Simon blew on his mug of ginger honey tea and stared out the window. The lush green crept out from the median and along the sides of the highway. With them heading across the country, he wasn’t sure how much longer they’d have green and vibrant instead of brown from lack of rain.

He grinned as the Brooklyn Dawn bus passed them with a yawning Jamie sitting in the sun. They didn’t have the super-tinted windows that Oblivion’s bus did and were probably dying. The sun had been ruthless for the last few days. It was mid-June and they were entering the fourth week of the tour.

As much as the thick heat of Georgia hurt to think about, he’d appreciated the heavy moisture. His throat did, especially. His vocal cords had actually felt well-lubricated.

The outdoor amphitheaters were dry as dust in most towns. Of course the Midwest was having a record-breaking heat wave, and that’s where they were headed next.

“Morning.”

Simon’s gaze swiveled to Margo and he swallowed a groan. The heat meant Margo wore a helluva lot less than she usually did. Like the boxer shorts and racerback tank top she habitually wore to sleep.

God help him.

They’d both agreed to keep sex off the bus. Well, mostly he’d gotten the directive from Margo, but knowing it was only Nick on the bus with them gave him the heebs.

No need to step into that arena with him. Things had been different a few years ago. The women he’d hooked up with had been transient. This was a whole different kind of…thing.

It wasn’t a relationship. It was more like frenetic sex in any and all available places. Last night had been in the stairwell between the venue and the locker room.

Christ, she’d tried to blow the top of his head off when she’d pushed him against the wall and sucked him off in three minutes flat. Then walked away with a flick of her tongue at the corner of her mouth.

His cum.

There, on the edge of her mouth. And she’d neatly licked her lips clean and went about her business.

Now she would sit across from him on the bus in her all purple night clothes and he wasn’t supposed to jump her.

How had his life come to this?

“Sleep all right?”

She nodded and unwound the braid she always wore to bed. Her eyes were heavy and her cheeks rosy with fresh creases on them from her pillow.

She was fucking beautiful without a lick of makeup on.

It was disgusting.

“How long until we arrive, Joe?” Margo asked.

“You’ve got a good six hours, Miss Margo.”

She tipped her head back. “Ugh. I should have slept longer.” With a disgusted groan, she stood and rummaged through the coffee cupboard. “What are you working on?”

“Nothing.” Simon looked down at his notebook. He’d been scribbling lyrics in the margins, but none of them went together. A verse, then a bridge of another song and a chorus of yet another.

None of them were good either.

In the middle was an owl that looked more like a dragon in disguise. He was pretty fucked up. Probably because he’d started it in his bunk last night when he’d had too much wine.

Damn Lila for bringing wine onto the tour. He was enjoying it more than booze lately. There had to be something wrong with him.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” She tipped her head. “Looks like one of the little guys from How to Train Your Dragon.”

“Yes. Thank you. I couldn’t figure out how I’d come up with it.”

“We were on a cartoon kick last week.”

“Yes, you made us watch Tangled four times.”

She smirked over her shoulder as she added milk to her coffee. “You know you liked it.”

He and Nick had watched it a fifth time without her, but she didn’t need to know that. “More like we were thinking up ways she could use her hair for more than its healing properties.”

“Perv.”

“Indeed.”

She picked up the remote. “Want to watch Charmed?”

Simon stretched out his legs on the couch. “I do love me some Piper Halliwell.”

“Really? I thought you liked Phoebe.”

“Nah, I like the one who can blow up shit.”

“Huh.” She curled onto her couch and hit play on their Netflix account. “You surprise me sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, you surprise me every day.”

She turned her attention to him and gave him her half frown, half smile thing. It was so cute because it made her freckly nose scrunch up.

They passed the time watching the three witch sisters blow up shit, discover Phoebe’s boyfriend was a demon, and help random idiots in every episode.

Somehow scintillating stuff.

Nick came out during hour two and watched with them.

“Okay boys and girl. T-minus thirty.”

Margo jumped up off the couch and sprinted for the showers.

