I turn my face into bed, hiding my sadness. “Wasn’t planning on moving,” I say muffled into the duvet.
He chuckles. I hear the sound of running water, and then Tom is back, cleaning me up with a wet cloth.
He’s frees my wrists of the belt.
“Come take a shower with me.”
Sliding his hand into mine, he gently tugs me off the bed, and I lazily follow him into the en suite bathroom.
With my hip propped against the sink, I watch as he turns on the shower, letting the water heat.
Taking my hand again, he leads me into the shower and under the spray. I tilt my head back, allowing the water to cascade over my face. Pushing my hair back, I clear the water from my face with my hands, and I open my eyes.
Tom is watching at me.
The look in his eyes sets my body trembling under the intensity of his stare.
He moves a step closer, putting us both under the water. We’re body-to-body, my breasts crushed up against his chest. He takes my face in his hands, and he kisses me.
His kiss is deep and full with meaning. A kiss that feels like good-bye.
Though my heart is breaking under the weight of it, I can’t bring myself to stop, and in this moment, I realize that I will take anything Tom has to give me. Any scrap of him that he throws my way, I’ll gladly have.
He kisses me like time has become meaningless as though we have all the time in the world.
I’m brought crashing down to earth when he parts his lips from mine. And I’m reminded that time is relevant and that I have very little left with him.
Mere hours.
I want to make the most of all those hours. Picking up a sponge, I squeeze shower gel onto it, and I begin washing his body. I run the sponge over his clean-cut lines, memorizing every part of his body, until I’m on my knees, staring up at him. He’s already hard, his eyes blazing down at me. After smoothing my palm up his thigh and across the cut of his pelvis, I take his cock in my hand. I grab the bottle of shower gel. Squeezing some into my hand, I start to rub it all over his cock, working up a slippery lather.
Tom groans. His fingers graze my jaw. “Suck me.”
Hands against his hips, I push him back under the spray, letting the water run down his body, washing the soap from his cock. Then, opening up, I slide his steely length between my lips. I love the rumble of pleasure that comes from him and the way his hand goes to the shower wall to steady himself.
I suck him until he’s coming in my mouth, and I greedily swallow every drop he gives me.
Tom pulls me to my feet. His heated praise is still echoing in my mind as he moves me under the spray. Then, he starts to wash my body. Soapy hands linger on my boobs, his eyes not straying from them.
“You really do have the best tits I’ve ever seen, Firecracker.”
I let out a laugh. “You have a serious boob obsession.”
He runs his finger down the valley of my breasts. Moving across, he circles a nipple.
A bolt of lust shoots between my thighs.
“No, I just have an obsession with your boobs.” He presses his finger hard against my nipple. Then, his other hand comes up, and he cups them both.
I arch into his touch.
Soapy thumbs tease my nipples. “Your tits are amazing. Fucking perfection. I’ve never seen a rack as perfect before, and I never will again.”
I think he sees it flash in my eyes—our ending, the pain I feel at the thought—because his hands quickly leaves my boobs, and one finds its way between my legs. He pushes his finger inside me.
My head falls back on a moan, which Tom captures with his mouth. He kisses me hard, while fingering me.
Then, his finger is pulling out, and he’s moving down my body, his tongue licking the running water from my skin. He lifts my leg, resting it over his shoulder, and he presses his mouth to me.
“Oh God.” I brace my hand against the shower wall. Tom’s hands grip my ass, supporting me.
I’m coming minutes later, my lips crying out his name.
My body is still shuddering with aftershocks when Tom gets to his feet, and starts to wash my hair.
After turning off the shower, he steps out and wraps a towel around his waist. Then, he comes to me and wraps me in a big, fluffy white towel before leading me back to the bedroom.
Drying my skin and squeezing the excess water from my hair, I watch as Tom drops his towel to the floor, and I’m surprised that he’s once again hard.
He pulls back the bed covers.
I climb into bed.
He turns the music and lights off.
Then, he gets into bed, crawling up between my legs.
In the dark, Tom stares down at me, his fingers working through my damp hair.
He lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me softly, and then he’s pressing against my entrance.
A soft moan leaves me as he slowly enters me. His kiss quickly turns deep…passionate. His movements become more intense…urgent.
He cradles my head in his hands, his eyes locked with mine, his look worshipping, as he moves inside me.
In this darkness, for this one last time, I let myself believe that Tom is making love to me.
When I’m coming, I close my eyes, so he won’t see the tears in them.
Tom comes seconds later. His cock buried deep inside me, his face pressed into my neck, his hot breath burning my skin, while he marks my insides with his come.
Then, without moving out of me, he rolls us over, putting me on top of him. His hand holds my head to his chest, and he presses a kiss to my hair.
We don’t speak. No good nights, no good-byes.
And this how I fall asleep—my body wrapped around Tom’s, our chests pressed together, while my heart bleeds out of my own and straight into his.
The Next Morning—Tom’s House, LA
I wake up on my back, the warmth of the sun on my face.
Turning my head, squinting against the bright morning light, I find I’m alone in bed.
