by Harper Sloan
He doesn’t ease up after that, making sure I’m not able to be quiet. I don’t even care that I can hear people moving along the hallway outside our hideout. I wouldn’t even care at this point if the door crashed down, so long as he didn’t stop.
My skin starts to buzz, and I feel the tight coil of pleasure starting to twist until it has no movement left, holding me in a breathless plane of bliss until—with one more thrust deep inside me—I come. I struggle to find my breath after that; the coil having unwound in such a vicious snap that my body doesn’t even feel like it’s whole anymore. My throat burns before I shout his name out, begging him never to stop.
When I finally come back to my senses, I open my eyes to see my hands hanging limply at my sides, legs still dangling, the hold Chance has on my hips a bruising grip in order to keep himself buried deep and keep me from falling to the ground. I won’t be shocked if I have the perfect outline of his hands on my hips when we’re finished. He flexes his hips, unable to do much more, and then I feel him release inside me with low grunts leaving his body.
My feet land with care, and because of our height difference, I lose his cock the second they do. I miss the fullness instantly. His thumb hooks around my panties, moving them back in place seconds before I feel his release start to leave my body. It’s an odd turn-on, feeling the combined wetness of our releases soak my underwear.
I hear him shuffling his weight behind me, the sounds of his clothes being set to right, and I turn to watch him put himself back together.
“I could get used to that kind of after-show party,” I hum, dragging my hands up his chest and coming up on my toes to place a kiss to his jaw. The stubble tickling my lips.
“That’s good to know. Was I too rough?” he worries.
“God, no,” I reassure him. “I’m not going to break, Chance. I think you’ll find that I like your rough tough just as much as I like your soft one. As long as it’s always you, I want it all.”
“Always,” he vows, dipping down to press a kiss against my lips.
“I think we were loud,” I joke with a smile that his eyes move to.
“I don’t think, I know. You ready to face the music?” He nods at the door behind me.
“With you at my side, I think I can face anything.”
His eyes flash right before his face softens.
When we open the door and step out into the hallway, a few members of the crew are milling around. They ignore us, not making eye contract. I see Dix looking like he’s about to spit nails, but I ignore him. I look around while we move down the hallway, only seeing a few people who actually see us, as the rest are too busy with the jobs they have to complete before we can pack up and head out to the next venue.
I feel a tingle over my skin, one that tells me someone is watching, and look up to see Kellie. Instead of looking away like normal, though, she almost seems excited.
Girl power, I guess.
We reach the dressing room and push in, seeing Luke and Wes on the couch looking almost uncomfortable. They swing their heads in our direction, shock washing over them. I tip my head, trying to figure out what’s going on with them. They look from where Chance and I are standing, to each other, back to us, and then over at the bathroom door—finally settling on us once again with confusion. Wes rips his headphones off, narrowing his eyes at me.
“If you two are right there …” Luke starts, stopping when a low moan echoes around us followed by a high-pitched squeak.
“Then who the hell is that?”
“Where’s Jami?” I question harshly. “I can’t believe you guys didn’t think maybe it was him, since he isn’t in here with you. Were you just planning to sit here looking ill until the door opened?”
“Hey! He disappears after shows often. It wasn’t off the mark to guess you two freaks were going at it again,” Luke yells.
“I just sat here listening to some bullshit Justin Bieber song—the only thing that is apparently on Dyllan’s phone—because I thought you were in there banging my sister!” Wes fumes, his attention on Chance.
“Well, dumbass, I hope you get Bieber fever because we did our banging down the hall in storage!” I snap, trying not to laugh.
“You assholes are loud as fuck,” Jamison complains, coming out of the bathroom with his clothes astray and glitter all over his lips.
Luke laughs at him, pointing at his mouth. “What is all over your face?”
Jamison looks confused, standing up to walk over to the huge mirror vanity set up for hair and makeup. “Jesus Christ, I look like I just got done eating out Tinker Bell,” he grumbles, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand and making everyone laugh.
My attention moves to the bathroom door when I see Dyllan shyly move into the room unnoticed.
“You!”
She flinches but just smiles with a shrug, like she didn’t mean to. I would love to see her explain this as an accident. I can just picture it now, ‘I slipped and fell on his dick’!
“Seriously, Jamison!”
He looks over from his angry glitter removal. “What? We’re just having some fun. No need to freak out about it.”
I narrow my eyes, ready to rip him a new asshole for turning his manwhore ways on my best friend. Even though she had all but confessed to it back in LA, seeing it in person is something completely different.
Dyllan is the kind of girl you lock down and keep—heart the size of Texas just waiting for the right man. Jamison, God love him, hasn’t stopped sleeping around since his last relationship failed epically. The last thing I want is for Dyllan to get attached to him if he doesn’t have any intention of taking things past ‘just a little fun.’
I make a mental reminder to talk to Jamison about this when I can get him alone. Dyllan heads back to LA tomorrow morning anyway, so hopefully, he can keep it in his pants between now and then.
What a mess.
