Warning: Explicit content.

London’s largest indoor arena was bathed in a brilliant blue glow, the anticipation barely contained as thirty thousand people held their breaths for their favourite pop stars to appear. Brandon, Kyle, Nathan, and Mark huddled together and said a quick Hail Mary while they waited for the cue. Ben was down with a cold and would miss all concerts that week, much to his dismay. 

It was their fifth world tour, starting with Australasia, Britain and Ireland, before moving to the rest of Europe, Asia, Africa, and the Americas. The pyrotechnics shot up from the front of the stage and the lights danced with the prelude to their first song, visuals rapidly moving on the screen behind them as Pentoniac elevated to the stage. They fixed their suits, adjusted the in-ear monitors, and turned on their microphones.

The beat dropped. The stage came to life. The arena erupted.

Brandon’s smooth, powerful voice led the way, filling the air with Pentoniac’s soaring, rugby-anthem element. The quartet – first dressed in white suits, then in all-black leather – belted one hit after another, dancing, jiving, pelvis-thrusting, and engaging with the audience and the musicians. Underwear, fake flowers, teddy bears flew in fast. The crowd went berserk, the roar scarily deafening.

After all those years, they still found it unbelievable that people were willing to brave the cold or spend a month’s income to watch them perform. It was so much more than their job; it was their dream come true. They were the biggest success story of all time, and they were there to show the world why and how.

After a quick costume change and an interval, they returned to the stage amid a confetti shower and the display of a rippling waterfall behind them.

Brandon’s breath caught in his throat to find Isabel in the front row of the audience. He stood still for a long minute, forgetting the lineup as he stared at his wife of three months amid the crowd of people.

“Brandon,” Mark spoke into the microphone, startling him. The lead singer smiled awkwardly as he walked to his place, unable to take his eyes off his new wife. She was their chief sound engineer, the heart of their music, the unsung hero behind every note that resonated with their fans. She recorded, mixed and mastered their songs in the studio, and served as the front-of-house engineer at their concerts to optimize audience experience.

By that logic, she was supposed to be in the sound booth that night.

But she was right there, front and centre, glamorous in sleek, black, high-waisted pants and a velvet jacket, her hair twisted up in a chic updo.

He looked at the other lads for some confirmation that he was not dreaming. No, he was not. Isabel was looking up at them, and the lads were smiling at her, amused that she had decided to surprise them. The black of her clothes matched the colour of her hair, highlighting her luminous skin. The ankle boots gave her some height, allowing him to seek her out from the crowd. And her big, dark eyes… they sparkled with mischief.

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

“Uh… Brandy?” It was Kyle this time. Brandon looked at the lads to find them staring, waiting for him to start singing. The prelude was playing and the crowd was cheering, but he had eyes for only one person.

“It starts off with a heartbeat…

Then it hits you like a drum…”

His voice faltered when Isabel proceeded to pull down the zipper of her fitted jacket. Brandon closed his eyes, his heart racing but not because of the electric ambience of the show.

“You’re deep down in a feeling

But it’s only just begun…”

When he opened his eyes, they went wide. Isabel had pulled the zipper all the way down to reveal a short, black, sleeveless blouse underneath the jacket.

Jaw, meet floor.

Brandon stared at the deep cleavage, the creamy skin, the narrow midriff…

Sweat formed underneath his shirt. Swallowing again to moisten his throat, he continued the song.

“You’re looking up at the ceiling

Wonder why you can’t get to sleep

‘Cause you’re deeper in that feeling

A feeling that nothing’s ever gonna be…”

Isabel was swaying her hips, every curve of her svelte body moving to the rhythm. She raised her arms above her head in a smooth motion, reaching for her hairpin, and he lost his voice again. Nathan saw his plight and decided to help him with the song.

“And I’ll never ever know

how I ever did without you…”

Her dark tresses came cascading down her shoulders, almost blending with her clothes. He grabbed the microphone hard until his knuckles hurt, just to be able to distract himself.

