Chapter 6

Janna

My hand is shaking as I press the key cutting me off from Jasim’s deep commanding voice, having to squeeze my thighs together to ease an unfamiliar tingling, almost like an itch I’m desperate to scratch to get some relief. My underwear is damp, purely from the short conversation. I might be inexperienced, but I recognise the symptoms. He’s turned me on. And he’s not even in the room.

Nobody’s ever had this effect on me. I’ve read some books, seen the words describing things I’d love to try for myself that have evoked similar reactions, but no actual man has interested me enough to excite my body this way. Is it that I know he’s a Dominant? He must be, he owns a bloody sex club for a start. My eyes fall on my Kindle, loaded on there and hidden from prying eyes is my secret obsession, hundreds of romance books featuring Doms and their subs.

How would I have felt if I’d known that when I’d met him? Would I have called for a cab and come home? Or would I have found the nerve to offer myself to him? I’d told one more lie when I said I wasn’t interested in his club. In truth, I’m intrigued.

I’d insisted on privacy for this call, and had escaped to my room, luckily, as my face feels hot and flushed. Now I’m standing, my phone held to my lips, realising how crazy I am. Merely his voice has made me wet. And how darn embarrassing is that? This smouldering candle I hold for him is an impossible dream, but oh, so difficult to extinguish. I try to think sensibly. He’s a frigging sheikh after all, a prince in his own land. And so sexually experienced as to be totally out of my league. I’d thought I’d turned him on. I must have been wrong. When I felt his hard dick press into me, he must have been thinking about someone else. His sub, perhaps. My heart skips a beat when I think of him with another woman, dominating her, commanding her…

I’d thought I’d never see him again. And now I’m going to. Tomorrow night. Shit.

A knock on my door. “Yeah, what is it?”

“Everything okay, babes?”

“Hi, Sunny. Yeah. It’s fine. Come in.” She’s still my best friend, even though we’re going to have to have a difficult discussion soon. The way she’s been acting recently has become increasingly worrying. But now’s not the right time.

I give her a smile as she comes in and jumps on my bed, the elderly springs creaking. She looks down in disgust, “Don’t know why you don’t replace this, Jan. It can’t be comfortable to sleep on.”

“I like it just fine,” I say, absently, “It’s moulded to my body shape.”

“Thank fuck you don’t have a man.”

Well, yes, there is that.

“Did you get through?” She pulls herself up until she’s kneeling, her eyes bright and alive. “What did he say?”

“Janna? You speak to the sheikh?” It’s Mickey’s voice yelling up the stairs.

Sunny rolls her eyes at her brother’s impatience, making my lips curl as she doesn’t seem to recognise she’s just as bad. “You coming down?”

“Yeah,” I smile at her, “I’ll tell everyone together.”

I follow her downstairs where the others have congregated, waiting to hear whether I’ve had any success with the call. I flop myself down on my usual seat, reaching forward to nab a piece of pizza that they must have had delivered. I take a bite.

“Well?” Rory looks impatient. “Did he say no?”

Chewing and swallowing, I must admit the look on my face isn’t encouraging. I’m still trying to work through why Jasim affects me in such hitherto unknown ways. Fidgeting to get myself comfortable, I abandon the pizza slice, lean forward with my clasped hands on my knees, and let them out of their misery. “He didn’t say no.”

At their combined and varied exclamations of pleasure, I raise my hand, “He didn’t say yes, either. He wants to come and hear us play. See whether we’re good enough, I expect. He’ll be there tomorrow.”

Mickey’s arm snakes out around me, and he places a kiss on the top of my head, “Babe, you did fucking well there, even to get him to agree to that. And that’s a great gig for him to come to. It’s a good venue, it’ll be packed to the hilt. We’ll just have to play at our best.”

“Yeah, that crowd’s easy to get wound up. Janna, you’ll just have to do your thing and impress him.” Thanks, Ben, put it all on me, why don’t you?

Joe also sits forward, “We get a good mix there. I’ll encourage the girls and get them screaming for more.” As our front man, most of how we play the crowd is down to him. Especially when there are a lot of women in the audience. He’s an arrogant bugger, but girls seem to go for his type. And he’s a good-looking son of a bitch too. Part of the reason for us going more visual, none of the band would get kicked out of many beds.

I glance at Mickey beside me, his long straight dark brown hair has a tinge of natural red highlights when seen under the lights, and as our drummer, his muscular body, covered by a sheen of light body sweat, is accentuated by the sleeveless vests that he wears and normally discards at some point during the show. Rory and Liam, bassist and saxophonist, are always a draw while, Sunny sits on the sidelines, knowing she’s the one who’ll be taking one of them home. Which reminds me of that necessary conversation. And Ben, well, Ben’s our token blonde, and plays guitar too, usually sticking to rhythm, though he’s well able to take over lead. He just leaves that to me, it’s what I do best.

