Page 83 of Sixty Days Of Summer

Her nails dig into my shoulders, her hips pushing against mine, urging me deeper. I pull back just enough to thrust into her again, harder this time, and the sound she makes—fuck, it goes straight to my cock.

Her legs tighten around me, her body meeting every thrust as I slam into her, setting a rhythm that has her gasping. Each time I drive into her, I feel her pulse around me, her pussy clenching as if she doesn’t want to let go. My hands grip her hips, guiding her, fucking her against the door as she moans my name, her breath hot against my neck.

The sounds of our bodies colliding fill the room, her back thumping softly against the door with every thrust. Her head falls back, her eyes half-closed, and all I can think about is how fucking hot she looks, lost in the pleasure I’m giving her. I lean forward, my mouth finding her neck, kissing, biting, tasting her as I fuck her harder, feeling her getting closer to the edge again.

Her moans become louder, more desperate. The sound of her voice as she says my name, is raw and needy, pushing me to fuck her even harder. The wet slap of our bodies echoes through the room, dirty and obscene, and I know anyone walking by would hear everything—the filthy rhythm of us fucking, her loud moans, her breathy whimpers. But I don’t care. I’m too lost inthe way she feels wrapped around my cock, so tight and hot, her body quivering as she chases another orgasm.

Her head falls back against the door, her lips parted, and I can see that look in her eyes, the one that tells me she’s close again. The way her pussy grips me is almost unbearable, the heat of her making it harder to hold back. I thrust into her with everything I’ve got, driving her closer. I dig my hands into her hips as I pin her against the door.

“Ace... I’m gonna—” Her voice breaks off into a moan, and I feel her body tense as her orgasm crashes over her.

But I’m not done with her. Not yet.

“Fuck,” I growl, gripping her hips harder as I fuck her through it. The way she’s coming again makes me push deeper, faster. Her moans turn into gasps, her legs trembling as I keep driving into her harder, my cock throbbing inside her. The door rattles under the force of it, and every noise she makes just makes me wilder.

I’m barely holding on, the feel of her too fucking good to stop. I slam into her again, harder this time, feeling the slick heat around my cock. The need for release builds up, my body tightening, every thrust pushing me closer to the edge.

Her fingers claw at my back, her nails digging into my skin, and I feel her pussy flutter around me as she starts to come again, her body giving in to the pleasure. That’s all it takes. The way she grips me, the sound of her falling apart, it sends me over the edge. I give her a few more brutal thrusts before my own release explodes, my cock pulsing deep inside her as I come hard.

The pleasure hits me like a wave, and I keep fucking her, feeling every second of it, every squeeze of her pussy as we ride out our orgasms. Her gasps and my groans mix until we both collapse, spent and breathless, against the door.

I can feel her body clinging to mine as we both catch our breath. I breathe her in, burying my face in the curve of her neck, inhaling her scent—a mix of sex, sweat, and something purely her. The warmth of her, the softness of her skin against mine, is intoxicating, and I can’t bring myself to pull away just yet.

Her fingers trace lazy patterns down my arms, and I can hear the soft rise and fall of her breathing, still coming down from the high of everything we’ve just done. I press my forehead against her collarbone, taking a moment to soak in the feeling of her against me.

When I finally pull back, I meet her gaze, a slow smirk spreading across my face. Her eyes are heavy, lips parted as she breathes, still drunk with pleasure. I kiss her neck one last time, nipping at her skin before I push us off the door, holding her tight as I carry her toward the bathroom.

Chapter 30

Ace

Itossed and turned all night, barely catching any sleep. The thought of today’s interview weighed heavily on me, dragging me down a dark path. My fucked-up childhood kept resurfacing, haunting me. The only thing that kept me from spiraling was Scarlet, her back pressed against my chest as she slept. I held her close—no; I fucking clung to her, as if she were the only thing keeping me from sinking into the abyss and losing myself entirely.

Even though it’s morning and sunlight is streaming through the curtains we forgot to close last night, my mind’s still a mess. The thought of facing that asshole Jerry Goldman today,digging into my dark past to clear up shit that was never my fault makes my stomach churn. How the hell is this considered entertainment? And why the fuck am I the one who has to fix it? It’s all because of the fame, the way the paparazzi twist the truth to make headlines.

Scarlet turns in my arms, her face just inches away from mine. She’s smiling, and seeing her like this—happy, content—wipes away every bit of dread that’s been clawing at me. She’s stunning, and every day, I’m still in awe that she’s mine—mine to love, mine to hold. I know the way guys look at her and every filthy fucking thought that goes through their heads. Even last night, when those fans were eyefucking her, I had to force myself not to walk over and lay them out for even thinking they had a shot. But I kept my cool, my fists clenched at my sides, because reacting would just feed into the bullshit rumors my mother started—painting me as some violent monster.

I reach out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You’re so beautiful, Scar. Beautiful in every way," I murmur, the words spilling out easier now like a truth I can’t keep inside.

The second my fingers graze her face, she closes her eyes and leans into my touch. I love that I have that effect on her, as if she’s drawing comfort from me. When she opens her eyes again, she leans in and presses a soft, caring kiss to my lips. It's brief but carries a tenderness that makes my chest tighten in a way I can't quite explain. As she pulls back, her brows furrow, and her gaze sharpens, like she’s trying to read me, to unravel the thoughts I haven’t shared.

“You’re worried about today, aren’t you?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I admit, still amazed at how she can see right through me. “I’ve been struggling with all of this… and now having to bring it all out in the open… it’s just something I’m not sure I’m ready for.”

She lifts her hand, cupping the side of my face with a touch that’s both gentle and firm. “You don’t have to justify anything, Ace. Not to anyone. If it’s too hard, then fuck it all. Screw what your mother said. She’s the one at fault here, not you. You’re the one left with all the scars because of her. If you can’t go through with this, then don’t.”

I nod, feeling the weight of her words settle in. “I know. But it’s something I need to do. I know that it’s going to be tough, diving back into that headspace. But I have to be there with Daisy.”

She snuggles into my chest, and I hold her tighter. “I can’t wait to show you around New York tomorrow, once we get there,” she murmurs against me.

I’m relieved by the change of subject. I’ve told her before that, despite touring all over the world, I’ve barely taken in the sights. That’s why she’s so keen to share all her favorite spots in New York. I’m already planning to take her out on a date, hoping that once this interview is behind me, I can organize something special just for us. It’s the least I can do after everything she’s done for me, and I want to make sure she knows how much I appreciate her and our time together.

Fuck, listen to me—I’ve turned into some sappy guy, but I can’t help it. I’m loving this openness between us. All the walls I spent years building around my vulnerability are gone, and for the first time, I’m not scared of her seeing the real me—the broken parts, the messed-up shit. The way she looks at me, like all my flaws and scars are just parts of who I am.

By mid-morning, we’re in a town car, heading toward the airport, and I can feel the tension tightening in my chest. Daisy’s agreed to meet us in L.A. at the studio for the interview, and after that, Scarlet and I will catch a flight back to New York to join the guys for the next five shows. But right now, all I can think about is the interview ahead, hanging over me like a storm cloud I can’t shake.

Six grueling hours later, we finally touch down, and the moment we step out of the airport, I’m barely holding it together. Scarlet’s warm grip on my hand calms the storm brewing inside me. It’s like this relentless worry is coursing through my veins, a dark energy pulsing under my skin. I can’t help but wonder after all these years why my mother still has this effect on me. Or maybe it’s not just her—it’s the thought of revisiting those painful memories, dredging up the past that left its mark. With each mile closer to the studio, my anxiety twists tighter, coiling like a knot in my gut.

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