“Some things in life you can’t forget, you know…

I can’t find the words,

I can’t begin to tell you where, when, or how

All I know now

Is that all my dreams came true,

When I met you…”

The audience raised their hands and clapped to the rhythm of the song, and Isabel joined them, singing along to the music, shaking her hips and putting her hands together to every bass and beat. Her ebullience was infectious, her beauty indelible, and he tried his best to push through the wall of lust building inside him. When she flicked her hair back and gave him a smile, the sheer blow made Brandon fumble with the microphone. It fell onto the stage with a loud thud and an ear-splitting shrill.

A gasp went through the crowd, and everyone instinctively shrank on their spots.The lads cast him a sidelong stare while singing the last verse of the song, half concerned, half annoyed. Laughing, Brandon picked up his microphone and muttered a quick apology. Kyle and Nathan joked that he must be getting old because his reflexes were not as quick. Isabel was laughing too, her cheeks flushed with colour. Usually, she had no idea when she was being a tease without meaning to. Like when she tapped her long fingers up and down her thigh while marvelling at their perfect harmonies in the studio, or when she twirled her hair around her fingers while reading a book with her legs sprawled on the sofa, or when she licked the rim of her coffee mug sitting across from him at breakfast with such surreptitious obscenity that he was left hard-pressed to not lunge at her and trap her underneath him.

Tonight, she knew what she was doing. And he knew what he wanted to do to her once the show was over.

#

“Hey, gorgeous!”

Roger Macintosh staggered through the bustling after-party, towards the bar, where Isabel was sipping on her soda with a lemon twist and working on the next day’s audio on her tablet. Tonight’s show had been a dizzying success, the bass, the beats, the lights and the fireworks still reeling in her mind as she tried to wind down from the high. The party had started not more than an hour ago, but the A&R executive from the record label was already unsteady.

Isabel stiffened when he swayed up to her, reeking of vodka.

“You look so sultry in black,” he slurred, leaning into her. “I could barely recognise that you were the sound girl.”

“Thanks, Roger,” she lied, forcing a smile as she tried to move away from the inebriated man. A hand touched her lower back, and she flinched, regretting taking off her jacket to beat the heat of the crowded party. The man’s weight pressed down on her, and it made her want to run, if only she could figure out how. She usually traversed the post-show pandemonium with her calm and collected grace, but this frightened her.

“Why are you drinking water?” he exclaimed, running his fingers down her bare arm. She quickly pulled away from him, but his fingers kept going, travelling past her midriff, down to the black velvet of her pants. Her heart started a frantic, embarrassed jog against her sternum, and her skin crawled. “Let me get you a drink, and then…” His fingers crawled up the inside of her thigh. “…we can have some private time together, hmm?”

Isabel shifted on the barstool, but the man’s large hands were relentless. She met the eyes of the bartender, who was watching the scene unfold. An unspoken message passed between her and the young man.

A moment later, Brandon’s phone buzzed. He had been drinking a beer and having a laugh with Mark, Kyle and his girlfriend Rose. But when he read that message, the adrenaline he had felt throughout the day gave way to a sickening twist of his gut. Roger Macintosh had a reputation for being indecent in broad daylight and a sleaze when the lights were low and the liquor was flowing. As he abandoned his drink and pushed through the crowd, he sighted the lecher leaning too close, his hands wandering where they did not belong.

Brandon’s blood boiled. He had encountered many predatory eyes in the business over the years, treating dancers, backing singers, and stylists like a shank of meat. But he knew better than to let go when they had fallen on Isabel.

At the bar, Roger Macintosh was all but draping himself over her, still trying to goad her into a drink.

“I’m not in the mood to drink tonight, thanks,” Isabel muttered, keeping her gaze low.

“That’s what booze is for,” he laughed against her ear, his hot, alcoholic breath making her nauseous. “To get you in the mood.”

“I really don’t want it.”

“Come on, babygirl,” the man leered at her. “You need to loosen up.”

“She said she didn’t want it.”

