by Vi Keeland
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.
The rest of the night we speak only with our bodies, listening to each other’s heartbeats, and truly feel each other in a way I’ve never experienced.
What I don’t feel for once is guilt. Giving in to my emotions, allowing ourselves to truly let go and just be with each other leaves no room for anything else. There will be plenty of time for guilt tomorrow.
Chapter Thirty
Lucky
Not since I was fifteen and Avery and I snuck out to meet up with the Raven brothers at eleven on a school night have I felt so nervous creaking open a door to a place I’m supposed to already be inside of. I swallow a deep breath, attempting to calm my nerves. It almost works, but then I remember what happened when I returned from that decade-ago dalliance. Avery got her first real kiss with Kyle that night. I, on the other hand, walked straight into the angry glare of my father the minute the door opened. It was a solid two weeks before I saw the outside of our apartment again, aside from school.
Dylan isn’t supposed to return until early this afternoon, but plans can change. Finally mustering enough courage to slip the key into the door, I brace myself for the consequences of my actions.
The room is dark.
I heave a sigh of relief when I flick on the lights and find the bed hasn’t been slept in. Thankfully, I have a few hours to clear my head.
I’m in the middle of drying my hair in the bathroom when I hear Dylan call out my name. He’s back early.
“Hey. I didn’t think you’d be back for a few more hours.” I force a smile as I step from the master bath to greet him, but my knees are actually trembling.
“Neither did I,” Dylan bites out. Uh oh.
“Did the meeting not go well?”
He turns and stares at me, a very unhappy look on his face. “The meeting was fine. I felt guilty leaving you alone all night, so I came back early.”
“Oh.” I get the feeling he’s angry with me, but I’m almost afraid to ask. “You didn’t have to do that. I’m fine.”
His jaw flexes and he turns away, emptying his pockets on top of the tall dresser. “So I’ve heard.”
What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t respond, but I’m sure more is coming.
“What did you do last night, Lucky?” His tone tells me he’s not making small talk. It’s an interrogation, and I have the sickening feeling he already knows all the answers.
It would be the perfect time to come clean. I’ve dragged this out way too long already. Yet I can’t seem to get the words out. Lies seem to flow from my lips with ease these days. “I gambled for a bit at one of the casinos.”
His unrelenting stare makes me squirm, so I pretend to focus my attention on packing the blow dryer in my hand into my suitcase.
“At the Wynn?”
I freeze. I hate myself. What I’ve done is loathsome and vile. It was never meant to happen. I didn’t mean to fall for another man. I wasn’t looking, we just sort of found each other. And after last night, I finally realize that nothing can stop what is going on between Flynn and me. What we have is real, not a fantasy I’d spent years imagining.
“Yes, I’m sorry.” I bow my head repentantly.
Dylan forks his fingers throug
h his hair and edges over to me. He sighs loudly when I don’t look up. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I fucked up.”
Not what I was expecting.
My eyes jump to his, finding a pain that is familiar. Guilt? He places his hands on my shoulders and I wait for him to continue.
“I’ve been so preoccupied with the tour, how things are changing for Easy Ryder, I haven’t given you the attention you deserve.” He closes his eyes, and when he reopens them, remorse looms in the forefront. “I shouldn’t have gone last night. It was a mistake.” As if I didn’t already feel like a horrible human being, he’s apologizing for having to go to a business dinner, when I was with another man.
“You had a business dinner. I understand that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I won’t be going to any more business dinners. I promise.” The declaration is so heartfelt, it feels like he’s promising something much bigger. “You’re what’s important and I won’t let you slip through my fingers. I’m going to fix things between us.”
“Dylan. I…I need to tell you something.” I steel myself with a deep breath and wipe my sweaty palms against my jeans discreetly.
A knock at the door interrupts what is about to be my confession.
He ignores it. “It can wait. Go on.”
