by Layla Hagen
“No. I want you spread open like this for me.”
I touched her again, but this time with my cock, drawing the tip from her opening up to her clit. Her right leg spasmed.
“Just like this,” I said. “At my mercy. You’re mine to touch, Isabelle. To please. To kiss.”
She drew one hand through her fiery red hair, tugging at it. Watching her so desperately needing pleasure and release only intensified my craving.
She reached out for the nightstand, fumbling in the drawer until she took out a condom, placing it on her chest. Her nipples were puckered, her skin already flushed. She ripped open the package, stretching the condom over my erection.
I wanted this woman so badly that I was aching with need. My muscles were tight, my breathing uneven. Capturing her mouth, I rolled us over to one side. I slid the crook of my elbow under her knee, lifting her leg, then pushed inside her slowly, savoring the way her core clenched around me.
She gasped, rocking her hips forward.
“Fuuuck.” I groaned against her lips before kissing her again, pushing inside even deeper. My hips started moving faster on their own. Instinct took over. Palming her ass, I brought her closer, changing the angle so every time I thrust inside her I also applied pressure on her clit.
Isabelle turned wild. She gripped my shoulder tightly, pushing herself on an elbow so she could move more freely. She ground her hips against me desperately. Isabelle was always beautiful, but never more than when she transformed like this, just for me. She was completely open and uninhibited, and I loved giving her what she needed. The skin on her neck flushed a deep shade of red. I knew she was close, but she needed more to go over the edge. I let go of her knee, bringing my hand between us, and started stroking her clit. She buckled forward instantly, clenching tight around me.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuuu—uuck.” My voice broke. I spiraled out so fast that my breath was knocked out of me. I heard her cry out through a haze as I tumbled through my own orgasm. I was completely spent. My eyesight was blurred.
I didn’t let go for a while. I wanted us to stay in bed all morning, but that wasn’t possible. I wanted to be inside her all day, but that wasn’t possible either.
She was so fucking beautiful, lying sideways with her eyes closed and her red hair covering the pillow.
I nudged her shoulder, kissing her arm.
“I know, I know, we have to go,” she murmured, pouting.
I pulled her bottom lip in my mouth, startling her. Her eyelids flew open. She giggled, pushing me away. Before I realized what was going on, she tumbled out of bed, darting toward the bathroom.
“What’s the matter, mister?” she asked over her shoulder from the doorway. “Too exhausted to chase me?”
“I’ll show you chasing.” I got out of bed, heading straight to the bathroom. Isabelle was already in the shower. I removed the condom before joining her.
“You took your sweet time,” she teased. Water fell over her in rivulets while she soaped up. “Too tired from the sexy morning interlude?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Not at all.”
“Hmm... I’m amazed you had any energy left after last night.”
I pinned her against the tiles, looking her straight in the eyes. “I’ll always have energy for you.”
“Oh, you do know how to make me feel special.”
“You are.”
“Hey, did you mean that? Moving in with you?”
“Sure. Why would you think I didn’t?”
She shrugged one shoulder, smiling coyly. “I don’t know. Maybe you just wanted to get in my pants?”
I leaned in closer, swallowing a mouthful of hot water when I spoke next. “You were naked.”
She grinned. “True. I do feel compelled to tell you that I’m a messy person.”
“Babe, you think I didn’t notice that? Your apartment looked like you’ve been robbed every time I was in there.”
She opened her mouth widely. “You did not say that.”
“I did.”
“Well, it’s true, so I can’t fight you on it.”
“But you’d like to.”
“Yes. I don’t know why. I’m feeling very feisty this morning.”
I turned off the water, kissing her forehead. “You always are. I love that about you.”
When we got out of the shower, reality slipped in. I watched her towel off her red hair, wrapping another towel around herself.
I put on a robe, leaning against the sink.
“Isabelle, about last night, when you left. Are you okay? Rick said it was intense.”
“It was wild, to be honest, but so worth it. Watching you perform was... incredible.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Did anyone give you any trouble? Rick said no, but I know even the best security guys can’t catch everything.”
She waved her hand but darted her eyes. “It was fine, really. No big deal.”
Her body language said the exact opposite. Her shoulders were hunched. She was biting her lower lip. I didn’t like that she didn’t share everything with me—this, or the fact that she’d given up the tours. But I understood that she didn’t want me to insist.
I planned to bring up the subject again later today but didn’t get a chance.
We barely had time to breathe for the rest of the morning. Sasha came in while I was doing my off-day workout and walked us both through the schedule.
A bus was picking us up at eleven. Since Orlando was only three and a half hours by bus from Miami, it didn’t make sense to fly.
But at ten to eleven, Sasha came into my suite, along with the guys.
“We have a problem. The name of the hotel in Orlando was leaked. There are already hordes of fans in front of it.”
“How did this happen?” Lars asked.
She ran a hand through her hair, shrugging. “Lilian leaked it. It’s all over the Facebook and Instagram of her best friend’s account.”
I stared at Sasha. “This is stupid. Lilian signed an NDA.”
“Yes, but her friend leaked it, so good luck proving it was Lilian.”
