Midnight Blue

  “Oh, indeed.” I found her shy little clit and flicked it up and down, falling to the floor, the showerhead above our heads, while she straddled me, still in her dress.

  “I’m going to hate myself in an hour.” She bit her lip, but a loud groan escaped, anyway. She was a moaner. A real one. Not a fake one. Not an I-want-you-to-like-me one, and there were too many of those, especially when your net worth matched Adam Levine’s. Hell, Fallon had put on a West End-worthy show for the first six months of our relationship. It was only after eight months or so that I realized she didn’t even like it up the arse and had just been humoring me so I wouldn’t leave—cheers, Fallon, for the vote of confidence.

  But I didn’t want to think about Fallon. Not when I had a perfectly fuckable girl in my arms.

  “Shit.” I laughed, our teeth clashing together in another messy kiss. “Moan louder and you’ll take over pirate radio stations in Mongolia.” I only guessed we were flying above it, though geography was not high on my list of interests at that point.

  She pulled away, her eyes colored with confusion and embarrassment. “Really? Should I be quiet?”

  Why had I said that? Did I have a built-in cock-blocking device along with my huge red button of self-destruction? There was absolutely no way in hell we were going to stop messing around because of those fuckers outside. Even if I had to throw them out—and yes, I was aware we were 35,000 feet in the air. I extended my arm above my head and turned the faucet on. A stream of spluttery, cold water rained down on us with a hiss. I rolled the handle all the way to the left, and steam bellowed over the glass around us as the water heated. It felt good. Forbidden. Crazy, just as we were.

  “That’s better. Hit those high notes for me, Stardust, and go to town on my fingers. I wanna watch your face as you come, and you better come, because we’re not leaving this airplane until you do.”

  I slipped two fingers into her pussy, studying her closely. She flinched at my rough touch, but there was no mistaking how hot and wet she was for me.

  There was a bucket of ice with glass bottles of Coke beside my shoulder—Alfie enjoyed long baths and cool soda when we were flying—and for the first time in a long time I wasn’t an angry piece of shit because of that.

  “Your cunt is so warm.” I sucked in a breath, still watching her. Our clothes were heavy and drenched. Indie moved her hips to create more friction between my hand and her pussy, and I tried hard not to grin like the perv I was.

  “Oh, God,” she croaked when I pushed my fingers in and out of her. “I don’t even want you.”

  To this, I curled my fingers, burrowing in her wetness, and pulled them out slowly, sucking her warm juices into my mouth. She tasted like a thousand orgasms, and like a fucking liar.

  “No?” I asked, holding her gaze.

  “No.” At least she had the decency to try to look away.

  I jerked her by the back of her neck in one movement and shoved my tongue into her mouth, forcing her to taste herself. Our tongues collided and danced, and she drank herself up on a loud moan. I pulled away and held her face.

  “Your cunt begs to differ.”

  I grabbed an ice cube. She protested, grinding her pussy into my cock and making me want to grab her by the hair and fuck her on the floor.

  Not yet. Soon, but not yet.

  “More.” The pain in her voice made pre-cum gather at my tip.

  I shoved the ice cube into her pussy and she shrieked, her entire body coming even more alive on top of mine as I sat on the floor, my back pressed to the Jacuzzi. I clasped her chin between my fingers, guided her back to my mouth, and silenced her with a kiss as I fucked her with the ice cube, feeling how it melted inside her sweet, warm folds. Pushing in and out, I made sure I stretched her good. She was too innocent to just drive into, and I was an arsehole, but not a sadist.

  “Such a decent girl.” My breath was hot against her skin.

  She relentlessly chased my fingers and ice cube, looking drunk, on the border of shit-faced. All I needed to do was touch her clit once and she’d explode like I’d pushed a red button. Which was exactly why I didn’t do it.

  “But you’ll be dirty for me,” I added.

  To that, she didn’t reply. I slipped my hand into the bucket again and shoved another ice cube in, and she winced, arching her back before rubbing her pussy and clit all over my abs, wanting a lot more than ice and fingers inside her.

  “Answer me,” I growled.

