Ch.24: Putting on a Show

I'd known that the show would be good, but I wasn't prepared for how good. Angels & Demons were known for their wild, energetic performances, but I'd only ever seen live shows through a screen. Seeing it in the flesh was a whole different experience.

I watched from the wings, behind the pillars where the curtains hung, as the band launched straight into Lick Me, one of my favourites.

The crowd roared.

The thunder of the drums and the bass pounded deep in my bones, a throbbing undercurrent to the wail of Franky Clark's guitar.

Coloured lights swept the area, and dry ice poured from machines at the edges of the stage, wreathing everything in mist. I was close enough to smell the chemicals, feel the burning heat of those lights and the boom of the speakers as they vibrated through me, and the intensity of it was almost too much, especially combined with the screams of hundreds of fans. No wonder Jude got nervous. There was something exhilarating about all this, but it was terrifying too.

Not that anyone would have guessed at Jude's nerves.

He was in full rockstar mode, swaggering up and down the stage, his hair wild, his hips gyrating against the microphone stand in a way that made my face hot because I knew exactly how those hips felt gyrating against me.

God, he was gorgeous.

And that voice.

It was raw and sexy and powerful, belting out the huge notes and dropping to a husky growl for the lower notes, and I couldn't help rubbing my thighs together, because that was the same husky growl that Jude sometimes made when he was plunging deep inside me. It was a growl of pure sex.

There probably wasn't a dry pair of panties in the crowd.

Or backstage, either.

Girls screamed his name, stretching across the metal security barriers in a desperate attempt to touch him, and Jude dazzled them with his panty-dropping smile, but I knew him well enough now to recognise that that was a show smile. It was a performance. His real smile was still devastating, but it was softer and warmer, and he rarely showed it on stage.

My heart fluttered.

I'd started seeing that smile more and more often at the loft, usually when he woke up, right before we had amazing morning sex.

In the middle of one song, All Night, Jude fell to his knees, his hips thrusting at the air, and ripped his black vest down the middle, muscles flexing in his arms. The girls crammed at the front of the crowd looked like they were about to faint.

Jude threw the vest into the crowd, and a sea of hands shot up, fans shrieking and clamouring. I didn't see who caught it, but I imagined they'd treasure it for the rest of their life.

I'd really missed out by not being able to attend any of their shows in the past.

Halfway through the set, a stagehand scuttled onstage and handed Jude a bottle of Jack Daniels. Jude ripped out the cork with his teeth and chugged a few swallows, before sloshing whisky over the shrieking crowd, the droplets catching the lights like tiny sparkling rainbows. Then he poured the rest of the bottle over his own head. The sight of the whisky streaming down his chest took my breath away.

The music thundered through me. It was beneath my skin and in my bones, throbbing in my blood, electrifying me, and I sang along with every song, shouting out the words until my throat was raw.

Why had Jude ever needed to get high for this? It was like being high in its own right.

All too soon, it was over.

Franky, Eric, and Carlos threw guitar picks and drumsticks into the crowd, then ran off stage, pumping their fists over their heads. Jude paused, looking out over his fans as they continued to scream his name. His chest heaved with deep breaths, and sweat and whisky gleamed on his skin, making his tattoos look brighter than ever. The way the spotlights shone on him, creating an aura around his body, made him look otherworldly, a true rock-god.

My heart lurched.

I knew every song they'd played tonight – I'd heard them all a hundred times before. But never with Jude's ring on my finger, and that changed everything. Every lyric had felt more personal, more charged with meaning, almost like they'd been written for me, even though I knew they hadn't.

Something had taken root in my heart, something deep and warm and real, and though I couldn't call it love yet, already it was more than I'd ever felt for someone.

The spotlights onstage faded until there was just one, a pool of light surrounding Jude. He raised his fist, rings catching that light, then he walked offstage and the remaining spotlight went out, plunging the space into darkness.

As soon as he was offstage, Jude reeled slightly and I caught his arm, steadying him.

"Are you okay?" I said.

He stared at me as if he didn't understand. His eyes were wide and bright, almost manic, and I could still sense that restless energy churning around him. His breathing was faster than normal – not quite panting but close – and bare-chested like that, his hair a tangled mess from his onstage antics, he looked almost feral.

Maybe that shouldn't have turned me on, but it absolutely did.

"Water," he rasped.

I led him down the steps, hustled him through the stage techs and other team members who wanted to congratulate him on an amazing show, and pushed him into his dressing room. It seemed so much smaller than it had earlier, as if the wild energy that Jude had pulled offstage with him was crowding the space.

I grabbed a bottle of water from the dressing table, unscrewed the lid, and handed it to him.

Jude poured the whole thing over his head.

Water cascaded down his chest in gleaming drops. I wanted to lick them off.

I handed him another water, and this time he drank it. His hand was shaking and some of my buzz faded. I knew Jude hadn't taken anything, but with those wild eyes and trembling hands, he looked like he had. This was probably normal after a show, but I couldn't help a pang of concern.

"Jude," I said quietly.

He blinked slowly, as if he was trying to bring me into focus. Tiny beads of water clung to his eyelashes.