I didn’t give a fuck about proving anything. I’d deal with Lilian later. We had enough weight in the music industry to make sure she never worked as a promoter again.
“I’m going to find us another hotel,” Sasha said. “Let’s get on the bus, and I’ll get everything sorted out on the way.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Isabelle
In my humble opinion, Sasha deserved a huge raise. Not only did she find a new hotel in Orlando, but she handled the first leg of the tour exceptionally well. The problem in Orlando wasn’t a onetime thing. Several other hotel locations were leaked, but she managed it with grace.
To say touring time was crazy was an understatement. It was so much more than that. Their fans were passionate, which was great for their sales. The label execs had called after the first week of the tour to announce the album had hit platinum!
The downside to their fans’ love was, of course, that we were confined to the hotel wherever we were.
“I think my pampering kits were truly lifesaving,” I joked as we touched down at La Guardia after the first leg of the tour was over. Well, almost over. They had a concert in New York tonight, at the Hammerstein Ballroom on 34th Street. “Imagine being stuck in the hotel room without them. What would we have done?”
Brayden wiggled his eyebrows. “I always have plenty of ideas, you know that. Are you happy we’re back in New York?”
“It’s good to be home. I missed my siblings and, you know...being in my own space. How many days do you think we’ll have to stay at the hotel?” I’d been a bit perplexed when Sasha suggested we stay at a hotel in New York too, because the guys’ apartments and the cottage were going to be stalked by fans before the concert. I’d told Brayden we could always stay at my place, or even Josie’s, but he said the paps were tenacious and he wouldn’t want to put my family in jeopardy.
“I think just tonight
and tomorrow. You’re sick of hotels, huh?”
“No, I quite like being pampered twenty-four seven with room service and cleaning teams. But avoiding fans is a bit tiring.”
Brayden was looking at me intently, as if trying to gauge if there was more to my words. Okay, I was downplaying everything a bit. It was exhausting, and sometimes downright scary, but I could put up with it if it meant I was with Brayden. It really wasn’t that big of a deal. Usually I was all for laying everything on the table and discussing it all until there was nothing left unsaid, but Brayden had enough on his mind with the concerts.
We slid into the back seat of the BMW, just the two of us. Paul was driving. Security was in another car behind us, and Lars, Harvey, and Thomas were in a third car. We weren’t expecting any trouble at the hotel in New York, since the press and fans would probably be camped in front of the guys’ apartments, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.
“How was it?” Paul asked, and Brayden told him a bit about the tour.
We arrived at the hotel almost an hour later. I groaned as I looked out the window.
“Are those fans?” I asked. They had to be. A crowd of about a hundred people was camped in front of the entrance.
“Fuck” was all Brayden said. “Turn around.”
“It’s not possible anymore,” Paul replied. He sounded desperate. The fans had already spotted the car and were circling it. My heart was pounding fast. Brayden immediately texted the guys to let them know what was happening.
“Why isn’t security right behind us?” he barked.
“They’re a few feet away,” Paul replied. “I saw them before the crowd converged on us.”
“So we’re staying in the car, right? Until the crowd clears?”
Brayden nodded, interlacing his fingers with mine. “Yes. Sasha is already talking to the hotel security.”
Nothing seemed to happen for a few minutes, but after that, the crowd parted as the hotel employees paved their way to us. They created a corridor of sorts from the car all the way to the main entrance, but the only thing separating us from the rabid fans was a black rope. They did have security every few feet along the corridor though, so that was good.
“Okay, so this is about as good as it’ll get,” Paul said.
“Ready to get out?” Brayden asked me.
“Yes. Let’s do this.”
The hotel was a huge building. The entryway had a large wooden arch in front of it that extended several feet in front of the doors. Wooden posts were holding it up, and they’d tied black rope between the posts to keep the fans out. The hotel’s own security was posted along the rope; I counted six guys on each side. The screams of the fans were deafening.
“Keep moving forward,” Brayden whispered in my ear.
“Just an autograph, please—”
“And a picture—”
“Can you please sign right here on my arm? Right here?”
The voices were coming in from everywhere. The crowd was pushing the security team into us, pressing against the wooden posts and the rope. I kept my eyes on the entrance. We only had a few feet left. We were going to—
A loud crack splintered the air. I looked around for the source of the noise. Several fans had gotten past the rope. Did they cut it?
But that wasn’t the sound. It had been a snap.
A second snap splintered the air, and one of the wooden posts dislodged from the overhead construct. Then one at the back too.
“Get away,” one of the security guys yelled. “The arch is unstable.”
The crowd seemed frozen for a beat, but a third and fourth snap spurred everyone into motion. I didn’t look back to see if one or two more had dislodged. Brayden wrapped an arm around my waist and charged forward.
***
Brayden
I wanted to shield her at all costs. She was smaller than me. This had to work out. I just had to be careful not to slow us down. The archway was coming down on us. I ducked my head, but it hit my right shoulder. Isabelle cried out. Her shoulder got the brunt of it too.
“I’ve got it. Keep it up until everyone is inside,” someone yelled. I registered that the archway seemed suspended for now, but it was at a precarious angle. It was only a matter of minutes until another wooden post gave in.