Sitting up, I slide my legs over the edge of the bed, letting my toes sink into the soft carpet. I see Tom’s belt that he used on me last night on the floor, and I register the slight soreness in my ass as a vivid memory of Tom moving inside me comes to surface.
I close my eyes, letting it wash over me.
How he felt. How I felt.
Everything about last night was perfect.
But last night is over. And this is the harsh reality of morning.
My last morning with Tom.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, forcing my feelings back.
Getting to my feet, I look around and take Tom’s room in properly in the daylight, trying to learn a little more about him.
It’s a total guy’s bedroom. All dark wood and white walls. The bedsheets I spent the night wrapped up in are black. A huge flat screen is up on the wall.
Getting up, I walk over to the window, which basically covers the entire far wall. Looking at the view, I see the Hollywood sign and realize that I’m in the Hills.
Figures.
Tom wouldn’t exactly be short of cash, thanks to TMS.
I don’t see my clothes or panties anywhere, so I go to Tom’s walk-in closet and grab a shirt.
Wearing only the shirt, I tread out of the bedroom, looking for the stairs.
Finding them easily, I start to make my way down.
Looking around as I walk, I take in my surroundings since I didn’t get the chance to do it last night. I had other things on my mind then…mainly Tom.
In the light of day, his house surprises me. It’s all soft furnishings, beautiful paintings hanging on the walls, and plush carpets and hardwood floors, kind of surprising.
Not how I would expect a rock star’s house to look—well, not Tom’s house anyway.
I imagined his place as a fuck pad with pictures of naked women up on the walls and empty pizza boxes and beer bottles lying everywhere. Considering the Tom of old, I thought he might also have a
few actual naked groupies littered around the place for extra decoration and personal usage.
But some serious thought and care has gone into making this house look warm and inviting. Actually, I wouldn’t even call it a house because it’s more than that. It’s a home.
Tom’s home.
Then, I’m reminded of what he said last night, how I’m the first woman he’s brought back here.
A warm, gooey feeling fills my chest.
Pushing the feeling aside, I try not to read too much into the fact that Tom brought me to his home. I remind myself of his apartment that he uses for the sole purpose of screwing women. I bet that place definitely has groupies in it.
Because that’s the man Tom is.
The reason he hasn’t brought women here is because he doesn’t want his one-night stands hassling him at home. He thinks I’m a safe bet. That I won’t bother him after this morning.
And he’s right. I might have some serious feelings for him, but I also have pride.
Reaching the hall, my feet move over hardwood flooring, and I head toward the sounds and smells of food being fried.
I push open the kitchen door, and the sight awaiting me is…well, it’s outstanding, and it takes all thought with it.
Because Tom is standing at his stove—barefoot, shirtless, wearing only a pair of running shorts.
And he’s frying bacon.
It’s like all my Christmases have come at once.
“Isn’t that a little risky?” I lean against the doorframe.
Tom turns, spatula in hand, and raises a questioning eyebrow.
“Hot fat. Very little clothing.” I point to his bare chest.
He grins that sexy grin of his. “I’m hardcore, Firecracker. You know that.” Then, he winks.
And I puddle to the floor.
He’s so dreamy.
And I’m such a fucking girl.
I see his eyes on his shirt that I’m wearing.
Feeling a little awkward, I say, “I hope it’s okay that I borrowed a shirt. I couldn’t find my clothes.”
“It’s fine. I had your clothes laundered. They’re just over there.”
I follow his gaze to where my clothes are hanging on the back of a door.
Wow, that was quick. It’s only nine in the morning. Exactly what time did he get up?
“You have a super-fast cleaning service on call?”
He chuckles. “No, my cleaner. She comes in early. I had her wash and dry your clothes.”
“What time did you get up?”
“Early. I went for a run while you were still sleeping.”
He runs?
He never went for a run while we were tour, but then I guess he didn’t get a lot of chances. And to keep looking like he does, he must work out.
“You hungry?” he asks, turning back to the bacon.
“Sure, I could eat something.”
I watch as Tom serves up bacon onto two waiting plates, and he walks over to the kitchen table with them. I follow behind. A pot of coffee and toast are already there.
I sit down, tucking one leg underneath me. Tom takes the seat opposite of me.
I pick up a piece of bacon and take a bite. It practically melts in my mouth. “You cook some good bacon.” I smile.
He returns my smile, but he surprisingly doesn’t give me a retort.
It leaves an uncomfortable feeling in my chest.
Over breakfast, we chat about my band’s single and our album, upcoming plans for TMS, and everything else but him and me.
Breakfast done, I’m upstairs dressing into my clothes. I’ve just fastened up my jeans when Tom comes in the bedroom.
“You ready to go?”
“Yeah.” I smile. It’s weak. I know it, he knows it, but neither of us acknowledges the fact.
“I’ll just get changed and then I’ll take you home.” He disappears into his closet.
“Okay,” I say. My mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
I wander down and hover in the massive hallway. Feeling nosy and wanting more of a glimpse into Tom, I walk over to a door sitting slightly ajar.
Music room.
