Rock Me Faster (Licks of Leather #4) - Jenna Jacob Page 0,51
It hadn’t, but the texture and heat of his mouth and tongue were branded to memory.
A part of me wanted to still be mad at him for that stupid stunt he’d pulled. But thankfully, I’d managed to purge the anger from my system. Ross wasn’t a bad person; his low self-esteem was a by-product from years of Sylvia’s brainwashing. Though it would take time and a bit of creativity, I was determined to replace the negativity she’d shoved down his throat with positive reinforcement and self-love.
But when Ross threaded his fingers through mine and led me to the bus, the sputters of electricity pinging through my system told me achieving that goal while tamping down the feminine longings he awakened was going to be a massive challenge.
When Kenny pulled to the curb in front of Madison Square Garden, I gaped at the sheer size of the arena. But when we stepped inside the building and gathered on the stage, I simply gasped. The place was enormous. Turning in a slow circle, I tried to absorb the fact that, this time tomorrow, each of the thousands of empty seats would be filled with screaming, adoring fans. It completely boggled my mind.
Facing the stage again, I watched the guys split off and claim their individual instruments. But when Ross tossed a muscular leg over a short, squatty stool before easing in behind a semicircle of drums and cymbals, he captured all my focus. I was unable to peel my gaze off the man as he unbuttoned his shirt and threw it aside. I drank in the sight of the white sleeveless tee hugging his chiseled body as he plucked up his drumsticks. When he gripped them tightly, his biceps bunched and the thick muscles lining his arms rippled.
I forgot all about the magnitude of the arena, the mass of fans who’d be attending their concert, and…how to breathe.
“Come on, let’s snag the best seats in the house.” Sofia grinned, looping her arm in mine.
“Where are they at?”
“Front row, center, baby!” She laughed as we strolled off the stage, through the wings, and out a door that led to the arena itself.
Sofia and I sat patiently as each of them tested their microphones, and instruments. Darren and Syd tuned their guitars. Ozzy’s fingers fluttered over his keyboard before he played a few rich, beefy chord combinations. Ross twirled his drumsticks around each knuckle and tapped his foot against a drum that sent a heavy throbbing beat echoing through my chest. The guys laughed as they lobbed lighthearted insults and one-liners at each other. I felt the strength of a strong, loving bond woven within the threads of their carefree antics. I suddenly realized that I was witnessing a ritual of sorts. One very few ever had the honor of observing.
“Let’s get this over with. I’m starving,” Ross grumbled.
“How can you be starving?” Ozzy asked. “I thought the dragon lady was feeding—”
“Oh, she tried. But I wasn’t in the mood to gag down the shit piled on her spoon.”
“What the hell happened?” Burk’s tone was dripping with compassion.
“Nothing I want to talk about, brother.”
Ross clenched his jaw, lifted his sticks in the air, and slammed them on the drum in front of him. The ten-foot-tall speakers poised on each side of the stage sent the sound reverberating all the way to my bones.
“Was dinner ugly?” Sofia whispered beside me.
“Gruesome.”
“Is Ross okay? It’s so damn hard to tell with him.”
“He will be.”
Because I wasn’t going back home until I’d healed his beaten, broken, damaged soul.
Chapter Eleven
Ross
Closing my eyes, I tapped an even tempo on my tom while Darren’s complex guitar solo slid over my sweat-soaked skin like a reassuring caress. On the best and worst days of my life, music was my salvation, the only constant in my fucked-up world. It held the power to soothe and calm me, to lift me up, fill me with strength and motivation, and provide a priceless anchor to keep me grounded and sane.
As Darren pressed the pedal at his feet, dragging out the final note of his riff, I twirled my sticks in the air, caught them in my fists, and slammed them on the batter head of my floor tom. After pausing half-a-beat, I pummeled a tandem double-tap on the left and right toms as my feet tapped the pedals of my bass drum and cymbals.
Each blow I landed to the wooden cylinders and brass domes lessened the anger, frustration, and contempt seeing Sylvia again had left