“I thought you were going to shower,” she says to my naked chest, with a huskiness in her voice that makes me harden instantly.
“Occupied,” I say as I catch my breath.
She nods. Then moves to pass me, turning her back to sidle through the little room I’ve left. But in the tight confinement of the hallway, her ass brushes up against me and my self-control slips. I put my hand out to stop her from passing, fingers gripping her hip tightly. My shirtless, sweaty front to her back, Lucky’s breath hitches and I exhale a jagged breath. I want to run my lips across that neck and push her up against the wall she’s standing in front of. Show her what being near her does to me as I press myself up against her ass. She doesn’t try to move.
I exhale again, my warm breath landing on her neck.
She inhales sharply.
I hear the shower water turn off in the distance, but I’m stuck in this bubble, interpreting what she feels by only the sound of her breathing and the reaction of her body. Normally, I like music when I have a woman beneath me. A rhythm we can both let flow through our bodies and move to. But I want the first time I’m inside of her to be quiet. So I can listen to her breathing and let her breaths tell me what she needs from me.
Jesus, this woman tests every bit of restraint I have. My body aches for her. Without a doubt I want her. But not like this. Not with her boyfriend twenty feet away. Not with her still sleeping in his bed at night. I drop my hand and release her, backing away. I’m going to walk away because I want her. And not this way.
I manage to accomplish the impossible, keeping distance from Lucky when she’s with Dylan, on a bus where there are few places to hide. The sun is setting by the time we pull into Little Rock. The tour manager hops on the bus at the airport and hands Mick two plane tickets. Mick has a fistful of ass from the woman on his left, and his tongue in the other one’s mouth.
Duff and I are sitting on the couch watching the end of a movie. He takes a draw on his beer, lifts his chin toward Mick and his two fuck buddies and says, “It’s like having live porn. Watch the next move. He’s gonna turn his head to the other side and stick his tongue in her mouth. The left hand will slide up to that one’s back while the right hand grabs a handful of the other one’s ass. Then he’s gonna whip two signed postcards out of his back pocket with his autograph next to the city he met them in.”
Amused, I sit and watch the end of the Mick show rather than the movie. The last scene plays out exactly as Duff described it. The two women giggle when he hands them the postcards and escorts them off the bus. I chuckle. “Guess he’s been using those moves for a while, huh?”
“Yep. Two-on-one gets a signed postcard. Mick’s an ass man. Taking it Greek gets you tickets to the next night’s show and an encore performance before you’re handed the one-way first-class plane ride and a kiss-off at the airport.”
“Shit. He kept me up half the night with those two. Guess I should be glad they weren’t Greek or I wouldn’t sleep again tonight at the hotel.”
Duff finishes off his beer. “Nah. They would have been postcarded anyway. We’re in Little Rock, it’s wife night.”
“Mick’s married?”
“Yep. Going on fifteen years. Married his high-school-fucking-sweetheart. Lydia. She’s a bitch. But who could blame her, married to that jackass? Two kids, a dog and a white picket fence around his house in the suburbs too.”
“No shit. You married?”
“Divorced.” He shakes his head and laughs cynically. “It’s ironic. I’m the only asshole that stopped dipping my pen in the tour ink when I found a good woman. Surprised her one night by coming home early from a gig. Had flowers in my hand and all when I found her blowing our CPA. A fucking accountant for Christ’s sake.”
“Wow. Sorry.”
“The worst part? She stopped giving me head after the wedding, and here she is on her knees for some pencil dick.”
“What did you do?”
“Broke the asshole’s nose, divorced the bitch and vowed never to get married again.” He shrugs. “I like getting head too much to try it again anyway.” Duff reaches into the small fridge on the side of the couch that’s only stocked with beer and pulls us each out one. “You got a girl?”
“I’m working on it.”
He nods. “Well. Wife night usually means the band goes out to dinner. Tour manager has a steady woman who will come and won’t say two words. Lydia will pick a fight with Mick during appetizers. And Lucky will obviously be there.”
Not wanting to call attention to my interest in Lucky, I haven’t poked around any. But a little poking here won’t seem out of the ordinary. We’ve already chatted about all the other guys’ women. “Those two serious?” I ask casually and crack open my beer.
“As serious as Ryder gets.”
And that means? “Not the settling-down type?”
“He wants to spawn. Lucky seems like a good woman. I’d bet he makes it official sooner rather than later.” He sips his beer and I think he’s done, but then he adds, “But doubt it will stop him from banging groupies. He’s got a twenty-nine-year-old retired porn star he hooks up with every time we pass through Vegas the last ten years. Be interesting to see if he disappears for a few hours while Lucky’s on the tour with us.”
With no sign of Mick since we pulled into Little Rock, I’d suggested Lucky and I work on my voice rehab in my room. She’d hesitated to agree at first, taking that plump bottom lip in between her teeth while she mulled it over. When she’d said yes, I’d smiled in victory, doing a little internal fist pump.
But as I wait for the knock to come at my door, I realize it probably wasn’t the smartest of ideas. Privacy, a big bed, and a woman I want beneath me so badly, I’m fucking dreaming about her at night. Yeah…not too bright.
The full-of-myself part of me thinks if I pushed, there’s a good chance we’d wind up clawing each other’s clothes off. But I don’t want to be the other guy. She’s inside me, I want to be inside her. And, for a change, not just my cock.
A few minutes later, the knock comes and I open the door to find her standing there. She’s wearing white shorts and a tight white tank top that has the Rolling Stones’ iconic mouth made from crystals of some sort. I step aside for her to enter, and light from the tall windows streams in and hits her at just the right angle so her glossed lips sparkle as much as her shirt. Fuck. Definitely a bad idea.
Chapter Nineteen
Lucky
I told myself I was being silly for being nervous about coming to his room. It’s my job, I reasoned, and Flynn is a friend. We both just got caught up in the moment that day on the stage. I was emotional. It was a moment of weakness. That’s all.
The door clicks closed behind me. The room is…all bed. I turn around, and Flynn hasn’t moved. He looks at me, his gaze dipping to my breasts, then down over my bare legs, before his eyes return to meet mine.
He stares.
Really stares.
Like he wants to eat me.
Shit. We may be having another moment.
My heart thumps.
His eyes once more sweep over my body and devour me.
I watch his throat work as he swallows.
I’m trying to keep my cool, but I have some serious flips going on in my stomach.
Then he groans. The sound is a haunting mix of pain and frustration, but goddamn if it’s not sexy as all hell. Suddenly, I’m aware of how many nerve endings must be inside the human body. Because I feel every one of them abruptly zap to life. I seriously wouldn’t be surprised if I was lit up like a Christmas tree.
He paces back and forth a few times. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“Why?” The reason is obvious, but I ask anyway.
He stops pacing and looks at me. “You want me to say it?”
Swallowing hard, without saying a word, I hold his gaze and nod. My body trembles as he stalks in my direction. Invading my personal space, our bodies just shy of touching, he looks down at me, the height difference between us making me tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.