Nick stood. “No…dammit.” The door slammed and the snick of the lock made him groan. “Every time.”

“I’m getting to like cold showers.”

Nick snorted. “You need them for a whole different reason.”

Simon turned in his seat, spreading his arms across the length of the couch. “It’s hard being me.”

“Oh yeah, hardship of the ages.”

“You don’t know.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “You want to take the interview for the radio station or me?”

“I’ll get the one after the show.”

Nick nodded. “Sounds good.”

By the time they pulled into Alpharetta, he and Nick had a game plan and a setlist.

“So, no on ‘Lit’ and ‘Taste of Candy’?”

Simon shrugged. “Not feeling ‘Lit’ lately. If you want to do a ‘Taste of Candy/Sugar Kiss’ medley, that’s cool.”

“Hmm. Maybe.” Nick scribbled in the little Moleskin notebook he kept in his pocket at all times. It had every setlist from the start of the tour in it. And his off the wall grading system, as well.

Margo scooted across the narrow passage between the bathroom and her bunk, flashing a lot of leg.

Christ. Damp Margo did not need to be in his head today.

He stood and grabbed a baseball cap from the overhead bin. “I’ll grab a shower later. I’m going to sweat as soon as I walk out that door.”

Nick nodded. “I’ll see you in there.”

He slapped Joe on the shoulder on his way by. “You are the man.”

Joe grunted which made Simon grin. They traded off between Joe and the new driver, Bobby. He knew Joe preferred to drive the baby bus. Mostly because he was in love with Pix, like an indulgent father with an impending grandbaby. The man was fiercely loyal to Jazz and to a lesser extent, Harper.

He hopped off the last stair and caught sight of Jamie and David from Brooklyn Dawn. “Hey guys.”

Jamison DuCaine pushed her jet black and red-streaked hair over her shoulder. “You’re up before noon. What’s wrong, forgot to go to bed?”

“I should ask the same. You were drinking me glass for glass of that California white last night, DuCaine.”

“Yeah, well it was a cool one hundred degrees on the bus. I couldn’t sleep.” She tugged her sunglasses down her nose. “Besides, wine is for pussies. May as well be drinking grape juice.”

Simon barked out a laugh. “Nice. It worked for me.”

Jamie put her shades back on. “That’s because you pickled your liver with vodka, man. You can’t hang with the big kids anymore.”

“I’m literally two years older than you.”

“I know, so old.”

Simon shook his head. “You are a cruel, cruel woman.”

“You have no idea, Pretty Boy.”

Simon sagged his shoulders. “I’m going to kill whoever told you that nickname.”

“You’d have to kill quite a few of your bandmates. They all call you that.”

“Bastards, all of you.” Simon called out to the group standing near the side entrance to the venue.

The two pregnant ladies just wiggled their butts at him.

“Nice.”

They were wearing matching denim overalls with tank tops, Harper in red and Jazz in screaming yellow. He hated to admit that they were adorable. As long as they weren’t in his bus they were adorable, anyway.

Simon climbed the stairs to the backstage area and paused when he saw Lila and Donovan both there. Well, that wasn’t good.

“What’s up, guys?” Simon asked as he met with the rest of the group.

“Where Nicholas?”

Really not good. Simon tipped back his hat. “He was getting dressed.”

Lila pulled out her phone and typed before slipping it back in her pocket. “All right. As soon as he gets here, we’re going to talk.”

“Is there something wrong?” Jazz wound her arm around Gray’s.

“The whole band should be here for this,” Lila said. She looked up at Donovan. “There’s a small room over there we can use.”

Jamie pushed her sunglasses onto her head as she walked by with a frown.

“Why do I feel like I’m going to the principal’s office?” Deacon asked.

Simon snorted. “Like you were ever in detention, St. Deacon.”

“That’s what you think.”

Simon’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, well. Looks like I might have to ply you with shots tonight, Big D.”

“Unlikely.”

Simon made a face at his back. He followed everyone in and sprawled in a folding chair.

