Note to self: Sometimes justice is best served cold.
“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have our final elimination before next week’s big finale show. Four contestants stand beside me on this stage, but at the end of the show, only three will remain. Who will move on? Ben Atwood from Team Beau? Shawna Reece from Team Sophia? Layne Carter from Team Beau? Or Jamal Jefferson from Team Felix? Tonight we find out which three move on and which one goes home brokenhearted.” Becker smiles a blindingly white grin at the camera before the light on the camera turns off, signaling we’re off air.
The four remaining contestants are ushered backstage and into the green room. This place has practically become our second home, after the studio in which we practice day in and day out. However, steadily over the last several weeks, the quantity of room occupants has shrunk considerably.
Tonight’s show is a star-studded affair. Blake Shelton, One Direction, and last season’s big winner, Shay Douglas, will all light up the Rising Star stage throughout the course of the show. I’m secretly hoping to catch a few minutes with Shay so that I can tell her how much I enjoy her music. She doesn’t sing my usual style, but I can appreciate her pop music. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t danced around the bar after it closes to her latest single, “Just You Wait.” Doc MZ has a thing for the leggy brunette, and feels the need to blare her music as much as he can.
The hour long reveal show actually flies by. Before I know it, I’m standing on the stage next to Shawna. Jamal and Ben were both declared safe for next week’s finale earlier in the show. It’s seems like some sort of cosmic déjà vu that I’m standing beside the one woman I went against in the very first week, and won.
Now as I stand beside Shawna in her beautiful red and gold dress with her red cowboy boots and perfect blond hair, I realize I’m just as nervous now as I was that very first week. Except now I feel like there’s more riding on this announcement. I’ve vested weeks of time, sweat, and even tears into this show, and I’m so close. So very close to the end.
So close to winning.
“It’s time to find out who moves on and who goes home. Layne, Shawna. Only one of you will be moving to the finale next week to compete to be the next Rising Star. And it’s time to find out who.”
Becker has the dramatic pause down pat as he takes his sweet-ass time removing an envelope from his suit pocket. I want to throw my arms in the air and scream at him to get on with it. You know, fling myself down on the ground and flail my arms around like one of Eli’s temper tantrums. I’m sure America would love to witness that moment of glory.
Becker makes a big show of tearing it open and pulling out the enclosed card. I don’t watch what he does from this point on because my eyes move on their own accord and focus on the steel pair across the stage. Beau’s eyes are fixed on me, gazing intently and offering me every bit of confidence and encouragement that he can. Shy of standing up, walking up on the stage, and taking me in his arms, I feel his comfort and support as we wait for my fate to be revealed.
“Layne, Shawna. It was an epic battle in the first round where Layne emerged the victor, as chosen by Beau Tanner.” I hear Shawna growl beside me, but I keep my eyes fixed on the pair that is grounding and calming me. “Tonight, the decision is based upon fan votes. The woman moving on to the final round is…”
I suck in a deep breath, my eyes glued to my favorite cowboy, and wait.
“Layne Carter.”
*****
I have no clue what time it is when I finally make it back to my hotel room. Following the show, Ben, Jamal, and I had to pose for dozens of promotional photos that will be used over the next several days. After several group shots on stage, we then each posed with our respective coaches. Having Beau stand so close to me and not be able to touch him the way I wanted to, was torture. It didn’t help that during one round of photos, Beau wrapped his hand around my side and pulled me snuggly into his hard chest. I just pray that the pictures don’t show the primal reaction with which my body responded to him.
I wish I could say Shawna left respectfully and with dignity. But if I know anything about Shawna Reece, it’s that she lacks the ability to think rationally and behave appropriately. Lord knows she’s shown her ass more times than I’d like to have seen over the course of this show. Fire practically shot from her ears when my name was announced as victor. She glared at me with such intensity, I should have dropped dead right there in the middle of the stage from the voodoo eye-death she dealt me.
Of course, it didn’t help that she was practically shooed to the corner so that the crowd could get their first glimpse of the final three. The cameras were thrust in my face and the questions from Becker flew, all to catch my initial reaction to his big announcement. It was almost completely overwhelming. I started to feel panicky until I looked up and caught Beau’s reaction. He was standing up and clapping his hands, all while gazing hungrily up at me from beneath that sexy Stetson. When I caught sight of his excited look, laced with concern for me, I started to calm down. The cameras and the voices all faded away until I was able to focus on one thing at a time: namely Becker’s questions.
