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“Sorry, sorry, I’m late.” Looking flustered, Jazz slid into the small booth across from her lover at the trendy fusion dessert shop. Prowl extended a hand, which she took with a gentle squeeze. “Things got a little… complicated, with the band.”
“I had wondered what was keeping you and if I should be worried.” He had, in fact, been about to call her when she’d slipped in the door. Prowl frowned, stroking his fingers over the delicate skin of her wrist. Her pulse was settling now that she was seated, but, “You seem stressed.”
“That’s an understatement,” Jazz muttered. She left her hand in his as she glanced at the table’s call button. “Have you ordered already?”
“I have.” Anticipating her reaction given her harried mood, Prowl hid a small smile. “And for you as well.” Sure enough, Jazz huffed, and his smile widened just enough to show the pointed tips of his canines. “Only an appetizer, I assure you.”
“Ah. I suppose that’s alright then.” Normally Jazz enjoyed it when Prowl surprised her, but she was a little touchy just now. “Not to sound ungrateful, but I’ve had enough of things being decided for me today.”
“Oh?”
“It’ll only bore you,” she warned.
“My lovely Jazz.” Prowl took her other hand to hold both together. “You could never bore me.”
Jazz flushed, touched by his sincerity and his offer to listen. “Once the appetizers arrive then.”
Hers turned out to be a steamed rice roll drizzled in rich sauce and sesame seeds, accompanied by a delightfully refreshing italian soda garnished with mint and lychee. Jazz forgave Prowl’s presumption immediately and tucked in, smiling around a mouthful at the fruit and pearl sago salad he’d chosen for himself. “I’m beginning to regret ever agreeing to help my sister,” she said. “I mean, I still want to help her, and the single’s already doing better than we expected, but…” She sighed and flipped through the menu distractedly. So many dishes, each as beautiful as the last. Did she want shaved ice? Jelly? Sweet dumplings?
Maybe she should hold off on the sugar and start with an eel toast.
“But… what?” Prowl prompted gently.
Jazz sighed again, giving vent to some of her frustration. “We’re supposed to be making our music video, right? But every choreographer we’ve worked with so far has been completely incompetent. I could come up with a better routine! But I don’t have the time.” She was a member of the band as a favor to her twin, to support her dream, but it wasn’t her only responsibility, and losing so many hours to empty, pointless rehearsals was wearing on her patience. “I’d charge less too,” she added, biting off a growl along with another piece of her roll. “The last two both billed us way more than we were quoted — and way more than they were worth — but instead of fighting for us, our manager’s taking their side and just paying them, no questions asked. And after the things they wanted us to do! Ugh.” She shuddered. A certain degree of objectification was a given, and Jazz was hardly ashamed of her body or shy about flaunting her assets to her advantage, but there was a line between classy and sleazy. “It’s starting to feel like he’s sabotaging us, honestly.”
Prowl had to resist the urge to bare his fangs in a growl of his own. It was his industry, after all, and he knew all too well how crooked some managers could be. Such predatory behavior was far too common, and utterly deplorable. “You mentioned having trouble with him when you first signed as well, if I recall correctly.”
“You do, and we did,” Jazz nodded. “We didn’t exactly have a lot of options though, with the group being brand new. He only signed us at all because of Raj.”
Privately, Prowl wondered if perhaps he’d signed them with the intent of seeing them fail so he could continue with Mirage as a solo performer. The very thought offended him, and the idea of Jazz falling victim to such a scam had his latent powers itching to lash out at the man responsible. She, and the others, deserved better. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Besides listening? Hmm. You could always…” Jazz let one of her heels slip off, freeing her toes to slide up the inside of Prowl’s calf under the table. Prowl drew in a gratifyingly sharp breath. “Distract me?”
“Distract you?” When he was the one being distracted? Desire rose in him, displacing his more dangerous thoughts. Jazz’s day wouldn’t be the only thing long and hard if she kept going like that! Prowl reached across the table to tuck a lock of her luscious dark hair behind her ear, deliberately trailing his fingers over the pulse in her neck in retaliation. He felt it racing as he withdrew. “I am sure I would not know how.”
“Pest!” Jazz laughed, a pleased flush rising in her cheeks. “You know perfectly well how.”