True to his word, when we reach Denver, Chance has our own room waiting for us. It’s on the same floor as the guys, but on the opposite end of a long hall. He took it a little further, though, and made sure the hotel had cordoned off the whole floor we were on, ensuring maximum privacy. He also left two of his ‘men’—Hunter and Chris—to keep guard at the elevator area. It looks like the most boring job in the whole world, but they don’t seem to mind.
“I’m exhausted.” I sigh, dropping down in the middle of the huge king-size bed. We just spent the last ten hours on the tour bus, making our way from Vegas to Denver in good time. But as with any time I’m in Vegas, three days feels more like thirty.
“You’ve been working hard. You should probably take advantage of the night off and get some sleep.”
I lean up, narrowing my eyes. “Does that mean I don’t get your fat cock, hubby?” Even with the two nights in a row of shows and the whole day yesterday doing some press for Black Lace, he’s never suggested sleep over sex.
He laughs silently, his shoulders moving. “How long you going to keep that nickname up?”
“Why? You don’t like it?”
“Didn’t say that, Wren. But you know it’s just going to keep feeding the rumors.” He drops down on the bed, adjusting the massive mound of pillows around him before leaning against the headboard.
“Do you care?” I ask, honestly. “We haven’t really talked about it. I probably should have asked before just assuming you thought it was funny too. I mean we’ve been joking about being not husband and wife since we got to LA two weeks ago.”
“Would you come here and stop panicking,” he says, smiling reassuringly at me.
I shift, coming up on my knees and crawling up the mattress. When I get close enough, he pulls me down to rest against his chest. Silence thickens around us as he runs his fingers down my arm, his other hand holding ours together with our fingers linked on his hard stomach.
“You have fun with it?” he asks softly. “The paparazzi assuming, but not knowing for sure, don’t you?”
I nod my head, studyi
ng the differences in our hands. His long fingers and large palm dwarf mine. We’re so different but incredibly perfect for each other.
“Yeah.” I sigh. “I haven’t had this much fun with their bullshit questions in years—if ever.”
“Then don’t stop, baby.”
“But, Chance, you can’t just say that because I’m having fun. If you don’t want the rumors out there, we can just answer them honestly next time, and they’ll stop playing it up. Your feelings matter too.”
His chest moves, and I know he’s doing that silent laughter thing again. “I don’t give a shit about the rumor, Wren. I do, however, give a shit about you. If this is something you have fun with, then we aren’t hurting anyone. So go for it.”
“Oh,” I breathe.
“I like it,” he confesses. “Just in case it matters, when you call me that ridiculous nickname, it goes straight to my dick. So, I promise that’s the only hardship I feel.”
I look down at his lap, the jeans he’s wearing hiding what I really want to look at, but just thinking about me calling him something silly affecting him that way makes me want to preen like a goddess.
“You know I love you, right?” he asks, his tone soft the delicious rasp of his deep voice washing over me.
I feel those words ping through every single inch of my body. He hinted to loving me back in Vegas when he was yelling at Dix, but in the days since, he hasn’t said anything else about it. Hell, I think I had half-convinced myself I imagined it.
I curl into his side. “Yeah,” I answer breathily. “I love you too, Chance.”
“One day, those rumors won’t be lies, Wrenlee. Enjoy playing your game because when that day comes, you’ll be able to keep them up, always feeling that happiness you get over keeping something from them.”
I lift up quickly, and he grunts a little when I put too much weight on his belly. “Did you just ask me to marry you in some weird roundabout way?”
He smiles—full-out brain-dead buzz—but his declaration has knocked me for such a big loop that I don’t even get to enjoy that beautiful smile making me stupid. I gawk at him. There’s no other way to describe it. My mouth hangs wide open, eyes bug out, and my breathing comes in rapid pants.
“No,” he replies, still smiling even though I’m obviously dying. There’s no other reason that my eyes would get even larger, my mouth gasping for breath even though I’m pulling air in and out with no problem. My body isn’t equipped to deal with such up and down emotions in quick succession. Hell, my heart is still pounding wildly.
“Oh.”
His smile grows, larger than I’ve ever seen it, and I curse him for being so damn handsome. His wicked words making me want something I didn’t realize I wanted until he had put it out there. I mean, sure, I knew I loved him and never wanted to know life without him in it, but until he said that, I guess I just figured we would fall into whatever comes next naturally.
“I’m not asking because I know the answer already. Not because I don’t want to.” His body moves; this time, his deep guffaws echo around us.
“That’s mighty presumptuous of you,” I smart.
“Are you telling me that it isn’t a forgone conclusion?”
He’s still smiling, the beautiful jerk.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
He throws his head back and laughs—loud, straight from his belly—and I feel the power of it instantly. It feels like someone just plugged me up to electricity. God, I will never get tired of seeing this side of him.
His shoulders continue to move, but he gives me his attention again. “You were right; what we have will always move at lightning speed. I’ve realized that now. You keep calling me hubby, making my dick hard, and one day when you have my ring on your finger, you can just roll with it. In my head, I don’t need all that shit to know you’re stuck with me for the next fifty plus years.”
