Page 55 of Wes

My stomach drops.

What if they already have? Why didn’t she tell me that story before? Maybe she doesn’t love me as much as I, her.

I slam a hand on the mirrored wall.

Hearing her story, that Ken guy comes off like the perfect man. How can I compete with that? He’s a fucking memory. He can’t do no wrong while I’m going to screw up many times.

The doors open to the lobby, and I step out of the elevator. I’d better lower expectations to protect my heart now before further damage.

A tall, attractive brunette pushes off the reception counter to cut my progress by standing in front of me, wearing a wide grin and a happy glint in her green eyes. “Hi, Wes,” she greets me in a breathy whisper.

Sleep deprived and grumpy, I swallow a snappy response. Fans deserve better from me. “Sorry, hon. If you want an autograph, we’ve got to do this on the way to the van. I’m embarrassingly late for soundcheck.”

As I skirt her to leave the hotel, she grabs my arm. “You can’t be serious.”

I shake my head, gently prying her fingers away. “I really can’t do this right now.”

Without a look back, I jog to the van and slide onto the seat. “Sorry, man.”

The driver nods and screeches out of the hotel driveway and into traffic. I switch focus to the work ahead.

19

MARIA

As we ride on the back of my limousine, I watch Wes’s profile etched against the gloriously blue October sky with the Golden Gate Bridge in the far distance.

He laced our fingers together as soon as we got in and now, they rest on his thigh, miles away from his cock or my pussy. I squeeze my thighs together when a dull ache stabs my core.

We have had sex in the two weeks since that last concert in Boston. But I feel like a different man has slipped into my bed. Wes has always had his moments of tenderness and care when we make love and I adore him for them. But I also enjoy his roughness sometimes. I miss him fucking me senseless against a wall just because he can’t wait to get to the bed. Or the kitchen table. Or the fucking first step on the stairs. All of which we’ve already tried and approved. None of them have been under my ass or belly lately.

Frustration comes out of me in a huff.

Wes snaps his head around to look at me. Squeezing my fingers and with a deep crease between his eyebrows, he rasps, “You okay, love?”

Guilty for having been such a brat in my own head, I grip his fingers hard in silent reassurance. “I’m great.” I fill my mind with sinful images of his body pinning me down and his cock drilling me through a series of orgasms. With a wink, I offer him a lazy smile and add in a sultry voice, “Just very, very horny.”

He chuckles, kisses my knuckles, and replies in a neutral tone, “We’ll have to take care of that when we get home.”

He sounds like we’re discussing the weather.

Fuming, I drop my gaze to his lap to find a raging erection tenting his jeans. When he tries to cover it with his other hand, I go off the deep end.

I swat his hand and bark, “Seriously? How did we get to this?”

Other than his nostrils flaring, his features remain stony. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I yank my hand free from his and cross my arms under my breasts. “Oh, really? So let me enlighten you, Mr. Baron.” I take a deep breath to calm down and be fair. I roll my shoulders and admit, “I’m aware you think you’re doing this to help me. It does not, so please stop.”

“What am I doing?” A light rosy blush spreading over his cheeks makes me tilt my head and smile.

“This kid-glove treatment. I can’t stand it anymore. Before I told you about my attack, you would’ve been all over me on this seat.” I slap the tan leather cushion between us, an unimaginable distance up until two weeks ago. I continue, not fighting a sly grin, “I would’ve gotten at least two orgasms before we arrived at your house.”

He opens his mouth to reply at the exact moment Jim, my driver, pulls up in front of Wes’s place. I glance at the breathtaking light-brown facade of the Victorian-style house before looking back at him.

I capture his lopsided smile with a brief kiss and murmur, “That ends today.”

Jim opens the door for me, I step out, pulling Wes behind me by his wrist. Chuckling he pretends to drag his feet. We climb the stairs to his bedroom without pausing to catch our breaths. When we go inside and I pin him against the closed door, we heave like we’ve run a marathon.

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