I winced a little in the morning sunlight as Talia and I walked through the lot, headed for the Lady Bus. I was hungover again, and this time I couldn’t even blame Zane.

After getting off on his face last night, I’d taken a cab back to the hotel and found Katie and Amber drinking in the bar and decided it was a great idea to do shots again. Just a few, but that was more than enough.

As it turned out, Baileys and self-disgust didn’t go down all that well together.

The crew was still packing out from last night’s show, and the band was starting to arrive; I saw Elle and Seth talking over by their bus, Seth with a coffee in hand. We’d hit the road in about an hour, but the trucks and crew would roll out later, heading straight to San Francisco, while the rest of us took our time.

I said a quick hello to a few people and checked in with Alec, steering completely clear of Zane’s bus, where I saw Shady having a smoke outside.

When I was almost at my bus, I checked my phone.

There was a text from Zane, sent about twenty minutes ago.

Zane: come to my bus

Just four words. And I knew what they meant.

I stopped in my tracks and stared at my phone.

If this was about work, he would’ve said more. Given some indication what he wanted to see me about.

This wasn’t about work.

This was an invitation for sex.

Which meant I was probably gonna end up on his dick in about five minutes.

Shit.

I’d already shoved my pussy in his mouth on day three of the tour. Here we were, day four, and I was twitching with need.

Despite how many times I’d already told myself to get over it, to forget it, to let myself off the hook for one stupid screwup that didn’t have to happen again… my body just seemed to laugh at me.

And get hornier.

According to my body, last night was just a tease. A fucking appetizer.

And now it wanted the main course.

Zane, for his part, would be more than willing to serve it up.

No surprise there.

I glanced around. Everyone was preoccupied, and no one was even looking at me. It’s not like anyone would know.

Other than me and Zane.

I texted him back.

Me: Right now?

Zane: now

I glanced around again. I wasn’t even sure why Zane was already on his bus, or why he was even awake at this hour. Usually he was one of the last people to drag his ass out of bed, holding up the caravan.

“You coming?” Talia had paused at the door of our bus and looked back to find me standing here.

“Yeah. Soon.”

Talia headed onto the bus, and I dropped down into a crouch and just stared blankly at my phone.

What the hell was I doing?

now

I just kept staring at his text. Those three tiny, demanding letters.

You’re thinking about it.

You’re really thinking about it.

And that was my mom’s voice in my head, popping in to call me on it.

She’d been doing that more and more lately. I hated to admit she’d gone kinda silent on me last year. People told me that would happen. That as time went on, I’d eventually stop having conversations with her and even forget the sound of her voice.

But when things really fell to shit between me and Zane, she still spoke up.

And I spoke back.

Yes. Yes, I am thinking about it.

Of course I’m thinking about it.

This did not make me crazy, having imaginary conversations with my deceased mom in my head. However, thinking about fucking Zane right now probably did.

I knew the man was a hazard to my mental health.

And I knew I was flirting with fire even thinking about him in any nonprofessional way. But the ship had left the port on that about eight years ago, when we’d first met, and never came back.

I knew I’d only made things worse for myself every time I’d touched myself while imagining it was him. And when I’d told myself No Screwing The Talent, then went ahead and broke my number one Rule.

Repeatedly.

And yet, somehow, here I was—actually considering taking the massive risk of having sex with Zane while we were on the road together.

A lot of sex.

I’d spent the wee hours this morning awake in bed, thinking it over in vivid detail. Thinking about how I just might be able to do it—and get away with it.

Because sex was rampant on tour, right?

Everyone was fucking.

It was always this way.

Too many people in close quarters working long hours together, partying together. People who were married or in relationships back home suddenly found themselves crossing lines, cheating, breaking up with longtime partners. Others brought their spouses with them or flew them out to meet up as often as possible, so they could keep the fire burning at home. And those who were single? All bets were off.

There were hookups in hotels, in bars, on the tour buses, backstage. If you could find a place to slam a couple of bodies together, sex was on the menu.

Everyone.

Everywhere.

Was. Fucking.

It was like a rule on the road or something. Sex was just part of the deal. What happens on tour… stays on tour.

For the most part.

Except that I’d never been the sort of girl to go full-slut on tour, screwing my way from city to city.

I preferred to keep things professional.

And I knew if I slept with Zane on this tour, it wasn’t staying on the tour.

It was staying with us.

Zane was never gonna let either of us forget it if I fucked my way around the globe with him.

And yet…

When I was pretty sure no one was looking, I turned and made my way over to his bus. I walked right past Shady without a glance in his direction. I knew he saw me, but he didn’t stop me or say a thing.

Which made me wonder what Zane had told him about me.

The door was unlocked.

After I got on the bus, I locked it behind me. I knew no one would open it without knocking first; even Zane’s driver wouldn’t unlock it without knocking.

