“Naomi?” Axton says when I don’t respond. “It’s not life but close enough. We won’t have to worry about them again.” He pauses, then looks down at me. “How do you feel about it?”
“It’s over?”
His large hand slides into mine, bringing with it the security it always does. “It’s over.”
“Thank fuck.”
“Exactly what I said to the D.A.” Our eyes lock, and we both start to laugh. It’s over. “Let’s go home. We have a lot to celebrate.”
Word has gotten out about the plea deals and paparazzi once again surrounds the house, screaming out questions as we head inside. I’ll be so glad to be in our new place soon. “So, your tour won’t be affected then?” I ask, grabbing a glass of wine.
The world tour for Tragic is due to kick off in less than two months. “No, we’re on schedule.”
“I’m looking forward to it. I know it’ll be crazy and stressful but it’s so exciting.” My mind goes to the times I’ve watched him perform. How raw and visceral his music is, the lustful joy of it.
“I warned you about that look.” Before I can protest—not that I would—I’m carried to the bedroom, stripped, and fucked within an inch of my endurance.
Afterward, we lie naked in each other’s arms. His arm wraps around me and he hits the button on his phone before tossing it aside and pulling me close.
This is how I get to end every day now, being loved by him.
With music playing in the dark.