Ruin Porn (19 page)

Kissing Evin here was reckless, stupid, the consequences should they be caught devastating, and yet it only added to the thrill. His need for this man outweighed his good sense. His focus was solely on the demanding and aggressive kiss.

Finn pushed his leg between Evin’s thighs, sliding it back and forth, rubbing the bulge in Evin’s jeans. Evin moaned and pulled Finn’s bottom lip into his mouth, sucking hard. The pain rippled all the way down to his toes, and he couldn’t help the groan that escaped him.

Evin broke the kiss, panting harshly as he clung to Finn’s shoulders. “This is a bad idea,” he whispered.

“Yeah, I know,” Finn agreed. He pressed his hard cock against Evin’s equally hard one, rocking his hips in much the same way he had on stage. He nuzzled the side of Evin’s neck, nipped at his earlobe. “A really bad, one.”

Evin shuddered. “We should get back.”

“Uh-huh,” he agreed and licked a path down Evin’s neck, tasting the salt of his skin. Evin shivered again, and Finn couldn’t help but grin against his warm, willing flesh, and nip again.

“Dammit, Finn, I’m serious. We’re going to get caught,” Evin gritted out.

Evin’s mouth was saying one thing, but his body was screaming
don’t you dare stop
. Finn had no intentions of stopping.

“We better hurry, then,” he responded and popped the button on Evin’s jeans. Finn shoved his hand past the waistband and found nothing but heated flesh and glorious hardness. He grabbed Evin’s cock, dragging his callused fingertips over it. Evin squirmed and made a wild, almost animal sound that pulled another arrogant grin from Finn.

“You like that, do you?” Before Evin could answer, Finn did it again, running the rough pads of his fingertips along the full length of Evin’s cock and teased the sensitive head. He was rewarded with the same throaty sound. “Yeah, you do.”

Evin snapped his hips. “Fuck, my heart is pounding so hard it’s going to leap out of my chest. You’re going to be the death of me, man.”

“Now what fun would there be in that?” Finn responded. “I like the way you’re squirming and shaking. Love the heat.” He pushed down Evin’s jeans, giving himself more room to work, and set up a hard and steady stroke. Without missing a beat, he popped the button on his own jeans and pushed them down enough to expose his cock. He slowed only long enough to grasp them both in his hand, before resuming his strokes.

“Ah, that feels good. Not going to take much.”

“Won’t take much for me either. Damn, Ev, when you play….” He sped his hand, his hips rolling and thrusting. “Hands down, the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.”

Evin tensed, the movements of his hips erratic. Whether out of need, to shut Finn up, or to muffle his cry, Evin smashed their mouths together, plunging his tongue deep as he rutted against Finn.

Warm, wet heat fountained over Finn’s fist, and he took Evin’s sounds, swallowed them down. It was all the push he needed and he was coming. It was a good damn thing Evin had his tongue down his throat or Finn would have been shouting to the fucking rafters. The zing ripping through his body demanded it; instead he could only moan and shake through each pulse of his release.

Finn floated in that postorgasmic stupor for a few minutes, breathing harshly against Evin’s panting lips. But with each tick of the clock, reality pushed away the fog of lust. The realization of where they were and how dangerous hooking up there was came flooding back.

He took a step back and leaned against the wall as he tried to slow his breath and rapid heartbeat. He flipped his hand a few times to dislodge most of the mess, then zipped up his pants, wiping the last of the remnants on his thigh.

“You’re insane.” Evin chuckled as he fixed his clothes.

“I’ve been called worse,” he said slyly. “C’mon, we better get back.” He moved to the edge of the opening. He gave Evin one last kiss, and seeing that the coast was clear, he stepped out into the alleyway and headed back to the door.

“I just said it and I’ll say it again, you’ll be the death of me, Finnegan Reese,” Evin muttered.

His full name on Evin’s lips was an aphrodisiac. “Yeah, but what a way to go.”

“Aren’t you even going to apologize for nearly giving me a heart attack back there? Jesus, Finn, what if we had gotten caught?”

“Sorry, not sorry,” he said with a wink and pulled open the door, gesturing with his arm. “After you.”