Following the show, everyone within a two-block radius of the studio heard Shawna’s dramatic exit. She threw profanity-laced insults and bogus accusations at me, claiming once again that I was sleeping my way through the show. But this time, she started throwing around network names including Jackson Zimmerman. Her allegations included terms like “lawsuit” and “lawyers” and “daddy” throughout her rage-induced eruption. But when the powers that be themselves arrived at the stage, she quickly shut her mouth. Even Shawna must have realized that running her mouth was going to get her nothing but the door against her ass on her way out.
After the necessary photos and a handful of television and radio network interviews, we were finally ushered towards an awaiting car. Adrenaline had run its course as we slowly made our way towards the hotel. Exhaustion had set in and the excitement of the live reveal had left us each wrung out and drained.
I don’t even remember the elevator ride to my room. Ben practically carried me from the car to my doorway, helping dig my keycard from my small purse and inserting it into the door. Ben takes my bag and deposits it on the second bed while I sit down on my own bed, dropping my purse on the mattress beside me. My eyes are closed and I hear him moving about my room. He removes my black boots and throws the corner of the bedspread over me. I know I should get up and undress. I should remove the quarter-inch of stage makeup I’m wearing. I should see Ben out of my room and thank him for his assistance. But I don’t. I can’t move.
The last thing I hear before succumbing to sleep is the loud clicking of the shutting door as he exits my room.
*****
What feels like five minutes later, the distant ringing of my cell phone awakens me. Fumbling in the dark, I find my small purse that still houses my phone. I don’t even open my eyes to see who is calling when I answer.
“Lo?”
“Layne? Are ya alright, darlin’?” Beau asks, his deep southern drawl so predominant in the dead of night.
“Yeah, just exhausted.”
“I’ve been textin’ and callin’ ya. I was startin’ to get a little freaked out that something had happened to you.”
Despite myself, I smile knowing that Beau was concerned for me. “I’m fine. I was so dog-tired by the time they let us leave the studio,” I tell him, sitting up and opening my eyes for the first time since arriving back to my hotel room. I’m bathed in dull light from the lamp across the room. I’m assuming Ben left it on for me.
“I know ya were, that’s why I was tryin’ to get ahold of ya. To make sure ya made it back safely.” Oh. I think my heart just melted into a big pile of mushy goo. I can hear the faint rustling of material in the background, and my mind instantly thinks of Beau lying naked in bed within those covers.
“I did. Ben helped me up to my room.”
There’s a long pregnant pause before he asks, “Ben?” There’s no missing the fact that his voice is laced with annoyance and something else. Jealousy.
“Yeah, Ben. I practically fell asleep in the car ride back to the hotel and he helped carry me inside.”
“Ben carried you? Into your hotel room?”
“Yes,” I say, trying to figure out a way to defuse the situation I see brewing. “He helped get me inside my hotel room. And then he left.”
Silence greets me on the other side of the line. I debate on what to say next. Even though nothing happened, I find myself caught between defending Ben against whatever accusations Beau is about to hurl at him, and letting Beau know that it’s ultimately my decision if something were to ever happen between Ben and myself. I’m technically still single, and I have a right to have whoever I want in my hotel room with me.
He must sense my irritation as much as I feel his through the phone. “I’m sorry, Layne. That guy just makes me see red whenever I think about him around you. I know I don’t have a claim on ya…yet, but that doesn’t mean I have to like him hangin’ around you. Even if his intentions are pure, I just don’t trust him.”
“All he did was help me in my room and turn on a light. I heard the door close before I even fell asleep.”
Beau sighs heavily in the phone. “Forgive me, sweetheart. For some crazy reason, I turn all jealous and possessive when it comes to you. I’m not used to dealin’ with this green-eyed reaction. Congratulations, again,” he adds, his voice changing to a more cheerful one.
“Thank you. Do you know what I’m singing for the finale?” I ask, yawning and lying back down on the bed.
“I do. But I can’t tell ya yet. We’ll have to do the big reveal tomorrow for the cameras. Or should I say tonight, since it’s after three a.m.”
It’s quiet for several minutes. I relax into my pillow and close my eyes. Listening to Beau’s slow and steady breathing, I’m lulled back towards sleep. “I should let ya go,” Beau whispers. “You’ve had a long night.”
