Ball Peen Hammer (42 page)

“
That’s fucking right
.” Keane’s warm tongue enters my mouth as his erection slides inside me, pinning me to the cold wall, and, instantly, at the delicious sensation of his erection penetrating me, my body releases with an orgasm that curls my toes.

I moan into Keane’s mouth, enraptured by the pleasure enveloping me.

Keane thrusts powerfully into me, over and over, his hips moving passionately as his muscled body pins me into the wall. “You feel so good,” he growls into my ear. “I can’t get enough of you.”

I hear the sound of someone laughing around the corner on the main drag and my skin pricks with momentary alarm at the thought of us being discovered, but somehow, those prickles of anxiety only heighten my pleasure.

“What are you doing to me?” Keane murmurs. “When’d you get so fucking sexy?”

He slides out of me and fingers me again, deep, deep inside me on that same magical spot, bringing me to the brink of another climax, and when it’s clear I’m on the ragged edge, he slides himself inside me again, his erection hitting the very same spot he’s just stimulated with his fingertip.

My body tightens violently, but I hang on, not wanting this delicious moment to end.

“Let go,” Keane coos, his body moving inside mine. “Focus on how good this feels.” He slides his hand across my ass cheek and right down my ass crack until the pad of his finger is pressed firmly against my anus. “Come for me now,” he commands, his body thrusting in and out of me fervently. “Concentrate on how amazing this feels.”

I will myself to focus on the delicious sensations my body’s feeling: Keane’s hard shaft moving in and out of me, the way his erection is rubbing against my clit with each thrust. His soft lips on mine, his tongue leading mine in a sensual dance. The insistent pressure of his fingertip.

“I own your pussy,” Keane whispers into my mouth, his breath hot against my ear in the chilly night. “It’s mine and I’m commanding it to come for me right fucking now.” He licks at my earlobe and slides his fingertip up my ass, his erection impaling me, and my body clicks into place, releasing warm, undulating waves deep inside my core in a torrent of pleasure.

“Yes,” I gasp, clutching at Keane’s broad shoulders as my body clenches and twists.

Keane lets out a mangled groan and, a moment later, his body stiffens and jerks against mine with what seems like a highly pleasurable climax.

When both our bodies have gone quiet, but for the sounds of our mutual labored breathing, Keane kisses my cheek gently, pulls out of me, and slides his condom off. “That was some awesome alley sex, Mad Dog,” he breathes.

I rest my forehead on Keane’s shoulder, trying to catch my breath. “Another cherry successfully popped.”

Keane wraps his arms around me and holds me close. “You’re more fun than a Fruit Roll-Up, you know that, sugar tits?”

I giggle. He’s so effing weird. “Gosh, thanks, sugar balls.”

Keane tugs on my hair, prompting me to lift my face off his shoulder. When I look up and stare into his astonishingly blue eyes, he rests his forehead against mine and places his palm on my cheek. “Hey, seriously—are we still good?”

I’m surprised by the question, not to mention his earnest tone.

“Hell yeah,” I say. “We’re very,
very
good.”

“No, I mean...” He exhales. “We’re still just, you know,
flinging
, right?” He brushes his thumb against my cheek. “You still promise you’re not gonna hate me when this is done?”

I bite my lip.
Shit
. How the hell do I know if Keane and I are still just “flinging”? It sure doesn’t feel like it, to be perfectly honest, but what do I know? I’ve never “flinged” (or is it “flung”?) with a guy before, so I have no basis of comparison. Maybe this is simply how “flinging” goes—you have tons of amazingly hot sex with an insanely gorgeous guy, laugh with him ’til your sides hurt (both in and out of bed), hold hands with him secretly under tables at restaurants, stare longingly into each other’s eyes across rooms, and, frankly, feel a helluva lot like you’re falling head over heels in love, as crazy as that sounds after such a short amount of time. But then, magically, when time’s up and the fling’s over (as mutually and maturely agreed beforehand), when the guy heads back home and reverts back to being the manwhore he’s always been without a second thought, and you start your brand new life as a newly minted man-eater, all those falling-head-over-heels-in-love-feelings just...
go away
? And they’re replaced by... what? Feelings of serene, asexual, platonic friendship?

Yeah, it sounds pretty unlikely to me, I must admit. But, hey, it’s still
possible
, right? I guess only time will tell. But, regardless, thanks to the way Keane’s worded his question, I think I can honestly answer his query without opening Pandora’s Box.

