After the Portland show, I headed straight out to my bus alone and told Shady not to let anyone in. Fuck meeting fans and fuck everyone else.

I was not in the fucking mood.

I dropped onto one of the couches in the lounge, dug out my weed and rolled a fat joint. Then I sat back and let the green start to do its thing…

I just needed to smoke, and think things over a bit.

Like why the fuck was I so bent out of shape over another night of inconsequential fuck-ups?

Second show of the tour and I was definitely not feeling it. I’d lost count of the number of small fuck-ups tonight. I’d tripped and almost fallen on my face, for one. And I’d run into Matty countless times, almost knocking him down twice. Would’ve liked to blame that on the new guy, but wasn’t his fault.

I was all motherfucking tense and out-of-body, not even fully conscious of where the hell I was. My body was on that stage, but my mind was somewhere the fuck else.

Total lack of commitment.

Worst of all, I’d fucked up the words to “Road Back Home,” a song we’d been playing live for a fucking decade, and I did not do that shit.

Tonight, I’d done it.

Started singing the wrong fucking verse, in a song I knew by heart, upside-down and inside-out, in my sleep and fucking stoned. Stoned or not, when was the last time I’d fucked up the words to a Dirty song onstage?

I couldn’t remember it. Maybe back when I was drinking… eight years ago?

Tonight, I’d done it in front of an entire arena filled with fans.

And Maggie.

Yeah. Fuck.

I took a long, deep toke. That was what was up my ass, right?

Fucking Maggie.

I’d performed in front of her for almost eight years.

I’d been famous as Dirty’s frontman for longer than that.

But I’d never been on tour with her while we were in this fucked-up relationship before. We’d never had this bullshit push-and-pull, kick-and-claw tension between us, this messed-up secret marriage shit that was screwing with my head.

Straight up, I’d never worried what Maggie would think of my performance before. Sure, I’d probably always wanted to impress her. But this… this was different.

It was like I was performing just for her, singing every song to her… and waiting for her to pass judgment on me.

Waiting for some kind of thumbs-up from her that was probably never gonna come.

She didn’t say one word to me, either before or after the show. She didn’t talk to me all day. I’d barely even seen her in the last two days; she’d been avoiding me ever since she ran out of that bar where I was feeding her shots the other night.

I’d seen her in the shadows backstage, but she wouldn’t even meet my eyes.

Christ.

All those fuck-ups… They’d just compounded in my head with the pressure of knowing she was watching.

A few minor fuck-ups were pretty normal, typical at the first few shows of a new tour.

And yet the entire show tonight was sitting all wrong with me.

Again.

Even the weed wasn’t helping as much as it should.

I shouldn’t have needed the weed anyway, but fuck it, what else did I have? It wasn’t like Maggie’s pussy was waiting for me, warm and ready when I came offstage.

And touching another woman was out of the question.

I didn’t need any other woman.

But I needed this tour.

I needed the music and I needed the shows.

For some addicts, touring knocked them right off the wagon. Every time. It was the constant partying, the free access to all the shit that came along with the partying.

Booze. Drugs. Sex.

For me it was the opposite. It was the band, the music, the touring that kept me sane and sober.

But I needed it to go a certain way.

When it came to my talent, some people called me a perfectionist. So be it. The bar I set for myself and those around me was incredibly fucking high; I knew that. And yes, that high bar was probably half the reason I was an addict in the first place. Got me drinking, then drinking to excess, because reaching for that high bar all the fucking time? It was exhausting and damn near debilitating.

The constant striving.

The almost crippling fear of failure.

But once I got sober, I still reached for that high bar. I reached higher.

And good thing.

Those high expectations I set for myself, for my voice, for my performance… they kept me sharp. They kept me engaged and wanting more, always pushing to be better.

They kept me at the top.

And they kept me from ever thinking about giving up.

I could never give up on anything once I’d decided I wanted it. Just wasn’t in me.

Even if the pursuit of it destroyed me.

That’s why I would never give up on Maggie.

She’d have to sue me for divorce and marry someone else, and I’d probably still be pawing at her door, trying to win her over.

Yeah. That was the truth.

I wanted to be Maggie Omura’s husband like I wanted to be Dirty’s lead singer.

I had to be.

What the fuck else would I do if I didn’t have Dirty? If they ever voted me off the fucking island? I’d be lost without them.

I could sing with another band, but it wouldn’t be music.

I could fuck a lot of other women.

It wouldn’t be love.