No one was in the lounge. It was quiet in the bus, and it smelled like Zane. And like pot. One of Jesse’s acoustic guitars lay on one of the couches with a hat that belonged to Seth.

Looked like the guys had a late-night jam session after I fucked Zane’s face.

I shivered and tried not to think about that. But it did make me pause and take a breath.

Everyone was busy outside. We weren’t leaving for another hour, and some of the band wasn’t even here yet. My inner slut really couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity to say Fuck you to my inhibitions and go nuts.

I was just so afraid, though, of the consequences of that. So afraid, I almost turned around and got right off the bus.

It wasn’t just that Zane would hold it over me if we fucked.

It was that I was afraid every time I let him touch me, it would only make me want him more. It would make me want to abandon every inhibition I’d ever had with him.

It would make me want to fall for him.

And I could never let that happen.

Every time I had sex with Zane, it took me weeks to get right again. To get my head right. To drag my heart out of the daydream that he and I could really be together.

That we could be in love.

Forever.

That it could really work between us.

But then something always happened to remind me why it couldn’t. Usually in the form of him getting stoned and moody and generally being an asshole. Or, you know, some other chick he was fucking showing up.

Or chicks who wanted to fuck him showing up, swarming like a tide of locusts.

The chicks just kept showing up. He was Zane Fucking Traynor, which meant that they always would.

But so did the daydream…

I found Zane in the bedroom in back, sitting on the bed in his jeans and not one other thing. No shirt. Bare feet. Those beautiful feet of his; long, strong, graceful. He was playing with the phone in his hand, his head tipped down, blond hair in his face.

“Hi.”

His head snapped up. Clearly, I’d startled him. “Maggie.”

I wrapped my arms around my waist. “Yeah.”

He stared at me for a moment, blinking, like he was kind of in shock. “You came.” Then he swiped his hair back with one hand and tossed his phone aside with the other.

He was up and closing the gap between us in a heartbeat. He slipped his hand around the back of my neck, under my hair, his heat bearing down on me.

I didn’t say a word.

Neither did he.

I didn’t know what to say or what to do. I couldn’t even look at his face.

I was still struggling with the fact that I was here.

Last night, it had pissed me off how quickly I abandoned my resolve in pursuit of his touch. How quickly I let him get me on my back. It made be livid-mad, but the anger had only fueled the desire, the need to make it happen and happen fast. I was mad at him. I was madder at myself.

I wanted him to get me off so I could get the fuck out of there and berate myself for being so damn weak.

And just maybe… I just wanted it to happen. Maybe I knew it would happen when I got on his bus, and I didn’t care.

Maybe I wanted to distract him from whatever was bothering him. Make him feel better.

Maybe I wanted him to make me feel better.

Maybe all I really wanted was to feel my body rock with orgasm as I clung to him. To experience that moment of ecstasy in his arms… The pleasure of it tearing me open and giving me permission, for just those few sweet, terrifying seconds, to love him.

Holy shit…

Was I ever fucked-up.

When I finally looked up into his eyes, his pupils were wide; black smothering all that icy blue. He leaned in and kissed me, fast, like he had to seize the opportunity before I went up in smoke.

I gave in. Immediately.

I kissed him back.

My arms went around him… his hot body, the muscled V of his back. I pulled him to me and he smashed against me, flattening me against the wall.

He kissed his way down my body, fast, tearing off my clothes as he went. My jacket. My T-shirt. My jeans; by the time he got those off, he was on his knees and I was wiggling out of my panties myself.

He buried his face between my legs and started feasting on me, like he did last night—except this time he didn’t hold back. He wasn’t trying to tease me.

I moaned and grabbed his hair in fistfuls.

Jesus Christ, his tongue…

“Oh God… please…” I heard myself gasp. Because I wanted this.

I. Wanted. This.

He knew I did, as much as I fought it. Obviously, he knew.

I’d given in so easily last night, literally climbing on his face. I was giving in again right now. Giving it up.

So. Fast.

I pushed him back, stopping him, and he looked up at me. My heart slammed in my chest.

We stared at each other, both of us breathing these insane, ragged breaths, like we were halfway to death. Like we’d die if we didn’t get to fuck each other.

Maybe that was it.

Maybe I needed to fuck him. Fuck him out of my system or something?

Fuck this insatiable, never-ending need away?

“Get on the bed,” I whispered.

He got back on the bed and I undid his jeans. I yanked as he lifted his hips so I could pull them down his muscular legs and off. He wasn’t wearing underwear.

He was naked, laid out in front of me, just staring at me. A sculpted, golden god, all taut muscles and washboard abs and long, strong thighs… and that dick of his… and I definitely wanted to fuck him.

That’s what you did with a man like Zane, right?

Anyone could see he was built for fucking.