“Hmm. As do you.” Prowl pressed back against her questing foot, then lifted a fruit-laden spoon to her lips. If what she wanted now was a distraction, he would be happy to provide. “But perhaps we should finish our appetizers,” he said, fixing her with a heated look, “before moving on to the main course?”
Jazz’s lips parted around the spoon, sensuously enveloping the strawberries and sago. She watched Prowl as she tugged gently on the spoon with her teeth, revelling in the way his eyes darkened as she pulled the implement from his fingers before withdrawing it slowly, teasingly, from her mouth herself. She swallowed, and so did he. “Do I get to choose the entree?”
They stayed only as long as it took to pay the bill.
“So? What do you think?” she asked when they were back at her apartment, laying herself out for Prowl on the sheets. “Good enough to eat?”
“Careful,” Prowl warned, joining her. “There is more than one way to interpret that question.”
“Maybe that was on purpose,” Jazz said, arching up into his hands as he cupped her breasts. “You can start with those,” since she knew he liked them, “move a little lower and eat me out,” she rocked against the leg between her thighs, letting Prowl feel her heat, “and then…” She threw her head back, exposing her neck. “Have a little something for dessert?”
“We started with dessert,” Prowl reminded her, dipping his head. He wasn’t going to pass up this treat. Her breasts were the perfect balance of soft and firm, her skin smooth and warm with just the right give beneath his fingers as he molded them to his hands. A perfect fit, like they were made just for him. He wrapped his lips around one nipple, sucking gently to make Jazz gasp. It worked, and he looked up again with a smirk. “I think I will start here though.”
“That’s not starting, that’s stopping,” Jazz pouted. “Stop stopping!”
Prowl laughed, dark and wicked and wonderful. “There is only one way to interpret that.”
I'm a picture-perfect face
With that wild in my veins
You can hear it in my
Growl, growl, growl, growl
The whole evening left Jazz in a good mood. It lasted right until the band’s next rehearsal.
“Jazz! Where have you been?! I tried to reach you, don’t you ever check your phone?”
She’d checked; five texts and three missed calls. “Figured you’d explain when I arrived. More bad news?”
Ricochet rolled her eyes so hard her ragged ponytail bobbed behind her head. “Noooo, of course not,” she drawled sarcastically. “We only had the next in a string of crooked choreographers cancel on us. What’s bad about that?”
“Cancel?” Jazz stared at her twin. “You’re serious?”
“She’s serious,” Mirage said, faint annoyance flickering over her perfectly painted features. The blonde idol flipped her hair over her shoulder and looked at Jazz. “The manager is, in theory, calling to find out why.”
“Suuuuure he is. Bet he’s just out back having a smoke.”
“No, he really is on the phone,” their fourth bandmate, Tracks, chimed in from beside the back door, pantomiming with her cell before going back to scrolling through her feed. Probably looking at cars again; the other idol’s love of a slick ride was what had brought her and Ricochet together in the first place, though in the process of forming up the band it had turned out she and Mirage were already acquainted as well. They played to two very different sides of the beauty industry — Tracks was all sharp sophistication and strength while Mirage embodied a softer, supple elegance — but both were fiercely feminine in their own way, and their physical contrasts brought out each other’s beauty as perfectly as their personalities complimented each other.
Much like Jazz and Ricochet complimented and contrasted each other, when they weren’t both equally annoyed over setback after setback.
“Ugh.” Ricochet threw herself down into a dramatic sprawl on the polished studio floor. “This sucks.”
It really did. “Okay, well, while he’s on the phone, do we know if he’s going to be able to find someone else to work with us today?” Jazz asked, resisting the urge to pace. “We really need to start making some progress.”
“Yes,” a familiar and unexpected voice said behind her. “You do.”
Ricochet let out a surprised squawk. “You?!” A quick twist had her feet back under her in a second. She popped up from her sprawl to stare at the man suddenly in their midst. “What are you doing here? How come you didn’t say anything, Jazz?”
“I didn’t know,” Jazz said, whirling to face Prowl herself. Standing just in front of the door like he’d materialized through it, he was wearing her favorite black-accented red leather jacket and peering down his nose through a pair of dark glasses. “What are you doing here?”
“I am here,” Prowl said, levelling a critical look at each of them, “to produce a music video. A scout,” and Jazz was sure that barely-there quirk at the corner of his stern lips was directed at her, “told me of a new group in a position to benefit from my expertise.”
