Say Yes: Shawn: Say Yes Series Book Two

by Amelia Mae

  “It’s…”

  “Amazing? Crazy? The best sex you’ve ever had?”

  “Temporary,” I say with a big sigh.

  Cora looks confused.

  “He told me that being in the band and touring leads to a lot of jealousy and relationships tend to fall apart, so he asked if I’d be cool with kind of a temporary thing while he was home in L.A. and I said yes,” I start, “And I figured that after Greg, I was never going to trust anyone enough to be in a relationship again, so it was win-win.”

  “But now?”

  “Fuck it,” I say, having to finally admit my feelings, “I like him. I really fucking like him. I’m attached. And I’m going to miss him like crazy when this is over.”

  Cora gives me a tight hug.

  “Have you talked about this with him?” she asks, “Maybe he feels the same way.”

  “No. You heard what he said. Jealousy and resentment and all that.”

  “Aya, I’ve spend quite a bit of time with Shawn this past year. On tour, no less. I mean, he had the occasional hook-up, but I didn’t see him plow through women the way Jack and Dylan did,” Cora says, matter-of-factly. “I’d believe Shawn if he says he could be exclusive.”

  I shrug, slightly relieved.

  “Maybe I’ll bring it up with him this weekend,” I say, “If the moment feels right.”

  “Good,” Cora says, nodding resolutely. She steals my laptop again and starts typing furiously. “Now let’s get tickets for the Magic Mike show.”

  “Great idea,” I confirm.

  17

  Shawn

  I’m happy for Ian and Cora. Really I am.

  But they’re kind of cock-blocking me right now.

  Ian flew his fiancé, her maid of honor, and his sister out earlier this morning so that they could spend the day helping Cora find a wedding dress. Between wedding planning, hair, makeup and shopping, I don’t know when I’ll get a minute alone with my girl.

  My girl.

  Only for a little while longer, though.

  I try to push the thought from my mind, but it keeps creeping back in.

  After you break up with her, you can’t call her your girl. You can’t call her after the show. You’re not coming home to her after the tour. When all this is over, she’ll be out of your life.

  No, I argue with myself. We’ll text. Or something. Maybe hook up once in awhile when I’m around.

  You expect her to be at your beck and call? To wait months till you’re in town again? I don’t think so. Someone else is going to notice how amazing she is and sweep her off her feet.

  I swallow hard.

  Maybe she’ll even forget about you.

  I hate that thought the most.

  The girls should’ve landed a few hours ago and checked into the hotel. Jack, Ian, Dylan and I are at the airport, set to board in about thirty minutes.

  I check my phone to find a text.

  Aya: Just checked in. The room is gorgeous.

  Shawn: Nice. What are you two doing today?

  Aya: We found a dress for Cora. She looks amazing. Ian’s gonna pass out at the altar, she looks so good.

  Shawn: Nice.

  Aya: She’s picking out bridal lingerie now.

  Shawn: No offense, but I’m not super interested in Cora’s underwear.

  Aya: I got something too.

  Shawn: Now, I’m interested.

  Aya: I’d send you a picture, but it’s better in person.

  Shawn: Really? You’d send me a picture?

  After what she’s been through, does she really trust me enough to send me a dirty picture?

  My phone buzzes with the image. A matching bra and panty set. Pale pink with black lace. Sexy. Very sexy. It’s not on her body, though, it’s laid out on a bed.

  I’m disappointed.

  Not in the picture. Actually, it’s best that I don’t get on an airplane all hard and wanting.

  But I do wish that she trusted me that much.

  What does she get out of it, Shawn? You want her to trust you, then you’re going to up and leave?

  As usual, that nagging voice of reason makes a point, but I try to keep it quiet and focus on the fact that she bought something to wear for me.

  Shawn: My favorite color.

  Aya: Is it?

  Shawn: And it’ll go nicely with the carpet on the floor once I tear it off your body.

  Aya: No tearing! This shit’s expensive.