“What if I just wanted you to stay on the line? I like listening to you breathe. It makes me feel like you’re right here beside me,” I mumble in a sleepy voice.
“Then I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay right here for as long as you want me to. Anytime you need me, I’m right here, Layne.” His voice, even laced with his own exhaustion, is strong and steady. I can hear the conviction in his words and it makes my heart race just a little bit faster.
Music starts softly in the background. Within a few seconds, Beau is singing along to a country song I’m not familiar with. Of course, that doesn’t surprise me since most of the country songs I’ve learned have been newly acquired since meeting Beau Tanner.
One song quickly becomes two, which then turns into three. Lying in bed, I’m completely mesmerized by his deep voice, all sweet and sexy and intoxicating. I’ve heard him sing plenty, but never like this. Never have the words been so intimate and raw. It’s as if the words he’s singing are for me and me alone, and as I lie in bed, I know that they are. I feel the emotions he feels for me pouring through the phone. It’s as if no one else exists in the world. It’s just Beau and me. Together.
His soft, seductive words about finding love and holding on to it forever are the last thing I recall before slowly drifting back to sleep.
*****
Between practices with Beau, the choreographer, and a vocal coach, dress fittings and sleep, I have little room for anything else come the weekend–and that includes eating. It’s the final weekend before the big live two-day finale, and I’m running on fumes. Saturday nights before would involve some sort of physical torture with Corie, followed by drinks and dancing at a local club. Now, I’m more homesick than ever, and just want to curl up in bed and sleep until Tuesday.
Of course, we all know that’ll never happen.
After an hour-long Skype chat with Eli and my mom, I take a quick shower and settle in to watch Friends reruns. My phone rings before Rachel hops on the plane for London to disrupt Ross’ wedding to Emily. I smile at the name on the screen.
“What are you doing?”
“Talkin’ to you,” Beau says with a smile.
“You’re kidding me. I never would have guessed,” I retort with a chuckle.
“I have an idea,” he says, all signs of humor gone.
“What’s up?” I ask, sitting up straight in bed.
“A car is going to be pullin’ up in front of the hotel in about ten minutes. Get in the car. No need to dress up or change. We’re goin’ somewhere without cameras or pryin’ eyes. No questions asked.” Of course, the first thing I want to do is ask a question: namely, where am I going? But I refrain from doing the one thing he told me not to do.
Besides, I trust him.
Note to self: Never get into cars with strangers. Unless that stranger is a gorgeous cowboy with the sexiest southern drawl. Then, don’t walk. Run to the car!
“Deal?” he asks.
“I have to go. I have to be downstairs in ten minutes,” I say with one of those big, cheeky grins on my face.
Beau’s laughter is the last thing I hear before signing off the phone.
After brushing out my hair, I throw back on my bra and change my t-shirt because no one wants to be caught with a country hottie without a bra and wearing an oversized shirt with sleeping puppies. I found a vintage seventies rock tee at a local thrift shop last weekend and I have yet to wear it. While Beau said there was no need to change my clothes, I still feel the need to exchange my holey sweatpants for something different. Throwing on the first pair of shorts I find in the drawer, I quickly slip into the bathroom to freshen up before heading downstairs.
A black town car is waiting beneath the awning as I slip outside. A friendly looking, older gentleman in a black suit opens the back door for me. I’m disappointed when I realize the backseat is empty. Once inside, he closes the door, engulfing me in cool air conditioning and silence.
“Good evening, Miss Carter. Mr. Tanner asks that you relax for a few moments. We’ll be at our destination within fifteen minutes or so,” the man says, smiling at me in the rearview mirror.
“And where exactly is our destination, sir?” I ask.
He chuckles but never takes his eyes off of me in the mirror. “You can call me Al, ma’am. And as far as our destination goes, I’ve been instructed to remind you that there are to be no questions asked.”
“Cheeky bastard, isn’t he? Are all cowboys this damn stubborn?” I mumble, not realizing I said it loud enough for Al to hear.
His laughter fills the car. “He is indeed, Miss Carter. He also said that you might try to persuade me into giving up the location. In that case, I am to remind you that all good things come to those who wait.” With one more smile in the rearview mirror, Al winks at me before turning his attention to the road before him.
Fifteen minutes later, we pull in front of a large, non-descriptive brick building with very few lights on. Before Al can exit the car, my door opens, revealing one handsome cowboy. The smile he gives me could melt the polar icecaps in December; maybe even strip the panties off a nun in church on Sunday morning. Either way, that gorgeous smile is aimed directly at me.
