“We’ll have to negotiate that one.”
“Negotiate?”
“Yeah.” He raises my hand and pulls it to his lips, kissing the top as we pull up in front of the hotel. “Would it really be the worst thing in the world if you were pregnant now?”
Yes. It most certainly would.
I watch the show from my usual place on the floor, taking note of the jam-packed venue. Only a month ago, Easy Ryder wasn’t selling out places as big as the MGM Grand Garden. Now ticket scalpers are getting twice the face value because the demand has spiked so high. Women in the audience are sporting T-shirts I’ve never seen before—the face of Flynn Beckham, not the usual Easy Ryder concert tee.
There’s a noticeable shift in the air when Flynn sings the songs he leads. An energy that seemed to have been missing prior to his arrival. There’s no playful banter between songs, like Linc and Dylan have, it’s more of a necessary evil that Dylan tolerates. I watch Dylan’s face as the crowd shrieks in delight when the limelight passes to Flynn for a song—he definitely doesn’t appreciate all the newfound attention going to someone else.
After the show, I take my time going backstage, knowing that Dylan is being whisked off for his late-night dinner with the sponsor. He didn’t ask me to join him tonight and I purposefully avoid running into him before he leaves so he doesn’t have time to extend an invitation at the last minute.
I check in with Brett and tell him I’m going to hop in the first limousine that shuttles back to the hotel. Cars run back and forth after the show, taking roadies and guys from the band with their guests wherever they want to go. It all gets coordinated through the tour manager.
Avoiding the lounge area backstage, already filled with excited groupies, I slip out the black door and into the black stretch limousine that pulls up outside. The driver tells me it will just be a minute or two while he waits for a few more passengers that Brett radioed him to expect momentarily.
I’m texting back and forth with Avery when the door flies open and a man hops in. It startles me, but I quickly see why he’s running. A gaggle of women are chasing after Flynn. He turns, not expecting to find anyone inside the sizeable back seat, and when he sees me sitting across from him, his trademark slow, lazy, smile washes across his face and he arches one eyebrow expressively.
“To the hotel, please. Too many fans out here.”
The limousine pulls away just as Duff is walking out with one of the roadies and a few women.
“Waiting for me?”
I roll my eyes. “No. Running to me?”
He grins. “Always.”
We stare at each other, and I watch the change in him occur right before my eyes. His mischievous smile turns heated, bordering on predatory. He calls to the driver, without breaking our gaze, “Can you drop us at the Wynn, please?
We’re staying at the Bellagio a mile away. “In the mood to gamble?”
He shakes his head.
“See a show?”
Another slow shake.
“Dance?”
That’s not it either.
“Dinner?”
“Only if we’re having breakfast for dinner.”
Oh my.
Neither of us says a word as Flynn whisks me from the reception desk to a suite, flipping the key around between his fingers impatiently as we board the elevator. When the elevator fills and half the panel illuminates with floors to stop at, he blows out an audible breath of frustration.
He pulls me against him to make room for an older couple, and his hard-on pokes against my ass. This time it’s my turn for the audible breath. Flynn chuckles faintly and his fingers press into my hip as he nudges me against him even tighter.
Oblivious to everything around us except our growing need, neither of us realizes for a moment that the voice speaking is directed at us.
“Aren’t you Flynn Beckham?” the woman says.
“No. But I get that a lot.”
I laugh at his response and lean toward the woman and whisper, “He’s not as cute as Flynn Beckham.”
The fingers at my hip dig in a little harder.
A few more stops and we arrive on the seventeenth floor. With a swipe of the key, we’re inside and don’t bother to turn on the lights. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows are wide open, the lights of the Vegas strip providing an oddly sensual backdrop as they flash and illuminate the dark sky.
Cupping my face tenderly in his hands, Flynn leans in and kisses me sweetly. He takes his time, his tongue exploring and hands sliding up my sides in a way that makes me feel worshiped.
He pulls back and looks at me. “I’m crazy about you.” Eyes filled with sincerity, and something that takes my breath away, he reaches down and surprises me by hooking one arm beneath my knees and lifting.
His lips come back to mine again as he carries me to the bedroom and gently sets me down on my feet. “I want to take my time with you. No talking tonight. I’m going to show you how I feel about you.”
We explore each other’s bodies slowly. Listening to one another’s breath as we trace the curves and feel the soft contours and hard ridges. His gaze caresses my skin so that I feel him warming my body, even when he’s no longer touching me.
I kiss underneath his ear, the spot I’ve learned makes his body shiver. His tongue traces a path along my collarbone before his head dips lower and he takes my protruding nipple between his teeth and tugs.
I moan when he runs his finger from the top of my ass, his finger threatening at my rear, before sliding down and then up between my legs. A sinfully erotic groan echoes through the room when I lick the V on his lower abdomen, trailing my tongue from his hipbone down to his groin. With my head already low, I surprise him, taking him into my mouth.
“Lucky,” he groans in warning, as if to say he won’t be able to handle being inside of my mouth. I drop to my knees before him, his restraint only fueling my desire to see him lose control. Pulling back, but not all the way, I gently swirl my tongue around his tip and then loosen the suction around him as if I’m going to release him. But I don’t. Instead, I wrap my fingers around the base of him and take him in as deep as I can, until my lips meet my fingers.
“Fuck. Lucky.” His eyes darken as he watches me. Even though I can see the primal urge lurking just beneath the surface, he still holds back. So I suck harder. Deeper. Faster. Bobbing my head up and down until the room fills with a roar and the last bit of control he was trying to maintain shatters. His hands fist into my hair tightly and he begins to thrust into my mouth.
My own excitement grows as I hear him gasp for breath and he mutters all the things he’s going to do to me when he has me beneath him. He tries to pull back before he releases, but I’m so turned on, the feel of his salty, warm finish might be enough to detonate my own spectacular orgasm.
Throwing back his head, his body trembling as he becomes undone, he releases into my mouth long and hard. I struggle to take it all, breathing jaggedly through my nose until his thrusts begin to slow and finally stop.
Then he lifts me from my knees, cradling my body in his arms, and holds me tight for a long time. Eventually, when our breathing returns to normal, he lays me on the bed and slips in behind me, his front to my back.
A few minutes later, his voice still hoarse from strain, he brushes my hair to the side and kisses my neck. “I thought I was showing you what I felt.”
“Guess I had a lot to say first.”
He chuckles. “Give me about five minutes, you won’t be able to get a word in edgewise.”
“Five minutes?” Half joking that he can retool and be ready again so quickly. He responds by pushing his already semi-hard erection up against my ass.
“Oh.”
“The five minutes were for you, not for me.”
The next time there is no race to lose control. Instead, it’s beautiful and slow and everything he promised it would be. His eyes don’t break from mine as he slides inside of me, not even as he brushes his lips tenderly against mine. And then we begin to move, a sensual and slow-burning rhythm that is so much more than just two bodies heading toward a magnificent finish. We’re two souls colliding, rocking as one person, doing something I never realized I hadn’t done before. Making love.