Nick came in five minutes later with his wet blond hair slicked back. “Oh, shit,” he said and stared at Donovan. He sat down next to Simon. “What’s the suit doing here?” he whispered.

Simon shrugged.

Donovan nodded to Nick and dipped his hand into his pocket. “As you know the lawsuit with William—I’m sorry, Snake—has been a beastly bit of business. I know he used to be a mate, but at this point, we’ll have to cut off any talks with him.”

Nick shrank down in his chair.

Simon nudged him. “You haven’t.”

“He’s texted me a few times.”

“Christ, Nicky.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Mr. Crandall?”

Nick sat up. “Yes?”

“If this goes to trial, you’re on the list for the plaintiff.”

“I’m not great with the legal-speak, but did you just say I’m on Snake’s side?”

Donovan tapped his steepled fingers together. “No. But whatever they have to bring to court on this will hinge on your testimony.”

Nick stood. “I didn’t do anything.”

Lila held up a hand. “He’s not saying that. But whatever Snake has up his sleeve will have something to do with something you said.”

“That sure sounds like I did something.”

Donovan touched her arm. “I don’t like where this is going. I’m still convinced he doesn’t have enough to win, but a sob story and a tough jury in a civil suit don’t always go together. I think we should settle.”

“Fuck that.” Nick swiped his hand through the air. “I felt bad that we replaced him with Jazz, but last year we saw just how little he cared about the actual band. He wanted us to go back to the old days when we played clubs and partied, not the actual work that goes into this shit.”

Donovan’s eyebrow arched.

Simon swallowed a snort.

“Okay, it’s not shit, but you know what I mean.”

“Yes, Nick, I know what you mean,” Donovan said. “But even that statement right there could be twisted in a few different ways if he has a good lawyer. And he’s got a bit of a shark who’s always looking to make headlines.”

“Awesome,” Nick muttered and dropped back into his seat.

“We just have to be smart. Is it worth the legal fees and getting dragged through court or do we give him the seventy-five thousand dollars he’s asking for?”

“The—” Simon sat forward. “How much?”

“It’s not a lot of money compared to what you’re making on the tour and his lawyer knows this. Sales of the albums are pennies compared to what goes on here with the tour. And we’ve just added another ten dates.”

Simon swallowed down against the tickle that was forever plaguing him these days. He probably peed ginger and honey with how much he drank it, for fuck’s sake.

And now ten more dates?

He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor as everyone started talking.

“There is no way in hell we’re settling or giving him a damn dime,” Nick said above everyone.

“Okay, okay. Just calm down. We were hoping to keep this from becoming any bigger, but I get it. We get it,” Lila said and waved a finger between herself and Donovan.

Nick doubled his fists. “If he had any part in writing it, I wouldn’t be such a dick, but he didn’t.”

“Then we’ll fight it,” Donovan said.

Nick’s shoulders and fingers relaxed. Simon sat back in his chair in reaction to his best friend calming down. The idea that everyone in this room had something to lose because of Snake—again—was just insane.

When was their past going to stop biting them on the ass?

“Now for the good news.” Donovan pulled envelopes out of his suit jacket.

“Pink slips?” Nick quipped.

“No. I think you’ll find that this is much more to your liking, Mr. Crandall.”

Donovan walked around the room and handed everyone a sealed envelope. “I don’t usually do this sort of thing with all this ceremony, but we’ve come a long way from that tense meeting a year ago.”

Understatement. Simon stared at the envelope, unsure if he really wanted to know what was inside. It felt bigger than just a check or a contract.

“Well, go on. Open it up.”

The sound of paper tearing and unfolding was the only noise for about three seconds.

“Holy shit,” Jazz shrieked and bounced to her feet for a step before plowing into Gray and strangling him.

“Okay, babe, one sec. I didn’t even—well, shit.” Gray’s voice was half whisper, half shout. Something that only he could pull off.