There’s an array of guitars, a drum kit, and a piano.
I take a seat at the piano and start tinkering on the keys.
“You play?”
I jump and turn to find Tom in the doorway, looking gorgeous in a pair of dark blue jeans, a plain black T-shirt, and biker boots.
“No.” I shake my head. “I didn’t realize you did.”
“Piano lessons from the age of five until I was twelve.” He sits on the seat beside me. “Some things you just never forget. Who do think taught Jake to play?” He winks.
And there it is—another small snippet of Tom. It makes me hunger for more.
“Will you play something for me?”
He looks at me. I think he’s going to say no, so I bat my lashes at him and rest my chin on my shoulder, going for cute.
“Please,” I say sweetly.
He lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “Fine. Any requests?”
“No. You choose.”
He pauses for a moment, his fingers over the keys. Then, he starts to play. It takes me a good few seconds to realize what song he’s playing so beautifully.
“Clocks” by Coldplay.
Then, it just makes me ache with sadness.
When he starts to sing the lyrics softly, I feel like I can’t breathe.
I force air into my lungs. My heart is heading toward a slow agonizing death in my chest.
I join him, singing softly along, my shoulder pressed against his.
“You play amazingly,” I say as he plays the last note. “Remind me again, why do you only play bass? Not that bass isn’t important,” I add at his raised brow. “Because it’s the most important instrument in band.” I smile. “But…you could do, be so much more. You are so much more.”
He stares at me, then, looks away, back to the piano. He starts to tinker the keys. “The frontline isn’t somewhere I want to be. I like things easy, simple. I get to play, do what I love, get the rewards from it with marginal cost to myself.”
Nodding, I understand what he means. To be the front of a band, the face, as I am, then you have to give more…and lose more.
He lifts his hand to my face, gently tucking my hair behind my ear. His gaze on me is soft.
Then, from nowhere, it hardens. “I’ll just grab my keys, and then we can go.” He gets up and exits the room.
I stand, disappointed.
I’m just passing through the door when he meets me in the hall with a set of keys in his hand.
“Ready?”
I nod and then follow him down the hall, through the kitchen, and out a door in the utility room.
We walk over to his garage. When I say garage, I mean, a four-door wide garage.
He takes me in through a door on the side and flips a switch, illuminating the place.
There are three cars here and a motorcycle at the far side.
I don’t know much about cars, but they all look expensive.
He has a black Range Rover and a smaller black car that looks like a race car. It has two orange stripes running down the hood and around each headlight. It screams money. The last car is gunmetal gray, and I know it’s an Audi from the badge on the front. I have an Audi, a TT Roadster, but mine is nowhere near as expensive as his looks. I bought it when I got my license. My car is bright red, and I love her.
“Exactly how many cars do you need?” I ask, running my hand over the hood of the fancy-looking race car.
“A man can never have too many cars.”
Shaking my head, I give him a mocking look. “Okay, I know that’s a Range Rover.” I point in the direction of the black beast. “And that’s an Audi.”
“R8,” Tom clarifies for me.
“What’s this one?” I tap my knuckles lightly on the sports car.
“That goddess you’re touchin
g is a Bugatti Veyron.”
“Wow.”
I might not know a lot about cars, but I know Bugattis are made-to-order cars. Figures with a man like Tom.
“You call your car a goddess?”
“She is a goddess. Look at her.” Tom comes over and runs his hand over the roof of the car. “She’s pure perfection. A total fucking goddess.”
“You’re such a guy.” Leaving the Bugatti, I start to walk toward the dangerous-looking motorcycle.
“Custom-designed Harley.” Tom’s voice comes up behind me.
His breath tickles my neck. I shiver.
“Custom designed?” I reach out and touch the rustic red body of the bike.
“Means I had a hand in designing her. I told Harley what I wanted. I worked on the designs with them, and this is what we came up with. You like her?”
I turn, finding him closer than I expected. “I do. She looks cool, if not a little dangerous.”
“You like dangerous though, right?”
In his eyes, I see all our times together, all the risks I’ve taken with him.
“Yes,” I say, my breath suddenly coming in short.
“Good.” He smiles. “’Cause I’m taking you home on her.”
I tense up. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.”
He tilts his head to the side, a wicked grin teasing his lips. “Guess I get to take another virginity of yours then.”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s referring to last night’s ass sex.
I blush from my head right down to my toes.
Tom touches his fingers to my heated cheek. My breathing hitches. Desire quickly pools in my belly.
It doesn’t go unnoticed by him. And I’m not alone in it either. His eyes have darkened with lust.
We’re frozen in a moment together, and I wonder…hope…pray that he’s going to kiss me.
Then, something clouds his face. His eyes harden just like they did before in the music room.
He removes his hand and steps away from me.
I feel the loss of his touch like ice on my skin.
“I don’t have a jacket that will fit you,” he says, heading over to a coat hook on the wall, where a bunch of jackets are hung. “You’ll have to wear one of mine. That okay?”
“Sure,” I say, steeling myself, not letting my disappointment show.
He takes two black leather jackets from the coat hook and brings one over to me.