  Shawn: I’ll be gentle.

  Aya: No you won’t.

  Shawn: Probably not. I’m gonna get it off with my teeth. Then I’m gonna get my mouth on you. Fuck, it’s been too long.

  Aya: I know. I might have to get started here without you.

  Shawn: Jesus, sweetheart, do you know what it’s like to be trapped on a plane with a hard-on that won’t quit.

  I can practically feel her smirking over the phone.

  Aya: Poor baby. I’ll talk you through it if you want.

  Shawn: No time.

  Aya: Then I’ll have to make it up to you when you get here.

  I smile.

  I’ve got a lot planned for when I get there.

  The flight is uneventful except for Ian being a bundle of nervous energy, making sure we’ve all packed suits and scribbling draft after draft of his vows on a legal pad. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk so much.

  It’s nearly midnight when we land and I’m beyond grateful to get to the hotel.

  Jack and Dylan get their room keys from the reception desk and immediately find the bar. Ian heads straight for his room.

  I’m champing at the bit as I stand in the lobby in front of the elevator, waiting to get up to the room and see Aya. I know it’s been less than two days since we’ve last seen each other, but it’s been almost three days since I’ve been inside her and I’m wound tighter than a spring.

  The bell dings, the door opens and I step inside. I’m immediately bombarded by shapely limbs and pretty pink lips as Aya launches herself at me.

  “I was tracking your flight on my phone,” she says, between kisses, “I was hoping to meet you in the lobby.”

  “This is better,” I tell her, dropping my luggage on the floor and picking her up. She wraps her legs around my waist and I steady her back against the carpeted wall, kissing her like I’ll never get another chance.

  We kiss like lovers who haven’t seen one another in months, not fuck-buddies who’ve only been apart for a few short days. She moans into my mouth and I’m tempted to take her right here.

  The elevator bell dings and the doors open again.

  An old woman with deep frown lines gets on and looks at us with disdain. I help set Aya to the floor and we try to calm down. At least for the next few seconds.

  “You should see the room,” Aya says, trying to make polite, socially-acceptable conversation, though the sexual tension is so thick, you could slice it.

  “Is it nice?” I ask, forcing myself to say something other than take off your panties.

  “Oh. it’s very nice,” she answers.

  Aya says some more lovely, polite things about the decor and the thread count on the sheets, but it’s going in one ear and out the other.

  The doors open on the tenth floor. Our floor.

  We’re quiet as we walk. She gets the door open and leads us inside. I hear the door lock behind me.

  And then she’s on me, just like she was minutes ago in the elevator. I’m holding her against the door, my hands under her ass and her legs around my waist. She kisses my lips, then moves to my neck, sucking and nipping at my skin while she undoes my button-down shirt.

  “Miss me?” I ask.

  She doesn’t even try to get snarky. “It’s been hell.”

  “Me too, sweetheart. Missed you like crazy,” I groan. I bring her lips back to mine and kiss her hard.

  She’s got my shirt almost completely undone. I undo the last bit for her, shrug it off my shoulders and toss it aside. Still kissing me, she fig
hts to have me put her down and I oblige. I get my hands under her tee shirt and bring it up over her head, leaving her in her jeans and a pretty powder-blue bra.

  “Aww, what happened to the one you bought this afternoon?” I ask, trying to sound disappointed, but failing miserably. This one is sexy too. And it’s only going to look better strewn about on the floor.

  “That’s for the wedding,” she whispers, “For when you get my bridesmaid dress off.”

  I love thinking about Aya standing on an altar in front of our friends in a pretty dress with that hot-as-fuck lingerie underneath like our little secret.

  She sheds her jeans and gets to work on mine, but I stop her.

  “Get on the bed,” I order, my voice dropping to a commanding, low timbre that I know will make her shake in anticipation.

  I’m right. I see the goosebumps prick up on her skin as she turns her back to me, giving me a beautiful view of her ass in a powder-blue thong.