Simon flipped open the corner of his envelope and tore off the end. He pulled out two pieces of paper. The first one was a series of numbers with a fuckton of zeroes and then on page two they were all added together with a bank account number.

A metric fuckton of zeroes.

He was pretty sure his gut just liquefied.

“As you can see, the tour is going well, which is why we added the dates.” Donovan turned his attention to Jazz. “That’s if you can manage it, of course.”

Jazz patted her belly. “Is this extending the tour?”

“No, just within the end dates we’ve established.”

“Then it’s fine. I don’t need to rehearse as much as everyone else since Margo has taken the piano pieces this past week. And the kiddo loves when Mommy drums for two hours a night.”

“Excellent. Any of the video things you can’t handle just let Lila know and we’ll make other arrangements. Simon and Nick do well with the interviews.”

Simon drew in a slow breath and let it out. Awesome. Then he looked down at the bank statement in his hands and couldn’t even complain in his head.

Fuck. Ton. Of. Zeroes.

“I set up accounts for you and if you go the route of an accountant or financial advisor, which I recommend you look into, then it can be transferred anywhere you wish. But with that kind of money, it needs to be protected.”

That kind of money didn’t even compute. Being on tour they didn’t really worry about money. Harper took care of their feeding and the bus was for sleeping. Booze seemed to appear upon request.

It wasn’t real life, but he sure as shit had gotten used to it fast. Especially since he’d been used to having next to nothing all his life.

He looked over at Nick, who was the only one not chattering excitedly. He had the paper trapped against his chest with his arms folded.

Simon slapped him in the arm. “You know that piece of paper was good news, right? Not that you owed that total. Paid, son.”

Nick swallowed, and blew out a breath. His mouth tipped up at the corner. “Yeah. I can’t even…that number doesn’t even look real.” He stood up and slipped out the door as everyone else talked over one another.

Simon caught Lila’s worried gaze and he waved her off. He followed after him. “Nicky, don’t get all…Nicky.”

“I’m not. I just—it’s happening really fast, man.”

Simon leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Not really. We’ve been scrimping and hoping for a long time. This is a good thing.”

Nick tapped the paper. “I know. I know.”

“Then don’t get all upset about it. This is cause for a celebration. And a car.”

Nick laughed. “Two cars.”

“A house.”

“Fuck. I don’t even know what to think about that. I don’t want to leave the Hills, man.”

“So, don’t.”

“What are you going to do with your money?”

Simon took off his hat and scrubbed at his hair. “I don’t even know what a financial advisor does besides gamble with your money.”

“We suck at gambling.”

Simon laughed. “No shit. But man, imagine going into some badass casino like Bond and putting down one of those million dollar chips?”

“Fuck yeah,” Nick said on a laugh.

Simon slapped him on the back of his neck and steered him down the hall. “This requires day drinking.”

“So much day drinking.”

* * *

Margo dragged her shredded bow over the strings of her Starfish. She had so much fiber blowing around her wrists, she was probably going to have to get it restrung.

But she didn’t let up. Her arm screamed and her fingers were numb from trying to keep up with Nick’s guitar. Bent at the waist and as tense as her strings, she spit out heat and passion from every note.

She stared him down as he lowered to meet her gaze. The crowd was screaming and the sweat coated her from neck to ankle in the Georgia heat.

Simon skidded onto his knees between them and bowed back, his chest slick with sweat. His abs quivered with each bounce.

Jesus.

He held the note. The long cry of “Torn to Pieces” last verse emptied her out and his vibrato was flawless. Her eyes widened and then he popped up, his chest heaving.

She blinked out of the surprise and shredded another length of her bow as Nick waggled his eyebrows and stood tall.

Out of breath and so turned on she couldn’t even stand herself, she staggered back and caught her heel on the cord behind her.

Simon rose off his knees and scooped her up. He dropped the mic into her lap and she juggled it with her violin and bow as he brought her to the front of the stage. He lowered his mouth to her chest. “And I rescue damsels, too.”

“You wish.”

