His quick, measured drives tighten my body.
“So good.” My back bows, and I slam my palm against the wall to hold myself up. “I love how you feel inside me.”
He kisses me again, his hands clutching my hips, as he finds a steady rhythmic pace. I gasp and moan, not really caring if the whole bus can hear me as I tighten around him.
“There.” I shiver with pleasure, climaxing with gasping, shuddering breaths.
“That’s it,” he coaxes. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”
His pace quickens and turns erratic. He throws his head back, squeezing his eyes shut when his orgasm hits. I watch every beautiful second. His large, powerful frame trembles as he groans my name.
He releases his bruising hold on my hips and nuzzles his sweat-slicked forehead against mine.
“I can’t feel my legs,” I whisper.
Slowly, he returns to himself. “Sorry that was so quick.”
“I loved every second.”
No matter how skilled we are at sharing tight spaces, there’s no way for both of us to fit in the shower. We take turns cleaning up under the weak spray. Chaser wraps me in a towel, he swears is clean, and leaves for a minute, returning with one of his shirts. “Wear this for me?”
I hold the shirt up against my body. “It’ll be a nightgown on me.”
“I want it to smell like you, so when you go home…” His soft, dark eyes watch as I slip on the shirt. “I’m going to stuff it in my pillow and pretend you’re still here.”
“Chaser.” That is both the sweetest and saddest thing he’s ever said to me. How am I supposed to leave him to go back to L.A. in a few days?
“What can I say?” He shrugs. “Your junkyard dog needs the scent of his woman on the road.”
“Please don’t talk about leaving,” I whisper. “I just got here.”
“You’re right.” He holds out his hand. “Ready for bed?”
The fatigue hits, leaving me yawning and nodding at the same time.
“Come on.”
We step out of the bathroom into the mostly darkened bus. I try not to speculate what sticky substances my feet come into contact with on the way to Chaser’s bunk. Something crinkles and crunches under my toes. A half-eaten bag of chips?
Finally, we reach the bunks. He pulls his curtain back, and I peer into the darkness.
Sensing my hesitation, he unhooks a miniature flashlight from a hook on the wall and shines it into the space. “It’s safe,” he assures me.
“You’re all set up like a boy scout here, huh?” I nod to the flashlight.
“Nah.” He shines the light under his chin. “Alvin and I were telling ghost stories the other night.”
Not sure if he’s kidding or not, I crawl into bed.
“Hey, Mallory,” Alvin calls out from across the way. “Welcome home.”
“Aw. Thank you, Alvin,” I whisper back.
“Home away from home,” Garrett mumbles from above us.
“Home is wherever you are,” I whisper in Chaser’s ear, when he settles in next to me.
“Same.”
Chaser
“Where’s Chaser? I got a present for him.” Andrew’s sneaky voice floats down the center of the bus, jarring me out of sleep. Female giggles follow.
Why the fuck is he on our bus at this hour?
We’re not moving anymore, but it still has to be pretty early.
“I wouldn’t man,” Alvin says. “Hey, hon. How you doing?”
“Hi, Alvin,” the girl coos.
“Come on, I thought you wanted to meet Chaser?” Andrew persists.
“He’s sleeping,” Alvin warns.
“That’s the problem.” Andrew’s version of a whisper is bound to wake up the whole bus any minute now. “He hasn’t had any fun on this tour. I’m worried about him.”
“He’s fine. I’m warning you, man. He won’t appreciate it.”
“What’s going on?” Mallory whispers.
“Nothing. Go back to sleep. It’s still early.” My body coils, ready to strike the second someone invades our space.
“Chaser,” Andrew sings. “Where you hiding, bro? I’ve got a surprise for youuu.”
This bullshit’s gone on long enough. Two or three times a week, he sends some random, unsuspecting groupie onto the bus in search of me. I’ve either sent them away in tears, because Andrew assured them I was a sure thing, or one of the other guys eases her disappointment. Andrew pulling this stunt when Mallory’s here is too much.
Time to put an end to his childish antics.
Stealthy as a panther, I reach up and unlock the secret compartment above my bunk. Mallory was partially right earlier. It was the biker in me, not the boy scout, who fitted out my space with whatever I might need on this tour.
The weight of the revolver in my hand is like reuniting with a faithful friend.
The screech of the curtain above us being pulled back is punctuated by a squeal and Garrett’s hostile, “What the fuck?”
“Sorry, looking for Chaser. Howdy, my lady.” Andrew giggles like a little kid.
One…two…three…
Our curtain whooshes open, revealing Andrew’s maniacal grin. “Ha! Found ya, motherfucker—”
I point the revolver dead center to Andrew’s forehead, digging the metal into his skin. His gleeful expression morphs into shock. “What the fuck, bro!?”