Page 93 of One Time Only (One Time Only 1)
I curl a hand around his ass. “You are filthy, and I love it.”
“Right back atcha, big guy,” he says, slipping away from me, stripping off his tee, unzipping his jeans, and then working open the buttons on my shirt.
And when we’re both down to nothing, when he’s ready and open, I do as he requested.
I fuck him.
Having him.
And loving him something fierce.The next day, we head to the airport together. He heads up the steps to his Gulfstream first, his hand in mine. He lets go when he steps on the plane, fist-bumping the pilot.
I stop at the door, take a beat, and look around, swinging my gaze behind me to the tarmac, in front of me to the galley.
Is this my life?
I’ve been on this plane many times before, but never like this—as his boyfriend.
A rock star is my boyfriend.
But that’s hardly what’s so surreal about this moment, surrounded by the trappings of the lifestyle.
It’s not the fame.
It’s the luck.
That here I am after heartbreak, after loss, after my heart was shattered, and I’ve found something new.
Something wonderful.
Someone I want to love for the rest of my life.
My heart thunders in my chest.
I join Stone in the back of the plane, wrapping an arm around him, emotion clogging my throat.
“Hey,” I say softly.
“What is it?” A crease knits his brow.
“You know I don’t love you for your plane, right?”
He laughs, his green eyes flickering with mischief. “Don’t worry, J. I know you love me for my dick.”
I’m undeterred though. I wrap my hand tighter around his bicep, my thumb sliding over his ink. “Know this. It’s you. It’s not anything else. It’s not anything you have. I’d get on a tiny plane, a commuter train, a beat-up car, or an old rowboat with you. We could stay in a motel on the side of the highway. I’d come home to you in a studio apartment.” My hand travels to his heart, and I spread my palm over it. “This is why I love you. For this.”
He swallows roughly, his eyes shining. “And you wonder why I write songs about you.”
Our lips crash together, and we kiss—a long, slow, deep kiss that feels like a promise.
Later, as we’re cruising over the country, he takes me to a private room in the back of the plane. It’s small, like a sleeper cabin on a train.
But it does the trick.
I might love him for his heart, but he’s right—his dick is definitely an attractive part of the deal.
I show him how much I love the whole damn package of Stone Zenith.40StoneIt’s weird having a new guy watching my back.
I’ve become so accustomed to the guys I know.
But I’d better get used to this, since it will be my new normal any day now. A whole new rotation.
My new normal will also look like this—walking into a high school auditorium in Portland with my man.
Parents and teachers turn their heads, do double takes. All in a day’s work. And this day is a good one.
Wait. Make it a great day. My hand is in Jackson’s as we walk down the sloped aisle toward the front of the theater.
His mom waves at us, her hazel eyes crinkling at the corners, her brown hair in a neat, trim ponytail.
“We saved you seats,” she says, patting the aisle chair and the one next to it.
“You rock, Mrs. Pearce,” I say, bringing her in for a hug.
“Well, I didn’t say I was going to give you the good seat,” she says, deadpan.
“Mom never gives up an aisle seat for any of her kids,” Jackson says.
“Only for pregnant women or little old ladies,” his dad chimes in, then lifts his chin at me. He’s a handsome older dude, big and bulky. Like father, like son. “Good to see you again, Stone,” he says. We had lunch earlier today with Jackson’s parents, his sister Caroline, and her boyfriend, Ben. “Fair warning—Bethany may not ever come down from cloud nine, knowing you’re here.”
Jackson taps his chest. “It’s me she wants to see, Dad.”
His dad rolls his eyes as we take our seats. “You keep telling yourself that, son. Yup. It’s her brother she wants to see. Not her favorite singer of all time.”
My eyes pop. “J!” I smack his leg. “You never told me I was her favorite.”
“I think my father is exaggerating.”
His dad shakes his head. “Nope. She’s pretty much obsessed with you.”
“I’ve heard every one of your songs in the twenty-four hours since Jackie told us you were coming,” his mom puts in.
I snap my gaze to my man. “Jackie? You didn’t tell me your mom calls you Jackie.”
Jackson shoots daggers at his mother. “Please don’t call me that, Mom.”
“You’ll always be Jackie to me,” she says, the way only a mom can.
“Jackie,” I tease.
He growls low in his throat. “Don’t you dare.”