Evin stopped and stared at him for a moment, those normally bright hazel eyes sleepy and a light shade of brown. His shoulders began to shake as if he were holding back a laugh. Without a word he shook his head and headed back into the pub.

Finn followed Evin down the dark hall and toward their holding room. He’d been a fool, a damn crazy fool to attempt something so insane. There could have been fans, paparazzi, someone out for a smoke, a fucking hobo, a multitude of people who could have stumbled across them. However, he couldn’t help it. What he said to Evin was true: he wasn’t sorry. The way Evin had gotten him so worked up while they dueled with their guitars, he’d thought he’d explode right there on the stage. The fear of discovery only heightened that need to a whole new fucking level. It was wrong on so many levels, but hell yeah he would do it again.

In a fucking heartbeat. He might just have a little bit of exhibitionist in him. A Cheshire-level grin stretched his face. Well, hello, new kink.

“Y
OU
TWO
want to tell me what the hell you thought you were doing by walking out like that?” Miah asked, his head throbbing he was so pissed.

Who walked out during the middle of an interview without a word? Who the hell did that? Apparently the two dumbasses sitting in front of him like they didn’t have a fucking care in the world. Well, at least one of them looked that way. Finn was as shit-eating as usual. Evin, however, looked freaked-out and more than a little guilty.

“I don’t know, man,” Finn responded with a shrug that made Miah want to commit murder one.

“We… I mean, well, Finn here,” Evin sputtered as he stabbed a thumb in Finn’s direction. “He started to freak out a little, you know, his eyes got all wild looking and I swear I thought he was going to start foaming at the mouth. So when he set his guitar down and walked out, I followed. Umm, you know, to make sure he was okay.”

Miah narrowed his eyes. Evin’s eyes were shifting back and forth as he spoke, and he still had yet to make eye contact. Evin was lying, he could smell it.

“What he said,” Finn chuckled. “I’m fucking starving. You got anything, Mom?”

Ritchie threw him a bag of chips. Finn snatched them out of the air easily, ripped open the bag, and shoved a large handful into his mouth.

“Are you drunk?” Miah accused, leaning over Finn and sniffing him.
Wait.
“Were you smoking, you stupid shit? One fucking promise you made to Ritchie ’cause his grandpa died of lung cancer and you freak out and break it?” He couldn’t smell the bitterness of tobacco, but the chips Finn was shoveling into his mouth could have covered it.
What other explanation was there?
Finn was a former smoker who hadn’t picked up a pack in years, but maybe the pressure was getting to him.

“Umm, maybe?” Finn replied, chips falling out of his mouth as he spoke.

“He was having a bit of a panic attack,” Evin tried to explain again, but the excuse fell even more flat this time.

“Miah, it’s fine even if he did. All that matters is Finn is okay,” Ritchie remarked. “You know the close-quarters fan gigs are tough for him.”

Both Evin and Finn appeared to flinch at Ritchie’s forgiving acceptance of their bullshit lies. Whatever game they were playing hadn’t involved Ritchie, and Miah didn’t know whether to be happy with that development or not.

“It doesn’t fucking happen again,” Miah grumbled and pointed at both of them in frustration.

None of this made any sense, but Miah was too worn down to push it any further. Despite Finn and Evin walking out, the meet-and-greet had been a success. Shit, maybe it had been better because of their mysterious departure. But he wouldn’t give Finn the satisfaction of admitting that. He was the one in control of Rez, and he wasn’t going to hand that power over to anyone else.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Madrid

R
ITCHIE
LOVED
to repeat the joke that all he did was beat sticks on animal hides for a living, that Finn and Evin were good with their fingers, and Miah seduced their fans into loving them, but that night he was starkly aware that what all of them did as a group was so much more than that.

It was the last concert of the Made in Americana tour, and Ritchie couldn’t have been prouder to be in the same league as these men, let alone on the same stage. Their Spanish fans were in a frenzy, pumped up with Miah’s infectious banter and resounding vocals booming through the theater. They were captivated by Finn’s extended solos, hammered into submission by Evin’s pounding bass. Ritchie was relentless in his beat, keeping them driving forward from song to song, their ease with each other while performing unfolding with each side trip they took off the sheet music that twisted into something more powerful than any of them could have planned alone.

