I’d forgotten about the Bible I’d left open on the mattress. Before the show, I’d been flipping through the pages, looking for my favorite passage—II Samuel 13:14, the story about Amnon and Tamar, raised as siblings in the court of King David. Amnon had fallen in love with Tamar and lured her to his bed where he forced her to have sex with him and then spurned her due to his own self-loathing.
The Gideon’s Bible still lay on the bed, opened to that page, symbolic of our relationship. Although we shared no blood link, the story still was a reminder of the forbidden nature of my desire. I closed it and slid it under my pillow.
“I can’t believe I have Quinn Perry’s dick in mouth!”
I glanced across the mattress at Quinn. His mouth was quirked up at one side, but stretched into a wider grin when I rolled my eyes. How many times had some star-struck groupie said that as she’d slurped on his cock?
Reaching across, I fisted my hand in her long hair and gave it a tug, forcing her to take his cock while I gave him a sly smile. “Seeing as you could talk, buttercup, you didn’t have his dick in your mouth— now , you’ve got bragging rights.”
Her friend giggled but didn’t need any coaxing to continue to lick up and down my slit. She was a greedy bitch. One hand was busy tugging his balls while the slender fingers of the other worked their way inside me. Their male friend, his name forgotten along with the two women’s, knelt beside me, his dick in hand because he couldn’t seem to figure out how to insert himself into our little orgy.
When Quinn arched a brow and tilted his chin toward him, I knew what he wanted. He liked to watch me fuck, so I nudged away the girl between my legs and got on my knees. The blonde’s eyes were a little glazed from the weed she’d shared with her friends when they first entered our suite, but she smiled and waited while I rolled over and went to my knees. “Get a condom on him.”
I didn’t even bother trying to sound polite. I’d been in charge from the moment we’d left the House of Blues and been swamped by fans on the sidewalk. Our band, Strange Angels, was becoming a cult favorite. Our blend of un pop rock, steeped in traditional blues and rock-a-billy, gave our music a unique flavor—tough to pigeon-hole as either rock or Indie. Something that had kept the labels shaking their heads because they didn’t quite know how to market us—but that was changing. Our fan base was growing, and we played to packed houses. Our indie-produced, streaming videos were getting the kind of attention that had promoters and agents knocking on our doors. Fans who found us knew our stars were rising, so finding sexual partners to help us release a bit of tension after a gig wasn’t hard.
I’d taken one look at the cozy foursome who’d been so eager to take selfies with Quinn and I after the show and invited them to join us in our hotel suite for a party.
They’d been thrilled and had no clue until we reached the room exactly what I wanted until I gathered every one of their cell phones and locked them in the room safe, and then began stripping off my clothes. All in their late teens and freshmen at Loyola, they’d watched like avid little puppies. The girls had been thrilled and stripped quickly, before turning their greedy gazes on Quinn and divesting him of every bit of his clothing. One male friend had been only too eager to get the party started, but once he’d rolled a joint and shared it around, he’d been content to fist himself as he watched us from the sofa.
The other male had stilled, his mouth gaping just a little until I’d stood naked in front of him. “Well, do you want to fuck?” I’d asked, giving him a smile. The question hadn’t been necessary given the boner pressing against the front of his baggy jeans.
And now here we were, him looking a little worried as the blonde rolled a condom down his cock. He ringed the base and squeezed, his
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