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 love how fascinated she is by everything. I've spent so much time around it that it lost its appeal a long time ago, but seeing it through her eyes brings back a little of the magic it lost long before we called it quits a decade ago. I felt like a fraud telling the guys that shit wasn't all bad because I didn't even really believe it when I said it, but it was true. We had a lot of good times, and things weren't all terrible. It's nice to remember that.
"Wow," Ireland whispers when we step out onto the stage. We walk to center stage before she draws to a stop, taking it all in. "It's so much more intimidating than I expected."
"It's definitely intimidating."
"How do you do it?" She peers up at me, avidly curious.
"Practice," I chuckle.
"Don't you get nervous?"
"Only every fucking night, but it's a lot more manageable now than it was back then. The first time we got on a stage, we were all shitting bricks. I thought Mason was going to pass out on us." I smile at the memory. Fuck, that was a lifetime ago.
"I love that," she whispers.
"What?"
"How much you love them. You smile every time you talk about them. It's really sweet, Crue."
"They're like my brothers." I sigh heavily. "But we haven't always been close, Éire. When we went on hiatus, Jax and I were barely speaking. We were all sick of each other. It was rough."
"It usually is when you fight with family." She slips her hand into mine, linking our fingers together. "Shelby is my best friend, but we fight too. It always sucks. But sometimes, you fight the hardest with the people you love because they matter more than anything else. Growing and changing is uncomfortable. They help us do more of it than anyone else. Family loves us at our worst to teach us how to be our best."
I hook my arm around her waist, pulling her up against me. "You're pretty fucking smart, you know that?"
"I know," she says, tipping her head back to grin at me. "It's that fancy college education."
"No, it's you, sweet girl." I dip my head, brushing my lips against hers. "It's all you."
Her soft sigh washes across my face before she kisses me back, melting into me. Before I can pull her closer and devour her like I want, she dances out of my arms, laughing.
"No way, Crue. I have a fantasy to live out," she says, throwing up a hand to halt me when I stalk after her. "Microphone, please."
I stop walking and grin. "You going to sing for me, baby?"
"Maybe."
I jog toward Mason's drum set and grab one of the microphones lying there. The soundboard isn't switched on, but I don't think she really cares about that. She's just living her best life. I don't think she knows any other way to live.
Christ, it's beautiful to witness.
I hand her the microphone. She sashays back to centerstage and strikes a pose, one hand in the air over her head and one hip cocked out with her toes pointed. She looks like a sassy little popstar.
She shoots me an impish grin over her shoulder, clears her throat…and immediately starts belting out the dirtiest lines of DTF, one of the last songs we recorded before we went on hiatus. It's about fucking, plain and simple. The goddamn label made us record it, and our fans lost their shit over it.
She couldn't hold a tune in a bucket if her life depended on it, but she shimmies and shakes her way across the stage, belting out the lyrics as if she's back in the elevator and no one is watching. My dick throbs in my pants, aching like a motherfucker at the sight of her, so sweet and innocent, singing about wanting to fuck in the back of a tour bus.
If she's throwing down hints, I'm picking them up. I'll gladly take her against the wall on the way to Detroit with my hand over her mouth so no one hears her moaning for me. Anytime, any place. All she has to do is say the words.
When she launches into the next verse, I stalk toward her, pulling her up against my chest. My lips descend on her neck as she sings quietly now, whispering the lyrics to me.
I run my hands up her body, brushing my palms over her hard nipples.
"Crue," she moans.
"Keep singing, Ireland," I demand, nipping her throat.
"I…" She huffs a sigh and then picks up the next line.
I pinch her nipples, teasing her. Teasing myself. Fuck. I don't know. All I know is that I can't keep my hands off this woman. And I don't have to try. She's my wife. One way or another, I'm going to convince her that she wants to keep my ring on her finger.