"Are you okay?" I said again, because he hadn't answered me last time.

Another slow blink.

Then he lunged forward.

Jude's hands twisted in my hair, and it was almost too rough but at the same time I liked it, and his mouth came down over mine with the same wild energy that I'd seen onstage. He kissed me like he needed me to breathe.

He propelled me backwards until my back hit the dressing table, then he grabbed me and lifted me onto its polished surface. The mirror clattered against the wall. Bottled water went flying.

Jude's breathing was still ragged, like he'd been running, and now mine was too as my body flooded with adrenaline and pure want.

Jude shoved my sundress up and pulled my panties down, his hands still trembling slightly on my skin.

He leaned in close and when he spoke, his voice was a growl. "Spread those pretty legs for me."

Yes, please.

The second I did, Jude dropped to his knees. He pushed my legs further apart with both hands, then his mouth was between my thighs. I was already so sensitive and aching for him that the first touch of his tongue made my eyes roll back in my head.

I'd often thought of his kisses as magic, but I was only just appreciating how magical his mouth could be.

The warm slide of his tongue, the fierce suction of his lips, the deep-throated sounds of approval he made as I writhed against his face, it all kindled the growing fire inside me. I was like a bomb ready to explode.

I heard him fumbling with his leather pants, and I looked down to see he'd shoved them down his thighs. He was jerking himself off, his hand a furious blur as he licked me, and it was the hottest fucking thing I'd ever seen. I wanted to watch it forever, but holy hell, the man could do amazing things with his tongue, and my eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of sensation.

My hands clutched Jude's head, my fingers twisting in his damp curls as desperate sounds fell from my lips. The muscles in my thighs locked tight and my back arched. A storm was coming and it was going to be big.

"Jude," I groaned, and it came out through clenched teeth.

He didn't look up.

Another swipe of his tongue, another pull of his lips where I was most sensitive, and the storm broke.

The inferno that ripped through me was almost painful.

My whole body went rigid, my knees fiercely clamping around Jude's head, as wave after wave of pure fire lashed through me. His hand covered my mouth, muffling my screams, and I pulled on his hair so hard it was probably painful.

I slumped against the mirror, breathing hard, trembling.

Jude rose to his feet, his eyes fierce, determined, and I realised we weren't done yet. He moved between my legs again, and I caught my breath because I was still so raw and shaking, and my poor body wasn't used to this – it had never been like this with Jake, never, and I wasn't sure how much more I could take.

But I absolutely wanted to find out.

Jude slid his hands under my thighs, pulling me closer to him, getting me into position, and I felt him press against me, hot and rock-hard.

The door opened. "Mr Scott, are you ready to – oh."

I froze, my mouth falling open.

I didn't recognise the female voice, and Jude's chest and shoulders filled my vision so I couldn't see who stood in the doorway, but I knew exactly what she could see – me slumped on the dressing table, with Jude bare-assed between my legs. There was some small comfort in knowing that she could probably only see my legs, but still, this wasn't a situation I'd ever wanted to be caught in.

"I'm so sorry," the voice blurted.

Jude rested his forehead against mine. "Maybe knock next time."

"Right, yes, sorry, I –"

"Out," Jude commanded.

The door hastily closed.

A giggle bubbled in my throat. "We probably scarred her for life."

"Are you kidding?" Jude said, nuzzling my nose with his. "Do you know how many people would kill to see my naked ass? This is her lucky day."

"It is a work of art," I agreed, cupping it with both hands and squeezing.

Jude ran his palm up the length of my leg. "So are these."

His touch was different than it had been a few moments ago. Since coming offstage, his energy had been almost manic, fierce and desperate, but that wildness was retreating. His hands no longer trembled and his eyes had come back into focus.

He let out a soft groan and touched his forehead to mine again, but this was a groan of frustration rather than need.

"I want to stay in here and make you come over and over again, but we're due at the Silver Crown for hair and makeup soon," he said.

That was probably what the female voice had been coming to tell him.

"A rockstar who cares about punctuality. Who'd have thought it?" I teased as I slid off the dressing table and retrieved my panties.

Jude caught me around the waist, his arm like iron, and dipped one hand back between my legs. "Don't misunderstand me," he whispered. "I don't give a shit about being punctual, I just want to get these interviews over with so I can get you home and make you scream again."

I swallowed hard.

Jude kissed the base of my throat, then he stepped back and rearranged my dress, smoothing out the creases where it had been bunched around my waist.

Not that it really made a difference.

Even if the stage hand who'd interrupted us had kept quiet about what she saw, the walls of these cabins didn't exactly look soundproof. It was likely that everyone outside knew what we'd been doing in here.

A little fist of anxiety squeezed my chest, and I tried to ignore it. It was easier for Jude – people expected the gods of rock to also be the gods of fuck. That probably wasn't the first time he'd been caught with his pants down. But it was a first for me.

Jude took my hand as we left the cabin, and suddenly my nerves were gone. Did it really matter if the stage team knew what we'd been doing? It's not like I'd see any of them again, and Jude was right – most of them would probably kill to have been in my place.

Holding tight to Jude's hand, I lifted my head high.