  “I’ll be dirty for you,” she rasped, riding my hand like she did it for a living.

  “Take my cock out,” I ordered, my voice dripping chill almost as much as her pussy. She stopped grinding against me for a second, staring at me through dreamy eyes, the droplets coming down from the tips of her eyelashes and plastering her hair onto her forehead.

  “There’s an orgasm at the end of this journey.” I smirked.

  She reached between us and unbuckled me, taking my cock out with shaky fingers. She spent a few moments gaping at it, just as she had when I took a piss in front of her the first day we were on tour.

  “You’re uncut.”

  I wanted to laugh, but was too aroused to function. Her eyes were big and wide. Did it really matter? It never did to any of the women I’d been with before. Then again I was Alex Winslow. I was told by Blake and Alfie, though, that sometimes American women were a bit iffy about the blanket on the piggy. I took her palm and wrapped it around my shaft, squeezing my hand around hers and feeling the pearl of pre-cum between us dropping onto my clothed thigh. “Problem?”

  She shook her head. “It’s just…different.”

  “You’ve only been with one guy.” The fucker.

  “I know, but still.”

  We weren’t going to talk about the benefits of circumcision today. I moved her hand back and forth, showing her how to rub me off rough, the way I liked it. “Make me come, and I’ll do the same to you.”

  “I don’t come on demand.” Her eyes met mine.

  I slid three fingers into her needy pussy and curled them, hitting her G-spot at the same time I pushed my callused thumb just above her clit. “New game, new rules: you come when I tell you to.”

  “Ohhh…”

  Yeah. Ohhh was right, with extra fucking foreskin.

  She gave me a wank while I fingered her delicious cunt. The water pounding between us was a constant reminder that people were probably asking questions, and even more importantly—that we were going to walk out of here soaking wet or worse, wrapped in towels, giving them the answer they didn’t want to hear. Not that I gave a toss. Actually, it was better if everyone knew once and for all who she belonged to. Because it definitely wasn’t Waitrose.

  Stardust gave a terrible handjob. She didn’t use enough pressure and treated my cock like it was about to fall off my body. But I was so high on what we were doing—and where we were doing it—I got off anyway. And when I felt the climax pressuring the base of my spine, climbing up like a ladder, I finally put her out of her misery and gave her clit some TLC, rubbing the swollen thing in circles while shoving my tongue into her mouth like I wanted her to choke on it.

  “Jesus! Shit, oh, wow!” she exclaimed. She sounded surprised, and that made everything so much hotter, even though Jesus got the credit for all my hard work.

  “Say my fucking name when you come,” I hissed.

  I didn’t know what to expect. Maybe she would call me Winslow, as she often did, like I wasn’t a person but a brand.

  But when the name “Alex” rolled out of her lips, I shot my load onto her baby blue dress, groaning and pushing her to the floor, on her back, to finish the job. I didn’t let her come on my fingers. No. I pressed my knee between her thighs and let her come on nothing, empty and deprived, with just a little taste for more.

  I bent down, kissed her lips—thumbs on cheeks—and watched her squinting under the drops. Her face was rosy, her lips puffy from my abuse on her mouth.

  I stood up and left her on the floor, thinki
ng, for the first time in years—this is better than alcohol. Better than the champagne I smuggled.

  “Don’t give yourself a hard time, darlin’. Especially as next time I touch you, you will be on your knees for me.”

  The minute I came down from the high, I realized how low I’d gone.

  And once I did, everything became clearer, just like the steam that had dried off of the glassed shower. My feet felt like a thousand hornets had stung them, cold and hot all at once, and I shivered quietly.

  It wasn’t so much the shame of letting Alex finger me—finger me!—in the shower, although that was grossly out of character for me. We were both single and weren’t hurting anyone. It was the fact I’d allowed him to do that on a plane, with people right outside, and now they were all going to know what had happened.

  I’d never be able to live it down. Even if his friends didn’t care—which I’m sure they didn’t, I wasn’t the first girl to fall into Alex Winslow’s trap. He was made for legends, almighty like an angry god. Too bad he knew it.

