by Harper Sloan
She sags against me, and I adjust my arm behind her, pulling her more comfortably to my side. Their normal driver had arrived at the house early this morning, and I had figured after us being up all night, she would crash quickly, but the gang traveling with us made that impossible. I'm guessing since she isn't used to being so thoroughly worked over, the normal banter between them is just taking more of a toll on her.
"Why don't you take a nap?" I ask her the second she falls even further into my embrace, dropping her head until it was on my lap.
"What are you doing down there?" Jamison pipes up, and I lift my hand to flip him off.
"How much longer?" I feel her head move as I look at my wrist to check the time, willing my cock not to react to her head being so close. When I glance back down at her, she groans at whatever she sees on my face. "Tell me it's at least less than an hour?"
"About two, but we're headed right to the venue. Get some rest and it will feel like less."
She nods, the sensation on my crotch perking my cock back up. Clearly, she notices if the light patting of her hand against my thigh is anything to go by. She sits up, giggling softly, and pulls the hoodie she had put on this morning off, dropping it in my lap, and then laying back down on it.
I listen to the conversations flowing around me, now lower in volume since Wren dropped down to rest. They might play around, but the bond these guys has makes it easy for them to adjust instantly when one of them needs something. And there was no doubt my girl needed her rest. She's been snappy since about thirty minutes out of LA.
"Hey," Dyllan whispers from her seat in the front next to the driver.
I look up, dropping the piece of hair I had been playing with; I continue to run my fingers over the soft buzz of the section of hair she has shaved at her temple, running them back to the silky locks that follow until I reach the end of her length and start the process over again.
I raise one brow, the silent arch an acceptance for her to continue to speak whatever it is she needs.
"Seriously, though, you started this whole marriage ruse when you were just supposed to be the fake boyfriend, so tell me how the story is going to play out!" she whispers, excitement all over her words as they rush from her mouth.
"Who said it was a ruse, Dyllan?" I continue to hold her gaze with my stoic mask firmly in place before she looks away, turning in her seat with a frown of confusion.
I'm not sure why I even said it, but I have a feeling a lot of that is because when I hear Wren call me her hubby and joke about us being not married, I fucking love the way it makes me feel. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it ever since, and while it might have started out as something funny between us, I can't help myself from wanting it to be true.
How's that for lightning speed?
I know Wren likes that our relationship is private, but I wouldn't mind if everyone knew that she was mine, especially if they thought we were married. It brings out something almost caveman inside me, thinking about the world assuming I'm the lucky bastard who gets her for the rest of my life.
No, fuck that. I have no doubts that this woman is it for me. The rest of my life never felt like something I could look forward to until her. I always felt like I lacked something. I didn't have a mother then lost my father and my aunt. Everyone that I had left in my family was gone, only making that void grow.
Then Wren walked into my life, and I felt that void start to fill in. She did that. Just like she promised she would. She's taken every destroyed piece and fixed it. I know because of that, I have my future right here drooling in my lap.
Not even the betrayal of Jessica hurts anymore.
That's probably because I have a relationship now, no matter how new, to compare it to, and I can look back now and see that what I felt for Jessica was nothing but a complacent punk thinking a warm hole for his dick meant he was in love. Hell, I should send her a thank-you note for being such a whore that I never got stuck with her.
Not once in that whole relationship did I feel like I do now. I didn't wake up in the morning pissed that I had to even sleep at all because that stupid necessity kept me from Wren.
How's that for insane?
I feel like my heart--the one thing that keeps me alive--doesn't even beat inside my own chest anymore, not when Wren has taken its place as my most vital organ. Sappy or not, it's fucking true. If that doesn't scream love, I don't know what does.
It's almost impossible to hold the thought in, not when I know it's true deep down into my marrow. Sometimes, Wren gives me a look that tells me it's on the tip of her tongue too, but she's afraid to say it first. I had been worried that it would spook her to say it too soon, but after her speech about our relationship moving on a different time scale than normal, I have no doubts that what I feel for her needs to be known.
The last thought I have before leaning my head against the window is how much of a lucky bastard I am. This might have all started as a fake relationship to keep me close, but it turned into a very real one that never keeps me away.
Vegas is hot.
And dry.
It feels like someone took a blow dryer, pointed it in my face, and cranked that sucker all the way up.
I forgot how much I loved being in Sin City.
The stale, over-filtered air of secondhand smoke. A hint of desperation floats heavily through the casino floor, only pausing to mix with the underlying overeager panic to win that follows behind a few poor souls. And let us not forget the enticing sounds of the slots, hypnotizing their next victim closer with the promise of winning a life-changing jackpot.
"We're spending time playing the slots," I demand, looking at Chance with an excitement that can only be compared to a puppy with a brand-new bone.
He just shakes his head with a smile, pulling me through the lobby. Dyllan had come in to get us checked in so that we could make a quick rush through, but I had made the guys go first so that I could rubberneck right into the casino, needing to see the machines I love playing.
"We're doing it." His smile grows when I don't give in. "You're my good luck, Chance. Get it? Good luck Chance?"
"Ha-ha," he deadpans, not fooling me in the least.
