Chapter Three
Zarek
"I swear, I didn't know." Zora's words pull my eyes away from the sealed elevator doors.
I'd been so unprepared to see her. Having clenched my fists at my sides to stop from reaching out to her, I shake out my hands.
"Yeah," is the only word I can form.
"Do you want me to request a different—"
"No," I cut off the offer before she finishes. "It's okay."
Turning away from the elevator, I walk, unseeing, down the hallway leading to the suites.
I know I should move to another floor, choose another suite, but I can't. Just the possibility of seeing Gemma again won't let me consider it.
The bright light of day penetrates my closed eyes.
Groaning, I bury my face in the overstuffed pillow, but it doesn't block out the sound of the blinds retracting or my pain in the ass sister.
"You've got a schedule to keep," she reminds me.
"Fuck off." My growl is muffled by the down comforter.
Even with my early arrival in Vegas for some special time off, there are still obligations and demands on my schedule. Instead of doing the radio interview over the phone, I decided to change them to in person.
Right now, having barely slept, I'm regretting my decision. All night long, I fought with memories, and my dick. Jerking off twice didn’t do shit to kill the desire she inspires.
"I'd love to be getting laid, but you pay me to keep your ass in line," Zora overshares.
"I don't want to hear about you getting laid," I say, not moving to get up.
"And I don't want to see your morning wood every day, but we both have to suffer," she quips.
The blanket disappears, leaving my naked body at the mercy of the air conditioning.
"Fuck!" I shout, rolling over.
"I really wish you'd at least consider underwear." It's Zora's turn to groan.
Opening my eyes, I find her standing at the edge of the bed with her back to me. Grinning, I scratch my head and sit up on the side of the mattress.
"You gotta let things air out," I tease.
Pushing up to my feet, I stretch my arms over my head.
Her hand slaps to my stomach, causing me to gasp.
"Get your ass dressed," she orders. "You've got forty-five minutes before your first radio show to promote the Vegas Rocks Festival."
"Yeah, yeah," I mumble, heading to the bathroom.
Before I reach the door, I spin around.
"Christ, Zarek!" Zora groans again, covering her eyes with a hand. "I realize most of North America has seen your dick, but can you try a bit harder to cover up around me?"
"I dunno, I'm pretty hard now, and—"
"Get in the fucking shower, Pervy McPerviston, and get dressed," she shouts, trying to feel her way out of the room.
"I want tickets to Gemma's show," I call out as she finds the bedroom door.
Slipping out, she shoves her arm back in, giving a thumb's up. "Already did."
Beaming, I enter the bathroom. With memories of Gemma invading my mind, I step beneath the warm spray, placing one hand on the tile and fisting my dick with the other. I can still picture her ass in the air, chest to the bed, fucking herself on my cock. Me lying on my back with her pussy hovering over my face. Suddenly, the steam of the shower smells just like her arousal. My tongue pushes through my lips, curling over my top lip, trying to get a taste of her. When it alludes me, I grow frustrated and take it out on my cock. Dropping my slick forehead to my arm, I pump harder, faster, in the same rhythm as when I took her against the wall mirror in my bedroom. The reflection of her biting her bottom lip, nostrils flaring, eyes closed tight. The memory tightens my balls and the ache grows to the point of pain before release and relief flow up my length in streams on the tiled wall.
Panting, I let the shower wall take my weight until I come down from the high of my orgasm. It was a strong one, but the twinge of need still lingers behind. Leaning into the spray again, I rub my face, knowing the only cure is the real fucking thing. Fate hates me, putting her at my fingertips once again, yet keeping her so far from possession. After the shit I've done during the past year, my immature attempts to get over her, show her what she gave up, and…fuck, even to make her jealous—it's pretty clear I disgust her.
The black eye she gave me has been the only goddamn thing to give me hope she still felt anything for me, but since then, it's like I'm a fucking ghost in the room. She doesn't see, tolerate, or even acknowledge me. I'm fucking nonexistent to her. Just like at the elevator. Her small nod is the most attention I've received in almost a year, and it fucking guts me.
Still, I can't stay away.
An hour later, I'm onto my second radio interview.
Stepping out of the studio, I turn down a hallway when I stop short. Christopher Mason, the lead singer for The Forgotten and lyrical fucking genius, has a woman pressed against a wall.
A long, tattooed arm appears from around the corner and slaps his shoulder.
"Christ, let her breathe," Jackson Shaw teases.
Chris stretches one arm out behind him and flips him off.
"He's really just going for it, huh?" Liza Campbell asks.
Jackson puts his arm around the tiny blonde's shoulders, pulling her close and leaning down to kiss the side of her head.
"Chris," the woman protests.
When her head turns, I lock eyes with Mia, Chris' wife.
"We're drawing a crowd," she says, pushing at his chest.
"Let them fucking watch," he growls against her neck. "Everyone will know you’re fucking mine."
"Christopher," Mia's voice turns hard in warning.
He stills for a moment, then pulls his face from her neck and rests his forehead to hers.
"I miss you," he says, not bothering to whisper.
She cups his face. "I missed you too, but you have an interview. I'll be here waiting."
