“Hiya, we’re Magic 8 Ball and we’re here for your pleasure,” Laz says into the microphone.

The crowd goes wild.

Well, they were already a little wild. Magic 8 Ball is playing a small stage at the FYF Fest (or the “Fuck Yeah Festival” Fest which makes the name a little redundant) and are playing right in the middle of the day at Exposition Park. It’s hot, bright, crowded, sweaty, I’m pretty sure everyone is high on a multitude of drugs and they’ve been “wooooooing” non-stop.

This is a big deal for Laz and Magic 8 Ball though.

For one, they’ve never played a show this big.

For two, it’s been a few months now that Laz and Frank have started writing their own material and half of their setlist is now all original songs.

That’s right, shortly after Laz and I got back together, he threw himself head first into writing original songs for the band. He says I’m his muse, that I inspired him.

He inspires me. Every day. To love harder. To work harder.

We’re head over heels in love with each other.

It’s not fading.

It’s growing stronger and stronger every day.

“This is so cool,” Noah whispers to me in awe. “Is that Trent Reznor?”

“Where?” I ask, whipping my head around, hoping to see one of my heroes. I catch a glimpse of a guy with short, dark hair heading down the stairs at the back of the stage. Maybe…

We’re on the side of the stage at the show with other musicians and VIPs and because big acts play this stage later in the day and night, it’s huge and the festival crowd spreading out in front of the stage is even bigger. I know they aren’t all here to see Magic 8 Ball, probably the band afterward, Chromeo, but it doesn’t matter. I can feel their energy.

So can the band. Laz whips into their first song, one he wrote called “A Friend for the End of the World,” and I’ve never seen them play with such confidence and vibrancy before.

It blows me away.

And the lyrics, Laz’s lyrics sink even deeper hearing them live.

“I don’t want to save the world. I just want to be with you when the world ends. My arms around you, my heart around you, anything to make you know that you were the only thing that mattered, my friend, my friend for the end of the world.”

He’s sharing them with the world but they’re meant for me.

I’m still his friend.

His best one.

Best friends in love with each other, which is the way that love should be.

“I think I’m going to be a rock star now!” Noah yells at me over the music.

I quickly wipe away a tear and nod.

“Are you crying?” he yells again.

I smile at him. “I’m fine!”

It’s just that the music, his words, his voice, it reaches deep into my soul, always stirring up so many emotions.

But they’re happy ones.

I’m just so fucking happy.

I keep grinning at Noah. He looks happy too.

Daryl, his stepfather, ended up in jail for domestic abuse, even though he was posted out on bail soon after (that’s what big bucks buys you). But he’s not allowed to come near the house, Noah or Laz’s mother, so for now they’re safe and figuring out their next moves, one of which includes putting the McMansion up for sale.

Noah’s doing fine with it. It’s been tough, obviously, because Daryl is still his father after all. Jane has flown back twice already in the last two months, just to spend time with Noah and help him transition, to keep the family together. They’ve been through so much already in their life but I know they’re strong enough to get through it. And now Noah feels he can finally embrace who he is. Right now, he’s a teenager who hasn’t quite figured it out but at least he’s free to discover it. No more judgement, no more fear.

It’s also helped Laz’s mother, Sarah, and Noah repair their relationship, or at least start over. Even she and Laz have grown closer since the incident.

“Do you think I should play bass or guitar?!” Noah yells up at me. “Or drums?”

“Drums! You can get all your aggression out and it’s a good work out!”

He nods and grins, pushing his long, pink hair off his face. He looks so much like Jane used to at this moment, it’s uncanny.

Magic 8 Ball plays a blistering hour-long set and by the time they do their encore—a boisterous, bass-heavy cover of Depeche Mode’s “Should Be Higher,”—the audience looks like they’re blown away (and definitely “higher” than they were at the start) while my heart skips every time Laz hits the high note while singing “Love is all I want.” He is so fucking good, in his element.

And all mine.

Then it’s over.

The crowd cheers.

Laz and the band are a sweaty mess.

I haven’t stopped smiling once.

“How was it?” Laz asks, handing his guitar to a tech and coming over to us.

I grin up at him. He’s wide-eyed, his dark hair sticking to his damp forehead, his dark-grey shirt clinging to him in sweaty patches. He looks thoroughly worn out and high on adrenaline at the same time. A rock god.

“You were amazing!” I say, grabbing onto his arm like a groupie.

He puts his arm around me, squeezes me close to him.

“What did you think?” he asks Noah.

“You’re the next Jim Morrison,” he says. “But without the crazy.”

“Oh, he’s got a bit of crazy in him, don’t kid yourself,” I tell Noah.

“Okay, without the naked Indian.”

“Noah, do you only know who Jim Morrison is because of Wayne’s World 2?” Laz asks with a wry smile.

Noah shrugs and Laz looks to me, brows raised in disbelief, shaking his head. “Kids these days,” he mumbles.

I reach up and kiss him softly.

