LONDON. CHECK
Manchester. Check.
Today. Rehearsals.
Tomorrow night, our show here in Berlin.
DJ Kaos’ stomping grounds. I guess he’s in LA with Rhyson by now. Just three weeks and I go home. I can do this. I realized it might be more than just fatigue weighing me down. I think I’m coming down with something. Like I can afford that.
“Tea?” Ella walks across the stage, steaming mug in hand.
I finish the last of my stretches before rehearsal starts and accept her lemon-scented gift. The first sip soothes my raw throat, coating the rough spots.
“Honey?” I aim a smile at my makeup artist over the brim.
“Of course.” Ella grins, leaning against the stage wall. “I know by now how you like it.”
She frowns, eyes sharpening on my face.
“And I could tell last night you were a little under the weather.”
An ill-timed cough racks my chest before I can respond.
“I’m fine,” I say once the little coughing bout passes. “Just tired. I could use some vocal rest, but I don’t see that coming with back-to-back shows in front of us. Just glad to have the night off.”
“You gonna explore Berlin some?” Ella looks over at a cluster of back-up dancers. “They’re hitting the clubs tonight. You going?”
“I think I’ll stay in. Try to lose this cold.”
“So you do have a cold?”
I grin at the little trap she set for me.
“Little bit, but nothing rest and more of your tea won’t make better.”
Two strident claps draw everyone’s attention center stage. Dub stands in the middle, loose jogging pants hanging low on his lean hips, fitted t-shirt clinging to his muscled torso. All the girls love Dub. I hope he’ll focus more on the girls who actually want him and less on me.
“Let’s hit it, fam.” Dub points to the back-up dancers. “Places. Where’s Kai?”
“Present and accounted for, sarge.” I raise my hand with a grin, which he returns.
“Good. Let’s run through those new steps. See if we can nail ‘em before the show tomorrow.”
For the next two hours, we work without a break. Malcolm got the right one. Dub understands the high expectations Malcolm sets for the whole team, and is more than happy to meet them. Exceed them. He’s the best choreographer in the business right now, and I’m so fortunate to have him. I remind myself of that when he snaps at me again because I’ve missed another step.
What is wrong with me? I’ve always prided myself on being a quick study. Show me a combination once, twice. I got it. But this new routine eludes me. I just can’t quite execute it. There’s a row of dancers behind me who would kill to be in my place wondering why I can’t get it together.
“Okay, fam. I think we got it.” Dub looks at me meaningfully. “Well, most of us got it. You guys take off. I know some of you hood rats are planning to get all nasty in Berlin tonight.”
Everyone laughs and whoops. I could probably be closer to them all if I went to the clubs they hit in every city. That’s never been my thing. I’ve never been that girl who lets it all hang out. Every time I try, it ends badly.
One-night stand with a D List rock star and a sex tape, anyone?
“Kai, hang back.” Dub waves me over. “Let’s chop it up for a sec.”
The weight of a dozen knowing eyes lands on my back as I cross the stage. Dub glances around, watching them watching me. His frown softens a little.
“Why don’t we step into my office for some privacy?” He lightly grasps my wrist and pulls me backstage away from all the eyes.
“I know what you’re gonna say,” I start before he can. “I’ll have it. I’ll get it. You know I will.”
“But you don’t yet, and I’ve never seen that from you.” Concern fills his eyes. “You okay?”
“I think I’m coming down with something.” I rush to fix it. “But it’s nothing. It’s just taking a half step off maybe.”
“So I guess I shouldn’t ask you to have dinner with me in the city tonight, huh?”
I don’t want to look at him, so I study the shoes on my feet, the stage floor between my toes and his.
“Um . . .”
He tips my chin up with one finger, his thumb brushing my cheek. I have no choice but to meet his eyes.
“Hey, I know it’s only been a few months since the breakup, and you’re still getting over Gray.”
“Not exactly.” I frown and pull my chin from his grasp.
“But we’d be good together.” He dips his head, looks at me from under thick, dark brows. “Give us a chance, Kai.”
I shake my head, ready to tell him there is no chance. That we’re just friends and that won’t change, but he steals my words. Steals my chance.
Steals a kiss.
Before I can get the words out, his hand cups my head and his lips press to mine and his tongue is practically down my throat. One thick arm loops around me until I’m flush against his chest. My hands come up right away, shoving at an immovable force of muscle and bone.
“Stop,” I mumble against his lips. “Dub, no.”
A throat clearing behind us puts a stop to it. It’s only been a few seconds, but it felt like forever trapped in his arms and against his mouth. I touch my lips, throbbing from the brief, but deep, kiss. We both turn to find Luke standing there, his narrowed eyes moving between Dub and me slowly, like he’s trying to figure out what he just saw.