"No one has a Chance to win like me," I continue, not even the slightest bit embarrassed that I'm being so corny.
I was still congratulating myself on being so witty when he pulled us into the elevator, backed me into the glass wall, and pressed his body close. My head spins with the tingles of excitement I feel at his domination, his thickness pressing into my belly with a thrust of his hips.
"You want a Chance to fuck?"
My eyes snap up to him at his words, and it takes me a second to clear the arousal from my brain, but when I see the hilarity dancing in his eyes, I toss my head back and laugh.
"We should have gotten our own room," he mumbles against the skin on my neck, pressing a kiss there before his wet tongue gives a swipe, making me shiver.
"It's a big suite," I weakly respond.
"Not big enough to do what I want to do to you."
"Oh, God." I shiver, clenching my thighs together.
"When we get to Denver, we're getting our own room."
I nod, but who am I kidding? At this point, I would have said yes to anything he wanted.
He steps away so quickly in the next breath, I would have fallen to the floor had he not wrapped his arm around my body. I sagged into him the second I realized the elevator had stopped.
I glanced at the number panel--noting that we were only a few floors up from the casino, on the floor that the pool is also on, and nowhere near where our suite is--just as the doors slide open and a group of college-age kids started filing in, laughing to each other. Chance got stiff the same second that one of them glanced at us. You could tell the second a courtesy glance at a stranger in an elevator turned into recognition.
"Holy shit," the guy grunted, jabbing his elbow into the person next to him without looking away.
"What the
hell, Dale!" another one exclaims.
"Dude," Dale, I'm assuming, wheezes. Seriously, he wheezes like an asthmatic person during one of their attacks.
"What's wrong with him?" One of the girls giggles.
"Probably feeling the effects of drinking his weight in those stupid yard long drinks earlier," jokes someone I can't see in the front of their group.
"You're Wrenlee Davenport," the wheezer asks, still looking at me like he's not sure if he really is drunk or I'm standing there.
"I am," I answer, putting a smile on my face. It's not this kid's fault that he's keeping me from a promised Chance to get fucked.
The others, having realized their friend isn't drunk but only freaking out because they unknowingly just got in the elevator with me, turn instantly. Chance's arm gets tighter again, and I put myself in his position. He's only had to deal with fans from afar during our shows in New York. Even the paparazzi situation at the airport was mild because they know the boundaries ... well, for the most part. Having six other people in a small elevator with us and no way to exit if things get a little crazy has to be freaking him out.
"How are you guys today?" I ask them as a whole, trying to keep things friendly and open so he can see there is no need to get alarmed.
"Holy shit! I saw you guys once in Salt Lake. I was there for my eighteenth birthday, and you guys rocked!"
I smile at the girl.
"We like totally tried to get tickets to the show tonight when we found out we would be here at the same time, but they sold out like so quick!"
I wonder if I used the word 'like' as nauseatingly much as this girl did when I was her age. My guess is no since I'm pretty sure she is, at the most, four years younger than I am.
"Uh," one of the other guys pipes up. "Actually Kammie, we did get tickets. We just didn't tell you because it was supposed to be a birthday surprise, but I mean this is Wrenlee Davenport. Totally a better surprise."
The girl's eyes get crazy just when the elevator dings again, this time on the fifteenth floor. Since it isn't ours, I give them a smile and point at the open door. "Is that you guys?"
A few turn, but the majority of them don't take their eyes off me. I watch as one of the guys in the front of the group step out slightly to block the door from shutting.
"Is that your new husband? O.M.G!" I hold back my cringe when she literally spells out the letters. "Carrie, do you believe it?"
"Congratulations on your wedding and the baby stuff."
I look at the girl who just spoke, and she blushes, looking away. I take pity on her since she looks like her heart is about to stop. "Thank you. He's insanely handsome, right?" I smile, pointing at Chance with a wink.
She makes a sound like a high-pitch wheeze and sags into the boy behind her. He catches her with a roll of his eyes.
I point at one of the girls' purses with a smile. "If you have anything you want me to sign real quick, I don't mind, but hubby and I need to get going so we aren't late for my sound check."
They all jump into motion at that, pulling open their huge purses and digging for something. I sign everything from an old receipt to an unused pad, giving them all a little attention while I do and making sure they all have something with my signature scribbled on it. Reluctantly, after that, they leave the elevator and start screaming to themselves before the door had even completely closed back.
"Add calling Denver to talk about a secure elevator to get to and from our room to the list of things I need to make sure we have for the next stop," Chance says, finally relaxing his hold slightly on my body. "They might have been harmless kids, but I will never allow you to be in that position again."
"Yes, honey." I don't even attempt to dissuade him because he's right; that could have been bad.
We go another couple of floors before he speaks again, and when he does, he knocks so much shock into me that I lose all ability to speak.
"You keep confirming our marriage, and I'm going to make sure we don't leave Vegas without you calling me hubby next time because it's true."
Oh. My. God.
"Take it again from the top," I say through my mic, my voice echoing around the empty venue. "Something sounded off to me."
"Left side of the stage isn't pulling power to the speakers," Luke calls from behind me, and I turn to see him wipe some sweat off his forehead.