“Do we need to alter the playlist?”

“How old’s this sheikh?” It’s Ben who’s answered Li’s question with one of his own.

They all look at me. “Early thirties, I think.”

Mickey tuts, “We play like normal. Our new stuff interspersed with covers of oldies. He doesn’t like it? That’s up to him. What’s more important is that he sees the reaction of the fans. And if we alter want we do, we’ll change the dynamics of that.”

“I agree.” I don’t want to shake it up, some of my best solos are already part of the set.

“Right. Any re-stringing done tonight, guys.” I roll my eyes at Mickey’s unwanted suggestion. My guitars couldn’t be better maintained, but he started the band, so he likes to boss us around.

“Got enough spare sticks, man?” Rory teases him, not letting him get away with it. Mickey tends to give it his all, and it’s not uncommon for a drumstick to go flying off into the crowd.

“Fuck off!”

“Hey, fellas,” Sunny stands and stretches, “You treat this like it’s something out of the ordinary and you’ll cock it up. You guys are all great, you deserve your success. Play as you normally do and you’ll have all the panties you need thrown at you.”

I make a face.

“Or boxers.” She points toward me, not wanting to leave me out. I cringe, yup, that’s happened. And proposals of marriage. Or other more unsavoury offers.

On that note, and as it’s late, I decide to go to bed. Sunny follows me out. She hovers just in the doorway to my room.

“Janna, we’ve been friends a long time. I’ve done something to upset you. I can tell.”

I really don’t want to get into this now, but when will be the right time? “It’s none of my business what you get up to.” I try to sound dismissive.

She invites herself in, closing the door behind her, and sits down. “It’s Rory and Liam, isn’t it?”

I shrug.

“I don’t with both of them together if you’re worried about that.”

Rolling my eyes, I tell her, “I wouldn’t care if you did. But something’s going on, Sunny. And don’t try to deny it.” I pause, trying to find the right words, “They might be difficult for most people to tell apart,” I know they style their hair alike on purpose, “But I can see the difference. And you must certainly be able to too.”

She pouts and repeats, “I’ve not been with them together at once.”

It’s a partial admission, “The other night you were with Liam. I saw you take him into your room.”

Now she looks down at her hands, “I’d hoped you’d missed that,” she mumbles. “Look, Liam found a girl, Rory fancied her. Liam brought me home.”

“And took you to bed. Fuck, Sunny! Have they got identical cocks so you can’t tell the difference?” I tuck my hair behind my ears to give my hands something to do. When she simply smirks at my question, I guess she’s not going to answer it.

“Are you and Rory finished?” I worry about the effect on the band and the complicated relationships within it. She’s the drummer’s sister, and if Mickey was to find out what’s going on I don’t give much for Rory and Liam’s chances. “Look, if you’re ending it with Rory, either commit to Liam, or leave them both. You can’t play them against each other.”

“They don’t mind.”

“Sunny!” It comes out more sharply than I intended. “We’re just about to launch a new album, we could make the big time. Apart from the effect it must be having on you… You’re my best friend, my sister. We’ve lived together for seven years. I worry about you, babes. It just doesn’t feel right.”

She looks thoughtful, “Honestly? You’re saying nothing I haven’t already thought of. The last thing I want to do is to be responsible for breaking up the band.”

“I thought you loved Rory.”

“I do.” She protests.

Closing my eyes, I shake my head, how can you love someone and go off with his brother? Whatever she thinks, it’s never going to work.

“It’s not cheating, they know.”

“They’re taking advantage. What, so Liam is your consolation prize when Rory wants to get his dick wet elsewhere?”

“That’s harsh.”

It’s the truth.

I’ve said my piece. I’m not going to say anymore. As I turn away, I hear the door opening and closing. Rolling my head back on my shoulders I let out a sigh. Bloody relationships. Perhaps I’m lucky I don’t have to worry about them. I’d never want a man who couldn’t commit to me, and only me. Christ, what a mess. And if anyone else spots what’s going on, I only hope I’m not around for the fallout.

I drop onto my bed, thoughts aplenty going around my head, not the least what will I do if Anarchy Rules falls apart? For the first time in my adult life, I start to think about other options might be open to me. To be honest, I’m lucky the band’s stayed together this long. What would it be like to do something different? While previously that thought would have horrified me, now I find it a challenge. What else could I do?