“We could at that,” Mirage said smoothly, immaculate eyeliner framing a golden glint of calculation in her eyes as she stepped forward. “Have you spoken with our manager?”
“Not as yet, no.” Prowl withdrew a hand from a zippered pocket, holding up his phone. “Being unable to reach him remotely, I thought to expedite things by coming in person.”
“He’s still on the phone,” Tracks reported, her own cell suddenly nowhere in sight as she gestured to the door beside her, “but I’m sure he can be persuaded to finish his call later.”
“Indeed.” He’d had just about enough of the man, and he hadn’t even met him yet. Without any further fanfare or explanation, Prowl swept past them all. The door fell shut behind him with a sharp click!
“We~ell now,” Ricochet said, a low whistle on her lips. “What’s that all about then?”
Tracks and Mirage shared a glance. “If he really is here to work with us, that would be a godsend,” Tracks said. “There’s no way we can afford him, but I’ve got no problem being one of his charity cases. He knows his stuff, that one.”
“And knows you,” Mirage said, shifting to look at Jazz and Ricochet. “How?”
So much subtext in the one little word. Did she think he was too good for them? Ha! “He’s a lover,” Jazz said, perhaps a touch smug.
“Yeah, she’s been hittin’ that for weeks.”
“Rico!” She didn’t have to say it like that!
“What? You have.”
“Wait. Seriously? You and Prowl? The Prowl?” Tracks crossed her arms, freshly manicured nails tapping against her gold bangles. “It’s not fair,” she complained. “It’s just not fair.”
“You might have mentioned his name,” Mirage said archly, “any one of the times you were going on about your latest fling. I thought we were friends, Jazz.”
“We are, Raj!” Friends and fantastic shopping buddies, but there was a reason Jazz hadn’t been specific when gushing about Prowl over bubble tea at the mall. “I didn’t know how long we were going to last though. If it was just going to be a fling, not a relationship…”
“Hmm.” Mirage’s ire softened. “And is it? A relationship, that is,” she asked, coming over to lay a hand on Jazz’s arm. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
It had been. Not that Jazz avoided relationships on principle, exactly, but it was so much easier just to have fun, to hook up with whoever was available and up for a good time. The entertainment industry moved so fast. Tying to hold down a constant like a relationship wasn’t something she’d felt was worth the effort, until Prowl had started putting in the effort with her. He definitely wanted a relationship, and Jazz was starting to think she did too.
Not that she was ready to update her status or anything.
“Just do me a favor and don’t make a big deal of it, alright? Any of you,” she said, making sure to get eye contact from both Tracks and Ricochet. “Okay?”
“Sure, sure. Already wasn’t, was I?” Ricochet said with an easy-going shrug.
“I can be discreet,” Tracks promised, then waved her phone. “I get to Tweet about it first when you make it official though, right?”
“As if,” Ricochet snorted. “I’m her twin, I get to be first!”
Mirage leaned in close. “Put it on Instagram,” she whispered under the others’ good-natured bickering. “That way I’ll be first.”
She winked, and Jazz laughed.
Then the door at the back of the room opened, and Prowl reappeared. “Ladies. I have spoken with your manager,” the man was practically cowering behind him in the doorway, “and he has agreed that I will be handling the production of the music video for your latest single.”
“Awesome!” Ricochet bounced forward, hand up to salute beneath the brim of her ball cap. “Present and ready to work, sir!”
Prowl arched an eyebrow. Ricochet needed to take this seriously. They all did. “I hope so. I give all of my clients my very best effort, and I expect the same in return.” He shrugged out of his jacket, revealing a tight black turtleneck tucked into equally well fitted black pants. The short sleeves of his shirt left his forearms bare and accentuated his biceps as he moved to hang the jacket up before turning to face them. “Understood?”
“Yes!”
“Of course.”
“Absolutely.”
Jazz shook herself, then nodded. Now was not the time to ogle, no matter how good the view. “You bet.”
They all learned quickly that working with Prowl was serious business. He didn’t cut them any slack, not even Jazz, who was honestly grateful for his professional attitude. She was dead tired of wasting time on this project, and more than willing to work hard to see it done and done right. Mirage and Tracks were both on board with the program as well, eager to take advantage of the opportunity to work with someone of Prowl’s caliber.
Ricochet, on the other hand, was somewhat less cooperative.