Someone was knocking on the door. I had no idea how much time had passed, if someone was waiting to take me back to the hotel, if the guys were heading out to a bar, whatever. I just ignored it and kept smoking.

Then the door popped open and Shady stuck his head in. “Maggie’s outside,” he told me in a low voice. “Said she needs to talk to you.”

I sat up and brushed the weed aside. “Let her in.” I took a final hit from the joint, then crushed the rest in an ashtray.

Shady stepped back and Maggie poked her head in the door. “Need to go over a few things for tomorrow,” she said. No expression on her face. No warmth. No How the fuck are you?

I nodded and she came up the steps, shutting the door behind herself. She lingered there, barely inside the lounge, one foot practically out the door.

She glanced at the weed on the table but she didn’t say anything about it.

She used to say a lot about it.

These days, she chose her battles with me carefully.

She wore tight jeans and a long, loose sweater that hid her petite curves. Gray, to match her eyes. Her dark hair was smoothed down straight around her face, as usual. She looked a little tired… But those fucking lips. I only realized she was talking because her lips were moving.

Kinda got lost looking at her mouth…

“… three phone interviews in the morning,” she was saying. “The first is at eight—”

“Eight?” Christ, I was barely out of bed at eight. What about the gym? And breakfast?

And maybe a morning lay?

“East coast,” she said. “Brody wants you to do it.” She watched as I got to my feet and moved toward her. “Talia will be over at five-to to get you set up…” Her eyes widened as I got close, as I reached past her and flipped the lock on the door. “You’ll probably want to set an alarm…”

I drew the curtain behind her, closing off the front steps and the driver’s seat, blocking the front windows so we were totally alone in the lounge. The blinds on the windows down the sides of the bus were already shut.

Then I went back over to the couch and sat down.

Maggie just stood there with her arms crossed, watching me.

“That all?” I said.

“For now.”

“How was the show tonight?”

She stared at me for a moment, searching my face, like it was a trick question. “That screw-up on ‘Road Back Home’?” she said. “It wasn’t as bad as you think. You handled it really well.”

“Come sit down.” I nodded at the couch beside me, lounging back.

She cocked her head as if to say, Seriously?

“Do I have to play the employer card? You know, I am yours.” I rarely played the employer card with her, but hey, I wasn’t above it.

Definitely wasn’t above letting my “employee” get down on her knees and suck me off with her gorgeous mouth, if that’s what she wanted to do.

“What do you want, Zane?”

“I want you to come sit down.”

She took her sweet time about it, but finally she came over and sat on the couch, tense as fuck.

“How was the show?” I asked her again.

“Overall, it was good. I mean… it was awesome.” But she didn’t unclench when she said it. Her arms were still locked over her chest.

“So, this how it’s gonna be?”

She stared at me, totally fucking guarded. “What?”

“You gonna play it cold the whole way through? Avoid me? Talk to me about not one thing but business? Tell me the show was awesome like some yes-woman with a stick up your butt?”

Yeah. Pretty much. I could read that plan all over her face and her Fuck right off, Zane body language.

“There’s nothing to talk about but business,” she said.

“And nothing to do but talk, huh?”

I put my arm up on the back of the couch. I could just reach her, and brushed her silky hair back off her shoulder. Couldn’t help it. I had a chance to touch Maggie, fucking right, I was touching her.

In response, she twitched with irritation. Actually, she looked about as frustrated as I felt. Probably needed a good, hard fuck.

I knew I did.

And I was just the guy to give it to her. She knew that by now, right?

She bristled as I drifted my fingers over her shoulder again… and yeah, she knew. Maggie could put up one hell of a fight, but she knew. And fuck if it wasn’t the sweetest thing I’d ever tasted—that moment when she started to soften, to give into what she wanted…

Always loved getting her there.

And no mistake, I was getting her there.

It was one thing to avoid me when we weren’t on tour. When we were living in separate houses. We’d even been living in separate cities, though I’d remedied that when I’d moved back up to Vancouver last fall.

She’d still managed to avoid me, mostly.

Fine.

I’d let that shit slide, for almost two fucking years, knowing we’d eventually get here. New album done. World tour, on the road, me and Maggie—unavoidable.

And once and for all, she’d have to face our shit.

Because no way were Maggie and I on a world tour together for the next year-and-a-half, traveling and working together every single day, and not fucking the living shit out of each other all along the way.

No. Fucking. Way.

Not even possible. It was scientifically, chemically impossible. Like even if we never got around to fucking consciously, we’d wake up one morning with her pussy riding my dick.

Because Maggie’s pussy and my dick?

Magnetized.

