Page 26 of Knot Their Opening Act

I can’t believe I allowed one of the Fable guys to get me off. And yet, with his bulge pressing into my hand through his clothes, all I want now is to feel it in me, and to make him feel good, too.

“Come to my room. No one needs to know.” I swallow tightly and realize how much I hope he says yes.

“I don’t care about them. But how will you feel? Afterwards?”

“Full, hopefully,” I say with a smirk.

* * *

In the end it was probably more like thirty minutes that the fire department took to arrive and get us dislodged and up to the 12th floor. We were running like kids afraid to get caught to my room when the alarm on Thomas’s watch went off.

“Shit,” was all he said, and once inside with the door shut and deadbolt on, he leaned against the closet door and sent off a text.

“Everything okay?” My luggage has been delivered so I pull the bathroom door half shut as I remove my drenched clothes that were a real bitch to pull back on, and give myself a quick clean off, then pull the terry robe from the back of the bathroom door around me and return to the living area of my suite.

“All good. Told the guys I’ve got a headache and am taking a nap while they go for brunch.”

I raise a brow. “Is that normal, you having headaches? Or will they not buy it?”

“I get headaches now and then. But only when I’ve stared at the screen too much.”

I nod like this is sage shared life experience, and then silence falls. We look at each other. If he’s anything like me, he can’t believe what just transpired, and worries that moment is gone for good.

I’m covered in sweat and semi-dried slick. His hair is mussed and his glasses slightly squint. God, he looks so sexy I could eat him up. But a cold sweat begins to hint at breaking out across my skin.

“The heat residual, and the panic attack,” I say, in response to his questioning look as I start to shiver. He walks me over to the bed and I climb in, robe still on. He pulls the covers up over me, but he’s still stood there, completely dressed.

“Are you coming in?”

A smile makes his face look so much younger. “That’s a loaded question.”

“I hope you have a loaded response.”

“God, with that kind of mouth you sing angelic songs into the mic?”

I pause then scoot up against the headboard. I thought we were just relieving my heat, and his giant erection. But he’s now mentioned my music, and it feels … real.

“Hey,” he says softly, lowering his voice with an almost shy-sounding quiver. “I have a question for you. Have you ever received any kind of counseling or talk therapy for your condition?”

I blink up at him. This seems out of nowhere, but then, us being in this positiondidcome as a result of me panicking in a broken lift.

“I had a therapist for a while, until my Guild insurance refused to pay for it anymore. Said it wasn’t necessary for my training or employment.”

Thomas grunts. “Figures. Listen, I don’t want to come off asthat guy, but I’ve had some luck with something called cognitive behavioral therapy. CBT. It’s talk therapy, but you do worksheets and shit, and it helps you reframe your experience. Even little reframing exercises helped me, here and there. Over time, the payoff has been huge. Have you heard of it?”

I nod. I have, but I wrote it off as something way more intense and for people struggling far more seriously than me. Huh. “I don’t know how I could afford it, or if I could find someone?—”

“Talk to Ash. If it would help with this tour, he’d be willing, I think. And you can do video appointments. That’s how I did mine. On the road.”

I nod again, and a warmth nestles in my chest. His sharing this is an admittance that he’s had struggles he doesn’t like to talk about, too. Somehow this means even more than the advice.

“I will talk to Ash. Thanks for mentioning this, Thomas.”

He smiles back. Then he looks down at my body and back at my lips. “So. Are we doing this?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He pulls his jumper and t-shirt over his head, steps out of his jeans, and stands before me in black silk boxers.

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