“I’m doing it!” she protested when Prowl called her out for missing her timing again. She wasn’t a bad dancer, but as an improv street rapper, the synchronized group choreography was giving her trouble. “I wasn’t that far off.”
“It does not matter by how much you were off. If you miss even a single beat, it will stand out and bring the whole group down.” Prowl wasn’t going to let her get away with less than perfection. He knew she could do it; she just needed to dedicate herself to learning this one part. The rest of the routine he’d devised built on all their talents, highlighting them each in turn. She could freestyle to her heart’s content during her rap solo, but the compromise was the chorus. “Once again now, from the top.”
“Your boyfriend’s a menace,” Ricochet said afterward as they were packing up to leave. The date they’d set to film everything was creeping up on them, and she still didn’t have the moves down to Prowl’s satisfaction. “He should know better than to come up with choreography we can’t do!”
“We can do it,” Jazz insisted, buttoning up her blazer. She, Mirage, and Tracks all had Prowl’s seal of approval on the chorus and had moved on to learning their other sequences. Her twin was the only one still struggling, but she could see how close she really was. “You can do it. You’re just letting your frustration get the better of you.”
“Or, maybe, it’s too hard.”
Jazz sighed. They weren’t getting anywhere like this. “Please don’t give up, alright? Prowl’s put together a really good routine for us.”
Ricochet snorted. “You just like it cuz it’s his.”
“No,” Jazz countered immediately. Yes, she was enjoying showing off a little in front of him, but when it came to the dancing itself, “I like it because it’s challenging.”
“Like I said: it’s too hard.”
“Challenging doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” Mirage interjected diplomatically. “It’s frustrating, yes, but it also pushes you to grow. Don’t you want to become an even better performer than you are now?”
“Says you, with your easy part.”
“It isn’t easy for me,” she said, her unusually plain candor drawing Rico up short in a way Jazz’s cajoling had failed to do. “Prowl’s asking me to do things I’ve never done before too. It’s hard work, but I believe in his vision for us.”
“I don’t see how all the pieces will go together or why I need to do things a certain way either,” Tracks added, settling her feathered stole over her shoulders, “but I’ll do what I have to for the sake of the finished product. This group was your idea,” she said, fixing Ricochet with a look. “I would think you’d want to give it your all, not give up.”
Ricochet straightened, chin coming up obstinately. “I’m not giving up!” she snapped. “I just can’t do it.”
“On the contrary,” Prowl said, appearing out of nowhere and making Ricochet squeak in surprise. “You simply cannot see yourself doing it. Come.” He held out his hand. “Let me show you.”
Ricochet hesitated.
“You promised you would give me your best effort,” Prowl reminded her.
“Ugh. Okay,” she grumbled, tossing down her puffed jacket and taking his hand. “Guess I’m staying for remedial choreo. You guys go on, I’ll catch up later.”
Prowl watched the others go, sorry for the concern in Jazz’s eyes as she left. He knew she wanted to help, but suspected she was actually part of the problem. Watching her perform his choreography was an absolute treat, but the moves came so naturally to her she was showing the others up without even trying. Mirage and Tracks both had enough experience not to let that shake them, but Rico’s confidence was taking a pounding.
“I realize this may sound counterintuitive,” he said once they were alone, “but I want you to focus on your part of the chorus in isolation. Do not think about the others, even when they are dancing alongside you.”
“Thought I was supposed to make sure I was in sync with them.”
“If you are constantly watching them to see where they are, you will inevitably fall behind.” Prowl cued up the music, letting the intro play as he counted down to the chorus. “Synchronize yourself with the song, and the rest will follow. Listen.” At the first words, he leapt into motion, emphasizing each beat that signified a new sequence of steps. “Here,” he chanted, “and here. You could go another round, round, round, round, round, round, round, wish you luck but you're not bringing us down.”
Ricochet watched, tapping her toe as she fixed the beats in her head. Focusing on her part without distractions and comparisons was helpful, and Prowl encouraged her to jump in when the chorus came around again.
We go hard (Hard) 'til we get it, get it
We go hard (Hard), we so in it, in it
We pop stars (Pop stars), only winning, winning now
Ain't nobody bringing us down, down, down, down
The music faded out, leaving them both crouched in Ricochet’s final pose. Prowl met her eyes in the mirror. “Believe in your own lyrics. Let them remind you of what you are as you dance.”
“Heh. A pop star, huh?” Ricochet uncurled, cocking her hips at a jaunty angle. “Guess I can try to do that.”
