And I can't wait to see the look on the faces staring back at us from the crowd when she tells them the rest of the truth tonight.
"You're staring," she says, a grin tugging at her full lips.
"You're worth staring at."
Her grin widens into a full-blown devilish smile. "Smooth."
"I have my moments."
She closes the distance between us in two steps and her hands find the front of my shirt and she pulls herself up on her toes and kisses me.
It's soft at first. Almost tentative, which is not a word I associate with Bells under any circumstances. Her lips brush mine and her fingers curl into the fabric over my chest, and the bond wrapped around my heart twinges and pulls.
I cup the back of her head and deepen the kiss and she makes a sound against my mouth that goes straight to the base of my spine.
My other hand finds her hip. The knife holster presses against my fingers and I trace around it to the warm skin above her waistband where her shirt has ridden up.
"Door's not locked," she murmurs against my lips.
I reach behind me without breaking the kiss and flip the deadbolt.
Footsteps in the hallway.
We both go still.
The footsteps pass. Someone from the crew, moving fast, not stopping.
Bells exhales through her nose and grins against my mouth. "Carmine's gonna drag us back out for another run-through in like fifteen minutes. There's a non-zero chance of you getting cockblocked again."
"Then stop talking and let me work."
She laughs—quietly, for once—and I walk her backward until her thighs hit the arm of the green room couch. It's a shitty couch. Faux leather the color of an avocado, peeling and showing the yellowed foam beneath.
You'd think in a venue like we're playing tonight, they'd have nice furniture. Then again, rock stars have a weird urge to destroy nice shit for the hell of it.
I lift her onto the arm of the couch and she wraps her legs around my waist and pulls me in. Her heat pressed against my cock even through two layers of fabric makes my vision blur for a second.
"Off," she says, tugging at my belt.
I get my belt open. She gets her pants down. We're a tangle of hands and buckles and I knee her in the pussy. She hisses and I mutter an apology against her collarbone as she shoves my jeans down my hips with both feet.
"Romantic," I deadpan.
"Shut up and fuck me, Raf."
Her hand wraps around my cock and my brain empties the fuck out.
I grip the back of the couch with one hand and her hip with the other and push into her, and the choked-off gasping sound she makes and kills by burying her teeth in my shoulder is the best thing I've ever heard.
The couch creaks.
Loudly.
We both freeze again.
"This couch is a fucking snitch," she whispers.
I shift my weight off the arm and onto my feet, pulling her with me so I'm standing and she's wrapped around me, her back against nothing, held up entirely by my arms and her legs locked around my waist.