Page 24 of One True Love

There are clean sheets to crawl into after our bath and I’m the first to get between them. Albie has a routine in the bathroom. He likes to comb his hair until he’s happy with it, including the stuff on his chest. He’s not got any lotions or potions with him; they’re held hostage across town in his Mayfair mansion. He’s going to have to go back home at some point, isn’t he? I’ve said he can use whatever is in my bathroom, but I’m sure he’s got tonnes of products that cost quite a bit more.

I’m trying not to panic again as I wait around.

It’s what happens once he goes back out there that I don’t like the thought of—and all the potential articles about him “dating” one of his management team. Someone who moonlights as a bouncer and doesn’t exactly have a model figure like the other women pictured on his arm.

I don’t fit the mould at all and they will have a field day. I’m not the usual sort of groupie. For a start, it’s not his star power that attracts me to him. Sure, the way he looks is…

I mean, he’s just bloody gorgeous. But…

In the quiet moments on long-haul flights, we’d play cards together and he would always let me win. It frustrated me no end. On long bus journeys, we’d collapse together in the back and he’d tell me about what one of the other band members had been up to. I used to think it was to try and make himself look less of a player, recounting the lead guitarist’s foursomes, or the moody bassist’s many admirers and how she’d play them off against one another. On tour, it always felt like I was his confidante and that we had a secret club.

Those quiet moments when I see the real man behind the front, that’s why I love him. Beneath it all, he’s so intelligent and thoughtful. Funny. Caring. Not egotistical at all.

Hmm, maybe scratch that last observation, because when he appears in the doorway separating my bedroom from the en-suite bathroom, with his hands raised to the doorframe above him so he can stretch his long limbs, he looks mighty cocky indeed.

His quiff is looking good and that sharp juncture between thigh and hip is mouthwatering. Grinning, he says, “Why is my lady covered up?”

I purse my lips. “I’ve been waiting for a worthy gentleman to ride to my rescue.”

He sniggers and knocks his hip against the wood, arms folded. Looking across the room at me with his eyes hooded, a dirty smile on his lips, he is devastating.

It’s in this moment, I accept, I’ve just got him on loan.

This won’t last.

His life is complicated and I don’t want complicated.

I want a lover and a husband, not necessarily a family, but a man who’ll just be there. That’s what I want, more than anything.

“Take the sheet down and pleasure yourself for me,” he gestures, those thick black brows wriggling, his eyes dancing. “So I can watch.”

I’m not that easy and he knows it.

I plan to taunt and drive him crazy all night. If this might be our last night, then he’d better not get off lightly, had he?

Lifting my hands above my head, I chuckle and gradually kick the sheet down and off my body so it’s in a bundle at the end of my bed. Lying naked for his greedy eyes, I grin with my teeth digging into my bottom lip because I can see his manhood beginning to harden.

Five minutes ago, I was fresh and clean. Dry. I can’t say the same now.

Spreading my thighs open, I tease, “I’d much rather you pleasure me.”

“Mirabelle, you naughty minx. Don’t deny me.” His voice has deepened to a low, husky command. “I would be pleased to see you pleasure yourself. I know you must have… I have.”

I deduce the insinuation. “You presume I’ve touched myself over you before, do you?”

“I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve fantasised and wanked over you.”

I tip my head back laughing and tell him, “Maybe I did.” I look at him and ask, “What did you fantasise about?”

He pushes off the doorframe and walks around the bed, grabbing his big penis along the way and giving himself some consoling tugs to ease the yearning. I can’t help but watch how he handles himself, how he likes to rub the head.

“If I tell you, will you touch yourself during?”

I nod because I can barely do much else.

He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls my ankle that’s closest to him out even wider so my legs are fully spread. He watches as my hand slides over my breasts and down my belly, then circles my swollen clit gently. I slide one finger in and groan, withdrawing with a warning look. Tit for tat. When he starts speaking again, I’ll start touching.

“I’d fantasise about doing you over speakers, backstage or onstage, wouldn’t matter.” My eyes widen. “I thought about jizzing in your mouth while everyone else was asleep on the coach, including you, while I had my hand inside my pants.”

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