“Sorry.” Luke focuses his attention on me. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t,” I say quickly. “There’s nothing going on. I mean, we were . . . we . . . It’s okay.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” Luke pushes a hand through his already tousled blond hair. “Your car’s outside waiting to take you back to the hotel, Kai. Just letting you know.”
“We could still do dinner.” Dub looks down at me like he didn’t just molest my mouth, pressing his hand to the small of my back. “I can come get you—”
“No.” I step away, putting several inches between us, biting back my anger. How dare he grab me like that? Take that kiss from me? “I want an early night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Dub fist pounds Luke as he passes him, leaving an unsettled quiet between Luke and me.
“What you saw . . .” I swipe a hand across my forehead. “It wasn’t what you think you saw.”
“You can do what you like, Kai.” Luke turns his lips down at the corners and shrugs his broad shoulders. “I mean, if you were still dating one of my best friends, it would be my business. It would be a problem, but you’re not. Right?”
A sheet of sweat wraps around my body like a damp toga. My heart thump thumps in my chest. My feet and my eyes shift. All telltale signs of guilt when I have nothing to feel guilty about. But no one knows Rhyson and I are together, and until San finds Drex and we can torture him a bit, no one will.
“Right.” I nod, untying the sweatshirt sleeves from around my waist and slipping it over my head. “Yeah, that’s right.”
When I look up, I swear disappointment flashes across his face, but it’s gone before I can be sure.
“Well, like I said, your car’s waiting.” Luke gestures back toward the stage. “I’m just talking through some production stuff with the lighting guys for tomorrow night.”
“Yeah. Okay.” I force a smile. Remind myself that I haven’t done anything wrong. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
The venue is only a few minutes from my hotel, but I squeeze in a quick call to Aunt Ruthie from the back seat. We’ve been missing each other, phone tagging it. I know she’s busy with Glory Bee, and I’m busy with all I have going on, but it’s been weeks since we spoke voice to voice. How does that happen? How do the people who have always been closely woven into our lives become peripheral so quickly? Become . . . occasional?
“Aunt Ruthie, hi.” I clear the scratchiness from my throat before going on with the voice mail, try to sound a little less nasally because I know she’ll worry that I’m not taking care of myself. “Just checking in. I hope you got the money I sent. I know you’re not really digital, so I mailed it. If you need more, just let me know. I’m making pretty good money with this tour and . . . Well, just let me know. I hope you’re doing well. I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”
My mind grapples for something else to say. Even though she’s not listening, not there, I feel as connected to her as I have to anyone since I came back on tour.
“Hey, if you see Mama’s soap recipe lying around anywhere, let me know. The pear cinnamon. I’m down to my last bar and . . .”
Tears collect at the corners of my eyes as a strong desire to be home overtakes me. To smell biscuits baking first thing in the morning. To sit on the front porch, an evening breeze on my face, the scent of honeysuckle thick in the air. I sniff quickly as we pull up in front of the hotel.
“I’ll call back soon.” I clench my eyes tight, swiping over my cheeks. “I love you, Aunt Ruthie. So much. I’m gonna try to get home real soon, okay?”
I don’t even bother saying goodbye, just hang up the phone, thank the driver, and dash inside. As soon as I enter my hotel room, I peel off my clothes, leaving them in a rumpled pile of cotton at the foot of the bed. I’m too tired to even shower. My footed Jackson Five pajamas are right where I left them, under my pillow. I zip them up over my days of the week panties and pull the elastic from my ponytail, glad to have my hair loose around my shoulders and down my back.
Season three of New Girl waits on Hulu. I’m a real party animal. My wild life on the road. I glance at my phone, needing a little music before I join Jess and the gang. I flick through my playlists, but nothing strikes me. Nothing matches my mood until I come to the song that always meets me when I’m feeling adrift or alone.
Track number nine from Rhyson’s first album. I drop my phone in the dock, flop onto the bed, throwing my arms over my head, and let the sounds of Lost suffuse every aching cell. My eyes close over tears I refuse to let fall. If they start they won’t stop for a long time, and it’s unreasonable. This is what I wanted. This is what I’ve worked all my life for. A million girls would give anything to have this shot.
“Who wrote that sad shit?” a voice asks from the bathroom entrance, the person still hidden in a chunk of darkness.
Panic sits me up straight with a hand over my palpitating heart, a river of fear running through me. But as soon as the person steps into the room, into the light, my heart rattles in my chest for a completely different reason.
“Rhys?”
