Page 57 of Madden

“I don’t see a problem with it, if you don’t.”

He grins, barely giving me a chance to finish the sentence before he pulls me against his chest.

The music isn’t exactly slow enough to dance to, but it doesn’t stop us. He turns me in his arms, and I curl mine around his neck, pulling him closer to me. We sway our hips to our own beat.

He discreetly brushes his lips over the shell of my ear and hisses when I subtly skate my hand over the front of his pants.

“You have no idea what you’re gettin’ yourself into,” he warns, his eyes darkening on mine.

I drag my lip between my teeth. “What’d I do?”

“Yo, we’re up.” Tysin interrupts, bumping against his arm.

They disappear into the crowd, heading toward the stage. Madden grits his teeth and turns back to me.

“Guess that means you’re coming too.” He smirks, reaching for my hand to lead me through the hordes of people.

We get stageside where I snapped pictures the last time I was here. The view gives me a direct line of sight of Madden sitting behind his drums.

“Don’t worry.” He leans in close to my head. “I’ll be finishing what you started after.”

He slips his hand down, gripping my ass through my dress, and lets out a low growl in my ear.

Right after High Octane wraps up, they take the stage, and the crowd goes wild. I recognize a few people; a few celebrities I’ve read about or listened to over the years.

It’s hard to believe I’m here among them.

“Are you ready to fuckin’ rock?” Brix bellows, pressing his foot against the speaker. He leans over to touch the hands of people in the front of the crowd.

Madden holds his drumsticks in the air, spinning them around his fingers. The cords in his arms and the sight of his expert fingers moving them so effortlessly is a turn-on all on its own.

The overhead spotlight roams above our heads before it lights up the stage. Madden kicks them off on the drums. I clap my hands, cupping them over my mouth to chant, “Rebels,” along with the crowd.

Tysin and Trey join in on the guitar, and when Brix’s voice follows, I swear it sends a shiver down my spine.

Somehow, they manage to keep getting better and better with each album. As I watch them tonight, I’m blown away by their talent.

My eyes are locked on Madden, taking in the look on his face as he nods his head and his leg bounces on the drum pedal. The cords of his muscles, slick with sweat, beg for me to trail my tongue over every delicious inch of him.

This is what they mean when women talk about arm porn.

When he steps off the stage after their set, perspiration dripping down his face, I don’t retreat when he hauls me into his arms.

I run my hand over his chest, dragging my nails over the material. His eyes study me, his warm breath feathering over my lips. I lift my chin, tempting him, waiting for him to kiss me, but he steps back.

I press my lips firmly together and narrow my eyes.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He tilts his head to the side. “You want me to kiss you, Brielle?”

His fingers brush along my spine, and my body trembles.

“I want you to do more than kiss me, but I’ll settle for a kiss.”

He smirks, leaning in closer until only a whisper separates the two of us.

“Say it,” he taunts. “Tell me to kiss you.”

I press my cheek against his and trail my mouth along the shell of his ear.