“Careful, I’m a sweaty mess,” he says against my lips.

“The messier the better.”

“Ugh, can you guys just not. I’m right here,” Noah whines.

I ignore him. “I want you,” I whisper to Laz. “Now.”

“Now?” he asks with a grin.

He has no idea how turned on I’ve been watching him for the last hour.

But I’m about to show him.

“We’ll be right back, Noah,” Laz says to him, putting his hands on his shoulders and pushing him toward Frank who is drinking a bottle of water by the bass stand. “Here Frank, watch Noah for a bit, will ya?”

Then Laz takes my hand and leads me off the back of the stage and down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Frank yells.

Laz just turns around and grins at him.

I actually don’t know where we’re going. There are some tents back here but they’re full of people and food. There’s no place for privacy.

Except the porta potties, which, thankfully because we’re backstage on the grounds, they have fancy trailers instead for all the musicians and VIPs.

We head up the stairs into one trailer and find it empty.

Laz locks the door and then presses me against it.

I bite my lip and wrap my hand around his neck as he presses against me, the hardness in his jeans digging into my hip. He groans quietly, lips at my neck, pushing me further into the door. The handle hurts my back, but it’s a good kind of hurt. All the pain you get from sex only heightens the experience, especially with Laz.

He puts his hands on my thighs and slowly skims his palms up, the hem of my yellow, crochet sundress lifting with them. They leave trails of sweat and heat then pause at my hips. He lets out a heavy exhale against my neck.

“Still no knickers,” he murmurs. “What did I do to deserve a woman like you again?”

I swallow, my heart pinching. “You just had to be yourself.”

“Was that it?”

I shut my eyes. It’s hot as hell in here, humid and stuffy. “Less talking,” I tell him, my hand slipping to his jeans and undoing his fly. “More screwing.”

He pulls back and stares at me, one hand dipping down between my legs, the other cupping my cheek. His lips are wet, parted, so entirely suckable, his eyes fraught with adrenaline from the show, from what’s about to happen. Even though we’ve been having constant sex, especially after he moved into my studio (Don’t worry, Scooby has a girlfriend now and is thrilled by this situation), it still feels so damn new and exciting every single time.

“I’m not sure I like you making the rules,” he says thickly.

“Deal with it, Lazarus Scott,” I tell him, moaning softly as his fingers slide along my wetness. My hand finds the stiff, hot length of his cock, and I pull it out of his jeans. “By the way, you’re not wearing underwear either.”

He closes his eyes and hisses softly as I wrap my fingers around him. “You’re rubbing off on me, sweet girl,” he says, voice rich and raspy.

“More like you’re rubbing off on me,” I manage to say as he dips a finger inside me. My body seems to exhale from his touch, as if I need him in order to breathe. Everything aches for him, and I clench around his finger greedily, wanting more, needing more. “And what did I say about no more talking.”

He lets out a raspy laugh. I slide my hand over his cock, dragging the silk of his precum down his rigid, heated length.

I love to unravel him.

I love to bring him to his knees.

I love more than anything to undo this man and leave him the way he’s always leaving me, like a string pulled and a top spinning, over and over again, tighter and tighter until it becomes the sun. Until I shine.

His head goes back, mouth open. He lets out an elicit moan, the cords of his neck and the thick lines of his shoulders straining. Good god, watching him succumb to pleasure makes me happier and crazier than he would ever know.

Or maybe he does know by now.

I want to give him more. My hand works him expertly, knowing now just where to grip, where to twist, and judging by his quick breaths, I’m sure he’s close to coming. But he finally raises his head, his eyes unfocused as they roam over my face, fighting through a haze.

“Turn around, sweet girl,” he says, his voice so hoarse that it’s barely audible.

I do as he asks. He pushes up my dress so it’s bunched up at my waist and my ass is exposed and I bend over, pushing my palms against the door for support.

His hands skirt my sides, over my hips, and down my thighs. I feel him crouch behind me, his fingers gripping my ass, and I try and sneak a look over my shoulder. He’s down on his knees and I can just see the top of his dark head beneath me.

I’m about to ask him what he has planned, but then I feel his face sink into me from behind, his hot mouth closing over me, his bottom lip sliding up over my clit, his tongue ring hitting all the right places.

Holy shit. Going down on me from behind?

This is a new one.

And I am not complaining.

He groans into me and I can feel the vibrations in my bones. I swell between his lips and he sucks me in his mouth like I’m candy. I let out a loud gasp, my nails digging into the door. It nearly knocks me off my feet.

“You should play shows like this more often,” I manage to say, my voice hoarse as I push back into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispers huskily, pulling away slightly. My skin prickles knowing how he must be looking at me. His tongue trails up the curve of my ass, my body exploding with a shower of sparks. “So bloody sweet.”

My mouth opens to say something, probably “like honey?” but he dives his face back into me and I let out a low, guttural noise, like it’s being torn from my throat. I push my hips back into his mouth, a wild, uncontrollable need burning through me.