His name rushes from my mouth on a breath, and I’m off the bed, hurling myself at him top speed. Somehow my legs wrap around his waist and my arms tangle behind his neck. I couldn’t hold back and play this cool if I wanted to. Every part of me that’s been fighting to stay focused, to keep working, to be on, collapses against him. Surrenders to the feel of him in my arms and the smell of him. My fingers lace through his hair. I scatter kisses across his face, the sharp angles and taut skin warm beneath my lips.
“So I take it you’re happy to see me?” He chuckles, pressing his forehead to mine, hands squeezing my thighs.
“Happy?” I release something that’s half a sob, half a laugh, pulling back a few centimeters to let him breathe. “What gave you that idea?”
We stop grinning at the same time, laughter dissolving, our bodies exchanging sensual information. My breasts flattened to his chest. His erection growing and hardening against my core. Our breaths mingling and hearts tattooing beats through our clothes and into the other’s skin.
I move first, leaning in to capture his bottom lip between mine, sucking and pulling between my teeth. Licking into his mouth like there’s honey hidden inside. He groans into the kiss, walking backward until we reach the bed and dropping me so I bounce a little, his eyes roving over me head to toe.
“Pep, what the hell are you wearing?” Humor and desire tussle in his eyes.
I look down, laughing when I see the young Jackson brothers emblazoned across my chest, my legs ending in the footed bottoms.
“If I’d known you were coming, I could have made sexier arrangements.”
“Arrangements?” He quirks a dark brow, placing a knee on either side of my legs, hovering over me like a promise. “Lingerie would have been nice. Other rock stars have girlfriends who wear lingerie.”
“Oh, are you referring to yourself as a rock star now?” I grin up at him, feeling whole for the first time since he kissed me goodbye a week ago. “That’s not egomaniacal at all. Is there a club? You guys have rock star meetings? Does one of you take rock star minutes?”
“You are sitting in here listening to my music in the dark.” He leans forward to tug at the zipper beneath my chin. “Maybe you’re actually one of my crazed fans. Or a groupie. I might even find a Mrs. Rhyson Gray t-shirt around here somewhere. My girlfriend doesn’t like those.”
“No, she doesn’t.” I shake my head, eyes never straying from his.
A small frown jerks his brows together. He tugs again at the zipper, but it doesn’t budge.
“Pep, it’s stuck,” he says.
“Sometimes it does that,” I answer easily, enjoying the frustration spreading over his expression as he keeps pulling and it keeps staying.
He places my hand over his cock, hard and poking through his jeans.
“Well, it’s not exactly a good time for it to do that.”
I laugh, grasping my zipper and tugging. Wow, it really is stuck. These are vintage PJs, older than I am and threadbare in places. I’m surprised the zipper hasn’t rusted before now. I sit up, bringing our bodies closer as I jiggle the little hook a few times. Nothing.
“Just how attached are you to this Jackson Five onesie?” His glance burns hot across my subtle curves visible through the thin flannel, telegraphing his intentions.
“Well this is Michael’s original nose.” I release a fake exasperated sigh. “But I do have my sewing kit.”
“All I needed to hear.”
Sorry, boys.
He grabs the two ends of the collar separated by the zip line and pulls until there’s a ripping sound, the panels falling back to reveal my naked breasts and my panties. A wicked grin spreads across lips.
“You naughty girl.” He runs a finger over the writing on the front of my panties, carrying a current that simultaneously hitches my breath and gets me wet. “Wearing Monday panties on a Thursday. My little rebel.”
“Well let’s see what you’re hiding.” I hop off the bed, turning him by the shoulders until he’s facing me, and push him to sit on the edge of the mattress. I grab the bottom of the Bob Marley hoodie he loves so much, pulling it over his head.
“Ah. What every rock star is wearing this year.” I pluck at the shoulder of his t-shirt. “The obligatory wife beater.”
“It’s called layering.” He laughs, hands sliding under my pajamas to push the material over my butt and down my legs. “As much as I’m enjoying all this conversation, I didn’t cross time zones for banter. I need this to go faster.”
“Faster, huh?” I kick the pajamas to the side and shimmy my panties off, stepping out of them and into the vee of his thighs. “Fast enough for you?”
There’s no teasing left in his eyes. He lifts up, sliding his jeans and briefs off, pulling me onto his lap, my knees bordering him on either side.
“Did you miss me?” His hand slips between us, one long finger slowly, deliberately, sliding up and down my hot, wet slit while his eyes lock on mine.
“It’s only been a week.” My words float on a breath. It’s all I can manage with my body begging his fingers to move, to possess me. To penetrate me. “I hardly had time to miss you.”
One dark brow lifts, along with the left corner of his mouth. So damn sexy I want to skip all of this and just impale myself on him right now, but the waiting, the taunting of our bodies heightens every sensation.