“You are not lacking in skill,” Prowl said as he stood. “Only in practice. Now: again.”
Once she finally buckled down, her efforts paid off. On the day of the shoot, Ricochet swaggered on set with a broad, confident smile. “Let’s do this thing!”
Jazz hid a giggle behind her hand.
“Oh, good, you’re both here.” Mirage peeked her head out of the makeup room. She had a striking set of whisker lines on her cheeks to match the pair of ears nestled in her hair. “Tracks said she’s running late.”
“Pfft. She’s just picking out her car. Nice outfit,” Ricochet said, winking as they joined her and were able to see the rest of her ensemble.
“It is, isn’t it?” Mirage shimmied her hips, swinging the crystalline tail with flawless control. “Not the easiest thing to dance with, but the effect is rather striking. Well worth the effort to learn, I think.”
“Definitely worth it,” Jazz agreed, shrugging out of her street clothes and reaching for her own costume. The black-and-gold bustier had a pair of stylized gold wings attached to it, accented with the same crystal as Mirage’s tail, and she rolled her shoulders to settle them comfortably. She’d had to learn how to move so they flowed with the choreography too; she suspected Prowl had designed them as a nod to his own hidden wings, knowing how much she liked them, but she hardly had the same conscious control he did! They were fun though, and she did like the way his eyes followed her when she made them flutter.
Ricochet’s costume didn’t have any extra appendages, but she would have to sit through makeup twice: once to match the rest of them, and once for the special black light of her rap solo. Jazz looked over and saw her twin grinning to match the fanged smile on her custom face mask.
Honk, honk!
“Hey girls!”
Together they all went outside to meet Tracks, already dressed to kill behind the wheel of her lamborghini. Prowl surprised them all by stepping out of the passenger seat. “Are you all ready?” he asked.
“As we’ll ever be! And let me just say in advance, on behalf of all of us,” Ricochet gave a heartfelt bow, “thank you. I don’t know what we’d’ve done without you.”
“You have all worked very hard. I can honestly say it has been a pleasure,” Prowl said before getting down to business. “Everyone inside now, if you please. Tracks, bring your car around to the bay first.” The video needed several shots of the diva with her vehicle, and it would take time to get the lighting set up just right. “By the way,” he said, falling in step beside Jazz, “I have a surprise for you when this is over.”
“A surprise?” Jazz looked up at him, intrigued. “The good kind, I hope.”
“Trust me,” Prowl said, favoring her with a smile that walked the line between smug and sweet. “It is something you will all enjoy.”
He was certainly right about that. After they wrapped the shoot, successfully capturing all the necessary footage and handing it off to the editors, Prowl announced that he had secured a television spot for them to debut the finished video with a live performance and an interview. Ricochet squealed so loud Tracks slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her, and Jazz leapt into Prowl’s arms for a thoroughly unprofessional embrace.
“Really?!”
“Really,” Prowl assured her. He hadn’t been expecting such an exuberant response, but he was far from bothered by it. “Of course, you do realize what this means.”
“We get to celebrate?” Jazz guessed, arms still around his shoulders. Ricochet whistled, but Jazz ignored her.
Prowl very much wanted to celebrate with Jazz, but, “Not just yet. There is something else I need you — all of you — to do.”
“Oh?”
“What’s that?”
“I suspect he means we need to master a live version variant of the choreography,” Mirage said, jumping on his train of thought faster than the others.
“Precisely,” Prowl nodded. “Do not worry,” he said when Ricochet groaned. “It is, for the most part, the same as what you have already learned for the chorus. The only difference is the addition of a few short bridges to cover transitions, and a set of simple backup steps to support the solos.”
“Bleh. So it’s congratulations, back to work?”
“I am afraid so,” Prowl said, giving Jazz’s hips a gentle squeeze. She couldn’t see the smirk on her twin’s face, but he could. Rico was teasing, not backsliding. “I expect to see you all bright and early tomorrow morning for rehearsals.”
Ricochet saluted. “Sir, yessir!”
The others laughed, and Jazz relaxed. She was still in Prowl’s arms… “And what about tonight?” she asked hopefully. “Are you sure we can’t celebrate just a little?”
Prowl’s answering grin was full of promise. “Maybe just a little.”
You know who it is
Coming 'round again
You want a dose of this
Right now it's K/DA, uh!