The deep male voice behind her made her breathe a sigh of relief. Brandon walked up to her and held up her jacket. She slid her arms into the sleeves, stepping down from the stool. Roger Macintosh, his eyes glazed with drunken lust, straightened slowly, but the scent of alcohol and desperation clung to him like cheap cologne. Brandon did not care for pleasantries. He only snaked an arm around Isabel’s waist, his eyes unwavering from the drunkard’s face.

“My wife isn’t much of a drinker, Roger,” he said, his voice low and even, “You, on the other hand, have had too much to drink tonight. Maybe it’s time you head home.”

The executive sneered, his bloodshot eyes flicking between Brandon and Isabel. “Or maybe it’s time your little wife learns to share the wealth,” he slurred, reaching out to touch her again, but the attempt was blocked by Brandon’s hand, nearly crushing the man’s knuckles with the force of his rage-fuelled grip.

Roger Macintosh gasped in pain but Brandon’s grip did not loosen. Isabel tried to diffuse the situation, but Brandon pushed her away with a sudden jolt that would have her crashing to the floor if not for Kyle appearing at the scene and catching her in his arms. The commotion spread through the party, silencing the music. The band’s security team swooped in, but Brandon waved them off. He did not need backup for this.

“Watch it,” he snarled. “She’s not just my wife; she’s the reason we sound good, and the reason you have a job. You’ll regret messing with her.”

“What’s going on here?” Louis came in waving his arms. When Kyle gave him a quick rundown on what had just transpired, their manager rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “That’s the last straw, Roger,” he muttered under his breath, tapping his pockets for his phone. Roger Macintosh stumbled back.

“I was only having some fun, mate,” he offered a weak, hollow laugh, realising what Louis was about to do. “No harm done.”

“The harm…” Brandon growled, brushing away Mark’s hand when he tried to pull him back. “…is that you were trying to have fun with an unwilling participant. If you touch her again, I’m going to have you charged with harassment.”

“Lads, leave it to me,” Louis said with assurance. “I’ll take care of it. You take care of her.”

Brandon let him go and grabbed Isabel’s hand, leading her away from the scene. The hall swirled around them as the music resumed, the beat pounding in their ears.

“Are you alright?” he asked her when they reached a quiet area away from the bustle. Nathan’s wife Ginny put an arm around her shoulders, but the comforting gesture did nothing to calm Isabel’s racing heart. She gave him a nod, thankful that the press was not present at the party.

“I’m sorry…” she murmured. “I kept trying to dodge him… but I didn’t know how without creating a scene.”

“You didn’t, he did.” Brandon folded her in his arms. “I don’t let anyone disrespect you like that.”

“I’m fine.” She crumbled in his arms. “Can we just go home?”

“Yeah, you better take her home,” Nathan said to Brandon. “She’s had enough for one night.”

They hugged the lads and their partners, and took their leave. Two security persons escorted them to their waiting car, and Brandon thanked them before sliding into his seat next to Isabel.

The drive was made in silence. At their Southwark apartment, Brandon found her at the bathroom sink, her head bowed and shoulders quivering.

His heart broke. Isabel hated the spotlight as much as she loved the music. In their all-male production team, she had held her own, carving an individual identity separate from the attention he brought her. But she did not have to pay the price for his fame.

“Hey.” He held her shoulders, gently turning her around. “Look at me.”

“I’m sorry…” she sobbed. “I wanted to slap him, but I was scared of the repercussions for the band.”

“The band is not more important than a person’s safety, Izzi.” He tilted her face, using the base of his thumb to brush away the streaming tears. “It could’ve been Rose or Ginny or Susan in your place and we’d still jump in to protect them. But do you know why any threat to you feels personal for us?”

He cupped her face with both hands, brushing back the long tendrils of hair. “Because you’re part of us. The sixth member of Pentoniac. The girl who’s always been our calm amid the chaos.”

Isabel reached for a towel. “He just wouldn’t stop.” She wiped her face, sniffling back the tears. “I’ve been with the band for two years and never felt threatened before today.”

“And you won’t feel it again. That’s a promise.”

“I thought you were going to hit him.”

“I was, but he deserves worse than a broken nose.”

