Page 47 of Give Me What I Want

“Fine, but you tell anyone about this and I’ll put you in the bin.” I threatened.

“Ooh, the bin,” she said mockingly. “I’m so scared.”

“You should be,” I said, and I wasn’t talking about the bin.

Bea might have been an awful dancer, but I made her look like a goddamn headline act in comparison. I lost myself in the moment though, shimmying, then changing lanes and starting to strip.

Once my tank was off, I spun it around in circles above my head as I bit my finger, then tossed it Bea’s way. She cheered, then threw herself at me, leaping and wrapping her legs around me as I caught her with ease.

“How much for the night?” she asked, kissing my face all over and giggling.

“Baby, I’m a stripper, not a prozzy.”

“Everyone has their price.” She leaned back and wiggled her brows.

“For you, I’m free. For anyone else, millions. No, wait. Billions. Multiple of them.” I went along, enjoying the rare playful moment.

“Aww, you’re so romantic,” she gushed, then pushed her fingers through my hair, nails scratching along my scalp, then down the back of my neck, making me groan and stiffen.

“You can’t do that, it’s not fair,” I said in a low growl.

“Do what?” She tried to look innocent as she toyed with the chain of the necklace I never took off, but she failed entirely.

For a moment, I considered just throwing her down on the hood of the car, tearing through the denim of her shorts, and fucking her hard and fast until my cum was dripping from her pussy all over the car.

But then another car came flying past us, beeping its horn and shouting at us in Spanish, and I backed down instantly. Exhibitionist, I was not, even if my thoughts had wandered there.

“Do you think they knew who we were?” she asked, brows knitting together.

Thinking reasonably, I glanced up and down the winding road. “They were going way too fast, and look at those bends, they’d have only seen us for a second, not long enough to take a picture.”

Bea followed my gaze down the road and sighed, relief spilling from her lips, and then she was kissing me again, gentle yet so needy.

“Let’s get back to the bus.” I decided when she pulled back, putting her down.

“We have plenty of time until soundcheck, are you sure you want to go back?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “Because for the first time since…” I trailed off, clearing my throat as I stopped my thoughts from running away from the moment. “I’ve missed you,” I said, giving her a meaningful look filled with raw fucking heat.

“Oh.” Her jaw dropped in understanding. “I’ve missed you too. Let’s go.”

We got back in the car, drove across the city with the windows down and music still blasting, and when we got back, I kicked all of my bandmates out, and fucked our frontwoman until she was screaming at the top of her powerful lungs.

Thank god the windows were closed, and the bus was soundproofed.

13

Three days had passed since Mav and I had gone on our little adventure around Madrid, the one that had ended with him finally back in my bed and Garth hammering the bus door down to scream at me for leaving without discussing it with him first.

For the last three days, Mav had seemed far more like his old self. I wasn’t expecting a full change, and I never expected him to go entirely back to normal. His whole life had changed, and he was a new version of himself, one that still meant the world to me. He was on a journey though, and I knew that some days would be better than others, so we’d take the good days, and make the most of them.

For Maverick’s sake, Ro was being less combative. Cole was—if it’s even possible—acting like an even bigger ray of sunshine and optimism. Jordan hadn’t made a single shitty comment about our sex lives, he hadn’t even pulled faces, and he had seemed to be slowing down with his reckless substance abuse, just a little. And I was giving Mav whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Space, affection, snacks, head scratches. If he spoke up about something I was on it. Attentive and soft. I was always a little soft for Mav.

We were en route to Zurich, expecting to arrive at the venue in less than an hour, and were all chilling in the lounge. Mav was playing his guitar, his fingers looking sore as they slid up and down the strings, but this was nothing new. Whenever he was stuck in his head he’d play excessively, the instrument barely leaving his hands. He’d been playing all morning, and I realised that maybe today wouldn’t be one of his good days.

That was okay though.

I slipped into the space between his legs, sitting cross-legged on the floor and peering up at him, watching his fingers, and trying not to get distracted by the way they moved.

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