Beau extends his hand, assisting me from the vehicle. “Did ya have a nice trip?”
“Yes,” I tell him breathlessly as he leads me towards the front doors.
“Did you ask Al where you were going?”
“Of course not,” I tell him, fretting innocence.
Beau’s laughter is better than any music. “I bet you didn’t,” he says with a firm shake of his head. “This way,” he adds as we step inside and head towards a bank of elevators. I don’t ask any questions as Beau presses the button for the tenth floor.
Inside the elevator, I can feel his eyes blazing a trail of fire up and down my body. I fight my desire to look at him for as long as I can, but in the end, it’s fruitless. When my eyes connect with his, I feel the effects of their burn all the way to my toes. This man has the uncanny ability to touch every part of my body with only his eyes, leaving me yearning for more and rendering me speechless.
When we reach our floor and the door opens, I walk alongside Beau, his hand warming the base of my spine, until we reach the second door on the left. Inside, the room is set up like a small rehearsal studio, similar to the one we use for the studio.
“What is this place?” I ask, taking in the wall of instruments and the comfortable seating.
“This is my rehearsal studio while I’m in Los Angeles. The band and I practice here from time to time while I’m stuck here with show commitments. It’s also the place I escape to when I need to get away from all of the show people and the cameras.”
“This is a nice place,” I tell him, looking around the large room a second time.
“This is the one place I don’t allow the studio to film. It’s like my own private sanctuary, ya know? No cameras. No lights. No production assistants telling me where to stand. Just me, my instruments, and a little free time.”
I don’t really know what to say, so I opt to remain quiet. I’m not sure why he brought me here, but his “no questions” statement comes to mind again, so I don’t ask. Instead, I walk over to a drum set in the corner of the room. I’ve never really played an instrument before unless you count chopsticks on the old piano in the backroom of Chaser’s. But even though I don’t play, doesn’t mean I haven’t always wanted to.
“Have you ever played?” he asks, startling me with his closeness.
“No.”
“Come on,” Beau says, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the drums.
Beau takes a seat on the stool and slaps his left leg. His eyes are alive as if a challenge has been made. Of course, I’m not one to back down from any challenge, so I straddle his leg–careful not to kick the drum set in front of me–and have a seat on Beau’s leg. The position is incredibly erotic and makes me want to start rubbing my crotch against him like a dog in heat. Down, girl.
“Alright, pick a song,” Beau says, suddenly pulling a pair of drumsticks from a bucket next to the drums.
“Just pick a song? Any song I want and you’ll play it?”
“No, we’ll play it. Pick.”
So I throw out the first song I think of. “‘Barracuda’ by Heart.”
“Excellent choice, darlin’. The Wilson sisters have recently become a personal favorite of mine.”
And with that, he begins to drum the opening beat of the song. I quickly find myself tapping along with my foot, and feel the song taking shape. Of course, it’s not as good as it probably could be considering his movements are restricted somewhat by the woman sitting on his lap.
When he gets to the part where the lyrics come into play, he stops and hands me the sticks. “Your turn.”
“But, I don’t know how to play,” I defend, staring at the sticks like they’re a snake that might try to bite me.
“Sure you do. Just feel the music and the beat. Even if ya don’t hit the right drums, you still could tap out the beat with your eyes closed. So do it. Close your eyes and just feel the music.”
Hesitantly taking the warm drumsticks in my hands, I get ready to make a fool of myself on the drums. But I know this music like the back of my hand, so I take a few deep breaths and close my eyes. Then I begin to play.
Note to self: Next time you’re going to pick up a foreign instrument, select a slower song.
Surprisingly, I think I do all right by the time I make it somewhere in the middle of the song. Oh, it’s not anything near performance ready, but you can tell there’s a song deep down. Way, way down. But the important thing is that I feel the beat, feel the music. It pulls me in and holds me captive.
Just like the man I’m sitting on.
Taking my hands in his, Beau slows down the noise and helps drum a steady beat. Suddenly we’ve gone from hard and rockin’ to slow and seductive. His hands are hot wrapped around mine, and I feel his warm breath tickling my ear as he slowly hypnotizes me with each inhale and exhale. An uncontrollable shiver rips through my body, but it has nothing to do with the coolness of the room and everything to do with this man and the way he touches me.
