“What’d you give me, bastard?” Calum asked, struggling to raise himself out of the couch only to fall back into the soft seats. How dare that little hussy tease him by flirting with other guys in front of him? Oh… he’d be punished. They pulled a little mic-sharing stunt, getting so close Jim was almost sure they’d kiss. The only thing time he really paid attention to the music were those few minutes when the tramp interacted with his band-mates, particularly the lead-singer. There was a certain ring to that word Jim enjoyed and he had inkling it’d sound great coming out that whore’s wrecked throat after Jim fucked his face. Or maybe he’d have this kid call him ‘daddy’. All he could think about was Calum Hood, moaning his name in that sexy, raspy voice. Jim couldn’t say what the music was like, or name any of the song-titles, didn’t even remember if they played live. Their set was a torturous hour and half long. Yep, this little Hood-rat had to be an expert at riding dick and after the show, Jim Morris intended to have a turn. The shameless hoe was practically begging for it. Hell, from the way Calum looked and moved around on stage, he wouldn’t be surprised if the entire band fucked him. Jim was willing to put money on the blond screwing this slut regularly. The kid knew how to use what he had too, flirting with the blond lead-singer shamelessly on stage, shaking his ass in front of him, then sassing him, and driving him to distraction till he forgot his lyrics. Jim hadn’t seen a lot of 19 year olds with asses like that, round and full and firm. And his black skinny jeans barely left anything to the imagination, highlighting long thin legs obviously designed to be thrown over men’s shoulders and a perfect bubble-butt. Even that large t-shirt couldn’t hide his sexy curves, all thin waist and broad twink hips. He had those full, puffy, red dick-sucking lips that looked like they were made to be sprayed with cum, and wide brown eyes that would probably look great glazed over in pleasure as he was being fucked into.Īnd his body… It was enough to make Jim forget about his wife. Dark hair a sweaty mess just three songs in, tanned skin glistening under the bright stage lights. But one look at that jail-bait and he’d pulled up his phone, googling furiously to figure out just who the hot little bassist was. Of course he hadn’t known the little whore’s name before seeing him. He arrived, saw the hordes of screaming teen girls, and almost gave into the temptation to get in his car and take off, write something generic for the article his editor would expect in 72 hours.īut he stuck around and now he was really glad for the press-pass that gave him a front-row seat, just a little left of center, conveniently positioned in front of one Calum Hood. A boy-band trying to pass themselves off as serious musicians, their claim to fame being they played their own instruments. Jim Morris wasn’t thrilled when he got assigned to cover the 5 Seconds of Summer concert.
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