“Keane,” I say, my forehead resting against his, my stomach suddenly filled with butterflies. “I don’t know what the hell we’re doing—I’ve never done this friends-with-benefits thing, remember? But, to answer your question, yes, I promise you, without a doubt, no matter what this thing is called or how it ends, I’ll never hate you as long as I live.”

Chapter 45

Keane

Sunday, 11:34 p.m.

“Oh, that’s a sick angle,” I say to Maddy, referring to the footage of Dax’s performance from last night we’re watching on her laptop. “Ha! Dax is such a fucking rock star. Look at him. He’s like, ‘This is my world and you’re all just living in it, fuckers.’”

Maddy laughs.

For the past hour, Maddy and I have been sitting in our underwear on Maddy’s bed, eating snacks, drinking beer, and poring over the video footage Maddy captured this weekend—the stuff from last night at The Viper Room plus everything Maddy shot this afternoon when she, Zander, and I hung out with the band at the recording studio and watched them lay down tracks for another song on the album.

I’m rubbing Maddy’s back as we look at her computer together, my cock tingling. Damn, I’m having fun with this smart, sexy girl. Who knew this off-limits cookie would be so
phenomenal
in the sack? Once I got Maddy’s orgasms working for her like clockwork, this smart girl went DEFCON-one ballistic on me in the best possible way, begging for me to bone the fuck outta her at every possible opportunity. And, of course, I’ve been happy to oblige.

Jesus, when Maddy and I got back to her apartment after Dax’s show last night, we boned the fuck outta each other so hard, if I’d had a heart condition going in, I’d be dead right now. And then, this evening, after Maddy and I dropped Zander off at the airport, we came back to her apartment so rarin’ to go, you’d have thought neither of us had had sex in months.

“Dax has so much swagger onstage,” Maddy says, munching on some white-cheddar popcorn. “He’s just like you—he comes alive onstage. Must be a Morgan thing.” She clicks into another clip from last night—footage Maddy shot from behind the band onstage while crouched behind the drum kit. “Oh, I like the way this turned out,” she says. “This angle makes the club look five times bigger than it actually is.”

“So mega to see the audience looking up at the band like that,” I say. “Ha! Look at that guy in the front row. He’s like, ‘You are my leader, Dax Morgan.’”

“Oh my God, that’s the money shot,” Maddy says, giggling. “The look on that guy’s face is priceless. As far as promo goes, you can’t get much better than a fan looking at Dax like he’s a cult leader.”

“Smart of you to think of shooting from behind the band,” I say. “Total pro move, babe.”

“Not my first time at the rodeo, son,” Maddy says smoothly.

“How’d you think of doing that? Did you come up with that idea on the fly?”

“No, I’ve shot some music stuff before. I already knew all the cool tricks before last night.” She clicks into yet another clip. “Okay, now let’s watch my favorite reaction shot of all time, shall we?”

I smile broadly, already knowing exactly what shot she’s referring to: when Reed told Dax and the guys they’re gonna be the opening act on the upcoming world tour of Red Card Riot, the hottest rock band in the entire world right now—a band, who, as luck would have it, just so happens to be signed by River Records, too.

Maddy presses play on the clip, and I’m instantly overcome with emotion at the sight of my brother’s face hearing the good news. “Look at Daxy,” I say, a huge lump rising in my throat. “Wow. That’s what pure joy looks like.”

“Joy mixed with
relief
,” Maddy corrects me.

“Yeah, no doubt. Wow. I’m so happy for my baby brother. This has been his dream forever, you have no idea. He always says he couldn’t possibly do anything else with his life—that he’s got no Plan B.”

Out of nowhere, I remember myself saying those very words about baseball to one of my teammates not too long ago. “I got no Plan B, son,” I said to my teammate on a long bus ride home from a game, utterly clueless about the twist of fate awaiting me a mere two months later. “This is the only thing I’ve ever been good at,” I continued to my teammate, “the only thing I ever wanna do.”

“Your brother’s life is about to change forever,” Maddy says, drawing me out of my memories. “Releasing an album and opening for Red Card Riot, all at the same time, is gonna launch 22 Goats to the highest level. It’s gonna be banana-pants.”

“Yeah, it’s gonna be awesome,” I agree.

We finish watching the rest of the footage for another forty minutes or so, and when we’re done, I stare at Maddy in awe. “You got so much incredible stuff.”

