Viper (Fallen Angel #2)(45)
Viper.
He’d barely moved from my side since we’d boarded the yacht hours ago, leaving only to grab us refills, and even then I usually went with him. It was strange how used to having him around I’d gotten, and I didn’t know how I’d feel once we were back home. Without the ease of only walking distance between us, things would surely change. Maybe that was the reason he’d stuck to me like glue tonight: he knew our time was almost up.
Shit, way to turn things morose, I thought, drinking down the last of my Long Island iced tea.
“Tequiiilaaa!” Slade shouted over the music as the bartender poured another round.
There was a tug on the side belt loop of my jeans, and then Viper’s breath was on my neck. “Good timing. You need a refill anyway.” His teeth grazed the sensitive skin below my ear, and I shivered.
“You’re just trying for drunk angel round two,” I said, thinking back to the way he’d taken me against the wall after one of the movie nights. Damn, I wouldn’t mind if that happened again, so bring on the drinks.
I could feel his lips curve against my neck. “I am. You turned into a wild fuckin’ beast last time. My cock wouldn’t mind trying to tame you into submission.”
If Viper was dead set on teasing my dick tonight, he was doing a damn good job. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have minded. After all, he’d told me there were bedrooms on board, but fuck if the guys hadn’t locked them and ruled there would be no hookups on the yacht, ensuring tonight was strictly a band celebration and not a way for me and Viper to sneak off for an hour or two.
Dammit.
A cold breeze brushed against my neck as Viper moved away, inclining his head toward the bar, and as we gathered around, the bartender handed out the shots, screw the salt and lemon.
“All right, assholes, I’d like to make a toast,” Killian said, looking down the bar at each of us. “A few months ago, we were in a rut. A place of what-the-hell-do-we-do-now and nonstop auditions by some of the most painful singers we’ve ever heard. Am I right?”
“My ears are still bleeding,” Viper muttered, as the others voiced their agreements.
Killian grinned and then lifted his shot glass toward me. “Then one day, this guy walks into the studio and blows everyone outta the goddamn water. This shit may be a whirlwind for you right now, Halo, but trust me when I say we never thought we’d end up here again.”
“Too true, too true,” Jagger said, nodding and lifting the glass to his lips, but Killian’s arm shot out just in time to block it.
“I’m not done, fucker,” he said, before straightening. “In this life, you’re lucky if you can count your successes on one hand. Hell, one fucking finger. But here we are, all these albums under our belt and we’ve never been better. There’s a reason for that, and he’s standing beside that asshole Viper.”
I laughed, joining in with the others as Viper flipped them off.
“Halo,” Killian said, “thank you, man. For joining us. For sharing your talent. There was a review I read after we did the Carly Wilde show that said you ‘breathed new life’ into the group, and honest to God, that’s the fuckin’ truth. We wouldn’t be standing here right now if it weren’t for you, so before we all get so trashed we can’t walk straight, I’d just like to take the opportunity to let you know how stoked we are to have you as the voice and face of Fallen Angel. We’ve got a hell of an album, and we’ve got you to thank for that.”
I blushed under his praise as Viper’s head turned toward me, and he lifted his shot glass. “To Angel.”
“To Angel,” the others chorused, and as they threw back their shots, I could only stare at my fellow band members. I was really a part of this thing, huh? Not just lurking on the outside, but a real part of it all. I wished I could say the thought didn’t bring tears to my eyes, but the sting hit behind my lids and I quickly took my shot to avoid anyone’s gaze.
“By the way, we’re never letting you leave, so don’t even think about it,” Jagger added, and then looked at Killian. “That was in his contract, right?”
“In the fine print.” Killian winked.
“Good.” Jagger pushed his shot glass forward and waved his hand. “Another round.”
As the bartender poured more tequila, the music changed, our song “Hard” blaring through the speakers.
“Oh shiiit,” Slade called out, taking his shot glass to the center of the boat, where he began to dance, moving his hips back and forth like he had a partner, the alcohol obviously well in his system.
Jagger grabbed his shot too and joined Slade, singing along at the top of his lungs, and I had to laugh. Jagger was definitely not a singer, tequila or no tequila.
As the two of them began to do their dance moves, Killian laughed and took out his cell phone. I wasn’t sure if he was snapping photos or taking a video to blackmail them with later, but before I could ask, Viper moved in behind me, his arm circling my waist so his hand covered my lower stomach to hold me right where he wanted me. And right where he wanted me was with my ass flush against his hips, his cock straining behind his shorts as he nestled it in between my cheeks.
He began to grind his hips against me, moving us to the music slowly, sensually. Viper’s voice was low in my ear as he sang along to the song he’d written for me—about me. “I want to get inside you, and show you exactly what you do. Whenever your eyes invite me to fuck you like I want to…”