Dirty Diana by January James

Chapter Nineteen

“We’re on,” I heard the runner say as he passed, along with about fifteen other people who’d been waiting around us with bated breath. I waited until they were all out of earshot then I let out a gasp of relief and clung to a hand rail beside me. It was then I felt his arms wrap around my waist, keeping me from collapsing altogether. His mouth found my ear.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his warm breath sending tendrils of lust through my core. “What you just did was amazing.”

I was breathless. My adrenaline was almost spent and my lust for this man refused to abate. I let him hold me while I composed myself, then I unpeeled his arms and turned to face him.

“What was it back there?” He asked, as his beautiful, unusually concerned expression came into view. “Why didn’t you want to give an interview to Rolling Stone?”

I searched his eyes, knowing these moments of being so close to him were forbidden and far from guaranteed. I treated every moment as though it might be the last. I noted down the lashes I’d never noticed before, the slight arch of his brow I’d misremembered, the flawless skin I’d failed to appreciate until now. I logged it all away in a vault at the back of my mind.

“Too personal,” I whispered, and we shared a mutual recollection of the times he’d delivered those same words to me. It seemed to symbolize a switch in power in our relationship. Back then, when he was a director of the Decadence Club and I was a mere member, and an utter novice at life, he’d held the keys to who knew what. And now, I was the one running the show—literally—and I was the one holding the key.

“Come on,” he said, squeezing my hand. “I came to see a show. Lead the way.”

I took a step back towards the corridor, then stopped. The plan had been to take him back to Suite Sixteen— not only did it offer the best view in the house, but that view came with endless champagne and the legendary tacos. But suddenly, I wanted to show Jude the real backstage experience. I needed to distract him from questions about my past—the real reason I wouldn’t give an interview—and I needed him to see exactly what he was going to be ripping away from me.

But mostly, I needed to be with him. I wanted to share what I loved so much about music; I wanted him to feel things as acutely as I did. I wanted him to feel the thud of the drums beating in time with his heart; I wanted him to absorb the sound of the guitar in his bloodstream. I wanted him to hear the lyrics as if they were his very own thoughts. And I wanted him to understand me, without me having to say a word.

I turned in the opposite direction, towards the steps. I felt his hesitation and looked around to give him a reassuring nod. It was only then I noticed he’d shunned his signature suit and shirt for black jeans and black t-shirt. He looked stunning. I’d become so used to seeing him with all my senses, my eyes were suddenly taken aback. He looked slightly nervous, as though I might be about to shove him onto the stage for the crowd to throw bottles of urine at him.

“We’re going to the side of the stage,” I said, kindly.

He nodded and allowed me to lead him up the stairs, past the runners, through to the side of the stage.

It was deafening. Conversation was over for now; we would barely be able to hear ourselves think, let alone speak. I pulled him into a corner so I could keep a hold of his hand without anyone backstage seeing, but he released it to place it on my back where he proceeded to draw circles along my spine, the same way he did when we stood in the bathroom at House Five.

Jimmy was killing it. The whole band was killing it. Sweat poured off them as they threw themselves around the giant stage. The MTV cameras moved around them, zooming in, zooming back out. Fans at the front screamed until they were blue. And amidst it all, my skin was burning under his touch. He moved his hand beneath my t-shirt to gently stroke the skin there, almost absent-mindedly. It wasn’t sexual; it was intimate. But it was killing me like the very first time. No-one would have guessed he was having such a devastating impact on the woman at his side; his eyes were trained on the band, watching their every move, noting the role of each instrument, absorbing each heart-thumping song.

We stood like that for three songs. By now, Jilted had found their groove and were rocking the stadium. Jimmy caught my eye halfway through one song and winked. I felt Jude’s fingers still for a moment, then resume their relentless caress. As he continued, I became weak. I didn’t know how much longer I could stand it—the proximity, the closeness, his touch, his attention. I wanted him with my whole body and my whole heart, and the pain of knowing those things could never fully have him was scorching me from the inside out.

Suddenly, his hand left my back and his lips brushed against my ear.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, loud enough that I could hear above the throbbing speakers. I looked up at him. His eyes were strained, his jaw ticking. He had a look on his face I knew better than to mess with. There was an urgency about it that unnerved me. I nodded and guided him back out to the corridor.