Delighted, she clapped as the deafening roar of the crowd surged and the people on the lawn stood. Okay, so it was cute, but not that funny. She looked over her shoulder and Deacon stood behind her.

“Is this man bothering you?”

She laughed and wrapped her arm around Simon’s neck in a mock clingy damsel reaction. “He’s my hero,” she said in her best Marilyn voice.

Jazz beat the shit out of her skins and Nick picked out the first notes of “Holding Out For a Hero.”

Gray leaned into the mic and sang the opening verse in a surprisingly husky, deep voice.

Simon put her down and turned around with his hands on his hips. “Hold up, hold up.” He waved. “Excuse me, sir.” The crowd screamed from behind him.

Gray cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“I don’t believe we allowed such nonsense. I’m the singer, boyo.”

Gray peered around Simon. “Is it okay if I sing?” He looked back at Simon. “I think they like it.”

Suddenly the piano tones of the song started. Margo twisted around and Lindsey York from Brooklyn Dawn was on the keys.

Simon stalked around the stage in a fake temper and the crowd went insane. Margo fit her violin to chin and twisted her pins to loosen the strings slightly. She bounced her bow against the strings until it made a similar sound to an old eighties tone.

By the end of the song, they’d all dissolved into a fit of hysterics and Simon was hanging off the archway by the knees with his arms crossed, fake sleeping.

Lindsey waved as the song ended and she ran backstage. Simon snorted into the mic. “Oh, are you done now? Do I get to sing again?”

The crowd screamed back a resounding yes, and they finished the show with every single person in the pavilion on their feet and half the lawn crowding the railing.

The reaction was so strong that they actually ended up doing a second encore. By the third song in the encore, Simon was pulling away from the microphone and coughing into his elbow.

He covered it up as laughter at Nick climbing all over Jazz’s drum kit to get to the ramp behind her.

But she saw his eyes.

The flash of pain and the crack at the end of “Summer of ’69” made even her throat hurt. They finally took their bows and all hugged like drunk puppies.

Simon slid his forefinger through the frown of her brows and hung his arm around her neck as he dragged her off the stage with the rest of the band.

The backstage was in an uproar and Lila was fielding a phone call and shaking her head at them as they all filed into the after show room that Harper had set up.

She went right for the watermelon, completely a convert of Harper’s hydration system. She was dizzy from exhaustion and sweating out eighteen buckets of fluid.

The whole band fell on the melon and water like wolves, moving onto food as they excitedly recapped the show.

“Good thing the ticket sales were good enough to cover that fine I just had to pay,” Lila said loudly.

Nick had switched out from water to beer. “Oops?”

“Yeah, oops. You went well over the midnight curfew for the park, kids.”

Gray looked down at his phone. “Shit, three hours?”

“Yes, three hours.”

No wonder she was still sucking down bottles of water to recover. Margo held a hand over her middle and laughed with everyone.

Poor Simon had dealt with three nights of long shows. By some slice of a miracle he’d still sounded good—well, until the very end.

She looked around, but he was gone. He’d been quiet, but after the shows he tended to be. Not because he was depressed, but lately Simon had turned into a watcher after the main event was over.

Watching everyone, taking everything in. Watching her. Always watching her.

She tried to ignore it. Ignore him. Some nights she had to disappear for her own general well-being. Because when they got into the same sphere, there was too much between them. They required the buffer of the rest of the band. Or she required it.

She just wasn’t sure anymore.

But he was hurting tonight. She could feel it in her bones like she felt a song, like she lived a melody on stage.

She passed the lockers, but the room was empty. Sometimes he escaped to steam his vocal chords. She knew he didn’t want her to know that. Didn’t want anyone to know it.

Everyone was still too euphoric about the success of the tour to notice the little flubs here and there. But she saw the signs. Hell, she knew them better than anyone. Her friend Siobhan was a jazz singer and had been through three bouts of complete vocal rest when she’d toured too hard.

“Margo?”

She jumped. “Geeze.” For someone who habitually wore stilettos, Lila could be surprisingly stealthy. “Don’t sneak up on a girl.”

