Page 4 of Don't Fall For A Rockstar

Tommy nodded, pulling out his phone in turn, and tapping it.

I sent out a quick group text to my boys and shoved the phone back in my pocket.

“Rideshare on the way,” Tommy declared as he moved in close to grab my waist. Leaning in, his lips brushed mine. “Get your sexy ass moving.”

“You’re demanding,” I chuckled.

“Just wait until you’re in my bed. Fair warning.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that,” I growled against his lips. “Want you to fuck me.”

“It would be my absolute pleasure.”

Tommy’s hands moved lower, squeezing my ass cheeks, and a shiver wracked my body. But the moment was interrupted by his phone buzzing, and he quickly slid one strong arm around my waist and guided me out of the club. He held the door open with the other and did the same when our car appeared. The whole time, he didn’t let go of me. And oddly enough, I had no problem leaning into his embrace. A lot of guys weren’t down for touching unless it was directly about sex. But I liked the way Tommy held me, almost protective. Shit, I liked it way too much.

But then, I realized that maybe he was touchy-feely like that with everyone.

Whatever. It didn’t mean anything. Not for one night.

Maybe it was the fact that it had been a while. I hooked up with a lot of musicians and crew, but not for the past month. I was too busy with shows and demos and trying to get a hold of our so-called agent to land us a record deal. Sex took a back seat.

I know, what the fuck? And I call myself a rockstar?

For once, this twenty-four-year-old had to ease up onles bon tempsand focus on work. And it was paying off. Look where we were. This New Orleans boy was about to make it big. All my rock ‘n’ roll dreams were taking flight.

And what better way to celebrate than a night of pure pleasure?

But the rideshare to Tommy’s hotel felt like ten hours, never mind ten minutes. With his left thigh touching my right, and his big hand gripping my knee, I was all but vibrating. He didn’t make to kiss me, though, and my mouth was dying for a taste.

Unable to stop myself, I turned my head towards him and gave his neck a teasing lick. His hand moved up my thigh, squeezing and rubbing. Despite my leather pants, the heat of his palm branded me, like there was nothing between us. When he finally cupped my hard cock, the groan I let out was fucking loud.

Next thing I knew, the car stopped.

Had we arrived at our destination or was the driver kicking us out? It’d happened to me before. As open and accepting as NOLA was, there were still homophobes.

“This is our stop,cher,” Tommy whispered to me.

“Don’t tell me you speak French, too?” I teased.

He shook his head, stepped out of the car, and held his hand out to me. I couldn’t remember the last time any guy did that. But then again, I didn’t date. I fucked.

This isn’t a date, I reminded myself. Jesus, it’s just sex.

Still, his gesture had my already pounding heart thrumming at a frenzied rhythm. My stomach dropped, like I’d stepped onto a rocking boat in the middle of the bayou.

A sexy man with old-fashioned manners should have sent me running right back to the club. Instead, I took Tommy’s offered hand.

We stepped up to the hotel entrance and his arm wrapped around my waist again, guiding me inside. Swear to Christ, I was sweating like I was on stage, and we hadn’t even fucked yet. What the hell was the matter with me?

“Before I completely lose my head, I get tested every three months at work, and the last time was two weeks ago,” he whispered. “I’m negative.”

“Me too. A month ago. No one since.”

He raised one eyebrow, like he didn’t believe me.

“I’ve been busy with work.”

“Said no rockstar, ever,” he quipped and gave me that adorable grin.

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