Determined to put my altercation with Sunny out of my mind, knowing it’s up to her to decide where her relationships are going, I make no further comment when I see her the following morning. The day passes like any other except for that flicker of excitement inside me when I think about seeing the handsome sheikh again. Helping to push my friend’s issues to the back of my mind are thoughts of Jasim which intrude as I go through the routine of boring household tasks and doing my washing—pointedly leaving out the few shirts and pair of jeans Mickey’s tried to sneak in to my wash. Mickey, Sunny, and I actually live here, it just seems that the others do too, often crashing when we’ve all come back from a gig. But while I’m always happy to put Sunny’s clothes in with mine, as she does the same for me, I made a point early on that I might have boobs and no cock, but that doesn’t mean I’m uniquely qualified to do the laundry. Or vacuum. Or dust. To give him his due, Sunny and I have got Mickey fairly well trained in that respect.

For seven years this has been my life. Getting ready for a gig comes naturally to me. When it’s time I shower, straighten my hair, and put on what has evolved into my standard uniform, knowing my fans will expect it. As I pull on my top, I feel myself starting to slip into my stage persona, a process that will be complete as soon as I pick up my guitar. For now, the adrenalin starts buzzing, my nerves getting frayed. But all that will be focused into energy once I start to play.

We head off to the club, arriving an hour before the gig starts. Now earning more money we’ve roadies to set up for us, but I like to check where they’ve positioned my guitars. Mickey sorts out his drums making tiny adjustments, and Joe and Ben check out the mics. Then it’s time for a sound check. Travis checks it out from the back, and Tim, working the mixer, reacts to his thumbs up and thumbs down and other hand signals that they’ve practiced over the years.

Then, all set, we disappear out the back and partake in our favourite tipple, ready to make our entrance when we’re announced. It’s all so normal to me, just like any job. I’d gone through the motions on autopilot, only remembering at the last moment that there’s going to be an extra person in the audience tonight. Will I notice him? Or will he be just one of the crowd. He’s tall, he might stand out. Or he might be hidden by the lights. I shiver with cold, or is it anticipation?

With butterflies tingling, I respond to our call, walking out onto the stage and picking up my Strat.

And like that, I’m in character. The house lights dim, then spotlights come up on the stage, finding first Mickey who gives a four beat. Then a light comes on me and I let out a blistering riff, my solo entrance to one of our own songs. More lights come on, Rory lets that bass fly, Liam warms up with the sax, Ben strums out the rhythm, then we all stop.

Joe takes centre stage, and howls out the start of the song.

The crowd goes wild, jumping and roaring. And singing along. I nod toward Ben, it’s a good audience tonight, many are regulars already familiar with our playlist.

Our first set’s a blast, the audience enjoys it. As promised, Joe plays to the women, flirting away. I can see he has his eye on one girl at the front and won’t find it surprising if he disappears later on tonight. Whether he’ll take her home or just see to her around the back of the club is anyone’s guess, but I’ve learned not to go looking for him if he goes out of sight. Yuck, I’ve been treated to far too many intimate views of my fellow group members over the years. Nope, don’t want to go there again if I can avoid it.

We take a fifteen-minute break, time to pop to the loo and to down another drink.

“Have you seen him, yet?”

“Sorry, Mickey, no. Can’t see much from up there. He’s not at the front.”

Liam taps my arm, “He definitely said he’d come?”

I raise my shoulders. “Sounded that way to me. But you never know, something else might have come up.” I frown, “He’s a busy man.” Is he at his club? Unable to pull himself away from a sub?

“Hey slackers, time up!” Ben’s waving us over and we’re back on stage.

We play through some oldies and then a favourite of mine, our cover of AC/DC’s Whole Lotta Rosie, I love the guitar solo that leaves me all but exhausted. Another couple of our own songs, and then Guns ‘n’ Roses’ Sweet Child of Mine. Now Ben steps forward and we play off each other. I’m having such a great time I’ve totally forgotten we’re supposed to have an addition to our audience tonight. I’m playing to the crowd, hyped by their energy as they get wound up by ours. It’s a symbiotic relationship between band and audience, each feeding off the other.

Mickey’s thrown off his T-shirt; he might be like a brother to me, but even I can appreciate his muscles working as he hammers at those drums, sweat glistening in the lights as his pectorals flex. He throws back his head and beats down hard.

Liam’s making that bass sing, Rory’s keeping up with the sax, then leads into his solo, giving it everything he’s got. Ben’s gritting his teeth in concentration, Joe’s clapping in time before taking up the vocals once more.

I come alive on the stage, I own it, it’s mine.

It’s the end of our set, but not the end of the night. The music comes to a halt, Joe’s vocal’s fade away. The crowd roars for more, stamping their feet and shouting. We give them a moment, then Mickey hits those drums, counting me in again and for the encore we ramp it up another notch.