“It’s…” She turned towards the mirror again. “It’s baffling that men lust over me. The world lusts over you, and I understand why. You’re a boyband star, one of the most handsome, fanciable men on this side of the pond. But me?”

She tossed her jacket to the floor, then slowly pulled off her blouse. “I am… this.”

He drank in the sight of her lithe, hourglass form in that black bra. She had always been confident of showing her legs, since they were never scathed much. But the scars on her arms and back – remnants of the gaping wounds that had needed several stitches – were still conspicuous, though lighter after all that time.

His hands landed on her shoulders again, the warm touch a contrast to the violation she faced earlier. “I don’t care what the world thinks,” he said, pressing his lips to her ear. “But you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. All these years and I still cannot wrap my head around how I get to call someone so effortlessly stunning all mine.”

“I never understood what you see in me. Everytime I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I can’t help but think that I’m so ordinary, unlike Ginny and Rose who look fancy and expensive all the time.”

“Well, you can’t see yourself the way I do.” He wrapped his arms around her waist. “I see you when you spot a fox in the bushes, when a joke catches you off-guard, when you help an old person cross the street, when you mix our tracks in the studio and rejoice with every harmony and high note, when you play the piano for hours at a stretch, when you stand on the rooftop of Castledale and feel the rain on your face.”

He kissed her temple. “Everything you do is pure love. Your face is pure joy.”

Despite herself, she broke into the smallest smile. “Yes.” Brandon noticed the changing colour of her face and nodded. “Like that.”

Somewhere in the apartment, a phone rang. Brandon came out to the bedroom and located his phone inside his jacket. Ben’s name was flashing on the screen. He answered the call, his best friend’s voice heavy with congestion and concern. Brandon assured him that his sister was fine and that Louis would handle the situation.

When he turned around after ending the call, Isabel was behind him.

“What is Louis going to do?” she asked. Brandon shrugged, setting his phone on the night table and holding out his hand to her. Isabel slowly fell into his embrace.

“It’s going to be alright,” he soothed.

“I didn’t want the night to turn out like this,” she rued.

“Yeah, I didn’t either. I wanted to shag you into oblivion, but…” He sighed. “Now I’m not sure.”

“Why not?”

He looked down at her face, a frown marring his brow. “I didn’t think you’d want intimacy after what you faced at the party.”

Her mouth twitched. “I understand the difference between violation and intimacy, Brandy. And I crave intimacy with you all the time.”

She arched into him, seeking his lips, and he dipped his head to connect with her. The contact sent a spark through them, their lips pressing harder, his arms coming around her body to crush her against himself. Her hands were impatient, tugging at his clothes until they had piled on the floor. Brandon picked her up, and her legs hooked around his hips as they fell onto the neatly-made bed. She giggled when he kissed her neck and down her collarbone, and his heart melted hearing that sound, knowing he was the reason behind it.

His touch was fierce but gentle as it travelled down her cleavage, the curve of her waist, the flat stomach, until it reached the placket of her pants. He unbuttoned and unzipped the garment, laughing when she kicked her legs to free herself from the constriction. Reaching behind, he unclasped her bra, and her breasts sprang in his face, the delicate nipples beckoning his mouth. Her breathing grew shallow, her body responding to his bidding as he lavished attention on each rosy mound, kneading, sucking, rolling his tongue around the stiff peaks.

“Wait— wha—” She looked down, but her eyes rolled back when he kissed her inner thighs, peeling away her panties as he did so. Brandon slipped a hand between her legs, pleased by the abundance of moisture. Her hips jerked when she felt his hot breath against her sex, his lips dancing tentatively across the glistening folds.

“Please, Brandy…” Isabel whined, fisting the duvet in her hand. “I need you… I’m dripping…”

“Good.” He kissed the top of her pubic mound, and then, without warning, sucked the hard little bud into his mouth.

The cracked moan it coaxed from her parted lips had him leaking inside his underwear. His tongue worked in the exact rhythm that he had perfected over the years, the one that could have her unravelling in minutes. He slid a hand behind her knee and lifted the leg over his shoulder to open her wider. She filled his mouth, his nostrils, all his senses. Sweat beaded his forehead. When she gripped his hair and bucked her hips to deepen the pressure, he groaned around the pink, pulsing tissues.

