Fuck, she’d even asked for them. Dirty words.
Raw words. Words of meaning.
Words that might tell her just what she was doing to him.
But he couldn’t. Too wrapped up in his own sensations. In the rush of blood to his head.
Instead, he gasped out her name, a hoarse whisper.
Slowly he came back to earth, settled in the cradle of her arms and legs. He rolled them to their sides and wrapped her tightly in his arms.
He could feel every shudder, could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Hell, he could feel his own racing pulse. In his throat, in his chest, in the vein at the side of his forehead.
As he placed a kiss to the top of her head, he heard her sigh.
The frantic energy that had filled the room only moments before dissipated.
“Are you good, babe?” he asked when he could finally speak, stroking the soft skin of her shoulder with the tips of his fingers.
“Mmm. Better than good,” she said, lazily.
Better than good.
“Still on solid ground?”
“Not even close, but yes.”
It felt good to simply lie there with her. To not be thinking about the quickest way to get out of there, or the least offensive way to ask her to leave.
He wanted her there.
Hell, she belonged there with him.
And a strange sensation filtered through him. He wanted to continue his vocal lessons with her and crush them. He wanted to record the music she’d encouraged him to write and see it become a huge hit—not because his ego wanted it, or his bank balance needed it, but because he wanted her to be proud of him. He wanted her to know that the way she’d helped him was clear for everyone to see.
That sounded a lot like . . . love.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts.
You didn’t just fall in love with someone that quickly. Surely that kind of thing needed time to build, and he couldn’t possibly love her after only two weeks of knowing her.
No. It’s just phenomenal, mind-blowing sex.
She wiggled against him, tucked her head closer to his chest. He reached between them and pulled the condom off, placing it on the wrapper on the bedside table—too fucking exhausted to deal with it—and closed his eyes.
Her fingers gently stroked up and down his abs, a soothing action more likely to send him to sleep than turn him on again.
“You’re staying the night, right?” he asked gruffly.
“Is that an invitation?”
“Yeah. Little Jase really likes you.”
He felt her body shudder with laughter. “Stop calling him Little Jase.”
Jase grinned and tilted her chin so he could see her. “You have the prettiest just-got-fucked face.”
Cerys rolled her eyes. “Stop talking. You’re ruining the moment.”
He placed his hand on her cheek and kissed her gently. “Nothing could ruin this moment, babe. Too fucking special.”
She sighed. “Okay. You can keep talking.”
Her lips were soft, slightly bruised from his early attentions, so he kept things gentle. “I’m glad you came.”
“Define came.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Both. I’m glad you came to my hotel room, and I’m glad you came, twice so far, in my bed.”
“So far?”
“We doing that thing where you repeat everything I say?”
“Everything you say?” Her eyes glittered with mischief.
“Oh, Jase, I love your hot body and the way you make me come.”
“You honestly thought I was going to repeat that?”
Jase shrugged. “Worth a try, right?”
Their exploration of each other turned silent. A knuckle along a jaw, a finger along a collar bone. Quiet, soft kisses. Long gazes at each other that should have been uncomfortable but weren’t. Soft smiles.
Jase couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent in bed with a woman just . . . being. Being himself. Being open. Being vulnerable to someone else’s scrutiny.
Not rushing things was . . . perfection.
Cerys closed her eyes. He could feel his own drooping heavy with sleep. He reached behind him and turned off the light, then cuddled her closer.
“Night, babe,” he said, then kissed her head.
“Night,” she mumbled, her breath warm against his chest.
He lay there, in a random bed in a random hotel in Detroit, a really long way from Manchester. But with Cerys in his arms, it was the closest thing he’d felt to home in fucking forever.
14
The following morning, Jase stood at the microphone, one headphone off one ear, as Bexter paced in front of him.
“Because the structure of the album is split into the before and the after of the song going viral, you’ve got this sort of mini-crescendo on the storytelling, right? There’s anger and distrust, so those emotions are simmering and boiling,” Bexter said.
“I get that, but what does that mean for each song’s individual structure?”
“Think of it like waves.”
“Jesus. What is it with you and your fucking daughter and waves?”
Confusion etched Jimmy’s features.
“Sorry,” Jase said. “Continue.”
“When the tide’s coming in, each wave layers on top of the next one. Each wave is a little higher. It recedes down the shore, but not quite as far back as the wave before as the next wave comes in over the top. If you think about that in pure musicality, you wouldn’t put your most explosive song as the first track. So, when you sing these songs, because they tell a story, you have to ebb and flow with them vocally.”
He’d not thought of it that way before. He’d taken each song at face value and just sung it to the best of his ability. But Jimmy was focused on nuance.
“So, because ‘It’s Not About You’ follows the power of ‘Truth and Anger’ and that big finish, it needs to be a bit more of a receding wave to take the energy down a touch, so the rearranged and remastered ‘Until It’s Done’ can crash over the top. Instead of starting the vocals quite so strong, I should take it down a notch, yeah?”
“That’s totally it. Then you’re telling a story rather than just singing a song.”
“Makes sense. Can I just drink this honey and lemon drink and then give it a go again?”
“Sure.” Jimmy casually checked something on his phone then placed it down. “I noticed that you came in with Cerys this morning?”
“I did.” There was no point in lying, and he was a grown man not prone to sneaking around.
“I think you should use the rest of the time here to focus on the album. Long days. You need your rest. Preserve your voice as much as you can.”
“I did my vocal warm-up with Cerys before we started. I’m drinking these. I’ve had three cigarettes since last weekend when normally I would have done a hell of a lot more. And I’m sleeping better than normal.” He kept the fact it was because Cerys was in his arms to himself. “I’m doing everything you’ve asked.”
“Distractions are unhelpful at this point in your career. Trust me. This album is going to be one of the best I’ve worked on. And I could see you getting songwriting requests. Concerts. Sponsorships.”