Sinners on Tour

  “Not really. No.”

  He held her against him, thumbs stroking her bare nipples against the inside of her silk top, until his breath stilled. When he thought he might be able to live without being buried inside her, he slipped free of her body with a regretful wince.

  She turned in his arms and drew him close—pressing her soft breasts into his chest.

  “I’m going to go clean up.” She kissed his jaw. “And make a hotel reservation.” Kissed his chin. “Pack a suitcase, but no clothes.” Kissed his lips. “I don’t want to see you until after the show,” she said. “And then I want to see nothing but you for the next two days.”

  She left him in the dark closet. He was too breathless to follow.

  When Brian finally managed to find his way out of the supply closet and to the backstage area, someone thrust a guitar in his hands. He lifted its strap over his head and settled his guitar into place. The crowd was already roaring with excitement. His band looked a bit worse for wear after the events of last night, but they were ready to hit the stage. And he was too consumed by thoughts of his bride to suffer from his normal preconcert nerves. He just wanted to get on the stage, rock the roof off the arena, and return to his wife.

  “Finally done boning Myrna?” Trey asked.

  Brian grinned. “Not by a long shot. The real honeymoon starts in forty-six minutes.”

  Trey stumbled over the bottom step as he headed onstage. Brian wished he would just go to the fucking hospital and get it over with, but he knew why Trey hated hospitals—he’d spent too many hours in them when his father had been a resident. But that didn’t excuse him from seeking medical attention when he needed it.

  Brian took him by one arm to help him climb the stairs. “You sure you’re okay, buddy?”

  “Like you care.” Trey wrenched his arm out of Brian’s grasp and trotted over to his spot stage right.

  Brian shook his head. “Serve him right if it turned out to be something serious,” he grumbled to himself.

  Chapter Eight

  The opulent lobby of the Venetian couldn’t compete for Myrna’s attention; her husband had it all. He had a smudge of eyeliner under his left eye, which was still horribly bruised. His black T-shirt was damp with sweat. Clumps of hair clung to his neck and face. Yeah... hot. Even though he’d assured her that his concert that night had been the worst Sinners had ever performed, she wished she’d seen him onstage. Nothing turned her on more than watching this man delight fifteen thousand fans with his talented fingers. Except when those talented fingers were delighting her alone.

  “Your Prima Suite is on the thirty-fifth floor,” the clerk said and slid a set of keycards across the counter.

  “I want to make sure we understand each other,” Brian said to him. “Do not disturb us under any circumstances. I don’t care if the hotel is on fire. I don’t care if the fuckin’ President of the United States needs to speak to me. Do. Not. Disturb. Got it?”

  Eyes wide, the attractive olive-skinned man swallowed hard and nodded. “I understand, Mr. Sinclair.”

  “Has our room service order been sent up to our room already?” Myrna asked. “I placed it when I made the reservation.”

  “I’ll check to make sure.” The clerk reached for the phone.

  Brian didn’t wait for confirmation. He grabbed the keycards off the counter and took Myrna’s hand to lead her to the elevator. “I don’t need room service,” he said. “I need my wife.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Uninterrupted for hours.”

  “We have all night,” she said. “And all day tomorrow.”

  “I hope you aren’t planning on sleeping.”

  She grinned and shook her head.

  Because the hotel was so massive, it took them a while to find the right elevator. Myrna could tell Brian was frustrated with the delay. “Sweetheart, relax.”

  “This isn’t exactly how I pictured my wedding day to go. I wanted it to be special for you, and it’s just been one interruption after another.”

  “It has been special for me.”

  She smiled at him, but he didn’t look convinced. When the elevator slid open, she was very happy to find it empty. Brian ushered her inside and set their suitcase down before tapping the button to their floor.

  He needed to loosen up and quit stressing over stuff he had no control over. And luckily for him, she knew exactly how to get his mind off his worries.

  She grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and kissed him. Hard. “You make me so fucking hot, Master Sinclair,” she said, staring up into his intense brown eyes. She knew he didn’t like her to call him by his stage name, but she absolutely wanted to live the fantasy with her rock star husband before she lived another fantasy with the amazing man beneath the stage persona. “Can I do something for you, my personal sex god? Anything. I’m your number one fan.”

  Brian chuckled and wrapped both arms around her. “Don’t call me Master Sinclair, that’s what you can do for me.”

  He hadn’t seemed to mind the title when he’d been pounding her hard and pulling her hair in a dark closet backstage.

  “Is that all I can do for you?” Myrna circled his body to stand behind him. Sliding her hands over his lower belly, her pinkies dipped into the waistband of the jeans riding low on his narrow hips. “Because I really want to please you, Master Sinclair.”