“Privately,” he clipped.

I led him to one of the storage rooms. It sounded too urgent to allow for the long walk up to the management offices where I’d been camping out for most of the afternoon. Once inside, I closed the door. We were surrounded by old speakers, one drumkit and a couple of spare guitars. Being so close to the stage, we could still feel the vibrations of Jimmy’s guitar and the drum beat through the walls.

“What is it?” I asked, suddenly panicked.

“I have to tell you,” he said, wringing his hands. “I don’t want to close down Phoenix…”

“What…?” I rushed over to him, taking hold of his hands, but the shaking of his head told me that what he did or didn’t want didn’t actually matter.

“I’ve been given a strict brief, Diana,” he said, his voice thin. “I’ve been ordered to do whatever it takes to shut you down, along with Geoff’s label, Metronix, and Tristan’s Country Base.”

“What?” I repeated. “Why? By who?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I shouldn’t have even told you this. There’s nothing either of us can do. It’s what Garrett has briefed. I don’t know why. I’m the scapegoat, Di. I’m just the messenger.”

The emotion in his face seemed to rise up to his eyeballs and they suddenly swam. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t understand why Garrett would want to shut all of this down. And if it was someone else forcing him, I couldn’t understand why they’d want to either. I knew it wasn’t too long ago that I was reporting loss after loss, however minimal, but Phoenix was now one of the biggest brands on the planet. It was probably worth almost as much as the parent label by now.

“I know what it’s doing to you,” he continued, filling the void. “I can see you’re putting everything you’ve got into this, and it kills me knowing it won’t make any difference.”

He gripped my hands tighter.

“I can’t keep it from you anymore. Seeing you with that guy before…”

“Jimmy…”

“Yeah, the singer. Seeing what you did for him, it made me realize this isn’t just a job for you. It’s your life; it’s who you are and you’re damn good at it. I don’t want you to think it’s me taking that away from you. I…”

He tailed off, his face contorted with all the things he needed to say but couldn’t find the words for. He turned abruptly and punched a fist into the nearest speaker.

“Fuck, fuuuuck,” he growled, gripping his now-bloody hand. I took a step backwards, alarmed and confused.

“Jesus, Diana…”

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. Because I didn’t. I didn’t know what he was trying to say. I didn’t know why anyone would want to ruin Phoenix like this. I didn’t know why Jude was so angry.

He bounded up to me, taking hold of my face. My eyes were drawn immediately to the black and blue wave forming rapidly across his knuckles.

“They’re paying me to be Satan,” he whispered, coarsely.

I tried to shake my head to object but he held it, vice-like, in his hands.

“I’ve fallen in love for the first time in my life, and they’ve turned me into the fucking devil.”

Before I could comprehend what he’d just said, he rammed his lips onto mine. My body was limp with shock but his mouth held me in place, channeling all his anger and frustration into the kiss. His lips pressed down hard onto mine and his tongue forcefully commanded my own. We became an entangled vine of no sight, just pure feeling. I knew this wouldn’t last; he always pulled away, so I allowed myself to become drenched in his need, knowing it would dissipate.

But he gave me more. His thick palms released my face and hooked beneath my arms, lifting me up onto a speaker, his mouth never leaving mine. I could feel the vibration of the stage through the solid black mass beneath me. I pushed my fingers through his hair, feeling the sweat beading along the back of his neck, and I moaned with sheer happiness. I loved feeling him all around me. I loved it when his barriers broke down and he couldn’t stay away; I welcomed him back with my entire body. It ached with invitation.

He stroked his hands beneath my loose shirt, probably feeling my own sweat clinging to my skin, then he pushed it up and over my head, our lips parting as he tugged the shirt past my face. He glanced down at the black lace bra I’d worn for no other reason than it wouldn’t show up beneath my shirt under the stage lights. My stomach hollowed as I panted from the sudden withdrawal.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” He said, his voice dry and cracking.

I couldn’t think of an answer but it didn’t matter. His lips were on my throat, his fingers pushing my chin upwards for better access, while his other hand traced a line from my ribcage down to the waistband of my jeans. His need to taste my skin had pushed me backwards and I had to rest on my hands to stop myself collapsing.

