SIXTEEN
Caroline
Married life is pretty fucking great.
I’ve been on the road with Ten’s band, Kings + Thieves, for almost two weeks now. It’s cramped and chaotic, even with our own private tour bus, but everyone’s made me feel so welcome. This misfit caravan really is a family, and they’ve accepted me with open arms.
Even Sawyer’s warmed up to me. He gets a kick out of seeing Ten wrapped around my dainty finger, and busts his balls every chance he gets for being so “pussy-whipped.”
Life is pretty much perfect. I spend my days on the tour bus with Ten, curled up on the couch or in bed, and my nights are spent watching him perform from the sidelines. Seeing him up on that stage, in his element…it’s incredible.
He’s incredible.
How does that saying go? Guys should have a lady in the streets but a freak in the sheets?
Well, the saying works both ways, girls.
Ten is a perfect gentleman in public. He’s attentive and very big on affection. He’s constantly kissing me, holding my hand, or has his arm draped around me. He’s not afraid to show the world how much I mean to him.
And between the sheets? He fucks me like a sailor on leave every—single—night. It’s the best of both worlds—sweet and tender, yet filthy and raw.
The only downside to being on tour with Ten is that I miss my family.
I worry about my mom a lot, even though Ten hired someone to look after her. Yvette is a retired nurse and more than capable of making sure Mom gets to all her doctor’s appointments, has food in the house, and never runs out of her prescriptions.
Mom’s not too fond of her, though. Says Yvette’s a “hardass” because she won’t let her smoke, which only makes me like the woman more.
Tyler’s slowly coming around to the idea of Ten being a permanent fixture in our lives, but I don’t think he’s ever going to be okay with our personal business being fodder for gossip. Not that I blame him. I inadvertently stuck a target on his back when I married Tennessee King.
Everyone at school knows Tyler’s name now. They all know who his sister is and what she did. People he’s never met before now want to be his friend, hoping to get an “in” with Ten.
I hate that he has to put up with that, but it could be worse. At least he doesn’t have to deal with the paparazzi and Ten’s rabid female fan base.
Some of them have been really supportive of our marriage, but some act as if I’m some homewrecking slut who stole their man. It’s insane to think that there are actual women out there who hate my guts solely because I married Ten—a man they’ve never even met—but there are.
Bitches be crazy.
Crazy enough to leave nasty, hate-filled comments on my Instagram posts, forcing me to shun all social media. And they’re crazy enough to warrant a security team following my every move.
I can’t even walk around backstage at one of Ten’s concerts without security in tow. Which may be a good thing.
We might need them to intervene here in a second, because Ten looks like he’s about to strangle the woman interviewing him from Entertainment Weekly. She keeps asking him blacklisted questions about me—things she was explicitly told by his publicist not to ask.
Based on everything I’ve read about Ten, he’s not exactly known for keeping his cool, but he seems to really be trying. I’m not sure if it’s for my sake, or because his publicist ripped him a new one when she learned about our quickie wedding a couple weeks ago.
She’s trying to put a positive spin on the world’s most famous rock star drunkenly marrying a stripper in Vegas, so she’s got her work cut out for her. Step one was forcing Ten to do this interview.
Step two is probably keeping him from storming out of it.
The woman leans in and asks, “Everyone’s dying to know—did you meet your wife at Sinful Temptation? Was she dancing that night?” like they’re two old friends sharing a piece of juicy gossip.
Ten’s jaw flits under his skin. “No. Not that it’s anyone’s business.”
She shrugs. “People are curious. You’ve been tight-lipped about your new bride.”
He forces a smile. “Some things should remain private.”
“Like the tryst you had with two other women on your wedding night?”
Ten laughs. “The fuck are you talking about?”
His publicist, Laura, looks like she’s about to have a stroke when he drops the f-bomb on television, but the interviewer seems completely unaffected.