We play in unison for several minutes, playing a song that I’m not familiar with. Hell, for all I know, Beau is making it up as we go. All I know is that I’m entranced with the music, the steady tapping of the drums, and the one-hundred percent all-man hottie with his arms wrapped around me.
Shivers rip through my body like a tornado and goose bumps pepper my skin when Beau gently brushes his lips against the back of my neck. “You smell like heaven. It’s a little bit of something floral wrapped in sweetness. Like tulips dipped in sugar. It makes me want to lick this part of your neck,” he says as he runs his tongue down my neck and toward my collarbone. “And suck on ya. Right. Here,” Beau says, punctuating each word by gently sucking open-mouthed on my tingly skin.
“You can’t say that to me,” I whisper without conviction, finding it difficult to speak with my suddenly too thick tongue.
“Why not?” he whispers against my flushed skin.
“Because it makes me want more. And I can’t have more,” I reply with a groan. My body is fully charged, a live wire of electricity, with no relief in sight.
“Yet, Layne. We can’t have more yet. I promise you that as soon as this show is finished, I will know what the rest of your skin tastes like. I am going to savor every inch of your delectable body. I am going to kiss every part of you as I strip you naked, and then I am going to do things to you–every single one of the wicked things I’ve fantasized about–until you are screaming my name and left satisfied and boneless. And then I’m going to do them all over again. Why? Because one time isn’t going to be nearly enough with you. I might need days. Weeks. Fuck, I might need to spend the rest of my life consumed by you. Only you.”
As potent as Beau’s touch is, it doesn’t hold a candle to the power of his words. My brain completely short circuits, my entire body erupting into flames, and my breath practically non-existent. And the crazy part is that if I were to die right now, in this exact moment, I would go happy. Wrapped in Beau’s arms with his lips against my skin is heaven.
“Come on,” he finally says, detangling our limbs from one another. It takes self-control I didn’t realize I possessed to release my hold on Beau, but I somehow manage.
“Stand here,” he says, turning me so that I’m facing a wall of mirrors. I watch as he walks over to a line of instruments, plucking a vintage white Gibson guitar from a stand. When he returns to where he left me standing, he swings the intsrument over my shoulder and helps secure the strap.
“Ever play this one?” he asks as he wraps his arms around me and helps place my fingers on the instrument.
“A few times. Never anything that constitutes actual playing. A friend who works at the same bar as me likes to play and tried to teach me a few things,” I tell him, my voice a breathy mix of anxiety and anticipation.
“I’m going to try not to visualize some guy with his arms wrapped around you. It makes me insane with jealousy, Layne. And I’ve never been a jealous man before,” he states honestly, his eyes locked on mine as we gaze at each other through the mirror.
After several heartbeats, he clears his throat and looks down at our hands. “Tuck it under your arm like so, and place your fingers here and here. Curl your thumb underneath the neck of the guitar like this. It should be fairly comfortable. Your index finger is fret one. That’s B,” says as he moves me fingers. “Fret two is your middle finger and that’s D, and put your ring finger here. That’s A. Now, gently with the pick, strum downward like so,” he says, demonstrating the movement.
The sounds vibrate through my fingers and a faint tickle ripples through my arms. After a few demonstrations, he lets me try a few times on my own. Beau never steps away though, just keeps his front plastered to my back. His voice is soft as he instructs me on which positions to move my fingers.
Before long, I’m playing something that resembles actual music. Beau is patient and gentle as he teaches me to play one of his songs. Whoever thought that someday I’d learn to play guitar–a country song to boot–was clearly slightly delusional. What’s even more amazing is the fact that I’m actually able to concentrate on playing. Beau steals little nibbles of my neck and tenderly strokes the outsides of my arms as he hums along with the tune I’m attempting to play.
After about an hour of messing around, Beau unsnaps the strap and returns the guitar to the empty stand amongst the mass of instruments. A quick check of the clock on my phone tells me that it’s late. I spoke with Eli and Mom this afternoon between my wardrobe fitting and a vocal lesson, but it’s moments like these–late at night–where I miss my son.
“I don’t want to just assume, but will ya stay with me tonight?” Beau asks.
“Yes.”
“Good,” he says with a smile. “Because I wasn’t goin’ to let ya leave anyway. Saves me from havin’ to kidnap ya,” he adds as he leads me towards the couch along the outside wall.
