Page 97 of Don't Bang a Bandmate

I cry out as the tension in me snaps. Climax rushes through me, touching every nerve in my body. Bronson’s arms flex, holding me still as he groans in my ear. His cock throbs deep inside of me, our orgasms twisting together. He smothers my mouth with his own, a hot and satisfying kiss, as our bodies continue to writhe.

We sit still for a minute. My eyes drift along the city ahead, more and more buildings coming into view as the sun slowly crawls along the eastern horizon.

Enjoy the view, sweetheart.

Soon it’ll be yours every day.

All I have to do is… give up everything I am.

I slide helplessly off his lap onto the couch cushion. “Fuck,” I say, my legs stiff and splayed.

Bronson moves with me, positioning himself between my thighs. I feel his erection push against my opening, still thick and hard.

“Yes,” I whimper. “Yes, Bronson, please...”

He pushes inside, filling me with a single toe-curling stroke. I raise my knees, hooking my ankles behind his back, urging him to keep going. His thrusts come quickly, his body taut, his grunts of pleasure as wild as his breath.

When he crushes his mouth on mine again, I feel the tightness in his body wane. He thrusts in one last time, then stops, his abs rippling softly as he comes again. I hold him close, leaving soft kisses on his damp forehead, running my fingers through his hair. He releases the tension from his body and settles, resting his head on my chest while he catches his breath.

“Sorry,” he says.

I smile. “It’s all right.”

“Never been so hard in my life.” Bronson raises his head and takes a breath. “You good?”

“Oh, I’m good.”

“Good.” He drops his head again, this time turning his face toward the windows. Dawn breaks on the horizon, filling the sky with a gentle, warm glow. “You’re a good friend, Jordan.”

I go quiet a moment; the words hitting me differently. I said the same thing to him not an hour before, but hearing them now... it doesn’t feel the same.

“Yeah,” I reply. “So are you.”

31

JORDAN

The ride from New York City to Philadelphia clocks in at just over an hour and a half — if traffic isn’t too bad — making it the shortest trip on the tour.

And, after last night, it’s also turning into thequietesttrip as well.

I sit alone at the table near the front with my planner sitting out in front of me. Everyone else, Chrissy and August included, lie scattered around. Bodies curled up in blankets. Heads crushed on shoulders. Near silent save the occasional yawn or whispered word.

It’s kinda nice, actually.

Taking a thick sip of coffee from my faded golden travel mug, I continue making my way through the countless messages in my inbox following last night’s show.

Is Christian Myers joining Criminal Records for the rest of the tour?

What can you tell us about the other members of Cobraville?

Should we expect appearances from them as well?

I answer them to the best of my ability, copying and pasting form responses most of the time, not wanting to commit to anyone story. It’s a dance; one I’ve tweaked to perfection over the years.

A new message pops up in my inbox, the sender’s name making me pause.

Paul Monroe.

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