“Yeah, I think the promo piece is gonna be great once I edit everything together. I’m thinking I’ll offer Reed all my raw footage, too, just in case the label wants to use it for something down the line.”

“You’re so fucking good at this,” I say.

“Thanks.” Her cheeks flush. “I feel like it’s my life’s purpose, you know? Oh, hey, speaking of people fulfilling their life’s purpose...” She pulls out her phone. “Come on, Ball Peen Hammer, let’s get your reaction to your brother’s tour announcement. I’ll tag 22 Goats and Red Card Riot and drive all sorts of traffic to your channels.”

“Dude, you’re a marketing genius,” I say.

“I truly am.” Maddy giggles to herself and trains her camera on me. “Okay, gimme your thoughts on your brother and 22 Goats getting to open on a world tour for Red Card Riot. And... action.”

I flash the camera my dimples with extra sauce. “Hey, Handsome and Happy Lads,” I begin. “And a very special hello to the very beautiful and talented Maddy Behind the Camera. Always a pleasure, sweetheart.”

Maddy bats her eyelashes from behind the camera.

For the next two minutes, I do my thing on-camera, spewing a whole bunch of bullshit that amounts to pretty much nothing of any value. But, for some reason, when I’m done talking, Maddy acts like everything I’ve said is pure genius.

“Perfect, as usual,” Maddy says. “I’ll post it when the tour is officially announced.”

“Cool. Reed says the tour announcement’s coming this week.”

“Faboosh. I bet you gain fifty percent more followers from this video alone.”

“Thanks, baby doll. You da best. That’s why I...” I pause, suddenly hyper-aware of my word choice. “That’s why I think you’re the best,” I say, my heart racing.

“You bet,” Maddy says. She yawns so big I can see the inside of her underwear.

I laugh. “That’s quite a yawn, Scorsese.”

She giggles. “You’re wearing me out.”

I lie back onto the bed and pat my chest. “Come here, baby doll. I’ll be your pillow and blanket.”

Maddy lies down and snuggles up to me, pressing the full length of her almost-naked body against mine.

“So you’ve done music videos before?” I ask, stroking her hair. “I wish I’d known that when I was pimping you out to Reed last night.”

“You pimped me out to Reed?” She sits upright, her eyes wide.

“Yeah. I told him about
Shoot Like a Girl,
told him you’re a genius. He says he’s always looking for talented people to shoot music videos and go on tours and whatever.”

Maddy throws her palms over her cheeks, her eyes blazing. “Really? Oh my God! Can you imagine if I got hired by
River Records
to shoot a
tour
? Gah!”

I laugh. “Well, don’t get too excited yet. You never know. But I told him to watch your movie, so there’s no doubt in my mind he’ll fall in love with you.” I sit up. “Hey, you know what? Reed gave me his card. Why don’t I email him links to those music videos you’ve done before? Couldn’t hurt.”

Maddy’s face pales. “Uh, no,” she says quietly. “That’s okay.”

“Why not? Couldn’t hurt, right?”

She waves me off. “I did those videos years ago, when I was just starting out. Reed wouldn’t be impressed, trust me.”

“Well, can I see ’em? Maybe they’re not as bad as you think.”

“No, that’s okay. Thanks.”

“Babe, I’m the guy who watched and loved all your tap-dancing videos, remember? You can do no wrong in my eyes. Lemme see ’em.”

Maddy shakes her head.

I’m stumped. Before now, Maddy’s happily shown me every single thing I’ve ever asked to see. Why she’s acting so skittish about these particular videos is a mystery—and it’s spurring me on even more to want to see them. “Are any of the videos on YouTube?” I ask, grabbing her laptop. “Who are the bands?”

Maddy pauses a long time, biting the inside of her cheek. “It was just one band,” she finally says softly. But that’s all the information she provides.

“And... that band would be... ?” I ask, my fingers poised over the keyboard.

Maddy exhales. “It was my boyfriend’s band.” She clears her throat. “Justin’s band.”

“Ohhhhh,” I say, everything making perfect sense to me now. “I didn’t realize Justin the Asshole-Douche was in a
band
. Ha! Now I get why you were so gaga over him. That’s your ‘type,’ right? An asshole-douche
musician
?”

Maddy bristles. “Justin wasn’t an asshole-douche.”

“Sure he was. He broke your fucking heart. And as far as I’m concerned, that makes him an asshole-douche.” I hover my fingers over Maddy’s keyboard again. “Come on, dude, what’s the name of this guy’s band? I gotta see this douche.”