“Let’s go! Let’s move!” I said loudly.
Snap. Snap. Snap. We were so close to the entrance that I couldn’t see what was happening behind us. Several people shouted. I shoved Isabelle as hard as I could, pushing her inside the hotel. Then I barreled inside too.
“Fuck. Everyone okay?” I asked. My eyes were on Isabelle. She was on the floor. She seemed unharmed, mostly—she was clutching her right shoulder and her ankle. Seeing her made me aware of the pain in my own shoulder. I helped her to her feet, and she winced as she set her foot down.
I looked around. Outside the hotel, the security team had lowered the archway completely to the ground. I checked them out too; fortunately no one looked injured. Looking back down at Isabelle, I noticed for the first time that there was a red gash on her shoulder blade. It was trickling blood.
“Shit, you’re wounded, babe,” I said.
She nodded, leaning out to check my own shoulder.
“You have a scratch. I don’t think it’s deep.” Her voice wobbled. She kept touching my arm and back, as if to double-check that I was in one piece. I wanted to hug her so fucking tight, but I wanted a doctor to check her out first. Her ponytail was undone, hanging at the back of her neck.
An employee from reception approached us, apologizing for the security problem and leading us to the elevator.
“We need a doctor,” I said.
“One is already on the way.”
I kept checking the gash on Isabelle’s shoulder in the elevator. It was raw, and blood was still oozing from it.
The doors opened on the last floor, and the hotel employee, Fred, led us to a suite, apologizing a few more times. We sat down on the leather couch in the center of the living room.
“How are the rest of the guys doing? And Sasha?” Isabelle asked.
“They’re waiting for the crowd to clear.”
“So everyone’s okay?”
I couldn’t believe she was worrying about everyone else when she was hurt.
“Yes, they’re okay. How’s your ankle?”
“Hurting. I can’t really step on it.”
Fred looked more nervous by the second. When the doorbell rang, a look of relief passed on his face.
He let in an elderly man before leaving.
“I’m Dr. Stanhill. Who wants to go first?”
“Isabelle?” I said.
She nodded.
“Is there a bedroom here? It’ll be more comfortable,” the doctor said. It was the first time I saw one without a white coat on, and it threw me for a loop for some reason. He was carrying a huge black leather bag. I appreciated his no-nonsense attitude.
Isabelle was quiet. I kept her right hand in my lap, stroking it. She nodded, wincing when she got up. Her hair had brushed the wound on her shoulder. She was walking with a limp. I felt guilty as fuck for bringing her on the tour. I’d been an egotistical bastard, wanting her with me so badly that I didn’t stop to consider everything I was exposing her to.
“Wait a second,” I murmured, pushing her fallen ponytail to one side so it wouldn’t happen again. I wanted to touch every inch of her to make sure she wasn’t harmed in any places that weren’t visible.
Bringing a hand to the small of her back, I led her into the bedroom. She sat at the edge of the king-sized bed. I stood next to her, feet planted wide apart, watching her.
“Let’s take a look at your shoulder blade,” the doctor said brusquely when he returned. “Okay. Needs disinfecting and a few stitches. Does anywhere else hurt?”
“Yes, my ankle.”
He inspected it carefully, flexing it several times. “It’s a sprain, nothing more serious.”
“Okay,” Isabelle said.
“There are scratches on your arms, but they don’t look fresh.”
“Oh, I think they’re from a few nights,” she said vaguely, avoiding my gaze.
What the hell?
“From where?” I asked.
“When I got out of the venue after the concert last night, the fans were reaching out. It’s not a big deal. I can’t even see them,” she said.
This was a big deal. A fucking big deal.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It happened a couple times, even in Miami.”
“They’re very thin, but it’s my job to notice everything,” Dr. Stanhill said. “I’m going to apply a numbing gel on the wound on your shoulder blade. Then I’ll clean it with sterile water before stitching it up. You’ll feel a slight discomfort when I apply the gel, but after that, you won’t feel pain.”
Isabelle fisted the dark green covers as soon as Dr. Stanhill smeared on the gel. I sat next to her, covering her hand with mine. I’d never seen her look small and vulnerable like this. My strong, feisty woman. She didn’t even flinch while the doctor stitched her up, so the gel was working.
“Okay, that was all,” Dr. Stanhill told Isabelle. Focusing on me, he added, “Let’s check your injuries.”
“Sure,” I answered. “Babe, you can go out if you want.”
“I’d like to stay here.”
“Okay.”
I took off my shirt, and Dr. Stanhill inspected my shoulder blades, pressing on certain areas. Some were sore, but some weren’t.
“No open wounds, so that’s good. No stitches necessary.”
“I have a concert tonight. I’m playing the piano. Can you give me something for the soreness?”
“Advil will do the trick, though my professional opinion is that you shouldn’t perform today.”
“I’ll rest tomorrow,” I assured him.
He pressed his lips together but didn’t insist, just handed me Advil from his bag.
There was the sound of a door opening in the living room, and then Lars said, “Anyone in here?”
“Yes,” I said loudly. Isabelle and I went back to the living room, showing the doctor out.
“How are you feeling?” Lars asked.
