Page 10 of Her Dark Angel
“Don’t be too long,” she purrs as she runs her hot pink nails down my chest. Her eyes lock with mine as she palms my now hard cock through the material of my sweatpants. “Jasmine and I might have to have a little fun with each other while we wait.”
I growl at the thought of them touching each other while they wait for me and it has my head spinning. My hand snaps up to wrap around Kitty’s slender throat, a squeal slipping past her plump lips. “If either of you come without me, I’m going to have to punish you, understood?”
Katie nods quickly, although I can tell she likes the idea of being punished by me just from the sight of her hard nipples through the thin material covering her chest, and the way she’s desperately clenching her thighs together, begging for some type of friction that I have no time for.
I release my grip and point at the door behind her. “Go.” As Kitty turns, I bring my hand down on her exposed ass, relishing in the moan that leaves her lips.
She doesn’t say anything as she walks across the room, swings open the door, and saunters past the three pairs of eyes that stare at her perky ass as she walks down the hallway.
My three band members' eyes meet mine simultaneously, but Hudson is the first to speak. “Damn, she has a tight ass. Are you open to sharing her when you’re done?”
I roll my eyes and sit down. Hudson, Axel, and Luca walk into the room. They crowd around my desk, looking down at me as I light another cigarette.
“I’m not one to share, you know that,” I comment dryly, bringing the lit cherry to my lips to take a long drag. Smoke fills my lungs as I close my eyes.
A moment later, I exhale slowly, the smoke twirling around me. The little devil didn’t seem to like that I smoked in front of her. I could tell by the way her small nose scrunched in disgust when the smoke floated around her head of blonde hair. Of course she doesn’t like smoking. Why am I not fucking surprised?
“Look, a man can try.” Hudson shrugs and folds his arm across his chest. Shaggy blonde hair falls over his pale gray eyes as he looks between me, Luca, and Axel. I simply shake my head and lean back further in the chair.
“I should’ve known this is why you were late,” Luca comments as he runs his fingers through his pin-straight charcoal hair. The streaks of red are brighter than usual, making me wonder when he got the color touched up. “You have so many women on rotation that it’s hard to keep up.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re one to talk. I saw four women leave your bedroom just two days ago when I stopped by. All four of them appeared thoroughly fucked.”
“He’s got you there,” Axel says, biting back a shit-eating grin. “We’re no better than Nash.”
“But he’s more obvious about it,” Hudson interjects, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, are we going to continue standing around talking about how many women we fuck, or are we going to go make some fucking music?”
I inhale a breath of smoke from the cigarette and swirl it around my mouth before releasing it. “Let’s get this out of the way.”
I stand and follow my bandmates out of my office and to the other side of the house where our studio is located. When I bought this house a few years back, I built a recording studio to save us from having to rent one somewhere downtown. We hate working with other producers who try to tell us what we should write and what melodies to use. Dark Angel works as a band because all four of us know what music we want to play for our fans, and what stories we want to tell. The last thing we want is some fucking idiot who knows nothing about us trying to dictate what records we should release based on what they think is good.
Not fucking happening.
I open the door to the studio and flick the light switch up, casting light across the soundboard and musical instruments by the two large leather couches. The overhead lights in the recording room are off, but that’s fine since we’re not recording anything tonight.
Hudson heads straight for his red guitar on the rack next to Luca’s and plops down on one of the black leather couches, strumming the strings. A soft melody floats in one ear and out the other. “Okay, let’s continue working on the song we started two days ago. I think we’re onto something with that one.”
“I agree,” Axel says as he sits down on the couch beside Hudson, twirling two drumsticks around his fingers. Fucking show-off. “I think it has the potential to be our next hit.”
“I feel like it’s missing something though,” I comment as I sit beside Luca and take another drag of the cherry perched between my forefinger and middle finger. He’s strumming his black bass guitar thoughtfully as he takes in my words. “It just doesn’t have that same… sound that we’re chasing. You know?”
“I know what you mean,” Luca says from beside me. “But I'm sure if we keep messing around with it, whatever is missing will reveal itself to us.”
We spend the next two hours spit-balling melody and lyric ideas to enhance the quality of the song. Each suggestion brings us closer to finding the right sound that I’ve been searching for, and once it clicks into place, we all smile like idiots.
Dark Angel is due for a new record after the success of our last one. Most of the songs are finalized, but our label requested we add a couple more songs to the list, so we agreed to get back into the studio and get to work. And while the song we just worked on is going to be a big hit—I can feel it in my bones—we still need to write one more song. But oddly enough, I have zero inspiration for it. Nothing. And as the main lyricist in the band, it’s driving me fucking insane.
“Let’s call it a night,” I breathe as I lean against the smooth leather. Bringing an unlit cigarette to my lips, I light the end of it with my black lighter and inhale the crisp smoke.
“Yeah, I’m fucking beat,” Hudson says as he returns his guitar to its stand. “I think we made some progress on the song.”
“But we still need another one,” Axel reminds us, using both of his hands to slick his half-blonde and half-brown shoulder-length hair behind his ears.
When he first dyed his hair like that, I thought he was an idiot because who split dyes their hair with those plain colors? But surprisingly, the fans went fucking wild over it, so now it’s his signature look. But I’m sure the upkeep is a fucking nightmare for our stylist.
“I’m working on it,” I mumble around the cherry perched between my lips. “I just need some inspiration.”
Luca hums as he walks over to the mini fridge in the corner of the room and pulls out four bottles of Brooklyn Lager. He hands them out to us before taking the empty spot beside me again.