  She forced one hand deeper into his pants and carefully arranged his cock so it was pointing up toward his belly. The head of his half-hard dick peeked out just above the waistband of his low-slung jeans. As she stroked it with her thumb, it rose to attention, revealing itself an inch at a time as it grew harder and harder. His head dropped back to rest against hers.

  “I want to suck your balls while you jack off,” she whispered into his ear. “I brought your butt plug and a cock ring in the suitcase.”

  “A vibrating one?”

  “Yeah. I want to ride you hard. Come over and over again until my juices drip down your sac.”

  “Oh God, Myrna. I love it when you talk dirty to me in elevators. Or anywhere else.”

  “Someone might come in and see me playing with The Beast. Does that excite you?”

  “Yeah, I hope someone sees how fucking hard you make me.”

  “We can ride up and down until someone comes in the elevator,” she said, still rubbing her thumb over his most sensitive flesh.

  “Can I be the one who comes in the elevator?”

  She laughed and pressed her hand against the hard ridge in his pants, holding his shaft against his lower belly. “If I can ride up and down.” When he began to seep pre-cum, she spread it over his exposed cockhead in gentle circles.

  “The way today is going, I’d probably get arrested for public indecency and spend my honeymoon in jail as Big Bart’s bitch.”

  “I wouldn’t let that happen. I’m the only one who’s gonna fuck you up the ass tonight, Master Sinclair.”

  His cock twitched in her hand. Did that idea excite him?

  Interesting.

  “Has anyone ever done you that way before?” she asked.

  “N-no,” he said breathlessly.

  “Not even Trey?” She really needed confirmation on that.

  He shook his head. “He was the bottom. Have you ever? Fucked a guy?”

  “No,” she said, “but I’ve always wanted to.”

  “You know I’ll try anything twice. With you? Three times.”

  And that was one of the many reasons she loved this man. Most guys talked the talk, but if you got too kinky with them, they backed down. Brian never baulked at a sexual experience and never made her feel like a whore for pushing the limits.

  When the elevator door opened on their floor, they stared into the corridor, anticipating someone entering the car to watch how naughty they were being. They waited. Brian hit the button to hold the door. No one appeared. Myrna sighed. They exchanged looks of disappointment.

  “Do you want to go down and try again?” she asked.

&nbsp
; “I want to go down all right, but we won’t need the elevator.”

  “I’m going to shave my pussy tonight so you can suck, lick, and eat every inch of it, inside and out. Would you like that?” She certainly would.

  He made a sound of torture and pressed her hand over his partially exposed cock to conceal it before dashing off the elevator.

  “Suitcase!” she protested. She had a full arsenal of kinky fun packed in that thing.

  Brian backtracked for the suitcase. He looked at the keycard in his hand, then at the suitcase on the floor, and then at the hand he had pressed over hers. “I don’t have enough hands,” he complained.

  Myrna carefully tucked his cock into his pants and stepped away. “Now you do.”

  “That was my favorite occupied hand though.” He picked up the suitcase.

  She laughed and tugged him down the corridor toward their room.

  When he tried the key, the light on the lock flashed red. He checked the room number. “It’s the right room.”

  The rattle of a cart echoed down the corridor. Myrna smiled at the young man who was pushing it in their direction. Their room service had arrived just in time; she couldn’t let her husband go hungry. He needed his stamina.

  Brian’s second attempt to open the door worked. “Hallelujah,” he said. “I was thinking we’d just have to go at it in the hall.”

  The suitcase slid across the floor of the marble entry, and Myrna found herself jerked into the room by one arm.

  “Wait, our room ser—”

  “No more waiting,” he said and drew her against his body.

  He removed the clip from her sloppily styled hair and tossed it aside. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders, and he buried both hands in it before lowering his head to kiss her. The door hit the room service cart with a loud bang.

  “Um... room service,” the server said in a loud whisper.

  “Argh. Get out of here,” Brian said as he tried to close the door with one hand. The large cart got in the way.

  “Sweetheart, just let him leave the cart inside the door. It will only take a second.”

  Brian dropped his hand from the door and squeezed her ass. She inched him away from the door so the server could push the cart inside the entryway—a lovely entryway, she noted. Myrna assumed the rest of the suite was spectacular, but she doubted she’d get a chance to see it before Brian lost complete control. Performing live always got him worked up. As did being felt up in elevators.

  He shoved her against the wall, capturing her hands on either side of her head. Staring at her as if he wanted to telegraph his desire directly to her thoughts, he rubbed the hard ridge of his cock against her mound until she began to gyrate with him.

  He released one of her wrists and grabbed her hair. “Let me out of my pants,” he growled into her ear. “I’m going to fuck you right here against the wall.”

  Her pussy pulsated with the first tease of orgasm. If he kept talking to her like that, he wouldn’t have to fuck her to make her come.

  Her hands moved to his fly, fumbling with the buttons to unleash his huge cock. Oh God, she wanted it. She held it in both hands, and he thrust into her loose grip repeatedly. His broken gasps made her whimper with need.