Designed to get a girl off.

“Condom,” I gushed, breathless.

That seemed to snap him out of his daze. He got one from a drawer and returned, working it on as I climbed on top of him. I pushed him back on the bed, and as I straddled him, he looked up at me in awe.

Fuck… That look.

I’d seen that look on his face before.

Other times when we’d fucked, definitely.

When I’d done something nice for him, or said something nice about him.

When I’d married him.

I put my hand to his throat and held him down.

God, don’t give me that look…

I grabbed his hard cock and lined it up where I needed it, and drove down on top of him… hellbent on wiping that look off his face. I couldn’t take him all the way until I’d worked my hips up and down a few times. His mouth dropped open. Then he was fully in, my weight and all my strength bearing down on him.

I rode him, frantically, and he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he seemed to notice I was still wearing my bra. He tore it off as I went to town on him, fucking him so hard he could barely seem to process it.

It was like he was in shock or something.

Fuck-struck.

That’s what he’d call it. I’d heard the guys throw that stupid term around so many times, but I’d never actually experienced it with a man until I saw it on him. That look on Zane’s face when I took the reins and fucked him, hard.

Shock. Awe. Pleasure. Maybe a little pain… All smeared across his gorgeous face.

For all I knew, I looked like that too.

Then he seemed to recover. He snapped out of it.

He fucked me as hard as I fucked him, his hips pumping into me from beneath. He grabbed me; my hips, my breasts, my face, trying to pull me down to him. A few times, he succeeded.

And when he did, he kissed me.

We kissed like we were dueling.

We fucked like we were in it to win.

We came together grunting and panting and sweating.

It was passionate. Hungry. Aching with the desperation of starvation, of longing and wanting and going without for so damn long.

Months. It had been months since we’d done this.

And it was kind of angry.

I was still angry that I was giving in, that I felt so out of control. That I was so fucking scared.

We were only four days into the tour, and I knew this was dangerous.

Dangerous… for so many reasons.

It only really hit me once we were already fucking that I was in his room.

Zane’s bedroom.

I’d never been in Zane’s room—in his home, in a hotel, or otherwise. Not since the night we were married.

We’d done it in the back of a limo.

We’d done it in my cabin at Jesse and Katie’s wedding.

We’d done it at my place, on my couch.

We’d never done it in his bed.

Now, I was surrounded by his things, all his shit everywhere that he’d half-unpacked and didn’t bother to put away. By the smell of him, all over the sheets.

By him.

I was in Zane’s space, and everything about it was making me uncomfortable. And it was turning me on.

There was just something about the sight of his jeans tossed on the bed… his socks on the floor… his leather vest slung over the built-in desk in the corner. The scent of his spiced bodywash in the air.

The look of him, laid out beneath me… gazing up at me.

Jesus.

He looked fuck-struck again.

He palmed my breasts. Kept lifting his hips to meet my thrusts. He dug his feet into the bed and pounded up into me, faster, harder… then slowing right down…

“Yeah, Maggie,” he murmured as he watched me, as he read my body in that way he did. As he felt my orgasm build.

And he knew just what I needed to get there.

Each slow stroke, each firm thrust, was designed to hit me how I needed it… until my orgasm hit like rolling thunder. I started to shake and fall apart.

I rode him with the pleasure gripping my body, the shocks and shivers running up and down my spine. I gasped and screamed without even trying to hold back, because I was pretty sure no one could hear me but him.

While I came, he pulled me down to him. He gripped my hair at the nape of my neck, holding me tight, his other arm locked around my waist as the pleasure lashed through me.

“Feel that…” he whispered, just before his hips snapped up and he came, straining against me. He groaned, his cock jerking inside me. Then he pressed his lips to mine.

We squirmed against each other, panting, as the aftershocks rippled through us both.

When we eventually went limp and Zane’s arms loosened around me, I pushed away. I got up while he eased off the condom.

I started to get dressed.

“Stay,” he said.

But I knew I couldn’t stay. I knew I shouldn’t have been here at all.

I knew I’d just set something in motion that I couldn’t take back. I wasn’t sure I wanted to take it back.

I wasn’t sure about anything.

Which was why I had to go.

I peered at him and told him, “I shouldn’t be here.”

Because I knew I couldn’t be with him.

I couldn’t be with him… but maybe we could fuck?

NO.

Fucking no.

Stupid.

Terrible fucking idea.

The worst.

“Like hell,” he growled. “You’re my wife.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re gonna be,” he said.

He was still on the bed, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Just lying there staring at me, totally unconcerned with his nakedness or the fact that we’d just fucked, or the fact that all of this was just going to end up hurting us both.

“One day, Maggie, you’re gonna be.”

I left without another word. Because there was nothing else I could say that wouldn’t be cruel.

Because I knew he was wrong.