Get them too close—like on the same couch with no one else around… and they were gonna collide.

Only a matter of time.

We both knew it.

I shifted closer to her, and her gray eyes went wide.

Fucking loved that look.

“You remember that night… when Jessa went into labor?” I trailed my finger down her shoulder, over her soft, sexless sweater. “Her water broke and Amber called my phone looking for you. You had to take off to help… and we never got to finish what we started…”

She remembered.

It was the last time we’d gotten anywhere close to having sex. Two months ago.

“You were naked beneath me,” I reminded her. “And my tongue was about an inch from making you scream.”

“I wasn’t naked,” she said stubbornly.

“Yeah… you still had those skimpy little panties on…” My gaze trailed down her body. “If I didn’t get that call from Jessa’s number, and you didn’t make me answer it… imagine what would’ve happened next.”

“Thank God she called.”

“I would’ve been all over you with my mouth,” I informed her, licking my lip for emphasis. I was rewarded when her eyes tracked the movement. “Could be, right now…” I drifted my fingers down to her hip and lifted the edge of her sweater. “You let me at that soft skin…” I snaked my fingers under the sweater and touched her bare waist… and she let me.

Her eyes flared, but she didn’t pull away.

My dick swelled.

“You ever have sex on a rock star’s tour bus?” I ran my finger up the bare curve of her waist and back down again, watching her eyes. And the answer to that question had better be a giant fucking no.

But she didn’t answer. She just gave me a when-hell-freezes-over glare.

“You think I’m gonna be in here, fucking groupies after every show.” It wasn’t a question. I knew that was exactly what she thought. “Ever occur to you that the easiest way to keep my dick away from other women is to entertain it yourself?”

“Entertaining your dick is not in my contract, Zane.”

“Kinda what you signed on for, though,” I challenged, “when you said those vows at our wedding.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “Yeah, but I didn’t know those vows were real. I thought the wedding was fake.”

Right. So she was still sticking to that story.

And I still wasn’t sure if I believed her.

Did it really matter anyway?

Any way you looked at it, we were still married.

“Just say the word, Maggie.” I dropped my hand to my swollen dick, adjusting myself a little. My jeans were getting way too tight. “You want this all to yourself? You can have it.”

Her eyes drifted down to my lap… And when they met mine again, they had that look in them that always did me the fuck in.

Lust.

Maggie, getting hot, made my brain shut off and my cock take over. I squeezed myself, just trying to ease some of the pressure. Felt better and worse at the same time.

She swallowed. “What word?”

“Mine,” I said. “All you have to say is That cock is mine, Zane. And it’s all yours.” I leaned in close, until my lips brushed the soft curve of her ear. “You want this mouth…?” I drifted the tip of my tongue over her earlobe, even as she stiffened. “It’s yours, Maggie.” I sucked the soft skin into my mouth—and she gave up a little gasp.

My cock jerked under my hand.

Motherfucking yes.

Maggie’s wall was going down.

Fast.

Now.

And I wasn’t gonna miss my window…

I slid my hand up under her sweater and cupped her breast. Silky bra, no padding. I could feel her nipple, hard against my palm. I squeezed her as I sucked on her earlobe.

Then her mouth fell open, those full, sexy lips of hers parting as her breath caught—and it was all the opening I needed. I pressed my mouth to hers and pushed her back on the couch, giving her a quick but thorough taste of my tongue.

In seconds, I had her laid out beneath me, panting softly, wanting more.

Then I pulled my mouth away.

“Maggie…” I tugged up her sweater, uncovering her tits as I pinched and rolled her nipple through the silk of her bra. “You want this…?”

She didn’t answer me with words. But as she looked up at me, her eyes darkening… I knew what she wanted.

She wanted it all.

I yanked her bra down and swiped my tongue over her perfect nipple. A dark, dusky pink, it was hard, delicate. She sucked in a breath and her body arched with desire beneath me.

“Zane… shit…”

I sucked her other nipple into my mouth, licked and teased until both nipples were flushed dark, taut.

“Fuck… you’re so pretty, Maggie…” My voice was tight, rough. I tongued my way quickly down her body; I knew I had to move fast, before she changed her mind. Before her brain caught up to what her body was letting me do.

My fingers pretty much vibrated as they obliterated the obstacles of the button and zipper on her jeans. My heart was already pounding, pumping blood to my dick double-time as she buried her hands in my hair. I shimmied the tight jeans down her hips, taking her silky panties with them… baring that perfect little triangle of dark hair and the sweet dusky-pink softness below.