She smirks as she says, “Two women have come forward, claiming to have engaged in a threesome with you mere hours before you married Caroline Talbot. They have candid shots of you and your band mates in your hotel room and more…intimate shots of just the three of you. Care to comment?”
My stomach sinks right as Laura steps in.
“This interview’s over,” she says, taking the microphone off her client.
Ten stands so fast he knocks his chair over. “No, it’s not. I didn’t fucking touch anyone else that night, and I haven’t since I got married. I want that on the record,” he says, pointing to the camera behind Laura, who’s trying to cut him off. Instead of listening, he raises his voice. “You think this is the first time some skanks have made up a story to get their fifteen minutes of fame?”
“Stop talking. Now.” Laura manages to get him turned around, and he scowls as he marches off set.
“Where’s Caroline?” he asks, ripping off the rest of the sound equipment.
It takes me a second to get my tongue unstuck from the roof of my mouth and my feet unglued from the floor. “I’m right here.”
Everyone’s eyes land on me, making me wish I hadn’t said anything at all.
If Ten says he wasn’t with anyone else, then I believe him. But it looks like I’m the only one, based on everyone else’s expressions.
They’re either looking at me like they feel sorry for me, or their eyes dart away so fast it’s like they can’t bear to watch the trainwreck happening right in front of them.
Embarrassment seeps into me unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I wasn’t even this mortified when Good Morning America announced to the whole world that I was a stripper.
Ten grabs my hand and leads me out of the green room. We weave past people in the hall until we arrive at his dressing room, where he slams the door shut behind us.
He runs his hands through his hair, pacing. He looks seconds away from putting his fist through the wall when he stops and faces me.
“You believe me, right? Tell me you believe me, Caroline.”
I nod, still dazed. Still hurt, even though I know he didn’t do anything wrong.
“Say it,” he says desperately, cupping my face in his hands as his eyes search mine. “I need to hear you say the words.”
My brows slam together as tears sting my eyes.
“Baby, don’t cry.” Ten sounds panicked as he wipes at my cheeks. “I didn’t touch them, I swear.”
Sniffling, I push him away. “I know you didn’t, but the whole world thinks you did.”
“So?” He brushes my hair behind my ear. “Who gives a fuck what they think?”
“I do. I’m not used to millions of people scrutinizing every little detail of my life. I’m not used to cameras being shoved in my face everywhere I go.” I bite my lip before admitting, “I don’t know if I’m cut out for life in the spotlight.”
Frowning, Ten stiffens. “What are you saying?”
I don’t know. I just know that I hate this feeling.
I hate that people we’ve never even met have opinions on our marriage. It’s none of their fucking business.
And I really hate that there’s a whole industry dedicated to making it their business.
My shoulders slump as I sigh. “Maybe we rushed into this.” I know we did, but maybe… Maybe it was a mistake.
“No. No.” My eyes lift at his insistent tone. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Caroline, and I’m not giving up on us. I’m not losing you,” he says, threading his fingers through mine.
Unshed tears well in my eyes. “What if I’m not enough?” I whisper. “You’re Tennessee King, and I’m—”
“Fucking perfect.”
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me, stealing my breath and replacing it with his. Every brush of his lips, every sweep of his tongue melts my worry and doubt away until all I feel is that connection, that sense of home I’ve never felt with anyone else.
We might’ve rushed into this, but it wasn’t a mistake.
Something that feels this right just can’t be.
When he pulls away, he rests his head against mine. “It occurred to me the other day that I didn’t even ask you to marry me.”
My mouth twists into a smile. “No, you didn’t.”
Ten steps over to the black leather couch and rifles through the duffle bag sitting atop it. He pulls out a small burgundy cube and pops it open, revealing a huge glittering engagement ring nestled inside.
My hand flies to my mouth as I gasp. Ten smiles as he pulls it out, dropping the box on the couch before walking back over to me.
