Come Together

Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 40 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 41 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 42 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 43 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 44 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 45 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 46 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 47 (#litres_trial_promo)

Author’s Note (#litres_trial_promo)

More from Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)

About Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue (#ulink_95032ac3-0c07-598f-81d9-a13adc0c7aee)

Sweden.Three years ago …

‘I should get you one of those,’ Xane remarked to his best friend Steve Matlock, pointing out the slogan on the T-shirt of the guy standing at the end of the VIP bar.

‘“I love to bang,”’ Steve read, and chuckled over the stick-figure drawing of a man beating the hell out of a set of drums. ‘Like it. Do you reckon there’s a whole set, so we can have one each?’ The pair were two sixths of the rock band Black Halo, and they’d just blown the frigging minds of the thousands-strong crowd around the main stage at the Sölvesborg Rock Festival with their explosive gothic freak-show. While the rest of the band members were still scrawling their signatures over various pieces of female anatomy, Xane and Steve had slipped into the VIP tent for some celebratory drinks. After all, it wasn’t every day you went platinum before breakfast and got to psych the crowd up for Ozzy in the evening. Xane figured he’d be riding this particular high for weeks, if not months. It’d been a long while coming, but their dedication was finally paying off.

‘What would Ash’s say?’

‘“I love licking,”’ Xane suggested. Their lead guitarist was widely rumoured to have a magic tongue. Chances were he was giving it a workout right now, charming the panties off their female fans in order to guarantee their future loyalty. It certainly spread the word about them more successfully than any flyer campaign.

‘Yeah, and “I love to touch base” for Paul. And maybe “I practise the rhythm method” for Spook.’

‘Except he doesn’t.’ Their rhythm guitarist Spook Mortensen didn’t need to employ contraceptive methods because he never had sex, a fact Xane still struggled to get his head around. He wasn’t sure how anyone managed to function without getting horizontal on a regular basis – like a minimum of three times a day and preferably more. Not that he insisted on being horizontal – he was equally happy getting his rocks off standing, sitting or swinging from the rafters. Hell, in pretty much any position imaginable. He was flexible like that. Xane was flexible about a lot of things, which was how he’d come to move on from the interesting shirt to the far more interesting body beneath it, and the very cute guy to whom it belonged. And he did mean very cute.

‘What would yours say?’ Steve asked, still focused on clothing slogans.

‘“Throat job.”’

‘“Throat job,” seriously? That makes it sound like you’re up for sucking dick … Oh!’ Steve caught up with the direction in which Xane’s thoughts had wandered. ‘I guess you are. You know that doesn’t guarantee he is?’

‘He is.’ The guy had been casting him not so surreptitious glances since they’d walked in.

‘I think it’s more likely he’s out to bang chicks.’

The guy had two of them hanging on his every word, but neither had his attention. That was hotly focused on Xane. The man was literally eating him up with that five-yard stare.

Xane didn’t recognise him but, with 30-something groups on the roster ranging from virtual unknowns to the megastars of the genre, that was no big surprise. What he did recognise was a man dedicated to his craft. You only got arms like that, a physique like that, through drumming. He knew. He’d admired Steve’s body often enough.

‘Can’t you stick to wrapping your lips around a bottle?’ Steve ordered them another two beers.

Xane whistled an uh-uh sound across the neck of his beer. Alcohol just didn’t give him the same warm and fuzzies as a robust workout. It had a habit of making him miserable instead, and tonight he intended to stay firmly in the happy camp. He was not going to wallow in the shitty events of his past. Fuck his siblings, fuck his parents and … you know, fucking sounded like a really good plan right now.

‘All right, so let’s go find ourselves some nice young ladies.’

‘Actually, I’m good with what’s on offer here.’

Steve turned his back to the bar and chugged another mouthful of beer. Concern lines furrowed the area between his wing-like brows. ‘Xane, he’s totally not hitting on you. He’s probably staring because we just played the best set of this festival.’

‘Totally is hitting on me. He’s itching to unwrap my dick and go down on me.’

The slap Steve gave the back of his head didn’t dispel the notion. Some things you just knew on a gut level, and this happened to be one of them.

‘Mate, if you go over there and suggest that, you’re going to get yourself beaten senseless.’

‘One hopes.’ So far, no one had given him an orgasm that good. Xane refused to be put off by Steve’s efforts to keep him on the straight and narrow. He didn’t see why everyone got so antsy about his mutable tastes. He patted down his jacket pockets, making sure he was all set for the fun ahead. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy and horny at the same time. Normally he fucked to achieve a state of contentment, and then used the little piece of cloud nine he landed on to float through the following hours without succumbing to the shit that messed with his equilibrium on a daily basis.

His response prompted Steve to pinch the bridge of his nose, which did nothing to remove the furrows. ‘You don’t know who he is. You don’t know where he’s been.’