  Someone cleared his throat. Incredulous, Myrna peeked around Brian’s shoulder to find their server standing there with a hand out.

  “He needs a tip,” Myrna said as Brian tugged her tight skirt up her thighs.

  “I’ll give him a tip. Get the fuck out of here and close the goddamned door. There’s his fucking tip.”

  “Just add a twenty percent gratuity to the bill,” Myrna said.

  The cart rattled again as the server pushed it out of his way. The door closed. Alone at last.

  Brian rubbed the head of his cock against Myrna’s hot, needy opening. Her entire core pulsed and ached, begging to be filled. She buried her face in his neck and inhaled his intoxicating scent. She loved the way he smelled after a concert. The blend of excitement and the exertion of performing live added some pheromone to his sweat that pushed every one of her fuck-me buttons. She sucked the saltiness from his throat, delighting in the rapid surge of blood through the pulse point she palpated with her lips and tongue. She nipped him and rubbed her pussy against the head of his cock, which he still hadn’t buried deep inside her the way she wanted.

  Fighting her tight skirt, she lifted her leg to rest her thigh against his hip. That was enough to move him, and he surged up into her body, filling her with one deep thrust. She tore her mouth from his throat and released a breathless moan. He clutched her suit jacket as he pounded into her and rubbed his open mouth against her throat and jaw. She loved when they took their time and made love for hours, but there was something unequivocally hot about this man losing all control and fucking her senseless. He sucked a path to her mouth and kissed her deeply. When he tore his mouth from hers, her eyelids fluttered open. Their excited breaths mingled as they stared into each other’s eyes. She was so lost in him. So lost. She never wanted to be found again.

  “I love you,” he whispered. “Myrna.”

  “Yes, Brian,” she said, her breath hitching with emotion. She wasn’t an emotional person. She internalized. She knew that. With him? With him, she felt safe. She could show him everything within her heart—good and bad—and know he’d treasure it because he loved her and understood how hard exposing her deepest emotions was for her. Or how hard it had been. Opening herself to him was becoming easier by the minute, because he made it easy.

  “I love you.” She grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and yanked to ensure he was paying close attention. “I love you.”

  “Love me a little more gently,” he complained.

  She released her hold and rubbed his head to undo any damage before wrapping both arms around him. She slid her hands up under the back of his T-shirt, needing the feel of his skin beneath her palms. “I love you,” she said into his ear.

  He inhaled deeply through his nose, as if trying to internalize her words. Physically draw them inside himself.

  “Hearing you say it... I can’t even describe how amazing it feels.” He nipped her earlobe playfully. “But maybe I can show you.”

  Brian moved inside her. Slow. Hard. Deep. He was very good at showing his feelings. She became hyperaware of the man against her: the texture of his skin beneath her splayed hands; the warmth of his breath against her shoulder; the tickle of his hair against her nose as her panting stirred the longish strands; his strong fingers massaging her ass as he ground into her, filling her body to its limits with his huge cock. But there was a new awareness within her. A swelling in her chest. A tightening in her throat. A prickle behind her eyes. Was she about to cry? Not in sorrow but in joy? What in the hell had gotten into her?

  Brian had. He was in her deep and not just with the rock-hard shaft that was working her toward rapture. His essence, his soul, was now part of her. Essential to her existence.

  Brian found a tempo that drove her crazy, that built her pleasure steadily. Taking her higher. Higher.

  “I hear you,” he whispered. “My muse.”

  Knowing he was hearing one of his musical compositions while he made love to her caused one of those sentimental tears to leak from her eye. She rubbed her face against his shoulder, hoping he didn’t notice that the no-holds-barred sex professor he’d married was actually crying during sex. He’d think she’d been abducted by aliens and replaced with some emotional pod person. She swallowed the lump in her throat and asked, her voice raw, “Do you need something to write on, baby?”

  He shook his head and repeatedly murmured a series of notes. “I’ll remember it.”

  “I can’t wait to hear you play it.”

  “I’m sorry. You must hate that this keeps getting in the way of our fun.”

  She kissed his temple, and her arms tightened around him. “Not at all. It’s sexy,” she whispered to him. “You composing when we make love is sexy.”

  He chuc
kled. “Damned inconvenient if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t.” She smiled to herself and did nothing to interrupt or change his thrusting tempo while his murmured stanzas grew longer and more complex. She was glad she had something to distract her—she could get all her overwhelming and tender emotions under control. Sort of.

  Myrna’s legs began to tremble with exhaustion after several minutes.

  “Sweetheart,” she whispered, wishing she didn’t have to interrupt his musical genius. But she was going to slide to the floor in about three seconds. “Can we move this to the bedroom?”

  He continued with the same rhythm and tempo, as if he hadn’t heard her.

  “Brian?”

  No response.