My chin wobbles, and he glances down. “I’m not going to cry,” I defend, my words coming out shaky.
“You’re right, you aren’t. You’re going to get naked, take my cock out, and show your not husband how much you love the idea of being stuck with him for the rest of your life.”
I don’t even bother trying to come up with something witty after that. Too in love and way too turned on, I jump from the bed, keeping my eyes on him while he works his cock free—stroking it with lazy movements—and I strip down to nothing.
I don’t take a nap. I don’t even get much sleep that night. Nor do I get a nap the next day before our show at the Pepsi Center. I did, however, wake up three days later to find a simple but the beautiful diamond band on my left ring finger. Chance never mentioned it, or how he was able to get it when he hasn’t left my side once. He just continued moving around our hotel room, packing us up so we could meet the guys at the bus in thirty minutes to head out to Seattle.
The almost twenty-hour, two-day drive didn’t even dull my euphoric mood. No one said a word, even if they noticed, and when we arrived at our hotel for the next two days, I made sure to show my not husband but very real fiancé just how much I love having his ring on my finger.
Things went back to normal a few days after I slipped that band on Wren’s finger back in Denver. I still haven’t even said a word about it, but I don’t need to. She’s made no attempt to hide just how happy she is. Every time she would do something girly as fuck, like sigh in the middle of writing a song, her brother would look around until he connected with me. I’m not a stupid man; I know how important her relationship with Weston is. When I asked his permission to spend the rest of my life with his sister, he didn’t hesitate. He took it a step further and arranged to have her band purchased and in my possession within the day’s end. He might think she’s being crazy—hence the meeting of the eyes with each sigh—but when I get an eye roll from him at his sister’s antics, it’s always with one hell of a smirk.
It’s been a month since we left Denver, and things with their tour have been as normal as can be. Well, as normal as it gets with Loaded Replay, thousands of fans, and Douchebag Dix still trying his hardest to throw his weight around. We’ve all gotten damn good at ignoring him, or in my case, putting him in his place.
Dyllan hasn’t come back out to meet us since she left Vegas. Wren explained it was normal for her to get stuck because her boss won’t let her come out. Apparently, she’s not a full-time stylist, but an intern with some big name back in LA. There’s been a little strain between the two because Dyllan keeps brushing off Wren’s concern. In the end, I told Wren she needs to just let it go. Whatever happens will, without her influence. She just needs to be prepared to support her friend whichever way things may fall. Of course, it took her almost until we left Seattle to stop punishing Jamison for her friend brushing her off.
In the time that we’ve been bussing from arena to arena, they released their last record with Brighthouse, selling over a million copies in the first week. When they got the call that Black Lace went platinum, it was a bittersweet excitement. Even though they know they have no future with Brighthouse, it’s still hard to leave a label you’ve been with since the start of your career.
After a lot of consideration, they decided not to re-sign with a major label. Instead, they decided to start their own label, something so few artists have proven to pull off successfully. Loaded Records is in its infancy stages, but they’ve been working to build a team they trust while on the road—not something easy to do, so that’s the first order of business when we get back to LA.
In the time since I met with them back in New York, this world has become my home. It doesn’t matter the location; this crazy bunch and the woman who has my band on her hand have become my home. It’s funny now—looking back—but when I first told my old boss that I wanted to take this job, I never imagined that I would find all of this in the process. Hell, I never expected that I would find what I have with Wren, though, ever in my life, either. For years, I’ve watched as my friends fell in love and thought it wa
s a crock of shit. Well, joke’s on me because the love I have for Wren knocks me to my ass every single day I wake up to find her in my arms.
I glance over to where Wren and Wes have their heads tucked close over a pile of papers. They’ve been working together since we left out of San Francisco to head to LA for the final three shows of their tour a few hours ago. They’ve been working every chance they can on some new material. They know now that they’ll be going to their own label, so time is the most valuable tool in their next solo album. The steady climb of Black Lace will be the momentum they need to push off of.
“Uh, guys?” Jamison addresses the room with a little unease in his voice.
“What?” Luke asks, glancing up from the guitar he had been messing with—giving Wren a melody when she would ask.
“Word got out about us leaving Brighthouse. People are going fucking nuts online wondering if this means we’re splitting up.”
“Shit,” Wes hisses.
“Why would they announce us not renewing our contract before the tour is even over? Didn’t they tell us that we couldn’t say anything?” Wren asks, confused.
“Those motherfucking assholes,” Wes fumes. “They didn’t want us to say anything because they planned to use the news to drive up sales. They’re going to play this up for all it’s worth. Fans will be scared that’s our last album—buying them with no thought. Brighthouse will play the sad label that lost a long-standing act, and because we signed a NDA not to speak about leaving Brighthouse, but specifically, not to say anything until the end of the tour, we’re sitting ducks for the next five days.”
“You’re kidding?” I ask.
“I wish I was. I hope you and your guys have things ready because I bet we’re going to be driving into a madhouse.”