  Alex yanked his jeans down, kicking them through his army boots and wrapping his waist in a clean, dry towel.

  “All right?” He threw me a glance down his nose, his thick eyebrows drawn together.

  I was still sitting on the edge of the Jacuzzi, combing my hair through wobbly fingers. Maybe I was stuck up, and a goody two-shoes, and a prude. But life had taught me a valuable lesson, and that lesson was that sometimes, the people you were attached to don’t come back. With my parents, I hadn’t had much choice. But with Alex—I did, and I’d knowingly let him in. Into my thoughts, and now my panties.

  “Sure.” I rose to my feet with the intention of squeezing my clothes dry. He turned toward the door, forever blasé.

  “There’s a blow dryer in the left cabinet. Step out of your clothes before you dry them, unless you want third-degree burns. I’ll go bullshit your way out of this one.”

  “Do you think they’ll buy it?” I munched on my lower lip again.

  “I’m a recovering drug addict. At this point, it’s easier for me to lie than say the truth.”

  “Oh,” I blurted. Apparently, I was not the most eloquent human being after getting fingered by a rock star. You live, you learn.

  He left the room, and I immediately glued my ear to the door in an attempt to hear everything outside. It was pitiful, but no more pathetic than everything else I’d done so far on this tour.

  “You’re in a towel,” Blake observed matter-of-factly when Alex reemerged from the bathroom. “Why on earth are you in a towel?”

  “Stardust dumped her coffee all over my crotch.”

  “For fuck’s sake. Why?” It was Alfie’s turn to speak.

  I grinned to myself, my heart thrumming in my chest wildly.

  “I don’t know. Who knows why women do anything? She’s probably on her period.”

  “Your shirt is gone, too.”

  “She dumped my cup over my head.”

  “Damn, mate, she really hates you.”

  “Clearly,” Alex’s voice dripped sarcasm.

  I covered my mouth, suppressing a laugh. That was my problem with Alex. He was too charming for his own good. Beneath the cliché of a tortured rock star who escaped to the arms of drugs and booze and had enough ink on his skin to print an entire edition of War and Peace, he was a lost boy. A fantastically witty lost boy. A lost boy who was incredibly lovable, even though he may not have thought so.

  “Where’s Indie, anyway?” Lucas’ voice was different from the rest. He sounded annoyed rather than amused.

  “Bathroom, last I checked.”

  “How come?” Blake grumbled.

  “She’s suffering from massive diarrhea. This may or may not have to do with that beef fried rice we had before takeoff.”

  “I knew it! My stomach’s been feeling funny, too.” Alfie slapped his thigh by the sound of it.

  I. Was. Going. To. Kill. Alex.

  My hands balled into fists, and I used every ounce of my self-control not to waltz out and tear my vocal cords yelling at him.

  Then he continued. “I think it’s gonna get loud in there, so I suggested she use the blow dryer.”

  I tried to tell myself he was protecting my dignity.

  In his own twisted, backward, exceptionally uncultured way.

  “Brutal,” Blake mumbled.

  “Bullshit,” Lucas spat out.

  I pressed my forehead to the door and squeezed my eyes shut. My cheeks hurt from the huge smile on my face. My heart squeezed for an entirely different reason. I turned the blow dryer on and heard them laughing.

  Damn you, Winslow.

  I was lying facedown on my bed in Moscow, listening to my heartbeat through the silence of the pillow, when Blake walked into the room. It was the first time in weeks he left me unattended for more than two minutes. I’d fault him for being so distrusting, but I did think about that champagne in my bag more than I wanted to admit. My own, bloody security blanket at this point.

  “There’s something you should know.”

  I stayed silent, allowing him to finish his grand announcement. If Fallon were here, she’d call his behavior “extra.” Which, in itself, was extra. Hollywood just made people really insufferable.

  “Lucas was saying he felt bad about Blue catching a stomach bug earlier. He’s going to the drug store to get her some crackers and Advil.”

  I elevated my head, ignoring the dull pain it sent to my neck. “Is he fucking deaf?”

