Deacon rolled closer to Harper, curling his arm around her waist. She nuzzled into his neck. In sleep, his girl was very cuddly. They moved together in the narrow bunk like they’d been doing it for years.

But tonight, he’d actually get to put her in his bed at the penthouse. To spread out with her. To let her ride astride him instead of worrying about smashing his or her head into the overhead.

Absolute privacy.

He couldn’t wait.

They were actually home. Well, a little outside of home, but worth the drive in to actually see their place. To get off this fucking bus.

They were going to meet with Jackson and see about their contract at the penthouse. And with one night between the last two shows, he was looking forward to all of it.

The five and a half weeks had gone by in a blink. They’d exceeded the expectations of Trident, and he had every confidence that they’d be offered a contract. They’d paid their dues for years, and it was high time something good happened for them.

Harper’s phone chirped. The familiar soaring seagull cries and crash of ocean was their morning wake up call. She turned into him, brushing her cheek against his chest with a moan.

“It can’t be time.”

“You can always go on my morning run with me.”

She snorted. “I’d rather clean pots after Mitchell’s chili.”

“Wow.”

Hooking a thigh over his hips, she maneuvered him over until she was splayed across him. Damn, she had strong thighs. He slid his hand up the smooth, tanned skin, feeling the flex of muscle.

He could wake to that every damn morning of his life.

She leaned over him, her sunny blonde hair curtaining around them as she brushed her lips over his jaw, nipping his chin then swiping over his lower lip with the tip of her tongue.

He could feel the smile before he lost himself inside of it. The kiss was light and sweet and filled with an easiness he’d never thought he would find. Not here, not now when things were still so uncertain with his future.

He knew what he wanted. Knew that this woman was everything he’d ever needed. He banded his arms around her back, drawing her into a deeper kiss. Instead, she pulled away with a teasing flick of tongue and nip of teeth.

She waggled her eyebrows and nuzzled his neck, moving down to his collar bone. Her silky hair slid down his skin in her wake. She shimmied down his chest to his abs and he couldn’t stop the groan.

“Lawless,” he hissed.

She tugged at his boxers, freeing his morning hard on with an exaggerated purr. He laughed until she hummed around the tip of his cock and took as much of him as she could.

His hand hovered over her head. Part of him wanted to push her hair out of the way so he could see her lush mouth around him, and part of him wanted to grip the strands and guide himself deeper into her mouth.

Warring with the need to take, he dropped his hand to the mattress and twisted his fingers into the sheets instead. His hips flexed up and he swallowed a strangled groan as she took him deeper.

“Har—fuck.”

She made that distracting purr of a hum around him again and gripped the base of his cock. He slapped the mattress and finally couldn’t stop himself. He buried his fingers into her hair, and her hum intensified into a groan. The slick heat and wetness of her mouth and steady grip left spots behind his eyelids as he arched for her.

He heard her gasp, and he tried to untangle his fingers. She slapped her hand over his and took him even deeper. Need took over, and the white-hot burn of release soared down his spine.

He fucked her mouth, staring down at her as she took every stroke. Finally, she flipped her hair back with her hand, and their gaze locked before his vision swam. Her lashes were starred with tears and her mouth was swollen, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Pumping him with one hand, she tore the orgasm out of him. Blackness crawled into his periphery, but he never broke the intense gaze between them. Her throat worked and his cock jerked as he emptied himself.

Twin tears slid down from the corners of her eyes and into her hair. Finally, she drew him out of her mouth and took a greedy gulp of air. He dragged her up and into the hollow of his throat.

“I…” At a loss, he simply held her. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She kissed his neck and snickered. “No. It’s just a physical response to a mouth full of Deacon.”

“Jesus, Lawless.”

She giggled. “Ever my careful guy.” She propped herself on his chest. “I like when you get all aggressive.”

He frowned at her. “I didn’t mean to be so rough.” He’d been enjoying the nice glide of morning sex, or in this case a morning oratory. But then it had gone south. Fast.

Harper rolled her eyes and took his hand, dragging it down to her sleep shorts. She was drenched.

Immediately, he curled into her slick slit. “Fuck.”

“I liked it,” she said against his neck. Her low groan was punctuated by another blast of ocean waves and a louder shriek of gulls. “Man.” Her groan was definitely more whine than pleasure this time. “I gotta go.”

He slid two fingers inside of her and traced the tip of his thumb around her clit. “Now?”

“I’m going to be late.” Her hips lifted to give him greater access. The buzz of her distressed groan gave way to a sigh when he drew his fingers out and slid them back in hard. His name was a choked groan that tumbled into a laugh. “Oh, heck. Just hurry.”

“That’s my girl.”

“You’ve got two minutes to make me cum my brains out, mister.”

“Challenge accepted.”

* * *

He was home. For a lot of years, that had been a word he’d never uttered. But California, Los Angeles specifically, had become home. Sometimes dirty and dingy, sometimes too bright to look at, and yet always a part of his soul.

The mountain air kissed his sweat-streaked arms and back. It was just a touch too cool to have his shirt off, but he’d wanted the sun on his back. He was on his second circuit of stairs. Full of energy to spare, he’d done the stairs of the Greek Theater and bookended it with a two mile run.

He’d been to a dozen shows at The Greek, had dreamed of playing there one day, but he hadn’t actually believed it would happen. At least not this fast. Slowing his run to a walk and a stretch, he looked down at the stage he’d spend nearly an hour on tonight.

Roadies were finishing the stage. All that was left was hoisting the specialty lighting rig that Rebel Rage used in their set. He knew Harper’s brother would be climbing around as his sister had done.

It was hard to believe she’d ever been a part of the rough and ready staff that put the Summer Rage tour together and tore it down every other night. She was so at home in front of the stove and cutting board that it was odd to imagine her covered in anything other than the scents of her cooking.

An echoing clink of metal against metal drew his attention. They were opening the doors already. He’d gotten a late workout in thanks to a pile of radio interviews and one frightening Cisco video chat with fans in Brazil.

They were…exuberant.

He didn’t even know they had fans outside of the US. Thanks to Jazz, they’d done a live acoustic set for a bunch of fans at a club in Venezuela. Evidently they’d have to add a southern trek to their next tour if the crowd was anything to go by.

Deacon jogged along the east edge of the seats to get backstage before someone recognized him. He picked up his pace when a swarm of women in concert wear chic—aka the T&A brigade—noticed him.

There were times where he wished he wasn’t so damn tall. They could spot him damn near everywhere. The only thing he wanted right now was to enjoy the day and kick ass at the show tonight. He couldn’t seem to get his mind wrapped around playing Demon right now.

Deacon with his girl, Harper…that’s what mattered right now.

He wanted that normalcy and to show her how it could be off the road. He couldn’t wait to get her in his space and spend a few hours with her and only her.