Like a coward, I cling to the interruption for a minute of reprieve. “It’s fine, why don’t you get it?”
Dylan lumbers to the door as the second knock comes. Just as I’m beginning to steady again, I hear the voice from the hall.
“Brett said you wanted to see me?” Flynn.
“I’m making some changes to the show,” Dylan replies curtly and then looks back at me. Not a single muscle in my body has moved, I’m so tense. “But I’m busy right now. Lucky and I are”—the sneer on his lips grows to a full-blown self-satisfied smile as he adds—”going to enjoy our last few hours in a hotel room before we have to get back on the bus. I’ll meet you in the lobby at three to talk.”
If Flynn responds, it isn’t audible, but the slam of the door makes me jump.
I convinced myself it was a bad idea to break things off with Dylan before he was going to have a sit-down with Flynn. Although the truth of the matter is, I’m just buying more time. I’m afraid that when I end things, Dylan will see right through whatever I say and know I’ve fallen for Flynn. And that won’t be good. Dylan is already clearly bothered by the attention that Flynn’s receiving. If he finds out we’re together, it’s Flynn who will pay the price.
The last show in Vegas is uneventful, and I’m anxious to speak to Flynn when they finish playing, but backstage is crammed with people and Dylan keeps me tight against his side. “Change of plans. Lydia flew in to tell Mick she got the all-clear from her doctor to try to get pregnant again.” A few months ago she miscarried; I remember Dylan telling me she was really upset. “They want to go out to dinner to celebrate before the bus rolls tonight.”
“Wow. That would be three, right?”
“Yep. We have a lot of catching up to do.” Dylan nuzzles into my neck and I blanch, finding Flynn’s eyes trained on me, watching us together from the other side of the room.
I down three glasses of wine at dinner, well aware that two is my max. Lydia and I spend most of the night talking about her two boys and plans to try to have a girl. But my mind keeps wandering back to Flynn. Before we leave, while Mick and Dylan are busy signing a few autographs, I take the opportunity to throw out a random question to Lydia.
“How did you know Mick was the one?”
“Wow, you get deep when you’re inebriated.” She smiles. “We dated casually for a while, both seeing other people. The band was taking off and we were young. When I was with Mick, I never thought about another man. But when I was with someone else and something funny happened, the first thought was always to call Mick and tell him. A nice guy could take me on a great date, yet I’d want to call Mick and tell him about something I saw.” She sips her water. “My advice. Go to a comedy show or a place you’ve never been. If you don’t have the urge to call him and tell him all the funny jokes you remember or something you saw, he’s not the one.”
The helicopter trip to the Grand Canyon immediately comes to mind. I was sitting next to Dylan, but couldn’t wait to tell Flynn all about the things I saw when I got back.
It’s almost two in the morning when we board the bus. The driver starts the engine as soon as the door closes behind us. “You want a few minutes to get settled before we get on the road, Mr. Ryder?”
Dylan looks at me. My stumbling will have nothing to do with the sway of the bus tonight. I shrug and head to the bathroom. The curtain on Flynn’s sleeping berth is drawn, but I imagine snuggling up to him as I pass by. It physically hurts to know he’s only feet away while I’m sleeping beside another man.
The next morning, I wake to an ache in my chest and throb in my head. It’s as if someone ripped out my beating heart and reinserted it under my eyes so I can feel every painful heartbeat. Water. I need water. The alcohol left me severely dehydrated.
I make my way through the bus in the dark to the galley, hoping to find Flynn in his normal position, anxiously awaiting the coffee pot. Discovering the living area empty, I slump with disappointment. The clock on the microwave reads almost six—perhaps I’m a little earlier than usual.
Ignoring the nausea of a wicked hangover, I force down two bottles of water with a couple Tylenol. After an hour of staring at the door that leads to the sleeping area, I grab a blanket, curl up on the couch, and eventually the vibration of the bus lulls me back to sleep.