“Jude…” I began, my voice thick and wanting.

He reached a finger up to cover my lips while his own continued their journey across my collarbone. His other hand fumbled at the buttons on my jeans and I squirmed with need. He popped them open, one by one, his lips not wavering once, then he tugged me to the edge of the speaker and brought his face up to meet mine.

“We need this,” he said, simply, then slipped a finger inside the fabric. I gasped as I felt it glide across me. He held my eyes, watching my reaction as he stroked back and forth, slowly, deliberately. I licked my dry lips and settled back against my hands. His face was different. It was as though a dam had burst and he was wallowing in that serene moment between realizing he was about to die but hadn’t yet been engulfed by the water. I watched the muscles in his arm grow taut and release as his fingers continued to stroke across my skin.

The vibrations through the speaker had stopped and I could hear Jimmy speaking to the crowd. Then the chanting began, the crowd asking for more. They were about to launch into their debut single, the one that was shooting up the charts faster than the speed of light. The crowd were going crazy for it, mirroring the way I felt about the man standing between my legs. We were all dying of anticipation.

As I heard the first few notes ring from Jimmy’s guitar, I pushed myself forward and brought my hands to Jude’s jeans. I unbuttoned them hastily, before he could withdraw from me again, and reached inside to feel him hard as a rock. It was his turn to gasp and suddenly his eyes glazed over. The wave was close. I pressed my lips to his and took control of the kiss as I moved my hand up and down his length, committing every curve, every ridge to my memory. This would be the last time; I could feel it in my bones. His fingers worked their way inside me and we found a rhythm—me rocking lightly on his palm, him thrusting his hips gently towards me, aiding the movement of my hand. With the first bars of the song kicking in, knowing that the band was fine—and not just fine; they were killing it—and Jude and I so close in body and emotion, I was melting with pleasure.

“I want to fuck you so badly,” he breathed into me. “But this is too good.”

I moaned in reply as the words just wouldn’t form. I was almost there and I couldn’t stop the train. His fingers reached a little deeper as I rocked back and forth and he fucked me with them unashamedly. I choked as I felt the warmth build, and he thrust a little harder into my hand, knowing I loved having him there.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he cooed, his lips still glued to mine.

As my body tensed, he pushed his fingers deeper and stroked his thumb across my clit, taking all of my breath away. My body wrapped itself tightly around his fingers as I came, my back arching away from his chest. My cry was immediately swallowed by the bass kicking in behind me, the anthem rising by several decibels with the voices of a few thousand people joining in. I writhed against Jude’s fingers as he drew out a long orgasm from me. Then I lifted my head to face him. He’d surrendered. He was going under and he was taking me with him. I was suddenly lifted and spun around, then a hand pushed my back until my stomach and chest were lying flat against the speaker. I felt a rush of cool air against my hips as my jeans were pushed down my thighs, then his fingers returned, pushing aside my underwear and feeling for my entrance. And then I felt him. His feet kicked mine to the side, parting me further, then he pushed himself inside, smoothly and quickly. I let out another moan which was again swallowed by the nearing crescendo of the anthem. I felt a hand scoop up the hair that was splayed across my shoulders and bunch it into a fist. My head jerked backwards, my chest lifting up from the cool black surface.

Jude pulled himself out almost fully, giving me a moment of respite from the pressure, then he drove himself back in, growling into my ear as he did. I felt his chest thick against my back, tensing as his hips thrust into me relentlessly. His hands worked their way beneath my chest to cup my breasts. I winced as he took my nipples between his rough fingers and pumped them. This was a Jude I hadn’t seen before. He was all need and no mercy, and I didn’t care. I was grateful for anything. I wanted this moment to last but I knew, from the way his cock throbbed with each thrust, this was something neither of us could control.

“You’re… not…” I panted, as he pounded me against the speaker. “The… devil.”

I had a sudden urge to have him know that despite everything he was doing, I didn’t blame him, and I didn’t think he was evil. Far from it. I’d met the devil and it wasn’t Jude.

“I love you.” The words left me before I could stop them. I had never planned to tell him that.

