Except when he swings his gaze to me in the wings that night, locking eyes with me for several delirious seconds, I’m certain he is.
When he slides into the chorus of “Bedroom Eyes,” I don’t hope he’s singing a few lines to me.
I know he is, and worse, I like it far too much for my own good.
26
Stone
I bury my face in Jackson’s neck later that night.
“Cedar,” I whisper. “And falling snow. That’s what you smell like.”
His fingers skate down my back. “You sure about that? I’d think right now I smell like sex.”
I laugh, inhaling him once again. The blow job earlier was the best way to start a show. And now, this is the best way to finish a show. This man—in my suite, tangled up in bed with me. “Fine. Right now you might be wearing eau de hot, sweaty, pent-up-all-day-from-wanting-you sex.”
Jackson laughs, and it’s a great post-sex laugh. Husky and throaty.
I sigh happily. “Admit it. I killed it onstage tonight. All because I was going to see you after.”
“You weren’t so bad with the mic,” he deadpans.
I roll my eyes. “Thanks.”
“Fine. You were better than average.”
I shove a hand against his shoulder.
The man simply laughs. “Want me to say you were on fire?”
“Yes. Because I was thinking about getting your clothes off,” I add.
“Same. Same for me. Though I think nearly everyone in the audience was thinking that about you,” he says.
I drag my fingers down his chest. “Doubtful. But you’re the only one I was thinking of,” I say, and dammit—this is what mind-bending sex does to me. It unlocks my lips. Makes me say all sorts of sweet, swoony shit to him.
This is because of the sex.
It’s only because of the sex.
But then, I don’t think I’ve whispered sweet nothings like this before. Not to a man, and not to a woman.
And I’ve got to get my act together. “Incidentally, this is so much better than whacking off to thoughts of you after a concert,” I say, since that’s keeping the focus on the sex, not the feelings.
“I’d have to agree, but I would like to watch you do that.”
A yawn threatens to overtake me. “Tomorrow? Can I have that for breakfast?”
“You’re ordering up the sex you want tomorrow morning before you go to bed?”
I flop to my back and mime checking off an item on a room service menu. “Dear concierge, please deliver chai tea, a breakfast bowl, and a hot hand job from the babe in my bed.”
He laughs, chuckling deeply. “This is your week. You’ll get everything you want.”
Week.
The reminder that this thing between us has an end.
The end will protect me. I won’t fall for him in less than a week. How could I? He’s not available for falling. He’s not interested in anything more than a hookup.
I’d do well to remember that.
Jackson slides his hand along the back of his neck, rubbing it, like he’s done before when he’s been tense. Like that time in the limo, on the plane. “J,” I say, trying to broach the subject of whatever’s weighing on him.
“Yes?”
“On the plane. You mentioned stuff you had to clean up from the past. Mistakes, you said. Does it have to do with Fabian?”
Saying the name of his former partner is weird. But it also feels necessary.
With a sigh, he says, “Yes. I have to pay off a debt of his.”
I prop myself up on my elbow. “Can I help?”
“No.” His answer comes out at the speed of light.
Instinct tells me not to press. But I want to so badly. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. I appreciate it, but please don’t ask again,” he says, gentler this time.
I swallow roughly, accepting his answer with a nod while he keeps working his hand over his neck.
He winces.
“Let me help with that, at least,” I say.
Saying nothing, he shifts to his side, giving me access. I slide my hands along his neck and knead my thumbs into his muscles, trying to ease his tension, since I can’t tackle his problem.
He shuts his eyes, sighing, sounding more relaxed.
“I hate when you worry. I want to take all your troubles away,” I whisper. “I’d do that for you.”
“I know. And I like that you want to,” he says, shifting his body a bit closer to mine.
I do the same, moving nearer, massaging his neck and shoulders until his breathing evens out.
In the morning, we trade blow jobs, eat breakfast, listen to some new tunes his sister sent, then shower. It’s the perfect way to start a Sunday. That’s the trouble. It feels like this is simply what we do before we see friends and family.
Like we could do this every weekend.
The more I think that, the more I want to stay in his orbit.
But I can’t. We can’t.
There’s only one solution to knock myself out of this mood— inject some dirty sex into the schedule before we go to the football game.
I’ve got a plan, and once we’re out of the shower and Jackson wraps a towel around his waist, I tug it off with a flourish, throwing it on the tiled floor.
There. Let the sexing begin.
He quirks a brow. “You trying to tell me something, Stone?”
I grab his ass, squeeze it, and drop my voice to a low and dirty tone. “Jerk off on me before we go.”
He blinks, but his surprise disappears quickly. In its place is raw lust. “You want to watch me come all over you?”
I stare at his dick, hardening to iron in seconds. My cock is steel too, ready to go. “I do.”
“Get on the bed,” he growls.
I leave the bathroom and turn into the bedroom, but before I can flop down on the bed, he shoves my chest, pushing me back on the mattress.
I shudder, loving his roughness, even as I fire off, “What’s that for?”
“It’s to get you where I want you.” The big man grabs the lube, tosses it on the covers, then climbs over me, pushing my legs open.
“And where’s that?”
His eyes travel up and down my body, drinking me in. “Naked for me. Hot for me. Coming for me.”
My dick twitches, liking the sound of all that.
Lust skates across my skin. Jackson kneels between my legs, pours some lube into his hand, then grips his cock.
His hand glides slow and easy down his length, then back up. His eyes lock with mine as his palm travels that path once more, squeezing the head of his cock, pushing out a liquid bead.
My jaw comes unhinged.
My breath hisses.
It’s so sexy, the way he’s down for anything in seconds, the way he takes over our pleasure in an instant.
“Yes,” I groan, my fingers brushing over my chest. The muscles in his forearms flex and his biceps tighten as he works that thick cock in his fist.
My pulse spikes, and my dick begs for attention.
I slide my hand lower, reaching for my shaft. Lightning fast, his other arm whips out, slapping my hand away.
“Just watch,” he instructs, rough and commanding. “Watch me jerk off on you. Like you wanted.”