  Blake kicked his smart shoes against a dresser, unbuttoning his smart shirt.

  “I’m serious,” I grunted. “Is Stardust’s pussy worth his job?”

  “Is Fallon’s worth yours?” Blake retorted. Spastic. I was engaged to Fallon. Lucas barely knew Indigo.

  “At any rate, he might already be on his way to her room,” Blake said, now standing by the bathroom door. “Look, I’m not sure what’s going on between you and her, but I know you were in the bathroom together, and not for a short time, either.”

  I rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling, marveling at his words.

  Hanging out with Indie was the opposite of what I was trying to do. Singapore had been a one-off. I’d wanted to show her we were compatible, and I had. Now it was time to take our relationship to the strictly sexual zone. On the other hand, the idea of Lucas spending time with her was even less appealing than doing it myself. And she was going to say yes to Lucas, not giving much damn about the restrictions I put her under.

  She wanted to see the world.

  She was going to see the world.

  Whether I liked it or not.

  I had two choices—be the one who’d show it to her, or watch my backstabbing frenemy do it.

  “Cheers for the heads-up.” I jumped up, padding to the walk-in closet. Whoever Blake had hired had already hung up all my crap and ironed my stupid jeggings—forever a great liar, I moved the champagne from my suitcase to my duffel bag before they got their hands on it. The concept of having it, in itself, kept me saner. Or at least less crazy. Like a suicide pill.

  I slipped into a dark gray coat. Blake watched me silently from the threshold of the bathroom as I walked into my shoes on my way to the door, stuffing my wallet into my back pocket.

  “Let me accompany you,” he said politely.

  “Fuck off,” I answered, also politely.

  I slammed the door just to be a dick and sauntered down the hallway. My first stop was not, in fact, Stardust’s room. It was Lucas’ door. I took a step back toward the opposite wall and crashed my foot into it, leaving a foot-sized dent. I’d told him, time and time again, not to mess with my babysitter. This was a warning to let him know that next time, he was going to hitchhike back to England, because I was going to fire his arse and empty his bank account. Also, Britain was an island, so I hoped to fuck he was a good swimmer, because the odds of him completing the tour weren’t in his favor. I made my way back to Indie’s room—it was in front of mine, as per usual—a
nd drummed on the door with open palms dramatically. She opened after a minute, looking fresh, her hair dried, a silky beige dress hugging her tiny figure. She had a matching wool scarf a shade darker wrapped around her delicate neck.

  “Stardust.” I placed my elbow on her doorframe, staring down at her.

  She looked a little confused by my being there. Like she still couldn’t believe I actively sought her out.

  That makes both of us.

  “You look pissed,” I observed.

  “You told your friends I’m having a poop crisis.” She blinked slowly.

  “Telling them the truth would’ve given you a heart attack. Besides, Alfie and Lucas started looking at you like you were their next meal, and I didn’t like that. Two birds. One stone.”

  “Why are you here?”

  Because I can’t bear the thought of Lucas standing in my spot.

  “Wanted to check if your head is still intact and not blown up from embarrassment for doing something dirty with a boy. That’s the chivalrous thing to do, correct?”

  She hugged the door and nibbled on that poor lower lip of hers, all cracked and bruised. “First of all, you’re giving yourself way too much credit, and second of all, you’re as chivalrous as a Tasmanian devil. Your business is hanging all over the tabloids, literally and figuratively. Your penis is the new kittens on YouTube, for Chrissake.”

  “I see you finally decided to Google me.”

  She shrugged. “Lucas gave me his laptop until the end of the tour.”

  Red cloth.

  Angry bull.

  Clenched fists.

  Don’t kill Lucas. He’s not worth the jail time.

  I grabbed her hand and yanked her out of her room. “You just earned yourself a new laptop. My treat.”

  I bet if I’d told Alex that Lucas let me crash at his place, he’d buy me a whole house just to spite him. It was obvious that whatever was happening between him and me was also a direct result of trying to keep me away from his drummer. A different girl may have taken a step back, but my life was such a hot mess, on and off the tour, Alex was the least of my problems.