I shove open the door to our tour bus and climb the steps, my heavy boots stomping on the metal stairs. I head past the main part, with the couches, a table, and a kitchenette, past the bathroom, and to the back where we’ve got two couches set up for napping behind a curtain. I don’t bother turning the lights on.

This isn’t Trent’s fault, I tell myself, huffing down onto a couch and putting my head in my hands. He didn’t do anything besides refuse to sign a girl’s boobs.

I still feel sick, the beer in my stomach churning, and I don’t even know why. She didn’t know about Trent and me, and he didn’t do anything. Hell, I’m the one who grabbed her boob and signed it.

I just fucking hate the world sometimes, hate that other women can come up to him and act like they have a chance, and more than anything I hate how it makes me feel like some bug they need to squash so I’ll get out of the way.

Footsteps at the front of the bus. The whole thing rocks very slightly, and I exhale into my hands because I know who it is.

“Can I come in?” Trent asks from behind the curtain, and I flop backward on the couch.

“Yeah,” I say.

He slides the curtain open, leaning against one wall, his hands in his pockets, even his silhouette sexy as fuck.

God, I can’t even blame that girl. I like it when he looks at my tits, too.

“You okay?” he rumbles.

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I didn’t touch her,” he says.

“I know,” I say quietly. “It’s not you. I’m just...”

I sigh. He waits.

“Jealous?” I say.

In the dark, Trent chuckles.

“It’s not funny.”

“You know there’s nothing to be jealous of, don’t you?”

I don’t answer him, just look out a darkly tinted window at the street, wishing I could explain what my problem is. Wishing I fucking knew what it was.

“Darce,” he says slowly. “There’s nobody but you. There’s been nobody but you.”

Trent closes the curtain behind himself. He walks over to me, put his hands on the back of the couch on either side of my head, and leans down.

“I’ve wanted this for way too long to fuck it up.”

“Me too,” I whisper.

“This is dangerous, Darcy, and I fucking know that,” he goes on, his voice low and slow. “You’re not the only one who was afraid we’d lose what we had if we became more. I waited until I couldn’t fucking hold out any longer because I knew how bad it would fuck me up if I lost you.”

He leans in closer, and I put one hand on his face.

“I don’t think I’d make it, Darce.”

“You’ve made it through worse.”

“I haven’t.”

My stomach twists, because there’s a litany of bad things in Trent’s past.

“So I shouldn’t be jealous?” I ask softly, half-teasing.

He laughs lowly, getting even closer.

“No, you shouldn’t be fucking jealous,” he says.

He kisses me hard, his teeth pressing into my lip before I open my mouth under his. I don’t know what to say that doesn’t sound fucking trite and perfunctory so I just kiss him like hell, my fingers in his hair.

“In my defense, her tits were literally right in your face,” I murmur.

“She was gonna have to do a lot better,” he says, his hand on my knee, his skin warm and rough through the pattern of my fishnets. “Believe me, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

I put my hand on his as his finger moves under the hem of my dress, grab the collar of his t-shirt in my fist.

“I’m worried that we’re in the back of our unlocked tour bus,” I tease.

He pushes his hand up further, so now it’s totally under my skirt, his calloused fingertips at the top of my thigh. My heart’s pounding in my chest, fire pooling inside me, feeling like I’m vibrating at high frequency.

“I just said,” Trent growls, sliding his fingers through the holes in my fishnet, “you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

I arch my back, and he shoves his fingers under my panties. I sigh as he strokes my wetness, pulling on his shirt even harder.

“Not even our bandmates finding you with your hand up my skirt?”

Trent nips at my neck, and I gasp.

“If you’re worrying, I’m doing something wrong,” he says, the pad of his thumb finding my clit. “If you’re thinking about someone coming through that curtain and not this.”

I hold my breath, biting my lip so I don’t make noise, and I trail my hand down his chest to his jeans, the palm flat against his erection. Trent growls, the noise low in his chest as he captures my mouth with his again, the vibrations traveling all the way to my toes.

Then he steps back, pulling his hand out of my skirt, and I’m left on the couch, disheveled and akimbo before Trent holds out his hand.

I grab it. He pulls me up, launching me into his tall, hard body.

Trent kisses me, roughly. I grab onto the waistband of his jeans, wanting his body against mine, needing the delicious friction of us together even though this is a stupid time and a stupid place, and we’ll be in a hotel room in thirty minutes.