Lila leaned against the wall in the hallway. “I didn’t realize we were being sneaky.”

“No. I’m not.”

“Is it booty time?”

Margo scrunched her eyes closed. “Really?”

“Am I lying?”

Margo crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “No.”

“About which?”

“I’m not being sneaky and I’m not looking to bag some naked Simon time.”

Lila’s eyebrows shot up. “You have been hanging out with these guys too much. You’re starting to sound like them.”

She straightened. “I do?”

“Yeah, you do.”

“That’s bad.”

“Eh. Depends on your point of view. You smile and laugh a lot more these days.”

“Oh.”

Lila smirked and rolled her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for Simon.” She held up her hand. “Not for what you think.” At her skeptical look, Margo rushed on. “He pushed it tonight and after two long shows, I think he’s…”

Lila stood up straight and her blue eyes went laser-sharp. “He’s what?”

Margo tapped her middle finger to her thumbnail. “His voice cracked.”

“Is that all? That happens all the time with singers.”

“Not Simon.”

“What makes him so special?” Lila asked with a bored look.

“Look, I work with the orchestra and a lot of different vocalists. Simon’s a natural. No training, at least I’m pretty sure no training.”

“Not that I know of.”

“Instinctively, he just finds the right notes to any song. It’s pretty genius, actually.” Margo held up a finger. “If you tell him that, I’ll break the heel off your pink Jimmy Choos.”

“Wow. Don’t hate on my Jimmys.”

“Anyway. He’s definitely straining. He rocked out tonight. Totally rocked out. I’ve never heard his vibrato so well-timed since the first week of the tour.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“Yeah, it is. But he got a little cocky on stage when they were having so much fun. We all did. I swear my triceps are still crying from all the high speed playing I did tonight.” She rubbed her arm as the ache came to the surface at the mention.

“So, he needs to relax tonight.”

“No. I think he needs more than that.”

“We have a show in Indianapolis tomorrow.”

“Right, but maybe you should let him sit out on interviews tomorrow.”

Lila sighed and pulled out her phone. “I don’t know if I can. The radio stations want him and they have an acoustic set in the park.”

Margo shut her eyes.

“I’m fine, Violin Girl.”

Margo’s shoulders instantly tightened. “Simon, I…”

“I appreciate it. I do. It’s been a big week, but I’ll be fine.” His voice was as rough as sandpaper and he barely spoke above a whisper.

Lila frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I asked Harper to steep me a pot of my tea and I’m going to go back to the bus and sleep.”

“I can shuffle a few things—”

“No. It’s fine. I’m fine.” He swung his gaze to Margo. “I just won’t be talking tonight or tomorrow until the radio show.”

Lila nodded. “Right. Okay. I’m going to…go.”

Margo folded her arms. “I’m sorry.”

Simon seemed relaxed and tired, but he wouldn’t look at her. And she was learning he was a better actor than she thought.

He shrugged. “Just watching out for me.”

She stepped forward and curled her fingers around his hand. “You were amazing tonight. You didn’t hear me say that part.”

“No, just the part where I sucked.”

She jammed her molars together and forced down a growl. “Nothing about your performance tonight sucked.”

“Except that last part, right?” he whispered. He cleared his throat and swallowed, his eyes still not meeting hers.

She lifted her hand to his chest and he held up his hands. “Not now.” He headed down the hall.

She stomped her foot, unable to help her reaction. God, he frustrated her. “Simon, wait.”

He looked at his feet, but he stopped.

She hurried after him and stood in front of him, lowering her knees until she could catch his gaze, but he wouldn’t look at her. “I just don’t want you to overdo it.” She cupped his jaw and shook him a little.

His fierce winter blue gaze crashed into hers.

“I care, Simon.” She tipped her head up and rose onto her toes. He didn’t close his eyes as she brushed her lips over his. His fingers tightened on her hip, but he simply watched her as she lightly touched his mouth. She stroked his lower lip with the tip of her tongue, and then nipped his upper lip lightly.