The lights came up on the four of them on the soundstage as the music began to play. Jazz held her starting pose, then strutted forward in time with the steps playing behind them in the video. She couldn’t see the audience very well past the strobes, but she could hear them cheering, feel their energy. It was absolutely invigorating.
Thank goodness Prowl hadn’t even tried to suggest they lip sync. Nothing could have kept Jazz from belting out the lyrics into the stage mic resting against her cheek.
I'm a goddess with a blade
You'll be shouting out my name
Keep it in your brain
Loud, loud, loud, loud
Back and forth they danced, pairing off, lining up, then pairing off again. Jazz smiled when it was her twin’s turn to take centerstage. They were all wearing simplified, “street” versions of their costumes for the studio performance, but Rico still had eyeshadow that glowed along with the designs on her jacket under the ultraviolet spotlight as she started to rap.
Hey!
You ready for this?
The audience shouted their approval as the LEDs in her mask lit up, the series of changeable expressions on it “mouthing” the words of the song. They were every bit as loud for her as they were for Mirage when the already-popular singer stepped forward after her, all but purring into the mic.
So keep your eyes on me now
‘Cause I think you’ll like what you see
And they did like what they saw, if the final applause and standing ovation were anything to go by. Jazz stood and revelled in it, letting the sound wash over her in waves. She rode them like a high, the very best kind there was.
Ricochet, equally energized, broke her final pose with an impromptu fist-pump. “That,” she exclaimed, “was awesome!”
“Was,” Jazz agreed, pulling her into a breathless embrace. “I don’t think you need to worry about anyone forgetting you’re in the band now, after that reception!”
“Pfft. I wasn’t worried about that… much.” Rico grinned, then stepped out of the hug. “Come on. It’s interview time!”
Jazz let the others take most of the questions, chiming in only when she had something in particular to contribute. She liked performing more than sitting around talking about performing, and it took conscious effort to sit still until they were no longer on camera, keyed up as she was. As soon as they were backstage she took off, dancing down the halls ahead of the others toward their greenroom.
“You,” a welcome voice called out to her, “were brilliant.”
“Prowl!” He was standing in the doorway to one of the other rooms, and Jazz diverted to twirl into his arms. “You were watching?”
“Naturally.” Prowl caught her and stepped back into the empty room, closing the door behind them. He could feel the energy humming through her body, hot and potent, and desire rose in him to answer it. “You all performed marvelously.”
“Thanks to you. I know you didn’t do it for me,” Jazz said, “but I want you to know how much I appreciate what you did.”
“It would be a lie to claim zero personal interest,” Prowl admitted, pressing a sly smile against her lips. Soft and pliant, they parted in a gasp, and he kissed her thoroughly. “But yes; what I did for you is the same thing I have done for other burgeoning artists who find themselves impeded by the greedy and unscrupulous.”
“Like our lovely manager?”
“Precisely. But I have no interest in discussing him right now.” He kissed her again, shivering when Jazz flicked her tongue along the points of his fangs. “I am much more interested in you.”
“Hmm. And I’m much more interested in you.” Especially now, when she was still vibrating with the exhilaration of their performance. “Would you taste it if you bit me?”
The little minx! “Taste what?” Prowl asked, doing his best to contain the flame of want! her question sparked.
“The music.” Brazenly, Jazz hung onto Prowl’s shoulders and brought her leather-clad legs up around his waist. “I can still hear it. It makes me want to keep dancing.”
“Is that what you think you are doing?” But Prowl didn’t try to dislodge her; if anything, he shifted his arms around her to hold her more securely. “This is hardly the place for such a dance.”
“Says who? No one here but us,” Jazz purred, nuzzling Prowl’s ear.
There wasn’t now, no, but, “That could change at any moment.”
“I don’t hear you telling me to stop.”
“I do not want you to stop.” Prowl breathed in the scent of her, sorely tempted. “It would not do, however, to be caught in as compromising a position as I would have you.” He squeezed his hand on her shapely rear, fingers drifting inward to brush the apex of her thighs through the tight black fabric covering her. “Are you even wearing anything under these?”
Jazz’s answer was a needy growl. Prowl felt her blunt teeth on his own neck, nibbling eagerly. “Prowl,” she said, panting slightly. “Please!”
“Ja~azz!”
