In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,32

the adrenaline of the crowd. I swear, it transfers into me as I sit there, listening to him sing a song he wrote, feeling the bass and the drums pummel through my body.

His cock is hard underneath me; I can feel it when I adjust myself, the tension between us stringing taut, an almost painful need overwhelming me as I touch my fingers to the sweaty curves of his biceps, basically feeling him up while he sings. I’m feeling bold, too, so I lean forward and lick the sweat from his throat, causing Zayd to stumble over the words he’s singing. Doesn’t matter though because I can tell he likes it, his body vibrating as he belts the song out and slides a hand up my back. His fingers sneak around and grab my breast, right in front of everyone.

My heart is pounding so hard, I can barely hear anything else. It’s like I’m cut off from the rest of the world, wrapped in a rock god’s aura. Zayd’s eyes close as he sings the ending of the song, “can you see the real me?” and then drops the mic and picks me up in his arms, hopping off the piano as the crowd screams and surges forward, pushing against the metal fence that blocks off the front of the stage.

“Let’s take a quick break, shall we?” he asks, and I nod.

Zayd and I barely make it backstage before we’re tearing at each other’s clothes, kissing violently, tongues tangling. His hands are sweaty as he yanks my tank dress over my head and tosses it aside, palming both my breasts in his colorful hands. I’m backed up to a speaker, so I scoot back until I’m sitting on it, my own hands fighting with Zayd’s tight jeans.

There’s nobody over here, behind the stage and around the corner of the faux wall erected between the row of portable toilets and one of the staff parking areas. That doesn’t mean there won’t be somebody here shortly.

We don’t exactly have a lot of time.

But that’s okay.

I’m not here for a long, drawn-out session of experimental hands and wandering mouths.

Zayd and I are finally going to let loose on this chemistry that’s been plaguing us since day one, when he walked into Ms. Felton’s homeroom and looked me over with a smirk. “I’d fuck you, if you were game.” One of the first things he ever said to me. Back then, I wanted to kill him.

Now … I’m game for sure.

Those pretty inked fingers of his slip into his pocket for a condom, and he’s got it on in half a heartbeat, yanking me close and looking me right in the face.

“Tell Zack and Creed I’m sorry,” he growls, his voice still stuck halfway between speech and song.

“For what?” I whisper, shaking all over, my hands curled in his sweaty tank.

“For putting them to shame. Let me show you how a rock star fucks.” Zayd pushes aside my panties, and I gasp. He cocks a sharp smirk on those perfect lips before he slides into me hard and fast. My head falls back, and I find that I can barely breathe. “Look at me, Marnye,” he purrs as one of the other bands fills the sudden gap onstage, and music surges through me like a storm.

My eyes feel impossible to keep open, but Zayd curls his fingers in my hair and pulls me close, kissing me and tasting like fresh sweat and the orange Powerade he was drinking onstage. His right hand slides up and grasps my breast through my bra, kneading the soft flesh as he fucks me against the speaker.

I’ve got so much adrenaline in me, I’m shaking all over. But holy crap, that feels good. Zayd licks up the side of my face and bites my earlobe, causing my back to arch and ripples of pleasure to arc through me. He’s moving so hard and fast, working his pelvis in just such a way that he stimulates every single part of me.

The sound of the crowd turns into a background noise to our fucking, this easy to ignore rumble that blends into this almost surreal sort of moment.

He’s big, too. I might be sore later, I think as I squeeze my legs tighter around him. That piercing I saw earlier, I can feel it, even through the condom. There’s a split-second there where I worry it might break, but surely Zayd Kaiser knows what he’s doing? God, it sure feels like