“Deeper,” I plead, so desperate for my release, my cheek pressed against the door.

His tongue snakes inside me, then a finger, then two, and I’m thrusting back into him like a fucking animal.

I’m so close to coming.

I’m on that ridge, the fall inevitable.

Then he pulls back and I actually whimper in disappointment.

“You want more?” he asks gruffly, holding onto my ass. “Tell me what you want. Where do you want me? How do you want me to make you come?”

“So many questions,” I whine, breathless and insatiable. “How about all of them?”

“Done.” He spreads my legs wider and pushes his face back in, his tongue, fingers, and mouth absolutely everywhere.

I come instantly, my body a hair trigger. I’m a writhing, moaning, bucking mess of scattered nerves, my limbs dissolving like honey. I’m barely conscious and I don’t know how I’m still upright.

He gets to his feet, runs his slick hands down my spine and then grips my hips as he positions himself, and with one long, slow push he eases inside me. I’m so wet and ready that he glides right in. But oh, when he pulls back out, that slow drag and piercings hitting just the right spot, somehow, I’m groaning for him all over again.

“Don’t stop,” I hiss as he plunges back inside, deeper this time, coaxing another unrestrained noise out of my throat. “Never stop with me.”

“Fuck,” he swears, gravelly and low. “I’d do this until my dying day if you’d let me, Marina.” Then he moves faster, small stabs of his hips pushing deeper and deeper while his skin slaps my skin louder and louder. The smell of sex, sweat, and musk fills the room.

I’m completely overwhelmed. It’s too perfect.

It’s everything, everything.

He’s everything, everything.

I close my eyes and imagine what we look like to someone else if they were to peek into one of the windows. They’d see the ropey muscles of his forearms as he digs his fingers into my hips, the raw, uninhibited fucking in this empty room, the sight of his thick cock sliding into me from behind over and over again, merciless.

I’m pretty sure the whole trailer is starting to shake.

He leans forward, his fingers sliding down and finding the smooth, swollen face of my clit. He always wants me to come with him, so I know he’s about to unload at any moment. But for some reason, I hold back, as hard as I can, wanting to pay attention to his beautiful release without losing myself at the same time.

Drops of his sweat fall on my back. He continues pounding me, his hips changing the angle until it makes me gasp for air, my back arching. His breathing is shaky and his muscles are trembling from the strain, but he keeps going and going.

I think this trailer might just tip over now.

There’s a moment, a sharp intake of air, then the room fills with the sounds of his harsh grunts, the sound of him coming, a sound I love so much that it pushes me over the edge. It’s the signal of his undoing, and his fingers press so hard into my skin that I’m afraid I might break in two. I am breaking in two. I am stretched thin, a pane of fragile glass, and I am breaking into bliss.

I can barely hang on, supporting myself on the door, my palms are slipping and sliding. I’m sliding inside, my heart, my soul, moving closer to the edge. Wave after wave of emotion slams through me, filling the blank spaces, the cracks, the parts of me that have shattered off into space. I can barely breathe. My whole body is aching for him.

“Sweet girl,” Laz whispers hoarsely, leaning forward against my sweaty back. “My sunshine.” He rests his cheek on my shoulder blades and his ragged breaths rise and fall against me. “That was even better than the show.”

I smile, my cheek pressed against the door. He straightens up, lifts himself off of me, and with a hand on my hip, pulls himself out. I take a moment to run my fingers under my eyes before turning around to face him, knowing my mascara is probably smudged.

Laz stands there, pants at his ankles, damp shirt bunched up, showing off his ink and glorious six-pack. Somehow, he’s even sweatier than he was before. Peace resides in his eyes. He pulls up his pants, comes over to me, and pulls me into a wet, passionate kiss, his lips pressing hard against mine, his tongue tasting like me, like salt, like sweat.

Like love.

He holds my face with one hand, running his thumb over my lips, gazing at me deeply. “I’m sorry if that was a bit rough.”

I break into a wide grin, still weightless and full of light. “I like it when you’re rough.” I pause and gently nip his thumb between my teeth for a moment. “I like it when you’re wild. I like it when you’re slow and gentle and whispering my name. I like, no I love, everything you give me Laz.”

He smiles softly and kisses me again. “I love you. Even more now than I did five minutes ago. I’ll love you even more five minutes from now. I will love you and love you and love you more and more and more. Until the end of the world.”

My heart swells, swells, pops.

Confetti in my soul.

I blink back tears.

“Promise?” I ask him.

“Promise,” he says. “Now let’s go get Noah. Poor kid is probably traumatized talking to Frank.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “He wants to be a rock star now.”

“Well who bloody doesn’t?” Laz asks with a roll of his eyes. “At least he has the hair for it.”

“Yeah, I told him to take up the drums.”

“I’m sure my mum is going to love that.” He laughs. “First Jane, now Noah.”

He opens the door.

We step out into the light.