Letting my legs slide from his shoulders and fall to his bent elbows, he caught me under my knees, bent me in half, my thighs splayed open, and drove down into me, savagely, relentlessly, pegging my gland as I chanted his name.
“Never letting you go,” he growled out as his hands closed on my biceps, and he gave me all that I needed.
I spurted over his abdomen as I came, all my muscles contracting at once, lost in the euphoria of an annihilating, consuming orgasm.
“Loc!” he shouted, frozen above me, unable to move as my clenching channel tightened around him like a fist. I took a breath and loosened enough for him to slide in the last bit, fully seated once more.
It took a few moments for me to get my breathing evened out, and to look around and remember where I was. For his part, he didn’t move, just stayed there, frozen, filling me up until I felt hot cum leaking from my hole.
My legs slid from his arms as he dropped down onto me, face buried in the pillow beside mine, lying between my thighs. I made sure to wrap him in my arms and stroke his back.
Finally, he stopped shaking, and even though I was lying in cum, sticky and wet, I didn’t care. He needed me. Taking care of your lover after the orgasm was as important as the act itself.
“We both need another shower,” he muttered. “And we should strip the bed.”
“In a minute,” I said gruffly, massaging the back of his head.
“I hope we didn’t wake up your mother.”
“You’re worried about that now?” I asked gently, playfully. “It’s a little late for regrets now, don’t you think?”
Low, filthy chuckle from him. “I can’t help it if you’re loud, baby.”
I let that slide because that was him, not me who was yelling, at least in my recollection. “Well, lucky for you, Sherri Barnes can sleep through a tornado, so I doubt she heard anything.”
“Which is good but not a pressing concern. You had all my focus.” Lifting to meet my gaze, he stared down into my eyes. “For the record, I’m telling you again. I will never let you go; do you understand? Never.”
But never was a very long time.
Thirteen
The Blue Grass Airport in Lexington was small. The plane parked on the tarmac, we got off, walked into the terminal and out the front doors, accompanied by the Netflix crew we’d met in Phoenix, headed up by the producer, Gabriella Nuñez. There was an all-black tour bus with tinted windows waiting for us at the curb.
I followed Nick onto the bus, and he was immediately grabbed by Jericho Horne, the band’s driver.
“Oh, man, you didn’t have to come,” Nick said, grinning at the older gray-haired man with the leather cowboy hat with gorgeous feathers in the band. “We’re just driving back and forth from here to my aunt’s place.”
He shook his head. “Whenever you’re all together, I’m driving. Period,” he told Nick, smiling wide. “Damn, Nicky, lookit you,” he said, sighing, smiling at the guy I was determined not to fall in love with.
In the airport in Phoenix he’d held my hand, refusing to let go even when we were swarmed with paparazzi taking a million pictures. Apparently, the ring on my finger was already trending on Twitter.
“Thank you for coming,” Nick said, opening his arms for another hug.
When he eased back, still smiling, he stepped sideways so the man who was built like a brick wall could see me. He was all thick muscles, barrel chested, with a buzz cut and a full beard.
“Rico, this is my partner, Locryn Barnes. Loc, this is Jericho Horne, who has been with us since we started.”
He thrust his hand out for me, and when I took it, he grasped my shoulder tight even as he pumped my arm. “It’s truly a pleasure,” he told me. “I’ve never seen him look so good, and that must be owed to you.”
“Nick worked very hard,” I assured him, taking a breath.
“No doubt,” Jericho agreed. “But he worked very hard before, and the time before that, and before that, but I don’t recall ever seein’ new muscle and clear eyes.”
I checked to see what Nick thought about the familiarity Jericho was giving me, but his smile was real, and his gaze on the older man was warm. Returning my focus to Jericho, he let my hand go and gave me a final clap on the shoulder.
“Since you’re in the fixin’ business there, Loc,” he said, shortening my name immediately, “maybe you could focus some of your attention on Flint.”
I turned to Nick, and he grimaced.
“And please, call me Rico.”
“Yessir,” I agreed.
“Come on,” Nick prodded me before he laced his fingers with mine and tugged me gently forward down the aisle between the wide leather seats.