“Thanks.”
He calls out to my back, “Reed said the bottle of Cristal on ice is all yours!”
I pull Alessandra through the door and to the couch. And that’s where we attack each other again, even more passionately than in the other greenroom. I hold her face as I kiss her, my cock throbbing with desire. Suddenly, I’m on top of Alessandra, kissing the living hell out of her, grinding my hard-on into her sweet spot while she jerks her pelvis up and grinds herself into me. As we make out, white-hot pleasure and desire like nothing I’ve felt before is racking my nerve endings. I’ve made out with other women before. But nothing, nothing I’ve done with anyone else has prepared me for this nuclear explosion of excitement going off inside me. This incredible connection, both physical and emotional. Just like Alessandra said to me weeks ago, I feel like I might as well be a virgin, too.
Groaning with desire, I guide Alessandra’s thigh to rest over my hip, opening her sweet spot to me completely. And when I press myself into her again, this time, with her legs opened and her pelvis angled to receive my urgent, grinding thrusts, she gasps and writhes underneath me like I’ve flipped a switch inside her.
“Oh, God,” she chokes out. “This is even better than I thought it’d be.”
I kiss her again, deeply, grinding myself into that same bull’s-eye. And the guttural growl that escapes Alessandra’s mouth makes pleasure rocket through my cock as surely as if she’d licked my tip.
Unfortunately, though, all good things must come to an end. A knock at the door interrupts our makeout session, followed by a low voice calling out, “Reed is on his way.”
“Fuck,” I whisper. “You want a glass of champagne real quick?”
“I think I should,” she says. “You know, to loosen me up for my little interviews.”
I get up and open the bottle with a loud pop, making her clap and squeal. I hand her a glass of bubbly and raise my glass to her, intending to finally tell her I love her. But a knock at the door stops me.
Owen pops his head into the room. “Sorry, guys. Reed is ready for Ally now. Fish, get your ass into the other greenroom with the other Goats.”
I look at Ally, not wanting to leave her. Never wanting to leave her again, as long as I live.
“Go on,” Ally says, reading my mind. “I’ll be fine. Reed and Georgie will be with me. Go be a rock star now, honey.”
Still, I don’t move. I literally can’t command my limbs to walk away from her. I need to be in her presence like I need air to breathe.
“Come on, Fish,” Owen says. He grabs my arm and physically drags me away, making Ally laugh.
“You’re gonna be great in your interviews, baby!” I shout as Owen pushes me toward the door. But in the doorway, I stand my ground and grip the frame. “Will you be sitting in the front row with Violet?”
“Yes! With Reed and Georgie, too!”
I smile broadly, my heart leaping. “I can’t wait to look down at you when I play.”
“Go!” Owen says, pointing sternly. “You’ll see your lovely and talented girlfriend after the show.”
I wink. “See you later, my lovely and talented girlfriend. Give those reporters hell.”
She bites her lip, her blue eyes sparkling. “See you later, my lovely and talented boyfriend. Break a leg. I’ll be waiting for you after the show—ready to give you a whole bunch more kisses.”
Twenty-Three
Alessandra
“How’d your interviews go?” Violet asks, as Georgina, Reed, and I take our seats next to her in the front row of the arena.
“Alessandra was a star!” Georgie gushes. “She nailed both interviews!”
Not quite. I look at Reed for a reality check. Because, God bless her, my stepsister would say I was amazing, no matter how badly I might have flailed. Which I’m pretty sure I did. But Reed? No. I’ve come to realize that man is incapable of blowing smoke up anyone’s ass, including mine—even if it would make Georgie deliriously happy. Frankly, it’s the thing I like best about him.
“You were perfect,” Reed confirms with a wink. “Just the right balance of adorable and awkward and totally out of your element. It was a home run, kid.”
I’m shocked. “Really?”
“Really. You done good.”
I sigh with relief.
It’s not that I’ve got low self-esteem, generally speaking. I’m shy, yes, but that doesn’t mean I think I’m worthless or unlikeable or totally lacking in talent. I know my worth. Hell yeah. Mostly. Usually. But, in Reed’s world, I feel like a sore thumb, especially here, when I’m surrounded by such heavy hitters. Plus, those two journalists were bigwigs. Celebrities in their own rights. Of course, I did my mighty best during those short interviews, but, still, I could feel myself stammering and fidgeting my way through them.