Beat (Life on Stage 2)

“We’re going to look at a new bus. I was trying to reach you so you could come look at it.”

“A new bus?”

His jaw clenches and he searches my face. “I’m thinking about upgrading. So you have more space to put your things. You’re going to want more than just a few outfits when we’re gone for two months at a time.”

He’s assuming I’ll agree to what he asked of me last night. But now is definitely not the time to point that out. I feel Flynn’s eyes on me, too.

“You ready?”

“Umm. Sure.” I look down at Laney, who is unusually quiet. “It was very nice meeting you.”

She tugs at my arm, telling me to crouch to her level. When I do, she wraps her arms around my neck and squeezes a big hug good-bye.

I walk out of the hotel with a different man than I just walked in with, and an enormous ache in my chest. Turning back, my eyes meet with Flynn’s. How much longer can I do this to him?

Neither Dylan nor I say another word about the encounter in the lobby. Oddly, it felt like we had just moved the discussion to the back burner, where it would simmer for a while, rather than letting things come to a boil in the moment. I also didn’t mention, as we looked around at luxury buses that cost more than an apartment in Manhattan, that I hadn’t agreed to go on tour with him. The conversation was coming, I just needed to figure a few things out first.

The next morning I wake even earlier than usual. I didn’t have a chance to speak to Flynn after the tense exchange in the lobby and, taking the cowardly course of action, I went to bed before any of the guys returned to the bus after last night’s show. Mick spent the night in Austin and is flying to meet us at the next stop in Vegas, and Duff had a woman with him, so that left just me, Dylan and Flynn. Not a trio I wanted to sit around with in the tight confines on the bus.

After failing miserably at trying to get back to sleep, I decide to head out to the lounge area and do some writing. A quick stop in the bathroom and then I tip-toe through the dark sleeping-berth area. Halfway, an arm reaches out and grabs me. Luckily, the other arm wraps around my mouth and stops the bloody-murder scream that was beginning to wail from my lips.

“Shhh,” Flynn whispers into my ear and then hauls me up into his sleeping berth, drawing the curtain closed behind us.

My heart is pounding in my chest.

“You might want to keep quiet,” he growls in my ear.

“But—” His hand comes back to my mouth, pressing gently.

“I thought I would help you figure things out.” He glides his other hand down over my body and beneath my sweatpants, fingers coming to stop over the lace of my panties. “Can you keep quiet?” he asks, his voice strained and low.

I nod, but he doesn’t immediately move the hand covering my mouth.

“When I slip my fingers inside you, can you keep quiet then?”

A muffled whimper escapes when he presses his fingers against my clit and begins to slowly rub tiny circles.

“When I fuck you with my fingers. When you’re soaked and I’m pumping in and out of you. Can you keep quiet then?” His gritty voice at my ear sends a shiver through my body.

It’s pitch dark in the small, curtain-concealed bunk, but I see the flash of need in the glow of his eyes. Longing ripples in my belly. One finger slips inside of me while his thumb continues to massage my clit—everything tingles, straight down to my toes.

“When I bury my face in your sweet pussy. Licking and sucking until I feel your body convulse around my tongue. Can you keep quiet then?”

His hand at my mouth clamps down harder, barely able to stifle my groan. My hips buck when he slips another finger inside me. He shifts to lie beside me.

“I’m going to take away my hand for a minute,” he warns and waits for me to nod before moving.

His hand inside me slows while the other manages to undress me from the waist down. He pushes up my shirt and growls when he finds my erect nipples.

“Bend your knees. Pull your legs up and spread them wide for me.” His head dips, his mouth sucking harshly on my nipple as he resumes the speed of his pumps between my legs. Wisely, the other hand moves back to cover my mouth.

My fingers dig into his hair, grasping handfuls, desperate to let out the burn flaring inside of me. Everything begins to spin, my mind forgetting anything exists except this moment.

Forgetting where I am.

Forgetting we could get caught.

Forgetting what’s right and wrong.

My entire focus on one thing. This man.

The way he touches me.

His fingers inside me.

His heavenly, greedy mouth.

Biting.

Sucking.

His fingers pump harder. Furiously in and out.

The hand at my mouth clamps firmer.

I think I might burst.

And then abruptly his fingers slip out of me and his mouth leaves my breast. Only to drop lower, settling between my legs. There is no teasing first lick or promising suck. No. He just devours me. His tongue lashing out at my clit, sucking, licking, nuzzling.

“Oh god,” Flynn’s hand clamps down harder and catches the rest of my incoherent words. My body screams for release, stifled moans build. It’s as if keeping it all silently inside me only increases the intensity at which I’m about to explode.

He spreads my knees wider, opening me completely to him as his fingers join his tongue and he licks in rhythm with his pumps. “You taste so fucking good.” He pushes deeper and deeper.

My breaths grow short and shallow. Eyes roll toward the back of my head as I feel the wave crashing down upon me. My body trembles as I unfurl. Unravel.

The most powerful orgasm of my life takes over, everything else ceasing to exist. I cry out, sound muffled under his hand.

It takes a full five minutes before the last tremor runs through me and Flynn senses it’s safe to free my mouth.

“Morning.” He grins wickedly at me. “I just wanted to show you what I plan to have with my morning coffee every day.”

Now that I could get used to.

Unfortunately, the twelve hours we spend on the bus after I slip unnoticed from Flynn’s bunk are not nearly as incredible as the breakfast Flynn decided to have in bed. Dylan is in a bad mood, and the guilt I feel turns into a blaring headache. I throw together a quick dinner in the small galley of the bus, even though I don’t really have an appetite.

Watching me push food around my plate with my fork, Dylan huffs loudly. “Not hungry again?”

“Not really.”

“Did you take something for the headache?”

Do they sell anti-guilt pills? “No.”

“The medicine cabinet in the bathroom is stocked. Take something. We should get in around nine. I have to do an appearance at Club Sixty-Six. Would be nice to go out and actually spend time together for a change.”

I nod and force a smile.

Flynn walks in from the back—it’s not a very big bus, but he seems to have successfully avoided us most of the day. Until now.

“There’s ravioli in the pot on the stove top if you’re hungry,” Dylan grunts.

“Thanks. But I had a big breakfast.”

I catch the glint in his eye, but Dylan seems oblivious. Flynn grabs a beer from the fridge and sits on the couch across from us. The closeness of the two men makes me nervous; the smirk at the corner of Flynn’s mouth as he takes a long draw from the bottle makes me downright panicky. “Do you ever have breakfast for dinner?” he asks while I’m drinking from my water bottle. I almost choke. “I like my morning meal so much, sometimes I eat it twice a day.”