Her body writhed with every sinuous roll and lap of his tongue, his fingers spreading the folds and holding them taut. The pressure mounted quickly, her mouth opening in a heaving gasp as she felt the first spasm of her womb.

“Uh!” Her eyes pinched shut, her ears rang, and as he kept flicking his tongue against the swollen knot of nerves, she fell off the edge with a blurted howl of agonised relief. Brandon felt her warm wetness in his mouth, her folds throbbing against his face, her legs shaking.

She sagged onto the mattress as the tide ebbed and pressed a hand to her forehead. “You’re a fucking god,” she breathed. Brandon crawled up her body and kissed her, letting her have a taste of herself.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he smirked.

“I hope it gets you inside me.” She pushed down his boxers and gripped his erection, using a thumb to spread the oozing clear fluid around the head. His groan was lost in the kiss while he instinctively lined himself and slowly pushed forward, neither of them breathing as the thick crown notched the folds of her sex, and…

“Oh…” Brandon gasped with the sudden, suctioning pop as he edged past the first breach. “Oh, for the love of—” He gave a tense laugh and Isabel echoed it, her narrow canal flexing and easing and, god, that was tight. “Fuck. Izzi.”

“You feel so good,” she breathed, craning her neck to reach his lips. “Wanted you all day.”

He bent forward into a demanding kiss, the desperate suck of her body taking him in, and he kept sinking, sinking so deep, he thought he could not come out. She squirmed and twisted, urging him to make it harder. He obeyed, needy and ruthless, and she lifted her hips and met him. Thrust for thrust. A gasp for every groan. A broken cry for every grunt.

“Brandy…” Isabel shuddered beneath him, her eyes closed and throat bobbing up and down. “I love you…”

“I know…” Hungry lips mouthed at her jaw. “And I’ll go to any length to protect you, because I love you too…”

“Fuck me…”

“I am… I am… Jesus…” His pace increased. He felt the growing pliancy of tight muscles and the gulping invitation of her breath with every move. They wrapped around each other, the erotic bass of their union rippling through the quiet room.

“Harder.” Her hand grasped his hair, wrenching him into a kiss. Their hips faltered. He found the rhythm after a second and slammed again, eliciting a raw, surprised moan from her. She tore her mouth away, tipped her head back, and he braced himself on his arms as he took her and claimed her and devoured her.

“Right there…” Isabel croaked deliriously. “Right there— oh—”

He caught her trembling lip between his teeth, both of them chasing the edge, savouring the crest.

“Come on me,” Brandon hissed, his groyne tightening painfully. “Come all over me, Iz.”

Her nails dug into his shoulders. He could not care less, not when the tension was snapping and her tissues clenching around him and her punched groan ringing in his ears as she fell hard, taking him along. He hammered down and scrunched his eyes, then pulled out with a hiccuping grunt, spilling his semen over her stomach, coating her in hot cream. Isabel rolled them over and took his still-twitching erection in her mouth. Brandon struggled to breathe, the sudden onslaught of her soft lips, wet tongue, and tight throat too overwhelming. He bleated a warning, trying to hold back, but her mouth was merciless.

“Izzi…” he sobbed plaintively. “I’m too sensitive.”

She ignored his plea, her lips straining and cheeks hollowing as she sucked him deep and harder while stroking the base of his shaft. His body tensed again, his muscles quivering with the effort of restraint. Her tongue rolled across the head, licking the warm saltiness from the slit, and his hips refused to remain still.

“No…” he panted hoarsely, coming unhinged under her ministrations. “Baby… I can’t—”

But Isabel kept going, seemingly ravenous for him. Suckling, fisting, and licking, she lured his seed until his thighs were shaking and his hands clutching her hair.