A soft kiss on my cheek wakes me. Groggy, I smile with my eyes still shut. “It’s about time.”
“Come back to bed.”
My eyes spring open. Not the voice I was expecting. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten.”
Pushing up with one elbow, my other hand rubs my eye. “I fell back asleep for almost four hours?”
“I guess so. I don’t get why you jump out of bed so early anyway.”
I look past Dylan toward the rear of the bus. It’s quiet. “Is everyone still sleeping?”
He shrugs. “Come back to bed.”
“Actually. I have something I wanted to work on before the bus gets loud.” I hold up the notebook that must have fallen from my hands when I nodded off. “Do you mind?”
The muscles in Dylan’s face tighten. “Whatever.” Letting out a frustrated sigh, he retreats to the bedroom and slams the door.
My second cup of coffee does the trick, and with the aide of the Tylenol and water earlier, I feel human again sitting at the dining table in the galley. I’d hoped Flynn and I could have a few hours to talk this morning. Think about how we’re going to handle things once I break up with Dylan. I reach up to the cabinet where Flynn seems to have a never-ending stock of Hershey’s Special Dark for me, and find he’s replenished my bars with bags full of Hershey’s Special Dark chocolate kisses. My heart melts faster than the chocolate in my mouth.
Around noon, Duff stumbles from the back. “You still writing in that notebook?”
“I am.”
“Why don’t you write us some songs instead?” He pours himself a cup of coffee and collapses in the seat across from me, one hand fighting back his unruly morning hair.
“I’m not good with finding the music in my head.”
“Me either. You need a partner, then. Someone who can put your lyrics to music.”
“That’s how my dad and mom actually met. He was a drummer but played a little of all instruments. They wrote my mom’s bestselling song during an all-nighter the week that they met.” I smile, thinking of how many times I heard Dad proudly tell that story.
“Maybe you and Dylan will become the next Simon and Garfunkel.”
The truth is, music is the biggest thing we have in common, yet after all this time, we’ve never even thought of working together in any way. Unlike Flynn and I, who naturally gravitated to music to bring us clos
er. Maybe it’s because Dylan’s older and more experienced, but he and I have our roles—roles he defined for us. He’s the rockstar, I’m his girlfriend. The picture he paints for our future becomes clearer and clearer the more time we spend together. The thing is…I want to paint too.
“I think Dylan’s more of a soloist.”
Duff snickers. “That’s one way of describing the fame-hog bastard.”
“He doesn’t really share the limelight well, does he?”
“We’ve been friends since we’re six years old. Fucker didn’t even share his toys. Linc is the only one he never seemed to mind stepping aside from the stoplight for. Probably because the poor bastard is homely looking and there’s no real competition there.” Duff downs half his mug of coffee and makes a loud ahhh sound.
“How is Linc? Probably be tough to leave the babies in a few weeks and rejoin the tour.”
“In a few weeks? You mean in a few nights.”
“It’s only the thirteenth. Flynn’s filling in through the thirty-first.”
“Guess boss man forgot to give you the memo.”
“What memo?”
“Beckham’s gone. Bus left him behind last night when we pulled out of Vegas.”
Nausea threatens as I stand in front of Flynn’s sleeping berth, curtain still tightly drawn. With a hollow feeling in my stomach that tells me Duff isn’t just screwing with me, I slowly pull back the thick, dark fabric.
Chapter Thirty-One
Flynn—
Yesterday
Dylan Ryder strides from the elevator to the lobby with purpose, ignoring the heads that turn as he passes. The guy’s had an issue with me before anything even started with Lucky, but today the scowl on his face is more hateful than most.
Coming directly to where I’m sitting, he tosses an envelope down on the table in front of me, eyes narrowing to crinkled slits. “Here’s the change to the show.”
I wait for an explanation, but he isn’t offering one. Nor does he look like he plans to sit down. Unsealing the envelope, I shake the contents into my hand.