He circles my clit, the motion stirring heat in my belly. The callus on his finger from playing guitar brushes over the thin, sensitive skin, erotic and rough. My breath is in a holding pattern, trapped in my throat, waiting for his next move.
“You sure you didn’t find time to miss me?” His voice, always deep and smooth and dark, roughens with the desire written so clearly in his heavy-lidded eyes.
“That depends. Did you miss me, Rhyson?”
My hands wander over the muscles in his arms, over the lean chest and the ridges in his abdomen, down to grip and slide over his thick cock. He’s smooth and hard in my hands, and I’m rewarded by his response. His head falls back, mouth drops open on a gasp. His fingers cover mine, guiding my hand, pacing me to his pleasure.
I lower myself, whispering my love over his chest before taking a nipple into my mouth, rolling my tongue around him. Suckling him hard while steadily gripping and pulling. He braces one hand on the bed behind him while the other cups my neck, his thumb brushing over my lips.
“I missed you.” His eyes open, holding mine. “I missed this. You know I did.”
“I missed the taste of you.” I slip lower until my mouth hovers over him. “Can I taste you, Rhys?”
Without waiting for consent, I take him into my mouth, sliding my lips over him until he pushes against the back of my throat. I’m on the floor, on my knees between his thighs, greedily lapping and sucking at him, my hands gripping his hip, the muscled curve of his butt, the sinewed arm, anything to anchor me when the rich, salty taste of him on my tongue would send me into a tailspin. The longer he’s in my mouth, the more desperate I am to taste him. To take him as far as he can go.
“Pep, fuck.” He twists my hair around one hand, tugging until only the tip remains in my mouth. “Babe, I’m gonna come.”
I nod, asking for it only with my eyes fixed on his. I pull him in deeper, my fingers wandering up his chest to twist his nipple until my name storms past his lips. He sets an erratic rhythm that’s almost too much for me. Both his hands cup my head as he pushes deeper into the slippery interior of my mouth.
“Yes, baby. Fuck, Pep.” He hauls in jagged breaths, his fist clenched in my hair just shy of pain. “Shit.”
Every word pushes me higher, desperate to have him streaming hot and wet and thick down my throat. He’s always so strong, but under my hands, in my mouth, he moans, head flung back, vulnerable, every defense stripped away. I can’t take my eyes off him as I milk away his inhibitions. He tips his head up, our eyes locked as I watch him become as much mine as I am his in every way. I slow the motion of my mouth to a caress of my lips over him, finally, reluctantly releasing him. I run my tongue over my lips, still wet with his release.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, his voice raw and husky.
I stand, pushing his shoulders back to the bed, shocked by my own aggression.
“Did you enjoy it, though?” I ask unnecessarily. I taste the evidence of how much he enjoyed it.
“There’s only one thing I love more than that.” He pulls me forward until I’m straddling him, pulling one breast between his lips. My gasp fills the quiet hotel room. “That’s being inside you.”
He takes my mouth in a kiss, his tongue exploring and plundering. We twist into each other, desperation in every breath, in every brush of our lips. Each of us silently begging the other to go deeper, harder, moaning into the intimate contact. I grasp him, tugging until he’s hard again in my hands.
He grabs my hips, poising me over him. “Ride me.”
I rise up and down slowly, a raw, hot, wet slide of skin. My body grips him, and it’s sweet and hot and tight like the first time. Even better than I remember. The reality of him more fantasy than my dreams.
“I’ll never get enough of this.” He kisses my throat until he reaches my lips again.
“You say that now,” I gasp into our kiss. “We’ll see what you think in twenty years.”
My words freeze us both, my wide eyes finding his in the dim light of my hotel room. I can’t believe I said that. We’ve never even discussed . . . I mean, you don’t just say . . . you don’t assume . . . I drop my eyes to the place between us where we’re joined, my stomach caressing the muscles in his. He tugs my hair, bringing my eyes back to his face, back to his serious eyes.
“I fully anticipate that in twenty years you’ll have me as whipped as I am tonight.”
He pulls out, twisting until he’s the one standing, and I’m lying down, my butt at the edge of the mattress. He pulls my legs over his shoulders, and the first thrust goes so deep and hard it scoots me up the bed. I grunt from the force of it, clenching the cool sheets between my fingers. I don’t want him gentle. I want to still feel him when he’s gone. The sensual paradox of his eyes, tender on mine, while his body takes me with rough passion pushes me over the edge. One of his hands grips my thigh and the other grips the mattress, his handsome face twisting with the same emotion ripping through me as my body gives him the only response he demands, the only response it can.
Complete surrender.