  She lies down on the bed and props her head up on two pillows.

  I look across from the bed to figure out why.

  There’s a large mirror on the wall directly opposite from the headboard, positioned perfectly for watching yourself have sex.

  Gotta love Vegas hotels.

  “You want to watch yourself come, sweetheart,” I hiss out, positioning myself between her legs.

  “Yes,” she gasps out as I run my lips up her calf. She eases back. “And I want to watch you too.”

  I smirk. I mean, girls are sexy when they come.

  Aya’s crazy sexy when she comes.

  Guys, though, not so much. It’s all grunting and heavy breathing. But if that’s what she wants, then that’s what she’ll get.

  I move to her inner thighs, kissing and biting the sensitive skin. I kiss her over her panties, inhaling her scent. She’s light and sweet. Slightly heady. I’d bury my face in it, but I need to tease her more first.

  She lets out a soft moan and grabs at my hair.

  I start on her other thigh.

  “Shawn,” she whispers, “Please.”

  “Please what, sweetheart?”

  I reach the crease of her other thigh. I’ve tormented her plenty. So much that I’ve started to come undone a little myself. I should just give and to it and dive between her legs, but it’s too much fun watching her beg.

  “Make me come.” Her voice hitches. “Please. I need you.”

  God, I can’t resist her. She may be physically at my mercy, but the second she says please, I’m putty in her hands. She has this look in her eyes. Need. Trust.

  Maybe even love.

  She reaches up to touch my face, drawing me down to her. I’m about to surrender and she knows it, a little smile gracing the corner of her mouth.

  I’m a fucking goner.

  I practically rip off her little blue thong, hold her thighs open and get my face between them. My tongue travels up and down her seam, edging between her folds.

  She throws her head back and arches her back as she gasps my name.

  It spurs me on.

  I plunge my tongue inside her and massage her clit with my thumb.

  She gets louder. Her swearing and groaning fill the room.

  Her muscles tense and her voice gets hoarse.

  She’s close.

  I circle her clit with my tongue, increasing the pressure, sucking and grazing her with my teeth. Her thighs fight against my hands, but I keep them pinned open. I’m chasing her orgasm like it’s my fucking job.

  She lets out one final, deep, throaty moan and tumbles over the edge. I keep my mouth on her while she comes, easing her through it.

  When she quiets, I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand and crawl up the bed, only to find Aya shifting so that she’s on her hands and knees, facing the mirror. Her gorgeous black hair spills over her back and down her sides as she looks over one shoulder. Her eyes are hooded.

  She’s definitely a little sex-drunk and I fucking love it.

  “Fuck me like this,” she demands, her voice deep and breathy.

  I shed my jeans and underwear and jockey into position on my knees behind her. I run my hands up her thighs and over her round little ass cheeks, ripe and begging to be bitten.

  I can’t help myself. I sink my teeth into one and then the other. She makes a noise that’s equal parts scandalized and turned-on.

  “Did you just bite my ass?” she squeaks.

  I answer with a growl and a light smack as she settles back down.

  I grip her hips, loving that she’s got just enough to hold onto and line up my cock with her entrance. I don’t have it in me to tease today, so I thrust into her balls-deep in one quick motion that makes her shout out loud and fall to her forearms.

  “Yes,” she groans as I shift inside of her. She stays on her forearms, head down, moaning softly as I stroke her back and undo her bra, letting it fall off her shoulders.

  I push into her hard, again and again, rolling my hips as she whimpers and mewls like a kitten. I know I’ve hit the magic spot inside her when she claws at the white linen sheets and grabs a pillow to muffle her cries.

  I rut into her, grunting and groaning, letting my hands roam wherever they want to. Over her hips. Up her sides. To her breasts. My chest presses into her back.

  “Fuck, Shawn,” she gasps, “I’m gonna come again.”

  I feel her pussy tighten around me, choking my dick.

  Oh, yeah, she’s gonna come. She’s gonna come hard.

