The Ending I Want

Liam’s response is not with words.

His hands come up into my hair, gripping it tightly, and he answers me with his lips and his very skilled tongue. He kisses me hard, demanding, leaving me boneless and breathless.

Suddenly, he releases me. The look in his eyes instantly makes me want to get out of here and find a dark corner where I can do all kinds of dirty things to him.

His eyes are filled with desire and fixed on me. My skin feels feverish, and my nipples are hard. And I’m almost certain that my panties are soaking wet, too.

His hand slips from my hair and goes down my back. He possessively grabs my ass, pulling me closer to him.

Suddenly, the lights in the stadium go out and plunge us in total darkness, taking Liam from my sight.

Screams and cheers erupt around us. It’s sheer excitement. I can practically taste it in the air, feel it brushing over my skin.

I know this means the band is coming on.

My own level of excitement is at an all-time high right now.

But it’s not because of the reason I thought it would be. It’s not because The Mighty Storm is about to appear any minute now.

It’s because of this man pressed up against me, holding me like I belong to him. Being here in the pitch-dark with Liam, surrounded by all these people, where we could do anything we wanted and no one would be able to see—it’s a major turn-on. It’s intoxicating.

He’s intoxicating.

All I can feel…smell…taste is him.

I want him.

I slide my hand down between us and cup him through his jeans. He’s hard as a rock.

I feel his chest jump on a breath. Then, he grabs my hand on his cock and pushes himself against it.

He brings his mouth down to my ear. His lips brush over my skin as he speaks, making my toes curl, “When I get you home later tonight, I’m going to fuck you for days. Fuck you so hard and thorough that you’ll feel me weeks later. That’ll be your punishment for making me feel jealous. Because I don’t like to feel jealous, Taylor.”

A shiver runs down my spine and quickly spreads throughout my body.

Jesus…he calls fucking me for days punishment?

I call it a reward. Or a gift. Like probably the best gift ever.

Maybe I should make him jealous more often if it elicits this kind of a response.

Strobe lights in the stadium suddenly come on.

Liam’s eyes are on mine, staring intently with meaning.

It’s like nothing else around us matters.

It’s just him and me.

I’m transfixed on his gaze.

My eyes flicker down to his mouth, and I’m suddenly feeling parched.

My heart starts to race, and I have this intense feeling that I’m very much out of my depth with Liam.

His eyes move past me and then immediately return. He leans in close again and says, “I meant what I said, Boston. Fucking for days,” he enunciates the last three words.

And, I swear, I almost come.

“Now, turn the fuck around and watch the show. Sooner it’s over with, sooner I can get you home and make good on my promise.”

I seriously don’t think I can move my legs. They feel like Jell-O, but I force myself to turn and face the front.

Honestly, I’m just confused and jittery and all over the place, but I’m massively turned on. I’ve never needed to orgasm as much as I do now.

I don’t know what to do with myself.

Liam’s hands go back to my hips. His fingers hook through my belt loops, and he yanks me back against his body.

His hold is possessive. And I like it.

His hips are nestled nicely against the top of my ass. He’s still as hard as stone, and having his erection pressed up against me is doing nothing to help the itch I need to scratch.

For a moment, I just wish the lights would go out again, so I could put Liam’s hand to good use.

The strobe lights stop, and the huge screens onstage illuminate The Mighty Storm logo.

Elation unfurls in my stomach, and I’m instantly right back to being excited to hear the band play.

I feel like a fucking yo-yo, going up and down, not exactly sure where I’m at emotionally or physically.

The crowd around us erupts in screams, and then I see that The Mighty Storm is starting to walk onstage.

Jake is coming!

God, I wish I were.

Denny is first out onstage. He climbs up behind his drum kit, which is set up at the back of the stage on a little stage of its own, putting him higher than the rest of the band.

Next, Tom appears, his bass guitar already strapped to his chest. The screams get louder. He looks even bigger and seriously hotter in real life than he looks on TV or in photos.

Smith, the guitarist who replaced the late, great Jonny Creed, comes out onstage.

When Jonny Creed died, I cried for a week straight, like the rest of the world did. I only wish I’d had a chance to see them live when Jonny was still alive.

But Smith looks cool as hell, and he’s easy on the eyes.

It seems like forever, but then Jake Wethers walks out onstage, and the stadium goes mental.

My heart stops beating for a few seconds.

I watch, transfixed, as Jake walks straight up to the microphone.

Holy crap, he’s like fifteen feet away from me.

Please don’t let me faint. Please don’t let me faint.

His eyes sweep over the crowd. He doesn’t say anything. But then he doesn’t have to because he’s Jake fucking Wethers.

The guy could stand there all night and not say a word, and people would still walk out of this place, saying how awesome he is. He just has presence and charisma and charm and that likeability factor about him. Also, he breathes sexuality, which definitely helps.