Maggie’s pussy.

My fucking kryptonite.

This girl… everything about this woman was my kryptonite.

I kissed her silk-soft hair, swiped my tongue in the little crease between her thigh and her pussy. She wriggled and gasped, clawing her fingers in my hair, gripping me.

“You want my tongue, sweetheart…?”

She made her aggravated little Maggie sound, that soft growl in the back of her throat that made my dick spasm. She bucked beneath me, wanting my mouth—but I held back, taking my time, totally fucking relishing her desire.

“Zane. Come on,” she panted, as I teased her with my tongue… never quite hitting the sweet spot.

Or anywhere close to it.

“What, you want my tongue? You can have it, babe.” I looked up into her gray eyes. “You can own it. Like I own this.” I swiped my tongue over her clit.

She bucked again and gasped, fucking shuddered, her body begging me to do it again—but I didn’t. All kinds of chemicals were flooding my body, endorphins and pheromones and all that happy shit… Even as Maggie looked more and more pissed-off.

“Worked for this, Maggie,” I muttered as I kissed her soft skin. “Fucking months I’ve been trying to get this, get my mouth on what’s mine, and I’m gonna enjoy it…” I swiped my tongue, slowly, right alongside her clit and watched her squirm.

Fuck, yeah.

“Why… Why do you have to make everything so damn difficult?” she hissed. Yeah, she was mad; furious that she was giving in.

That she wanted this so bad.

“Me?” I yanked off her boots and stripped off her jeans and panties. “I’d park myself permanently in your pussy if you’d let me.” I spread her thighs and wrapped them around my head as I nuzzled in between her legs.

“No…” She wriggled and moaned as I kissed the tops of her thighs. “You make everything a battle. You always get what you want, the way you want. You always have to win.”

“Win? I don’t want to fucking win. I want you to win, with my tongue between your legs.” Then I buried my face between her thighs and took her whole pussy in my mouth, making her whimper and kind of angry-sigh.

God, yeah…

That sweetish, musky taste of her…

Maggie.

Her thighs tightened around my head, and as I licked her in a slow, teasing rhythm, she breathed hard and fast, fisting my hair, holding me where she wanted me.

As if I was going any-fucking-where.

“I know about Brandi,” she gasped out.

I looked up into her eyes again, but I didn’t stop eating her out.

“I know about that girl,” she said, watching me from under her dark eyelashes. “That Australian girl at Summer’s party.”

I sucked on her clit until her eyes rolled close.

“I fucking hate Dallas,” she whispered, her voice gritty with that hatred.

I didn’t stop. I lapped her with my tongue and smoothed my thumb over her pink flesh, teasing her open. I kissed her, sucked on her with my lips and teased her with my tongue. Fucking worshipped her.

I’d never worshipped any woman’s pussy like I worshipped Maggie’s.

Definitely never worshipped Dallas’ like this.

I knew Maggie hated Dallas. And not just because she was jealous; she seriously hated the woman.

I learned that one the hard way.

“You think I want any of those girls…? They’re not here, Maggie,” I told her as I kissed her clit, my voice rough with lust. “No one here but you. No pussy here but yours.” I licked her in long, slow strokes, from her opening to her clit, and swirled my tongue around, making her whimper and cry out. “Whose gorgeous pussy is this in my mouth…?”

She growled again, like she was truly fucking pissed at herself for enjoying this as much as she did. Like she was pissed at us both.

Because she was fucking loving it.

I sucked her into my mouth again, flicked her clit with my tongue until her hips lifted off the couch. I was pretty bent on making her scream, even though she kept biting her lip, trying not to. She ground herself against me, hard, fucking bruising my lips, and I just kept at her. She jerked her hips, totally unselfconscious, hungry for more as her hands clawed my hair and pulled me against her.

“Yeah…” I muttered against her skin. “Never get enough of this sweet pussy…”

I worked my way down, spreading her open with my thumbs, and thrust my tongue into her. Couldn’t stop myself, even though I knew I’d have to fuck her when I did. When I felt Maggie’s insides… so slick and smooth. So tight, and so wet for me…

I buried my face in her, dug my tongue in deep and rubbed my nose against her clit. She cried out, her entire body bucking. I wanted her to fucking beg for my fingers, for my cock, so I fluttered my tongue around inside. So she felt how deep I was.

How much deeper I could go, if she let me at her with my dick.

But then she yanked herself away.

“Wha—?” I panted, stunned.

Fuck, no.

She shoved at me, hard, and I fell back a bit. Then she got up on her knees—and tore off her sweater.

