf—”

“No, I’ve got plans.”

“What kind of plans? Are you seeing someone else?” The jealousy in Mark’s voice was so fucking annoying Trey considered hanging up on him. But then Mark would just call back and blame a bad connection or some stupid shit.

“Yeah,” Trey lied. “I am seeing someone. I’m seriously dating a woman right now.”

“Bullshit,” Mark said.

“It’s not bullshit. I’ve sworn off men for the rest of my life.” When the lie had formed, Trey hadn’t meant it, but now that he’d said it, he decided it was the best idea he’d ever had. Women he could deal with. Men either broke his heart or complicated his life. Exhibit A was upstairs bonding with his son. Exhibit B was on the phone. Exhibits C through triple X were scattered across the US and Canada waiting for Sinners to pass through their area again.

“Whatever, Trey. Come over to my place tonight and I’ll make you dinner. Suck your cock.”

Mark was a decent cook. And he did suck good cock. He was also exceedingly easy on the eyes and had a spectacularly tight ass, but the guy needed to move on. Trey had tried to hook him up with a few different men, but Mark was too hung up on Trey to consider anyone else.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” he challenged.

“Don’t want to—how’s that?”

Mark sighed loudly. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Mark, what do I have to do to convince you that it’s over between us?”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Shit. Trey was going to have to get his number changed. Again. He honestly didn’t understand why some people couldn’t take a hint. He didn’t want to be in a relationship. Why was that concept so difficult for his sex partners to grasp?

Chapter 2

Reagan leaned against the brick wall and clung to the neck of her red, electric guitar as if it was her lifeline. Breathe, Reagan, breathe. If you don’t win this competition, it’s not the end of the world. Maybe you were meant to be a barista for the rest of your life.

“You should have taken some Dramamine like I did,” an emo-punk hybrid, who was wearing more eyeliner than a three-dollar whore, said. He was also a finalist and set to go into the sound booth right after her. “You look like you’re going to hurl.”

She felt like she was going to hurl. Why was she here? She’d sent in that demo tape never thinking Exodus End’s manager would actually call her to audition for the band. Over five thousand guitarists had sent in a demo tape, too. How had she ended up in the top five? They were fucking with her. Had to be. She was a complete unknown. Of course, Dramamine guy was an unknown too, but that confident son of a bitch in the corner looked familiar. She was sure he’d been in some popular eighties band at one time.

Dramamine turned to look at Hair Band Hasbeen and sighed remorsefully. “We made it this far, at least.”

“I think I must be dreaming,” Reagan said. Dramamine’s hair definitely looked like something out of a bizarre dream sequence. How did he get it to stay sticking straight out to one side like that? And who thought the burgundy and green stripes through his jagged-cut bangs were a good idea? “How often does a mega-famous, amazing band like Exodus End let unknowns audition for their group?” Reagan continued.