Straightening to his full height, he takes both her hands and places them on his chest.
"Fine, I'll do the interview, but you’ve gotta make promises," he says with a grin.
"I don't have to do anything," she shoots back, wearing her own grin.
"You're right," he nods, releasing her hands.
Taking a step back, he licks his lips and fucks her with his eyes.
"I'll do the work. You can lay there and take my dick like a good wife," he says.
"Chris!" Mia shouts.
Jackson chuckles, and Liza giggles against his side.
Chris just winks, turns, and heads in my direction.
"Hey, man," he says, still grinning wide as he passes.
Mia gives a small smile as she hurries after him.
A sharp pain fills my chest as Gemma flashes into my mind.
"Hey, Zarek," Jackson greets, pulling me out of my thoughts.
"Hey," I return, clasping hands and shaking.
"Making the rounds for the festival promo?"
I nod. "Yeah, I've got three more to go."
"We have one more, but I have a feeling Chris won't be showing up for that one," he says with a smile.
"I think you could bet on that one." I glance down the hall. Chris has Mia plastered to his side, though it looks like she's still giving him shit.
"It’s the first weekend she's left the kids behind," Liza explains.
"And the first alone time since Max was born." Jack waggles his brows.
Liza slaps his stomach. "Don't tell everyone their personal stuff."
"Hey, pretty boy, you need to hurry your ass up," my sister shouts from the end of the hallway.
All heads turn in her direction before coming back to me.
"I'm starting to regret giving my sister PA responsibilities," I sigh.
"Older?" Liza asks.
Shaking my head, I answer, "Nope, younger."
Jackson laughs and claps a hand on my shoulder.
"I'd get going so you don't piss her off more," he teases.
"I would fire her, but then she'd tell our parents," I joke.
"Good to see you," Jack says, guiding Liza down the hall.
"Same," I lift my chin and head toward my pain in the ass sister.
"So, Zarek, you were supposed to talk with us over the phone today, but decided to do it in person. What changed your plan?" the radio personality asks, trying to get some exclusive dirt.
"Well…" I begin, licking my bottom lip as one corner of my mouth curls.
Gemma's face flashes into mind, just like it has been for months, then my mind drifts to Chris back at the previous station. His I don't give a fuck attitude and blatant disregard for anyone but the woman he loves is to blame for what comes out of my mouth next.
"I've got a friend in town, and I want to see her perform."
Each radio host perks up, practically drooling on their microphones.
In my peripheral, I don't miss my sister's dark head popping up. My attention moved to the window revealing a separate studio room as Zora lifts her hands, eyes round, and mouths, "What the fuck are you doing?"
"Must be a special friend," the host presses, pulling my attention back to my sister.
Leaning into the mic, I state, "Yes, she is."
"Is Zarek Sisko turning in his onstage-orgasm-giving card and settling down?" The other host jumps in, pushing for more information.
"No, not at all." I shake my head. "I'm just dedicating those orgasms to one particular woman," I add.
A rhythmic thud on the window draws my attention. My sister stands, tapping her forehead on the glass.
"Who is this lucky lady?"
Grinning, I fly high on this feeling of openness, freedom, and truth.
"I'll just say my diva can hit notes you've never heard when we're together." The moment I tease them with the information, a slice of rightness cuts through me.
"And," I continue, "I've actually gotta get going." I look at my nonexistent watch. "I have a show to attend this evening and wouldn't want to be late."
They thank me for coming by and start hyping up the exclusive as I step out of the room.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Zora hisses, slapping my arm. "Do you want to die? Are you trying to make my life hell?"
Grabbing the sides of her head, I place a sloppy kiss to my little sister's forehead.
"I've got a woman to woo before the world figures out I'm full of shit," I tell her, releasing her head and walking away.
"You've got a restraining order to watch out for," she grumbles. "That's what you've got to do."
"She can restrain me anytime," I say over my shoulder.
"Too much information, Zarek," she yells at my back.
It shouldn't surprise me. I mean, I did just start a media fire and fuck if it isn't blazing in front of the hotel. Cameras and microphones are shoved in my face as questions are shouted. When I finally make it through the sea of paparazzi and reach the elevator, the adrenaline wears off, and the reality of what I've done starts to sink in.
She's gonna fucking kill me.
Gemma may only be five-foot-two, but she packs quite a punch. My eye twitches in remembrance of the bruise she left there.
"What the fuck did I start?" I groan, dropping my head back against the wall of the elevator.
"Oh, did the blood finally return to your brain instead of your dick?" Zora snaps.
I know she doesn't really want an answer, but still, I respond, "She's gonna go straight for my dick this time. I know it."
"As she should," Zora states, vehement.
"Fuck, I just…"
How am I supposed to make anyone understand how I'm feeling? How do I explain why I did this without sounding like an immature douchebag? As always, I revert to childish antics when it comes to Gemma.
"You just love her," Zora sighs, leaning into my side.
Opening my eyes, I stare at the ceiling.
Is that what this is? Love?
"Yes, Zarek, it is," Zora answers the questions I hadn't realized I said out loud.
Afraid of the reply, I whisper, "Is she gonna hate me?"
"I don't know."