Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
I find her outside the bus, talking to Havoc. Laughing with Havoc, actually. What the fuck? Why is everyone always fucking smiling at my wife?
I stomp toward them, scowling daggers at my bodyguard.
He sees me coming, notices the look on my face, and immediately goes stoic. But not before shooting me an amused smirk, as if he thinks it's hilarious that she has me all twisted up in knots. I'm sure he probably does. He's listened to me bitch for months now about girls trying to sneak backstage, into our rooms, or onto the tour bus. He's given me shit about it more than once. And then here comes this tiny little goddess, and suddenly, I'm singing a different tune.
No, I'm singing a fucking musical.
"You have to tell me all the juicy stories about him, Havoc," Ireland is saying when I walk up behind her. "I have to be able to use it against him. Otherwise, what's the fun of being friends with his bodyguard?"
"You're not making friends with my bodyguard, Ireland," I growl, shutting that bullshit down right now. Hell no. I trust Havoc with my life. But trusting him with my wife? Fuck that.
She spins around when she hears me, lighting up like the sun. "Crue! You're back."
Jesus. She beams like she hasn't seen me all day instead of thirty minutes. Somehow, that makes me feel more like a rockstar than taking the stage every night. What is it about this wild woman that makes me so crazy?
Everything. It's everything.
"Just in time, from the sounds of it," I mutter, tugging her into my arms. "You aren't making friends with Havoc, Ireland." I pause. "Or the crew. Or the band. Or anyone else with a dick, for that matter."
"It's cute you think you have a say in this," she says, patting me on the chest. "But you don't. I'll be friends with whoever I want."
"Uh, the hell you will."
"Do you like sleeping in the same bed as me, Crue? Because you won't be if you keep brassing me off, acting like a numpty by telling me I can't be friends with Havoc and the band." Her smile never falters. That sweet voice never falters. She lays down the law according to Ireland, newly learned Britishisms and all, without missing a beat. I thought Shelby was mildly terrifying, but I think my wife may have her beat.
My dick is rock-hard.
"Inside," I growl, scooping her up into my arms.
She squeaks, clinging to my shoulders as I storm up the steps into the bus with her, Havoc's deep chuckle chasing us up the steps. The door slams behind us. Mason looks up, sees her in my arms, and shakes his head.
"That's my cue to go see a man about a dog," he says, rising to his feet.
"Oh. You don't have to leave," Ireland says.
"Yes, he does."
"Crue!"
I shrug, unrepentant. He doesn't want to hear what's about to happen here.
"He's right," Mason says, grabbing his phone off the table before striding toward the door. "I definitely have to sod off. Have fun. Godspeed. Toodles, fuckers. Whichever."
Ireland giggles, pressing her face to my chest as he slips past us, escaping the bus. I lock the door behind him before carrying her to the nearest chair and planting my ass in it.
"Did you have fun with Mason?"
"Yes. He was very nice and taught me all sorts of British words I plan to use against you."
"Good. Now, tell me to fuck off again," I growl. "But strip that pretty dress off before you do it so I can enjoy the show this time, Éire."
"Crue," she groans. But she's already reaching for the hem of her dress, just as incapable of telling me no as I am of denying her. It's the reason neither of us slept last night. Every time she took a breath, I was ready to go again. And she made damn sure I did…over and over again.
I run my hands up and down her silky thighs as she rips her dress off over her head. With her on my lap, her perfect tits are right in my face. She isn't wearing a bra. Apparently, the dress has one built-in or some shit. Good news for me. I lean forward, pulling one hard nipple into my mouth.
She moans, her head falling back. Already, she's rocking on my lap, instinctively seeking the pleasure she knows I'll give her. I snap the bands on her panties, ripping them away from her body.
"Crue," she gasps. "Stop tearing all my clothes. I need them."
"I'll buy you more." I shove her panties in the pocket of my sweats before slipping my hand between her legs. "Ride my fingers, Ireland."
"Yes," she moans, already rocking against them.
I watch, unable to take my eyes off her as she grips the back of the chair, rolling her hips, moaning my name. She's a goddess above me, taking her pleasure without inhibition. My marks litter her skin, standing in testament to what we did last night.