I hate doing sound check when they don't turn the stage fans on. The house lights always make us so fucking hot, which is why I end up having to take another shower when we finish.
"Working on it," one of the roadies calls out from the left side of the stage.
"I want to run through 'Drunk Before Dawn' one more time to make sure they have everything clear for us, and then that's it," I tell the guys, getting nods and grunts from behind me.
Sound checks usually don't last that long for us, but for whatever reason, this venue always gives us trouble. We've already run through a few of our key songs, and everything was fine until the last run through of one of our new songs, "Drunk Before Dawn," when we lost the whole left side of our stage speakers. It's annoying when this shit happens, but this is why we do this in the first place. As annoying as sound checks are, I would never go on stage for a show without making sure we're producing the clearest sound possible.
Forty-five minutes later, I'm rushing into our dressing room and into the shower, leaving my hair dry so the hair and makeup girls don't have to waste time blowing it dry. We only have about two hours before show time as it is, and I want to enjoy some pre-show downtime.
"I set out something new for you to try for tonight's show, Wrenny," Dyllan calls into the bathroom.
"Got it!"
I quickly rinse, enjoy one more blast of the hot water on the base of my neck, and then shut off the water and rip open the curtain, promptly screaming. "Jesus Christ, Chance! You're going to give me a heart attack." I take the towel he offers, and roll my eyes when he licks his lips, not even bothering to hide his appreciation of my naked body.
"Dix is here," he says, talking to my chest instead of me.
"Are you kidding?"
"Wish I could say I was. Your brother looked like he was two seconds away from losing his shit, but I reminded him that we have until the end of the tour before he can do that since Dix is technically within his rights to be here."
I hiss, dragging the towel over my body to dry off quickly, wanting to get out there before Wes really did lose his shit.
"Let me guess? Brighthouse sent him in as a representative?"
"Yeah. You fired him as your manager, but since he was the booking agent on file for the tour, he's here for the rest of your shows to, and I quote, 'keep an eye on you.'"
"I can't wait until this tour is over."
"I know, but until it is, keep your distance from him. I don't like his attitude, and if I'm not around you, do your best to make sure he isn't alone with you."
I toss the towel onto the floor and grab the boy shorts on top of the pile of clothes that Dyllan left for me. Chance makes a sound of protest when I snap the waistband in place, but I ignore him and quickly pull on the red lace bra.
"Don't worry, hubby, I'll keep my distance," I agree, picking up the next item in the pile with a frown. "That little turd." I laugh.
"Is that a skirt or a top thing for your tits?" Chance asks, one long finger flicking the black fabric.
"I'm going to guess a skirt." With a shrug, I step into it and pull it up.
The second I have the skirt on, I know exactly why Dyllan picked it out. The tiny micro skirt flares slightly right under my ass, but the rest hugs me well, hitting me about three inches under my pussy. Even when I move around the stage, they won't see anything though because my boy shorts will keep all my bits covered. Still, Dyllan did promise when I got my bows tattooed that she would make sure I had a whole new wardrobe to show them off.
Grabbing the tiny tank, I pull it over my head. The black tank is completely transparent, hugging me close and stoppi
ng just above my belly button. My red bra shining just as brightly as the diamond balls in my belly ring.
"Goddamn," Chance pants.
"Like?" I ask, spinning on my bare feet.
"I'm going to fuck you so hard tonight," he vows with a thick voice and eyes burning with need.
"Promises, promises," I tease, stepping forward and cupping his thickness through his jeans. He hisses out a breath, his eyes closing to slits as his jaw flexes wildly. "Let's go, hubby." I torment him a little more with a few strokes through the denim before turning and reaching for the doorknob.
I don't even get it turned before he's covering me with his body and pressing that delicious hardness into my back. "I'm going to tie you up and make you pay for teasing me, baby," he hisses darkly, biting my exposed shoulder hard enough that I'm pretty sure I'm going to have a mark.
I shiver, my legs getting wobbly. Holy shit, that's hot.
His arms come around me. One hand going to the knob--covering my hand with his--and the other flattening against my stomach. His pinkie presses past the waistband and lands against my mound. He uses his other to twist the knob under our hold, pushing the door open at the same time he pulls us back. The door swings in, us moving to the side to allow it to completely open, and he drops his free hand to turn my head with a light touch to my jaw, his mouth crashing down to mine for a quick but deep kiss.
"Kids these days," Jamison jokes. "Can't seem to keep their hands off each other."
"Must be the whole newlywed thing," Dyllan adds, giggling when Chance breaks the kiss. My knees buckle, but before I know it, he's sweeping me off my feet and carrying me into the dressing room. "I keep telling him he only had to carry her over the threshold once, but he still can't seem to stop."
I snap my head around, ready to put her in her place, but stop when I see Dix so red, he's about to bust a vein.
"Dix," I deadpan. "What a displeasure."
"Likewise, Wrenlee."
Chance makes a low noise deep in his throat, and I reach up to rub his chest. Dix's eyes track my movement, not looking away, and he looks even more pissed than before--something I didn't think was possible.