“Shit…” His hips twisted on the bed as he spurted into her mouth, and she swallowed greedily, milking every drop of semen he had to offer. When the last tremor had passed, she released him with a soft pop, a trail of saliva connecting them. She looked at his sweat-slick face just in time to see him drop his head back and lick his upper lip with the tip of his tongue, like he usually did on stage after a robust performance. Despite his fame and fortune, she was the one who could bring him to his knees. Sweaty and sticky, she collapsed in trembling arms and sucked in air, the heady perfume of their shared passion enveloping the room.

A long minute later, Brandon breathed out a small laugh. “You are… unbelievable.” He looked at her flushed face. “Are you alright?”

She nodded. “You?”

“Great.” He kissed her hair, then reached for his discarded boxers to clean his sticky residue off her stomach. They lay there in silence, punctured only by her low chuckle.

“`What?” he asked.

“Just thinking about that Christmas party we had a couple of years ago in Sligo, where after a few drinks too many, Mark suggested a game of hide and seek in the woods. In the dark.”

Brandon cackled at the memory. “Yeah, Kyle was the seeker. Mark was probably the most drunk out of us all, and as Kyle started counting, he bolted for the trees and crashed through the undergrowth.”

Isabel laughed. “You and I were trying to hide together, but it was bloody dark Hazelwood and we were five beers in when you tripped over a root and both of us went sprawling.”

“Mark had had a couple more than us, and since stealth wasn’t his strong suit, he hit every low-hanging branch as he ran, singing the Mission Impossible theme that echoed through the woods, broken only by his thudding falls.”

“Ben climbed a tree.” Isabel shook her head. “He could barely make it back down, he was so sloshed.”

“Mark found us together and decided to ruin Dr Seuss for us.”

“‘Brizzi shagging in the dark, Brizzi shagging in the park, Brizzi shagging here and there, Brizzi shagging everywhere’”.

“Ugh.” Brandon broke into renewed laughter, covering his face with a hand. “I wish I could unhear that.”

Isabel turned sombre, hiding her face in damp chest hair. “The only reason why I gave in to Louis’ and Simon’s insistence and agreed to work with the band is because I’d get to be around my five closest friends.” Her eyes were watery when she looked up at him. “It makes me so happy that we’re a family in all but blood.”

“And we always look out for one another, no matter what.”

“I really don’t want this to create trouble for the band.”

“We aren’t the ones at fault. Everyone saw what happened. He has no excuse.” Brandon wrestled with the sheets and the duvet until they were underneath the covers. He kissed her head, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair. “Relax, okay? If there are repercussions, they won’t be for us. We’re Britain’s biggest pop act since the Beatles. No one would want to step on our tail.”

Turning off the light, he drew her closer into his arms. “Try to sleep,” he whispered. “We leave early tomorrow, and you’ve been working harder than us. You need rest.”

“Maybe I should’ve stayed away from the party—”

“Yeah, next thing you’ll say is that you shouldn’t have shown a bit of skin,” Brandon scoffed. “You weren’t the only one. He does it to countless others. His reputation precedes him.”

He blinked at her in the dark. “You’re not going to think about this anymore. Whatever happens, I’ll handle it.”

Isabel closed her eyes, trying to believe his reassurances as she let sleep wash over her.

#

Early next morning, Brandon was awakened by his buzzing phone. He rolled over in his sleep and picked it up, his eyes going wide at the group message on the screen.

According to a statement released by the record label, Roger Macintosh was no longer associated with the company. In another message, sent to only Brandon and Isabel, owner Simon Cowell had personally apologised for what happened last night.

The shock quickly subsided and a smile formed on his lips. Simon was good at sacking people. Producers, managers, musicians, hairdressers, designers- one wrong move and Simon sacked them. Although himself known to overstep on many occasions, Simon was always courteous towards Isabel and fiercely proud of her place in the band. And besides, no one wanted to upset the frontman of the record label’s biggest moneymaker. Success was perilous but it was also powerful. 

Brandon rolled over and curled around Isabel’s sleeping form, laying a kiss on her neck. He knew all of them would be holding their girls a little closer after last night, vowing to protect them from the leeches that their pop stardom brought along.