Page 30 of Out of the Blue

“Yes!”

Her cry spurs me on, and I unleash everything inside of me. I pump hard, and she meets me with equal ferocity. Pounding. Thrusting. Grinding. Her body takes what I’m giving and begs for more.

Sweat pours off my chest. Her shiny torso speaks of her investment in our activities. I hammer into her until she clenches around me, her body goes rigid, and she cries out. In the middle of her long wail, I let loose, roaring as my own climax overtakes me.

Even when I’ve emptied myself into the condom, I continue to pulse inside her body, prolonging her orgasm until her cries reduce to whimpers.

Only then do I collapse next to her, my head cushioned by the pillow. After I slide all the way out of her body, I hop off the bed to take care of the condom. Within a minute, I’ve returned to the bed. Her eyes are closed, her breathing slow and steady. Standing by her side, I bend down and kiss her forehead. “Sleep well, Cordy.”

I’ve never fucked someone unconscious before, but I like it.

Chapter 10 - Cordelia

Cordy.

He called me Cordy.

No one’s ever bothered to give me a nickname. Ever. Not my mother. Certainly not my father. Big Rolls? Fuck no.

The man who gave me an orgasm I’ll never forget did. Correction—three most amazing orgasms. Of my life.

My heart flips while I continue to feign sleep.

The bed dips as Trent slides in next to me and wraps his naked body around mine. Shit. I need to get away. Nothing good can come of this. I blame my third vodka seltzer.

Remaining silent and still for some time, I wait until he turns over and releases me from his grip. Free! I wait a few more minutes to make sure his light snoring continues. With deliberate care, I flip up the covers and pad to the living room where our clothes are scattered around. With one eye on the bedroom, I put everything back on except for my black booties, which I carry with me. I slip out into the hall, drop the shoes, and make quick work of getting back into them. My body sags against the wall, relief flooding over me. I made it. My body makes a last-minute plea to go another round with him, but I squash that.Get your head on straight. He’ll never stay.

I exhale a deep, cleansing breath and return to my empty room. I shed my clothes once more and take a long, hot shower. All the while his nickname for me plays on repeat.

Cordy.

When I shake my wet head, water flies everywhere in the tiled bathroom. I wrap a towel around my body and walk to the queen-sized bed. Not nearly as large as the king in his “Junior Suite,” but whatever. Mine’s fine for me. A good reminder of who he is. And who I am.

I throw off the towel and climb under the blankets, which aren’t warm from both our bodies working off excess energy. And doesn’t feature the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen lying next to me.It’s better this way.

I punch my pillow and close my eyes, willing sleep to take me away. My alarm goes off in what seems like minutes and I shake cobwebs out of my head. Time to get back to work. Or, rather, onto the buses, since today’s a travel day.

Making sure my hair is flat ironed straight, I check my reflection in the mirror and stain my lips bright red. Buoyed by my false eyelashes, I place the call I’ve been dreading and, of course, I’m put right through to Apex’s HR. Five minutes later, I disconnect, knowing the possibility of a loan against my salary was a pipedream. Fuck.

I drag my sorry ass down to the restaurant where the TLR members sit on one side and their crew and roadies on the other. Unable to meet Trent’s gaze, I join the roadies’ table. Marvin clears a place for me, and I plop down. The server fills my coffee cup, and I sip while everyone talks around me. I’m not interested in joining in, as my disappointing conversation with Apex plays on repeat. Not to mention my stupid heart, and a spot much lower, wants to be over at the other table. But I keep my butt firmly planted.

On the other side of me, Hector carries the conversation about our next stop—Boston. They’re all so excited to hit the town they don’t even notice I’m not chatting them up. Whatever. Works for me. When they’ve finished their meals, and I’ve eaten about half of my bagel, we lug our suitcases toward the buses. Funny how having availability to food makes it less desirable.

“Cordy!”

Ignoring how my heart sings as Trent yells my nickname, I pretend not to hear him, leave my suitcase by the cargo hold, and jump onto the roadie bus. Much better. At least, safer.

My serenity bubble bursts when an angry guitarist boards the bus and stalks over to me. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

My body vibrates as the man who made me feel all sorts of incredible pleasures looms over me. Not wanting to be towered over, I stand. And lie. “Been in my own world.”

His face morphs with a warring emotion. Pride? Satisfaction? Delight? “I know the feeling.”

I square my shoulders. I’m sure he doesnot.I announce, “I’m riding to Boston on this bus today.”

His fists go to his hips. “Why?”

Because I don’t want to be too close to you. Because you make my head spin. Because “danger” is written across your forehead so only I can read it. I adopt my trademarked glare that skewers people in place. “I have some research to do. Remember?”

---