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Saturday, February 27, 2010

Change Me by Megan Slayer




As he stepped off the bright stage and into the shadows, the man the world knew as Arsenic bowed his head. People grabbed him and continued to shout his name, but he didn’t hear or feel any of it. He didn’t want the roar of ten thousand fans. He needed silence. Arsenic stared at his reflection in the framed art next to the door. Disgusted by his sallow appearance, he tugged the faux piercing from his lip and ran his hand through his dyed black hair. He’d played the part of emo rock god Arsenic so long, he wasn’t sure Nic Jonston still existed.

He wanted the love of one woman—if she still cared.

Once he passed through the dressing room door, he clicked the knob and locked himself in. As a rule, once the concert ended, no one bothered him for thirty minutes but it never hurt to be cautious. The other guys in Damages Unleashed took groupies backstage for sex.

Not him.

A grin curled his lips when he spied her curvy form. She knelt in front of the side table and rummaged through a bag on the floor.

“What are you doing, Mina, love?”

“I dropped my straight pins and don’t want anyone to get hurt.” She glanced over her shoulder and tucked a lock of ebony colored hair behind her ear. “I’ll be gone in a moment.”

Dropping to one knee, he eased up beside her and stilled her hands. A sigh passed between her lips. He didn’t care if she picked up the damn pins. Mina Clarke meant so much more to him than a wardrobe wench.

“Change me,” he whispered against her ear.


“Come help me remove this makeup.” With his arm around her, he stood. He eased into a nearby black plastic chair and tugged her into his lap. “Please? I need to change out of this junk. Please, sweetheart, change me.”

“You don’t need to beg.” She smiled and slipped away long enough to retrieve a towel and some makeup wipes. When she returned and wriggled to get comfortable, a low growl rose in his throat.

Mina gently removed the layers of red and white makeup, her tongue dipping out to moisten her crimson bottom lip in apparent concentration. The action rocked him to the core better than any driving bass line.

He hooked his index finger under her chin. “Arsenic or Nic?”

She stopped working and cocked her head. “What are you asking me for?”

Over her shoulder, he caught sight in the mirror of their bodies twined together on the chair. His cock throbbed. Mina suited him. Hell, she looked so right in his arms. Why take so long to appreciate her? Because he took her for granted.

Now, he wanted the truth.

“Who do you want?” He stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Give me an honest answer.” And you...

She squared her shoulders and aimed her thumb at the door. “They want the image.” She dropped her gaze to her lap.

“But I need to know who you want.” He threaded his fingers into the silk of her hair, urging her closer. The men’s button-down shirt she wore covered her black tank top, but gaped open like an invitation for his touch.

After a pregnant pause, her gaze slipped from her hands to his face. “I want the man on the stool playing dark love songs because the music stirred his soul. He’s still there under the eyeliner and pallid makeup and he’s trying to be someone he’s not.” The fluorescent light glittered in her chocolate eyes.

“You love me?” Please say you do.

“I’ve been in love with Nic Jonston since he played the Casbah back in ’99.”

He slammed his mouth over hers, mashing their lips together in a kiss that sent a sensation he didn’t recognize surging through his veins. Respect? Yes. Desire? Hell yeah. Lust? No—love. When he broke free for air and gazed into the dark depths of her eyes, his heart swelled within his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never listened to me before.”

Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and her breasts heaved with each breath. Strands of her dark hair spilled down her shoulders.

“I need to feel you.” He tore the front of the shirt open, sending buttons across the room in a series of pings and soft thumps. “Goddess, I want to fuck you.”

Her frenzied fingers working the zipper of his leather pants was his answer. He smoothed the delicate fabric of her tank top up past her breasts. Two silver rings gleamed in the bright light. Good Goddess, pierced and no bra. As he sucked a nipple into his mouth her whimper sent him to the ragged edge. He needed to be inside her—now.


Fuck yes! But not on the chair. In the reflection, he glimpsed the overstuffed leather couch. Perfect. “Grab onto my shoulders.” While he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the buttery soft furniture, her sharp nails bit into his skin.

Once he had her spread out to his liking, he shoved the leather pants to his ankles. Her skirt rode high on her thighs, revealing pink cotton panties. His cock strained forward, seeking her warmth. He hooked his finger in the elastic at her thigh baring her slick lips to his gaze. She squirmed and made a move to cover herself with her hands.

Nic planted his knee between her thighs and pulled both of her hands above her head. “You don’t need to hide from me.”

She arched her back and licked her lips. “Then stop looking and take me, dammit.”

As he entered her, she cried out his name. Her body trembled in his grasp and her eyelids fluttered shut. He shifted his hips setting up a steady, heavy rhythm sending him deeper into her sweet heat. “Mina, you make me whole.” Each thrust propelled him closer to nirvana.

His hair fell into his eyes as he bent to swirl his tongue around her ripe nipple. He released her wrists and she thrust her fingers into his hair, holding him to her.

“Nic!” Her sharp little nails dug into his scalp.

Her inner muscles fluttered and clamped him tightly within her as she climaxed. A moment later, he allowed the release he denied for so long.

The residual tremors still shuddered through them both as he collapsed on his side next to her. He wrapped an arm across her smooth, quivering stomach. “Will you come with me? I can’t be Arsenic all the time. I want to be just Nic—with you.”

“Take me home, Nic.” Mina cupped his cheek in her delicate hand. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

About the author: When she's not writing the stories in her head, Megan Slayer can be found luxuriating in her hot tub with her two vampire Cabana boys, Luke and Jeremy. She has the tendency to run a tad too far with her muse, so she has to hide in the head of her alter ego, but the boys don't seem to mind. When she's not obsessing over her whip collection, she can be found picking up her kidlet from school. You can visit her by going to her blog:

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