They exited the stage to a roaring crowd and chants for more and Finn tackled Evin, wrapping him into a bear hug that had Evin laughing and begging for mercy at the same time. Evin smacked Finn on the forehead with a sloppy kiss.

Finn drew back and held Evin’s cheeks with two hands, hands that had to be buzzing from the echo of a night of hard playing, and announced, “You are fucking brilliant, Ev.”

Ritchie froze, watching the exchange.

Holy fuck.
Finn was one of his oldest friends and Ritchie had never seen him look at anyone like that. The bowing of his body toward Evin, the subtle parting of his lips, the sheer adoration in Finn’s tone was more than
want
.

Finn was falling in love with Evin.

I
F
HE
’
D
thought Milan was bad, Madrid was worse. Finn would
never
get used to the lights.

It didn’t matter how many times he stood in front of a wall of cameras or the judgmental inspection of fans. He might have sucked the flinch inward, hiding the unpleasant shock reaction behind a bad-boy smirk, but he was far from untouchable. Far from removed when it came to how stripped and bare he felt under assault. Perhaps his visceral reaction was a tic, a tell, born out of the shrouded gray Irish sky and carried as a survival mechanism in the blood of his family, passed down from ancestor to ancestor.

To be famous was to play for fans, in front of crowds, to be available to masses…. To have those lights baring all of him to their insatiable eyes. If he was being honest with himself, it was that scrutiny that scared Finn the most. In light there was truth, and he had secrets to guard. Like the stoic viciousness of a German shepherd, he wouldn’t attack unless provoked, but he was always at the ready. When he was at his least patient moments, a smile of teeth and all menace spread across his face.

This day was becoming an endless sea of those moments.

Finn curled his fingers into fists, then released them with slow deliberation. The lights only became brighter with every sold-out show Rez performed, and Madrid was the ninth city they’d sold out. Illumination to the ninth power….

Damn, that would make a great song title.

And damn, he was really on edge today. If he had some of Ritchie’s shrug-off placidness or Miah’s medicinal weed, this would all be easier to deal with. The crazy thing was, Evin’s presence at his side eased the anxiety, and that made everything more complicated. Because without Evin he had much fewer—or at the least, less damning—secrets.

By the time they were done answering the same questions, giving the same answers, and hearing the same platitudes from public relations rep after public relations rep, Finn was motherfucking done. But of course, their promo day didn’t end there. They were shuttled off to do one more appearance at a local record store.

The four of them sat at a table and signed whatever fans dropped in front of them for an hour, Finn’s hands growing weary with his death grip on a black Sharpie. One by one each member was pulled away from the signing for more promotional pictures and to deliver soundbites to the hordes of media that had descended on Rez since the announcement of their international tour.

He barely glanced up when Miah and Ritchie left the table, but he lost track of the fans in front of him completely when it was Evin’s turn. Evin had this way of listening. Tipping his head just a bit to the left, his lips upturned but not smiling, just barely apart, his eyes so focused, this piercing focus that stripped him bare, and Finn wanted to put a hand around his waist and another at his jaw, to draw him close and lick inside those lips, to make those damning eyes fall closed….

He was so fucked.

He choked down the worry and turned a brilliant, forced smile at the fan in front of him.

“Are you spending time up north between the tours?” a fan asked.

Such blatant questions about his private life still caught him off guard, even though he knew the fans were just grasping at something to talk to him about.

He had to remind himself that no one knew where his cabin was, and this fan was a continent away from Michigan anyway. She wouldn’t be showing up at his doorstep in the middle of nowhere.

“I’ll be there,” Finn answered and handed back the CD she’d put in front of him.

He posed for more pics, soothed shaking fans with reassurances, signed whatever was slapped down on the table, and tried not to freak the fuck out every time one of the Rezors brought up his and Evin’s guitar battle in Milan. He tried to disembody, wished for the power to become incorporeal, because he was bone weary and soul scorched from their last concert, from Evin. But when Rez was shuffled away from the table and Evin’s arm was snaking around his waist, that easy grin was the first thing that Finn saw and
fuck
…. Finn was awake, alive, and so very
here
.