I felt his cheek damp against mine and his breath thicken. He didn’t reply. Instead, he kicked my feet further apart and pulled my hips away from the speaker, then drove in as deep as he could possibly go, pushing the air right out of my lungs. His fingers reached down to find me, circling my flesh as he thrust again and again. He was close and I was delirious. He anchored a forearm on the speaker and I laid my head on it, feeling the blood pump through his veins as he neared his climax. The song on stage reached its peak, the drums blasting through the walls and the crowd singing in sync. Jude increased the pressure of his fingers and I sobbed as I came again beneath his relentless caress. As I tightened around him, he yelled in my ear and rammed me hard against the speaker. His body bashed against mine as the tremors rocked through him.

We stayed still for a few moments, neither of us saying a word, as we caught our breath and listened to the crowd roaring for more of the band. It would be Alana Malone’s turn on stage next. She had the confidence of a lion; she wouldn’t need me to coax her up the steps. If anything, the runners would be holding her back right about now.

Slowly, Jude withdrew and fastened his jeans. I pushed myself back to standing, fastened my own jeans then turned to see him holding my shirt. He gently pulled it down over my head, waited for me to push my arms through the sleeves, then smoothed it down over my belly and took my hands in his.

“You can’t love me, Diana,” he said, quietly, not raising his head. “I’m not a good person.”

I ducked down so he couldn’t avoid my eyes.

“I do,” I replied. “I’ve loved you for a long time.”

He finally lifted his gaze and stared back at me, confused.

“Why? I’m fucking up your life and getting paid handsomely for it. You should despise me with every corner of your soul.”

“I knew something wasn’t adding up, and you just confirmed that. Someone else is making you do this.”

“I should never have told you that,” he sighed, releasing my hands and taking a step back.

“Who is it?”

“I honestly don’t know,” he shook his head. “I only know what Garrett tells me. He’s the one I answer to.”

“Garrett is a good guy; I don’t get it.”

“I don’t think any of this is his choice,” Jude said, running a hand through his now-damp hair. “He’s probably under orders too.”

I sank back against the speaker.

“So, what now?”

“You’ll never win this fight,” Jude said, stepping towards me again. “There are powers beyond me that will make sure of it.”

I shook my head, defiantly.

“Please, Di, listen to me. Don’t make a fool of yourself. You’ve done so much for the alternative music scene already. This is the best career peak anyone could ever dream of. Now is the time to bow out gracefully.”

My stomach churned with a million emotions. He wasn’t listening to me—he never had done. I needed this. I needed the job; I needed the business. I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t go home.

“What do you know?” I said, the despair undisguised in my voice. “You’ve seen me in action once. Once! And suddenly you think this is enough for me?”

“You could get another job anywhere…” he began, but I cut him off.

“No. I. Can’t!” I said, my voice getting louder. “There is no other label doing what I do. They’ve all been slashed…”

“There are in England,” he said, rubbing his temples.

“I’m not going back there.”

“Why? You’d be a fucking big fish in a small pond. You wouldn’t have to deal with these corporate assholes screwing over the record business.”

“I’m NOT going back there,” I repeated, knowing there was an edge in my voice Jude had not yet heard.

“Why, Diana? What happened there?”

I focused on my breath—breathe in two, three, breathe out, two, three. My heartrate was through the roof. I’d never meant for the conversation to take this turn. I never wanted to get so close to my past again.

“Something happened,” he continued, sensing the door to my soul might be open ajar. “Is that why you wouldn’t give an interview to Rolling Stone?”

I stormed past him, closing the metaphorical door in his face. “I don’t have time for this,” I hissed. “I have a fucking concert to run.”

I heard his footsteps but before he could reach me, I spun round.

“I suggest you head up to Suite Sixteen to watch the rest of the show…”

“Diana…” his eyes were full of apology and his hands ran through his hair again. The cotton of his t-shirt clung to his abs, taunting my defiance.

“…or you can leave.” I forced out the words. We’d just confessed our love for each other, but this was bigger. This was my life, and I couldn’t risk it for anyone.

I turned, opened the door, and walked through it. My eyes were on the bands, the future. They had to be. The alternative was too painful to bear.