Page 67 of One Time Only (One Time Only 1)
As I suck deeper, his cock melding to my mouth, his hands roped through my hair, I picture later tonight.
After the show.
The things I want to do to him.
The ways I want to fuck him.
As the images flash before me, I wrap my hands around his ass, grabbing harder, letting him own my mouth as I suck him to the back of my throat.
His body trembles, and his hands coil tighter.
Mere minutes before he’s set to take the stage, he shoves deep in my mouth and shoots into my throat.
I drink him down, loving every last drop.
When I rise, he’s panting, his eyes big, his cheeks flushed.
It’s a good look. I lean in and dust a possessive kiss to his jaw. “There. Now I bet you really feel like a rock star. Getting blown before you go onstage.”
He grabs my shoulders. “You’re going to be in my head the whole show.”
I arch a brow, trying to keep the moment light. “Blow jobs have that effect on you, Stone?”
Adamantly, he shakes his head. “No. You do, Jackson. You do.”
My heart tries to perform gymnastics again, but I do everything I can to resist.
A voice whispers in the back of my mind. Be careful.
I reach for the door handle, but he grabs my arm. “I didn’t expect that. All I wanted was to kiss you because I knew I’d go crazy thinking about kissing you during the show.”
He ropes one hand around my head and hauls me in for another kiss, somehow making me want him even more.
When he lets go, I leave, waiting outside the door, checking my phone as he finishes his preshow prep.
An email from the credit card company offers me an increase on my credit limit, along with a reminder of the balance. I grit my teeth, grinding them. Yes, universe, I get the message.
It’s loud and clear—focus on the job.
But I can do both.
This is only one week. When this tour ends, we’ll go back to the way things were.
Besides, when Stone takes the stage a few minutes later, I’m sure he’s not thinking of me at all. Not once when he performs.
Except when he swings his gaze to me in the wings that night, locking eyes with me for several delirious seconds, I’m certain he is.
When he slides into the chorus of “Bedroom Eyes,” I don’t hope he’s singing a few lines to me.
I know he is, and worse, I like it far too much for my own good.26StoneI bury my face in Jackson’s neck later that night.
“Cedar,” I whisper. “And falling snow. That’s what you smell like.”
His fingers skate down my back. “You sure about that? I’d think right now I smell like sex.”
I laugh, inhaling him once again. The blow job earlier was the best way to start a show. And now, this is the best way to finish a show. This man—in my suite, tangled up in bed with me. “Fine. Right now you might be wearing eau de hot, sweaty, pent-up-all-day-from-wanting-you sex.”
Jackson laughs, and it’s a great post-sex laugh. Husky and throaty.
I sigh happily. “Admit it. I killed it onstage tonight. All because I was going to see you after.”
“You weren’t so bad with the mic,” he deadpans.
I roll my eyes. “Thanks.”
“Fine. You were better than average.”
I shove a hand against his shoulder.
The man simply laughs. “Want me to say you were on fire?”
“Yes. Because I was thinking about getting your clothes off,” I add.
“Same. Same for me. Though I think nearly everyone in the audience was thinking that about you,” he says.
I drag my fingers down his chest. “Doubtful. But you’re the only one I was thinking of,” I say, and dammit—this is what mind-bending sex does to me. It unlocks my lips. Makes me say all sorts of sweet, swoony shit to him.
This is because of the sex.
It’s only because of the sex.
But then, I don’t think I’ve whispered sweet nothings like this before. Not to a man, and not to a woman.
And I’ve got to get my act together. “Incidentally, this is so much better than whacking off to thoughts of you after a concert,” I say, since that’s keeping the focus on the sex, not the feelings.
“I’d have to agree, but I would like to watch you do that.”
A yawn threatens to overtake me. “Tomorrow? Can I have that for breakfast?”
“You’re ordering up the sex you want tomorrow morning before you go to bed?”
I flop to my back and mime checking off an item on a room service menu. “Dear concierge, please deliver chai tea, a breakfast bowl, and a hot hand job from the babe in my bed.”
He laughs, chuckling deeply. “This is your week. You’ll get everything you want.”
Week.
The reminder that this thing between us has an end.
The end will protect me. I won’t fall for him in less than a week. How could I? He’s not available for falling. He’s not interested in anything more than a hookup.