“I wouldn’t have told Lila except she’s overscheduling you to compensate for Jazz. But no one’s thinking about you,” she said lightly against his mouth.

“And you are?”

She nodded and swiped her tongue in between his lips until he sucked her deeper, until his arms came up around her and squashed her against his chest.

He went from stillness to intense in the space of a heartbeat. He pushed her down the hallway and across the hall to the lockers.

He slammed the door and snicked the lock closed. No corridor this time, just tiles and the echo of their harsh breathing as he attacked her neck, his teeth clicking against the rose and filigree leaves of her ear cuff.

She groaned as he swiped his tongue over the space behind her ear, then over her fluttering pulse. The tiny nip of his teeth made her shudder.

The mark would be small. The tiniest star-sized bruise. But she had three there, for three nights that she’d taken him like this.

In secret, in hidden spaces around the venues they’d been at every evening.

He pushed at the short A-line skirt she wore and groaned when he found the crotchless hose she was wearing. He crouched down in front of her and breathed over the three inches of skin that showed between the top of the garter-style hose and the band around her thigh.

He dug the tip of his tongue through the see-through lace she wore. “Fuck.”

It wasn’t a whisper, it was a sharp, hard K that she heard over everything else.

The rasp of his tongue at her clit made her squirm. Just that. All it took was his breath on her and she was as wet as if they’d spent an hour in foreplay.

He rose and stared into her eyes as he pushed the scrap of panties aside and slipped his two middle fingers inside her. She wanted to close her eyes, to lose herself in the moment and the pleasure, but she couldn’t.

She watched his intense face as he thrust those fingers inside her again and again. The way his shoulder muscles flexed, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow, and the sounds.

She whimpered at the sounds echoing around the tile. Her needy sounds that made her cringe warred with the way her body opened and soaked his fingers. Always for him.

As if he was the single key to her lock.

She did close her eyes at that thought. He twisted his fingers so that his thumb came up and circled her clit until the little sounds turned to a sob.

With his other hand, he struggled with his zipper.

And finally, when she got her hands to work, she went for his button and found a button fly, not a zipper. The satisfying rending of buttons through their respective holes revved her higher.

“Inside me. Please.”

He palmed one of the condoms he always had on him from his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. He lifted one eyebrow and she stole it, jerking the plastic open.

“Shit.” She’d never actually had to put one on before.

His lips spread into a smirk. “Trampoline,” he whispered.

She looked down and flipped it, holding the tip as she firmly and slowly pushed it down his length. His face went from smirky to serious as she circled the base of his cock tightly.

“Inside,” she said.

He withdrew his fingers and pulled her knee up on his hip. These were the perfect moments when she loved her height. When they lined up like this.

He bent his knees enough to drag the head of his cock along her slit, rocking it up and over her clit in a wide, slick circle before he tucked himself inside her and lifted her onto her toes with the force of the thrust.

“God, yes.”

She gripped his shoulders and took each punishing slam of his hips, each dragging stroke as he found that spot deep inside and exploited it. Nothing else existed but the sounds of slapping skin and his harsh breaths against her neck.

She held on through the storm and pressed her cheek against his collarbone, following the tremor of pleasure until her thighs quaked and her insides trembled.

She scraped her nails up the nape of his neck and along the top of his head, gasping his name as she came. He didn’t stop, never stopped.

Never let up until she heard the tiniest moan through his chest as it crawled into her and she shook through the aftershocks of his release and a second one of her own.

She couldn’t let go. She cursed herself, but her arms wouldn’t unwind. She needed to breathe in his mint and ginger scent a little while longer.

All the ginger and honey tea he’d been drinking had changed how he smelled, even the taste of his skin. It infused her with the new Simon that the tour had created.

The open wounds she felt getting just a little bit bigger as each week passed. She tried to hold him together as much as she could in these small moments when words were lost to her.

To them.

Where his heartbeat and hers knew how to communicate, when the rest of them didn’t.