“I love you, sweet Caroline.” He takes my hand in his and slides the ring onto my finger, until it joins my wedding ring. “I know you’re supposed to say that before you get married, but we’re not exactly a conventional couple. And if you’ll let me, I’d really love to spend the rest of my life being unconventional with you. What do you say?”
Smiling through my tears, I stare down at the sparkly cushion cut diamond sitting on my finger and laugh. “You still didn’t ask.”
“And I’m not going to.”
I look up at Ten, damn near bursting from happiness. “It’s too conventional for you?”
“No. I’m just not going to give you the chance to say no.”
He leans in and kisses me again, my pulse skyrocketing into overdrive. “When have I ever said no to you?” I breathe against his lips. The word’s not even in my vocabulary when it comes to this man. “And aren’t you supposed to get down on one knee?”
“Baby, if I get down on my knees it’s gonna be to lick your pussy until you come all over my face.”
My pussy clenches, like she’s completely on board with the idea.
Groaning, I push him down onto the couch and slowly lift my sundress, giving him a little striptease as I slide my panties off. Ten licks his lips and undoes his jeans so fast it’d be funny if I weren’t so turned on.
I straddle him on the couch, pulling my dress up as I lift my hips. I watch him grab the base of his cock and glide his pierced tip along my wet folds, sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine as he lubes himself with my arousal.
When I feel him poised at my entrance, pressing hot and hard against the tight opening, I sink down onto his cock. My breath catches as I impale myself on his wide girth, stretched so tight it almost hurts.
“Fucking hell.”
His hands clamp down on my hips, his head thrown back in ecstasy as I envelop every thick inch of him. I’m so full of his cock I can barely move at first.
All I can manage is grinding against him, which rubs my clit along the base of his shaft. My breathing stutters. My clit’s not the only thing getting rubbed.
Ten’s piercing massages me from the inside, hitting that sweet spot that makes my pussy gush, and makes my movements frantic and uncoordinated.
It’s too good. I’m not going to last long, but I don’t want this to end.
Not now, not ever.
Ten starts thrusting underneath me. Slow at first, plunging his cock in and out of my wet pussy so leisurely it’s driving me mad with need. He leans me back so he can watch, slamming his brows together.
“It never ceases to amaze me how much of my dick your little pussy can take. I was so sure I’d split you in half the first time I fucked you, but you fit me fucking beautifully,” he murmurs before speeding up.
He grips my hips and jackhammers into me, the rough, jarring thrusts sending my impending orgasm into the stratosphere. White-hot bliss blooms from my pussy and spreads outward, making me scream. I clinch around his cock as he fucks me mercilessly, spurned on by the teasing rub of his piercing against my g-spot.
Ten bellows as he bucks under me, drenching my pussy in thick ropes of his cum. It floods me, warming me from the inside as I grind against him, wringing every last bit of my orgasm from him.
My heart’s racing when I finally collapse against him, resting my head on his shoulder. “I love you, too.”
He gently pets my hair. “I know you do. Your crazy matches mine, remember?”
His phone vibrates in his pocket a second later, and he groans when I climb off him so he can get to it. Ten rolls his eyes when he reads the screen and hands it over.
It’s a text from Sawyer.
Some groupies I hooked up with are trying to pass off pics of me fucking them as pics of you. You’re lucky I’m well-endowed or I’d just let people think you’re the one with the tiny dick.
He follows it up a second later with a laughing-so-hard-they’re-crying emoji.
“Does that mean he’s gonna tell the press it’s him in those photos?” I ask as I hand the phone back.
He snorts. “Those photos must really be flattering. I’m sure he wants everyone to know that’s his monster dong in those pics, not mine.”
“You’re not exactly lacking in that area.”
Ten grins. “Should I change my last name to ‘Inches’?”
He cuts off my laugh with a kiss, dragging me back across his lap. When he pulls away, he touches his head to mine.
“When this tour is over, I’m buying us our own fucking island,” he vows. “No interruptions, no paparazzi, no bullshit…”
I smile. “Sounds like heaven.”