  I snap my hips, driving into her harder and faster.

  She practically screeches my name as she comes, gushing around me.

  She fights to keep herself in position, though I can tell she’s dying to collapse on her stomach.

  “Come for me, Shawn,” she hisses, “Come inside me. Please. I fucking love feeling you come.”

  Somewhere in there were the words I love you in that order and for some reason, that’s what sends me over the edge.

  I come. Holy fuck do I come.

  Harder than I can ever remember before.

  I hold her close and watch another orgasm rip through her. She pulses around me as I pour into her.

  We tumble to the bed together, me slightly on top of her, stroking her hair as she catches her breath.

  “You tired, sweetheart?”

  She lazily shakes her head no.

  “Good,” I tell her, “Give me half an hour.”

  She raises an eyebrow.

  “Round two.”

  18

  Aya

  I was pretty sure we’d pass out immediately afterward, but neither of us can sleep. It’s like that feeling of having too much to drink and then thinking that coffee is a good idea, so you’re simultaneously drunk and wide awake.

  Good thing.

  Shawn has plans to go all night.

  He makes me come twice more on his hand before I need a break.

  We decide that we’re hungry for actual food and order room service. It’s nearly four in the morning, but since this is Las Vegas and you can pretty much get anything you want at any time of day, we’re able to order an obscenely late dinner.

  Shawn answers the door naked, with only a pillow covering his dick, but the room attendant barely bats an eyelash. I’m sure he’s seen worse.

  We eat greasy cheeseburgers and fries, sitting on the floor, watching a rerun of The Simpsons and talk about nothing important. I’ve never laughed harder.

  When he’s finished, Shawn decides that he wants me for dessert and proceeds to go down on me, making me come another two times before he’s hard and ready to go again.

  But instead of letting him climb on top, I push him to his back and decide that now would be a great time to suck him off. I take him as deeply as I can, working him over with both my mouth and my hands until he’s seconds from coming. Then he pulls up so that I can ride him. He groans and pulls my hair a little as he comes and I bury by head into his neck as I follow.

  We don’t sleep a wink all night.
>
  Hours later, sunlight starts to stream in through the blinds, bathing us in early morning light.

  Shawn is sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard and I’m in his lap, a knee on either side of his waist, his chest pressed against mine.

  I paw at his warm skin.

  His hands wander lazily up and down my back. He holds me close and kisses me softly.

  Again.

  And again.

  His hand reaches the nape of my neck and he holds me in place, kissing me with those deep, sexy, sleepy kisses that make me melt.

  He pulls back, his eyes hazy and lips swollen, and smooths a lock of my hair behind my ear as he exhales slowly.

  “Fuck me, I’ve gotta meet the guys downstairs in ten minutes,” he says with a sigh.

  I groan. “What the hell rock stars have a meeting at this hour?”

  “Christian wants to talk to us and he’s en route to New York. This was the only time he could meet us,” he explains. “You get to sleep, though.”

  He pulls the covers out for me and I slide underneath them. The bed feels cold and lonely without him. He rummages through his luggage for clothes.

  “You can’t go,” I say with a sassy pout, “You have really bad sex hair.”

  He cocks his head and looks at me with that seriousness in his eyes. “You have really good sex hair. You should keep it like that all day.”

  I ache.

  Maybe this is some kind of post-multiple-orgasm vulnerability, but I really, really hate the thought of him leaving.

  “I’ll be back in an hour,” he reassures me.

  I watch him tug on jeans, sans underwear, a clean white tee shirt and slide into his black Converse sneakers.

  We have to talk about what’s going on here. I mean, come on, a guy doesn’t have four A.M. dinner with a girl, then proceed to make her come that many times if he’s planning on leaving her eventually, right?

  But, if after all this, he tells me that he doesn’t feel the same way, I’ll be fucking crushed.

  Not knowing what he’s thinking is driving me crazy.

  He kisses me goodbye and heads out.