“Glad we can avoid the felony charges,” I say through a giggle.
My laugh quickly dies in my throat as Beau strips his ever-present cowboy hat from his head and drops it on the chair. Waves of dark hair are both matted to his head and askew from the hat, making my fingers twitch to touch those enticing locks. Then he pulls his black t-shirt out from the waist of his jeans, grabs the back of the neck, and quickly pulls his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. You know, that sexy way that only guys can do? Not only was the shirt removal exquisite, but the tight, ripped abs and hard pecs that were hiding underneath are a pretty freaking spectacular sight. Never have I forgotten how unbelievable Beau’s body is, but that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t stop me in my tracks and make me want to sing to the angels a Hallelujah chorus when he stands before me, naked from the waistline up.
“Stop staring at me like that. Otherwise, I’ll forget all about being a gentleman and take you ten ways to Sunday on that couch.” The look in his eyes tells the story of how serious he is. Dead serious. Beau’s need and desire for me hasn’t wavered or diminished in the least bit since our first real encounter in the closet at the studio.
I don’t respond as I reach down and pull off my ankle boots. Beau walks over and confirms that the lock is thrown on the door and flips off the overhead florescent lights. The only light in the room now is the City of Los Angeles’ lights that bleed through the windows in the massive room. But even with little light, Beau has no problems finding me in the dark. It’s as if his body is attuned to mine. Like a homing beacon, I know he would find me in a sea of thousands of other people.
Removing his jeans, Beau finally stands before me in only gray boxer briefs. His thick length is standing proud against his underwear, and I struggle not to focus all of my attention on the newest arrival in the room. But Beau doesn’t draw attention to his erection. Instead, he lies down on the couch. Even through the dark room, I can see his feet hanging off the end of the standard-size couch.
Without giving it another thought, I remove my socks and shorts before grabbing the hem of my shirt and pulling it up and over my head. The cool room kisses my flushed skin as I reach around and unsnap my bra. I feel Beau’s eyes on me as the material slips down my arms and falls to the floor. His hiss is the only sound in the room as I stand there–naked except for a red satin thong–and let him drink his fill. Before joining him on the couch, I reach down and grab Beau’s discarded t-shirt and slip it over my head. I’m instantly assaulted with the scent of Beau. If he weren’t staring at me like a Thanksgiving feast, I’d take a moment to sniff the soft material of the shirt.
Instead, I make my way to the couch and slip onto the thin sliver of real estate not occupied by the big cowboy. My head rests on his bicep while my back is pressed snuggly against the entire length of his body–from shoulders to ankles. Even through the shirt, I feel the heat of his skin against me. Not to mention the throbbing erection he has pressed firmly between my ass cheeks. The cotton of his boxer briefs does nothing to lessen the contact. No, it’s not skin on skin, but it’s damn close, and my body is alive and hungry. The throb between my legs shows no sign of subsiding, especially with Beau pressed against me.
“Don’t move, sweetheart,” Beau whispers against my ear. “If ya wiggle anymore, I’m not going to be held accountable for my actions. Seein’ you in nothing but my t-shirt was torture enough, but having your sweet body pressed against mine is taking every bit of restraint I have. You are killin’ me,” he groans hoarsely, his words laced with his pain. It makes my heart swell that much more knowing that I can bring an award-winning country superstar to his knees. Me. Little ol’ me with her imperfect body and inability to cook real meals. My response lodges in my throat and refuses to surface so I nuzzle his arm a bit with my cheek and snuggle a little deeper into his embrace.
After several minutes of silently listening to Beau’s steady breath against my head, I finally say, “Thank you for bringing me here this evening. I had a great time.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Go to sleep. We’ll have to sneak out of here early in the morning to beat some of the people coming into this building. Some work with my record label which isn’t a problem, but there’s some that I don’t trust. One look at you coming out of my studio with bedhead and wrinkled clothes will fuel the tabloids for days,” he says as he kisses the back of my head and pulls me closer. Even though I’d kill to explore the impressive hard-on pressed against my backside with my tongue, I know he’s right.
The last thing I recall is how comfortable and so very right this feels. Falling asleep in his arms, as if my body was made to fit against his, laughing and teasing each other while he taught me to play some of his instruments, and even those stolen kisses and soft caresses in the privacy of Beau’s studio, it’s as if we’re the only two people who exist in the world. And for just a little while, we are.
He was made for me.