Great sign.

I let her push me back against the couch and she was on me quick, kneeling over me, climbing the cushions to get her pussy in my face. Fuck, yeah… I gripped her tight ass with both hands and squeezed, pulling her to me. I sealed my mouth over her clit and sucked as she fucked my face.

“Yeah…” she gasped, desperate. “Get me off, Zane…” She still sounded pissed, but a shiver of arousal rolled through my body.

Those words, in Maggie’s breathy, husky, horny voice…

I couldn’t hold back.

I dropped one hand to my dick and rubbed hard, scraping the heel of my hand against the length of my hard shaft.

So fucking good… and painful at the same time.

My other hand, on her ass, dug deeper, my fingers delving into her slippery pussy. She was dripping for me and I smeared her juices around, rubbing her opening, starting to finger-fuck her.

She rode me in small, fierce jerking motions as my mouth just tried to keep up. I sucked and slurped at her and fucking moaned—until her clit pulsed against my tongue, her pussy squeezed my fingers and the waves of pleasure snapped through her body.

My dick spasmed under my hand. I probably could’ve come right now if I wanted to… but I was too fucking mesmerized by what Maggie was doing.

Her hips jerked a bunch of times and her head rolled around. She cried out again and again, her voice getting breathier, ragged. She was holding back, and I knew she was trying like hell not to scream. She pounded her fist into the couch cushion… trying so hard not to lose it.

Motherfucking yes…

All I wanted to do was get Maggie off. Every day. Every fucking way.

Just make her come, again and again and again…

Dripping all over my face.

Tearing at my skin.

Screaming the fucking walls down.

But she was already pulling away.

She fell back and looked at me, still breathing hard.

I wasn’t breathing so normal myself. I swiped my hand over my mouth. Her gaze trailed down my body and landed on my dick, hard as a metal pipe in my jeans—and my hand absently squeezing it.

Her eyes flicked back up to mine.

Then she was on me again, tearing my jeans open and grabbing my cock with her small hands—and I fucking melted with relief. Was half-sure she was about to run away, just take off and leave me like this, fucking dying of a raging hard-on. But her hands were strong and warm and soft, and they were all over me.

She pulled on me like she wanted to rip my dick right off.

I just lay back on the couch and took whatever she wanted to do to me. Maggie, turned-on, was a force of fucking nature. A tiny, ferocious hurricane.

She jerked me off, fast and angry, her body slithering against mine like what she really wanted to do was fuck the living shit out of me… her firm, perfect tits half-out of her bra, jiggling in my face… as she panted like a horny madwoman.

As I got close I grabbed her, wrapped my hand around the back of her neck and pulled her to me. I wanted to kiss her, but she turned her face so I couldn’t. So I settled for pressing my forehead to hers instead.

She kept stroking me, slowing a bit as she twisted one hand around the head of my cock, tugging at the base of my shaft with the other… and her gray eyes suddenly met mine.

And I blew like a fucking volcano.

Earthquake, the world splitting open… hot lava everywhere.

I smashed my face to hers and somehow I got her mouth. My lips pressed to hers, so fucking soft… I panted against her skin as the spasms tore through me… totally wrecking me. In seconds, I was fucking shattered.

Orgasms with Maggie always left me in pieces.

Her pussy. Her mouth. Her hand.

Didn’t matter.

It was all her. She wrecked me.

And Maggie knew how to milk it…

She kept stroking me, kept squeezing the hell out of me until she’d wrung out every last drop, every last shiver.

Then she let go.

I fucking collapsed.

She sat there on her knees, kind of panting and staring down at me, one leg tossed over mine. Her gray eyes were shining as she blinked at me.

She’d felt that one.

She’d felt… something.

But she said nothing as she reached for my shirt and used it to wipe my come off her hand. Then she got up and pulled her clothes back on.

Fuck.

She was still mad.

Madder, probably.

And as usual, nothing I could say would make it better. If history was any indication, would probably just make it worse.

I just lay here, fucking destroyed. I was sticky, covered in come. Couldn’t even feel my feet, much less find a coherent thought in my brain.

“Maggie…”

“See?” she said, slipping on her boots. “You always get what you want.” She didn’t look happy about it as she smoothed her hair. She looked neat and composed like she always did, but her lips were dark and swollen.

“If that was true,” I said, stuffing my dick away, “you’d be staying.”

Her face softened a bit, but she didn’t say anything.

She didn’t stay.

I watched her walk out as my heart pounded, my entire body still thudding from her touch.