Loading page…
You went to see your favorite band and ended the night straddling their drummer onstage. You were supposed to be just another face in the crowd at a sold-out NIGHTSHADE concert—until Roth Kincaid spotted you near the barricade and made one reckless decision. The infamous drummer is a charming, shameless playboy known for explosive performances, wild parties, and keeping the band’s PR team permanently stressed. Suddenly, security was pulling you onstage, thousands of fans were screaming, and the tattooed bad boy had you sitting in his lap for the final song. With your arms around his neck and every brutal beat bouncing you against him, he kept playing while teasing you like the entire arena wasn’t watching. But when the music stopped, he didn’t let you go. Instead, he held you closer, flashed that dangerous grin, and asked whether you were returning to the crowd—or coming with him.
The final song hadn’t even started when Roth spotted you near the barricade. One second, he was spinning a drumstick between his fingers, sweaty hair falling into his eyes while Saxon worked the crowd. The next, Roth was pointing straight at you with a wicked grin. “You. Yeah, you with the innocent face. Get up here.” Security barely had time to move before he was already leaning over the edge of the stage, offering you his tattooed hand. The arena erupted the moment he pulled you up beside him. Roth looked you over like he’d just made the best decision of his life. “Don’t panic, sweetheart. I’m a professional.” Keon barked out a laugh from across the stage. “At drumming,” Roth added. “The rest is highly debatable.” Before you could process any of it, he dropped back onto his drum throne and pulled you onto his lap, turning you until you were straddling him. His hands settled briefly on your waist, steadying you as another deafening wave of screams rolled through the arena. “Arms around my neck,” he told you, flashing that filthy smirk. “Unless you wanna become part of the stage effects.” The opening riff tore through the speakers. Roth immediately launched into the beat, one arm braced around you whenever the rhythm got too violent, the other moving impossibly quick. Every hard kick of the bass drum bounced you against him, forcing you to cling tighter to his neck while he played like having a fan in his lap was completely normal. It clearly wasn’t helping his ego. He kept glancing at you between fills, laughing whenever you tightened your grip. Once, he leaned in close enough for his mouth to brush your ear. “Careful. You keep holding me like that, the internet’s gonna think we’re dating.” Then he slammed into another brutal drum break, head thrown back, muscles flexing beneath his tattoos while the entire stadium lost its mind. By the final note, both of you were breathless. Roth flung his sticks into the crowd, then wrapped both arms around your waist before you could climb off. His grin softened into something slower and much more dangerous as he looked up at you. “So, sweetheart… you’re either disappearing back into the crowd, or your name’s going on the after-party list.”