Page 138 of Don't Bang a Bandmate

Bronson kisses me hard. “Because I’m about to do this...”

He moves his hand over my ass, pushing his fingers between my?—

“Fuck!”I bury my face in his chest, unable to stop the rush of pleasure firing through my core. “I hate when you do that.”

He chuckles. “Liar.”

With a wiggle of his finger, I fall far over the edge. Everything tightens as I come. Just as quickly, my entire body turns to jelly and I ride the ecstasy in his arms.

“That’s my Jordan,” Bronson says in my ear, his voice so deep. So delicious.

Every breath ends with a moan. As soon as I have control again, I resume the grinding roll of my hips, wanting to make him feel as good as I do.

Bronson drops his head to the pillow. His eyes flutter closed, and he groans in pleasure. “Yes,” he whispers. “Jordan, you feel so...”

I kiss his neck. “So...”

He squeezes my ass, his abs flexing beneath me. A deep, guttural groan quivers in his throat, which I leave light kisses against as I watch him finish.

“So...” Bronson catches his breath.“Fucking good.”

I chuckle, tasting the sweat on his skin. “Good boy.”

He wraps his arms around me, holding me tightly against him. A few deep breaths. A few even deeper kisses. “I love you,” he whispers.

I smile, feeling so very loved. “I love you, too.” I kiss him again and sigh. “I should probably shut off the alarm, though.”

“In a minute,” he says, smiling. “I wanna hold you for a bit longer.”

I don’t move. I don’t even question it. Resting my head against him, I listen to his heart thumping in his chest.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I smile, tingling all over, feeling his firm hand drift up and down my back.

“I love you, too,” I say.

“You said that already,” Bronson says, a smile in his voice.

“I know. I just want to say it over and over again.”

He kisses my head and we lie still for just a little longer. After a minute, the sound of my alarm becomes insufferable and I ease off him, carefully planting my feet on the floor. As I step out of the bunk, the morning Miami sun hits my eyes. I squint, raising my hand to block it from view.

Fucking Florida, man.

And I thought Las Vegas sun was bad.

With shaking ankles, I throw on my shirt and jeans from last night as I walk toward the table where I left my phone.

I turn off the alarm.

Time to start the day.

Time to go home.

Twenty-four shows down. Zero to go.

My stomach tightens with a little bittersweetness. There’s a point in every tour when I start counting down the days until it’s all over. When that day finally arrives, it always leaves me feeling a little empty deep down.

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