Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
It’s not long before I’m crying out his name, but he doesn’t stop there. Dylan keeps licking and sucking me. His mouth is relentless as he manages to work another finger into me. My hips rock as the second orgasm starts to push down on me. Then his mouth is gone, leaving me teetering on the edge. I’m so close. Only a little more and I’ll be there.
“No!” I cry out.
“I’ve got you. The next time you come, it will be on my cock.” His body comes down over mine, and he claims my mouth in a deep kiss. The head of his cock presses inside of me. I gasp.
Dylan slides his hand between us, his fingers going to my clit. With only a few strokes, he sends me over the edge. The pleasure flows through my body as Dylan thrusts fully inside of me. A mixture of pain and pleasure courses through me.
His whole body stills over mine, not moving. Only his mouth. He keeps on kissing me. The pain starts to fade until all I can feel is him, his body connected deep with mine. An overwhelming emotion that I can’t describe starts to take hold.
“I feel it too,” he whispers against my mouth. Love? Is that what this is? It can’t be. We barely know each other. “Stay with me.”
“I’m with you.” I wrap my arms around him, gripping his back. He pulls out and thrusts back in.
“Irish.” He groans.
“Don’t stop,” I plead, needing him to move.
“Never,” he grits out as he starts to move faster. I lift my hips, meeting each of his thrusts. “You’re so tight. Not going to last.”
“Come.” I want to feel it.
“Not without you.” He shifts his knees, digging deeper into the mattress. His cock hits the perfect spot inside of me. “Come with me.”
“Yes!” I cry out. This orgasm is different. It explodes outward. Dylan groans my name, thrusting as deep into me as he can and comes. His warm release spills inside of me.
I’ve never felt more connected to someone in my whole life. I don’t ever want to let go, but I know I’ll have no choice come tomorrow. Still, I wrap my legs around him, keeping him as close as I can for now.
CHAPTER 12
CLOVER
Chris is not happy.
“The only reason I’m not yelling at you right now is because I’m saving my vocal cords for when we are in person. I want you to get the full volume of my fury face to face,” he seethes over the phone.
“I’m sorry.”
The flight attendant gives me a ten-minute sign. I settle back into the plush captain’s chair and stretch out my legs. This is why I waited until I’d boarded the private plane to turn my phone on. There’s a forced time limit for Chris.
“When I signed up to be your manager, we agreed that you weren’t gonna be one of those types. You know I left the business because I was tired of all these asshole superstars not meeting their commitments, leaving me holding the bag, requiring me to make up ridiculous excuses.”
“I know.”
In these circumstances, I always think it’s best to let someone vent. It doesn’t do any good to try to explain yourself or justify your actions. It’s not like I have any justification. I disappeared in the middle of a tour and didn’t turn my phone on for over forty-eight hours. It was beyond irresponsible, but of course, I’d do it all over again.
“I’m on my way.”
“Where are you?”
“At Henderson Airport waiting for the control tower to say we can take off.”
“Finally.”
“Do I have any obligations tomorrow?” Or today since it's two in the morning.
“I canceled all of them. You’re welcome,” he grumbles bitterly.
“Thank you. What’s on my agenda?”
“After the concert, you have some meet and greets, and a reporter from the LA Times wants five minutes for the post-concert review. Can you please keep it together for another four days? Once you’re done here, you have a week off before we open in Seattle.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be an angel. In the meantime, I need you to book me a hotel—actually, no. Rent out an Airbnb. A small one that’s sort of like a family house or a house that would belong to a—” I try to think where someone who is into “crowd management” would live—“to an ordinary office worker, but make sure it has a pool and a hot tub.”
“Do you know what an ordinary office worker can afford?”
“Probably not.”
“What are you up to? Is it a woman? Actually, don’t tell me. I want plausible deniability. Do you need a chef or do you want me to have food sent every day?”
“I can order in.”
“Can you? Do you have Uber Eats or Dine In apps on your phone?”
I have no idea what those are, but I lie. “Of course.”