Instead he grabs my wrist, pulls my arm behind my back, presses my body against his. Even in the dark, Trent’s deep brown eyes are endless, bottomless pools and I’m breathless, powerless against my own desire.

“Is this because I got jealous?” I whisper, half-teasing.

“No,” he says, holding me even tighter. “It’s because I always want to bend you over and tear your fishnets off, and I’ve got the chance right now.”

He lets my wrist go, spins me around, grabs my hair in one hand, pulling my head back against his shoulder as he slides the other up the back of my leg, his fingers running right across my fabric-covered clit and lips.

I shudder as scorching heat races through me. Trent grabs a handful of fishnet, and before I know it his thick fingers are ripping through, so I bite my lip, my head pulled back, and find the button on his jeans, pull down the zipper, and then he’s filling my hand, his hardness straining against it as he groans into my ear.

I think I’m melting with anticipation, the sensation like lava running down the inside of my skin. Even though it’s been a couple of weeks since the first time we did this, it still feels breathless, brand new, like everything is for the very first time.

Except now, I know exactly how good it’s going to feel, and it sharpens the anticipation to a knife point.

He pulls my panties aside roughly, slicking my wetness from my lips to my clit, and I bite back a moan. I stroke him once, feeling him pulse in my hand, and then he lets my hair go, pushes me forward. My shins hit the couch and I kneel on it, grabbing the back for stability, my skirt hiked over my hips and my back arched.

Trent doesn’t tease me and he doesn’t hesitate, just slides the tip of his cock between my lips and then drives himself in with a single stroke.

My fingers claw at the back of the couch and I fucking shout, all my muscles tensing at once with the sheer, perfect pleasure of suddenly being filled so deep I see stars. There’s a low rumble behind me, Trent grabs one shoulder, and then I’m just lost.

It’s hard and fast, so fucking good that I can barely even make a sound. This is what it feels like when Trent finally stops being gentle and fucks me like a beast, when he hits every pleasure spot inside me relentlessly, when he just fucking takes what he wants.

I’m just glad that what he wants is me. I’m glad I’m already kneeling on this couch, because otherwise my knees would have buckled. My face is on the back of the couch, the fabric between my teeth, my breathing ragged and uneven and my mind totally blank with sheer fucking pleasure.

I come like a stampede, and I think I just whimper. My toes curl in my shoes and I’m biting the back of this couch, my whole body shaking and trembling. Trent slams into me a few more times, sending a tremor though my muscles and then I can feel him throb and pulse deep inside me, his hand tightening on my shoulder as he groans, shuddering.

I’m not sure I can ever move again, but after a few moments, Trent bends over me, his forehead against the back of my head. He stays that way for a moment, kisses the sweaty back of my neck, then pulls out and flops on the couch next to me.

I collapse on top of him, the two of us sprawled and taking up the whole enormous couch. My head’s on his chest and I can hear his heart still thumping away, his skin warm and slightly damp with sweat.

“Oops,” I finally say, after a while.

“Oops what?” he asks, not moving a muscle.

“Oops, we had sex on the bus.”

“Were we not supposed to?”

“Seems like a bad idea.”

“I thought it was pretty good.”

I shift slightly against him, trying to pull my skirt down.

“So I should get jealous more often?”

“You don’t have to,” he says, a grin in his voice. “You can just say, hey Trent, bend me over this couch and fuck me good.”

“That does sound simpler,” I laugh.

Then the door to the bus opens with a hiss and a squeak. We both freeze. Footsteps coming down the length, and Trent lifts his hips off the couch, shoving himself back into his jeans and zipping them up.

I pull my skirt down and scoot several inches away from Trent, trying not to laugh. The footsteps hesitate just outside the curtain.

“Is that Darcy and Trent?” Gavin’s voice asks.

“Just us!” I say, hoping I sound like someone who didn’t just get her brains fucked out.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure!”

The curtain moves three inches, and Gavin’s eye peeks at us before he pulls the whole thing back.

“You ready for the hotel?” he asks, and if he’s suspicious, he manages not to show it.

I just give him a thumbs up.

“Brilliant,” he says, and heads forward again.

“Do you think he knows?” I whisper.

“I’m sure he thinks we were just having a really deep conversation back here,” Trent deadpans.

I raise one eyebrow at him. He shrugs.

Fuck it, I don’t care if Gavin knows, I think.