That hadn’t been Prowl’s voice. Startled, Jazz drew back just in time to see the door open on—
“Jazz, are you in— oh!” Ricochet snickered. “Getting the jump on the afterparty, are you?”
“A private party,” Jazz huffed, waved her twin away. “Shoo!”
“Uh huh.” Still cackling, Ricochet turned and left. “Have fun you two!” she called over her shoulder.
Prowl and Jazz looked at each other. “Maybe you were right about the potential for interruptions,” Jazz said. “Did you drive?”
“I did.”
“Well then.” She unhooked her legs and tugged on Prowl’s arm. Ricochet might have doused the mood momentarily, but her desire was far from extinguished. “Drive, mister! Take me somewhere we can be,” she tossed her hair and put on her best sultry expression, “alone.”
She didn’t have to tell him twice.
Jazz wrapped her legs around Prowl again as soon as they reached his place, “forcing” him to carry her inside. It was no hardship for Prowl, who wouldn’t have set her down for anything. They filled the elevator up to his penthouse with heated kisses, and Jazz had already pulled the close-fitting bolero off her arms by the time he brought her into the suite.
“You’re wearing too much,” she complained playfully, feeling up his chest through his shirt as she peeled back his jacket. “This needs to come off. All of it needs to come off.”
“It does at that,” Prowl agreed. “As of now, I am declaring this a no-clothes zone.”
“No clothes, no costumes… no disguises.” Jazz stroked Prowl’s face lovingly. “I want you as you really are.”
“You always see me as I really am.” Even when he was hiding it, Jazz never forgot — and was never afraid. They shared a kiss that started out tender, but quickly involved tongues and teeth. Prowl chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Have I ever told you how much I like that about you?”
“You may have mentioned it once or twice.” Jazz dragged his shirt up and over his head, baring his skin to her hands. She could feel the muscles flexing in his back, rippling as he prepared to release his wings. “But do keep telling me how wonderful I am.”
“In every language I know,” Prowl replied. Her shirt joined his on the floor, giving him access to her pert nipples. He rolled one between his fingers, whispering endearments in her ear.
Jazz hummed happily. She didn’t know all the words, but she understood the sentiment. So much praise, all directed at her… “You say the sweetest things,” she said. They hadn’t bothered with the lights, and Prowl’s wings rose up over his back like silent shadows. They were beautiful, powerful and surprisingly soft when she reached for them.
Prowl twitched, speech faltering momentarily as she felt up the folds of his wings. The touch wasn’t so much erotic as intensely intimate, validating his decision to share this aspect of himself with her. “I speak only the truth,” he said, sliding her pants down over her hips. He was delighted to find his earlier guess proven right. “No panties, I see.”
“They’d have shown,” Jazz said, stepping free of the tight pants one foot at a time. “And anyway, it’d just be one more thing to take off.”
“Hmm. So impatient.”
“Like you’re complaining! Now hurry up and finish getting naked.”
Laughing, Prowl complied.
Jazz was back in his arms a second later. Leaving their clothes behind, Prowl carried her into the bedroom. She turned the short walk into a real test of his control, flexing her thighs around his hips to rub herself just above his rising erection. He could feel how ready she was, hot and slick and oh so inviting…
“Pro~owl,” she moaned, tightening her grip when he made to put her down on the bed. “Please?”
Definitely impatient, but Prowl couldn’t find it in himself to refuse her. Not when he wanted just as much. Balancing with his wings, he shifted his feet into a more stable stance, then guided himself to her entrance where they stood.
“Ah!” Jazz smiled and lowered herself, shivering in pleasure as Prowl filled her. “Yesss…”
Prowl held still as a shiver passed through him as well. Then his hands were on her waist, lifting her up just enough to slide back down along his length. He couldn’t really thrust in this position, but Jazz worked with him, rolling her hips and rippling her channel to stimulate them both as they climbed toward climax.
“Would… would you…?” Jazz threw her head back, letting her body finish the sentence.
Prowl’s voice rumbled in his chest, a testament to how close he was. “Are you sure?” He trailed a line of fire along the vein in her neck with his tongue as he sheathed himself once more in her.
“Yes!” Beyond sure. “I trust you.”
I love you.
This time Prowl found her vein with his fangs. The first taste of blood on his lips was all it took to bring him over the edge; he went rigid as he came to completion buried inside Jazz, drinking from her life as she cried out her own ecstasy.
She really did taste like music.