The drummer lets me ride out a swell before pulling his hand out of my pants. He’s got a wicked glint in his eye and I watch as he puts his fingers in his mouth and sucks.

“Sugary sweet, baby. I shoulda known.”

I reach for his shoulders—maybe for balance, maybe to make him stay and he’s got his hands at my waist when a guy with dark hair comes barreling into the corridor. He stops short when he sees us, looking from the drummer to me and back again.

“Yo, dude, we gotta get outta here. Zeb’s gonna get behind the wheel and someone’s gotta stop that shit.”

The drummer glances at me, then curses softly.

“Fucking lead singers—they’re always the biggest drama queens.”

The guy guffaws. “Dude, you should talk—you fucking laid that guy out back there. Zeb just finished him off, then finished off a bottle of Jaeger. The least you can do is drive him home.”

I rock back on my heels and let go of the drummer’s body, immediately missing the sensation under my hands.

“Go take care of your friend,” I say. He gives a curt nod, then leans forward to claim my mouth again in a brutal kiss.

“You’re a firecracker, Carson,” he whispers against my mouth. “Don’t think I’ll forget the way you taste.”

And then he’s gone.

I practically collapse against the wall behind me, blinking. It feels almost like a dream, save the fact that my pants are unbuttoned and my body’s strung so tight, I could come again at any moment. Slowly, I turn around and head back to the dance floor. This time, the music isn’t half as good, but I start swaying to it anyway.

I think of the drummer again—the intensity he exhibited playing his set, the heat emanating from his body when he kissed me, the lightning in his eyes as he stroked me, and the desire that’s roaring through me like a freight train now. I wonder if I’ll remember any of this tomorrow.

For the first time in a long time, I actually hope I do.

Annie Kelly is the pen name for writer Kelly Fiore. After graduating from Salisbury University with a BA in English, Kelly went on to get her MFA in poetry from West Virginia University. When she’s not writing romance, Kelly loves cooking, rocking out to ’80s hair metal, and spending time with her son.

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