Life On Stage: Beat Part 25

The ten-year age difference between us has never mattered. "I'm nowhere near ready to have a baby, Dylan."

"We'll have to negotiate that one."

"Negotiate?"

"Yeah." He raises my hand and pulls it to his lips, kissing the top as we pull up in front of the hotel. "Would it really be the worst thing in the world if you were pregnant now?"

Yes. It most certainly would.

I watch the show from my usual place on the floor, taking note of the jam-packed venue. Only a month ago, Easy Ryder wasn't selling out places as big as the MGM Grand Garden. Now ticket scalpers are getting twice the face value because the demand has spiked so high. Women in the audience are sporting T-shirts I've never seen before-the face of Flynn Beckham, not the usual Easy Ryder concert tee.

There's a noticeable shift in the air when Flynn sings the songs he leads. An energy that seemed to have been missing prior to his arrival. There's no playful banter between songs, like Linc and Dylan have, it's more of a necessary evil that Dylan tolerates. I watch Dylan's face as the crowd shrieks in delight when the limelight pa.s.ses to Flynn for a song-he definitely doesn't appreciate all the newfound attention going to someone else.

After the show, I take my time going backstage, knowing that Dylan is being whisked off for his late-night dinner with the sponsor. He didn't ask me to join him tonight and I purposefully avoid running into him before he leaves so he doesn't have time to extend an invitation at the last minute.

I check in with Brett and tell him I'm going to hop in the first limousine that shuttles back to the hotel. Cars run back and forth after the show, taking roadies and guys from the band with their guests wherever they want to go. It all gets coordinated through the tour manager.

Avoiding the lounge area backstage, already filled with excited groupies, I slip out the black door and into the black stretch limousine that pulls up outside. The driver tells me it will just be a minute or two while he waits for a few more pa.s.sengers that Brett radioed him to expect momentarily.

I'm texting back and forth with Avery when the door flies open and a man hops in. It startles me, but I quickly see why he's running. A gaggle of women are chasing after Flynn. He turns, not expecting to find anyone inside the sizeable back seat, and when he sees me sitting across from him, his trademark slow, lazy, smile washes across his face and he arches one eyebrow expressively.

"To the hotel, please. Too many fans out here."

The limousine pulls away just as Duff is walking out with one of the roadies and a few women.

"Waiting for me?"

I roll my eyes. "No. Running to me?"

He grins. "Always."

We stare at each other, and I watch the change in him occur right before my eyes. His mischievous smile turns heated, bordering on predatory. He calls to the driver, without breaking our gaze, "Can you drop us at the Wynn, please?

We're staying at the Bellagio a mile away. "In the mood to gamble?"

He shakes his head.

"See a show?"

Another slow shake.

"Dance?"

That's not it either.

"Dinner?"

"Only if we're having breakfast for dinner."

Oh my.

Neither of us says a word as Flynn whisks me from the reception desk to a suite, flipping the key around between his fingers impatiently as we board the elevator. When the elevator fills and half the panel illuminates with floors to stop at, he blows out an audible breath of frustration.

He pulls me against him to make room for an older couple, and his hard-on pokes against my a.s.s. This time it's my turn for the audible breath. Flynn chuckles faintly and his fingers press into my hip as he nudges me against him even tighter.

Oblivious to everything around us except our growing need, neither of us realizes for a moment that the voice speaking is directed at us.

"Aren't you Flynn Beckham?" the woman says.

"No. But I get that a lot."

I laugh at his response and lean toward the woman and whisper, "He's not as cute as Flynn Beckham."

The fingers at my hip dig in a little harder.

A few more stops and we arrive on the seventeenth floor. With a swipe of the key, we're inside and don't bother to turn on the lights. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows are wide open, the lights of the Vegas strip providing an oddly sensual backdrop as they flash and illuminate the dark sky.

Cupping my face tenderly in his hands, Flynn leans in and kisses me sweetly. He takes his time, his tongue exploring and hands sliding up my sides in a way that makes me feel worshiped.

He pulls back and looks at me. "I'm crazy about you." Eyes filled with sincerity, and something that takes my breath away, he reaches down and surprises me by hooking one arm beneath my knees and lifting.

His lips come back to mine again as he carries me to the bedroom and gently sets me down on my feet. "I want to take my time with you. No talking tonight. I'm going to show you how I feel about you."

We explore each other's bodies slowly. Listening to one another's breath as we trace the curves and feel the soft contours and hard ridges. His gaze caresses my skin so that I feel him warming my body, even when he's no longer touching me.

I kiss underneath his ear, the spot I've learned makes his body shiver. His tongue traces a path along my collarbone before his head dips lower and he takes my protruding nipple between his teeth and tugs.

I moan when he runs his finger from the top of my a.s.s, his finger threatening at my rear, before sliding down and then up between my legs. A sinfully erotic groan echoes through the room when I lick the V on his lower abdomen, trailing my tongue from his hipbone down to his groin. With my head already low, I surprise him, taking him into my mouth.

"Lucky," he groans in warning, as if to say he won't be able to handle being inside of my mouth. I drop to my knees before him, his restraint only fueling my desire to see him lose control. Pulling back, but not all the way, I gently swirl my tongue around his tip and then loosen the suction around him as if I'm going to release him. But I don't. Instead, I wrap my fingers around the base of him and take him in as deep as I can, until my lips meet my fingers.

"f.u.c.k. Lucky." His eyes darken as he watches me. Even though I can see the primal urge lurking just beneath the surface, he still holds back. So I suck harder. Deeper. Faster. Bobbing my head up and down until the room fills with a roar and the last bit of control he was trying to maintain shatters. His hands fist into my hair tightly and he begins to thrust into my mouth.

My own excitement grows as I hear him gasp for breath and he mutters all the things he's going to do to me when he has me beneath him. He tries to pull back before he releases, but I'm so turned on, the feel of his salty, warm finish might be enough to detonate my own spectacular o.r.g.a.s.m.

Throwing back his head, his body trembling as he becomes undone, he releases into my mouth long and hard. I struggle to take it all, breathing jaggedly through my nose until his thrusts begin to slow and finally stop.

Then he lifts me from my knees, cradling my body in his arms, and holds me tight for a long time. Eventually, when our breathing returns to normal, he lays me on the bed and slips in behind me, his front to my back.

A few minutes later, his voice still hoa.r.s.e from strain, he brushes my hair to the side and kisses my neck. "I thought I was showing you what I felt."

"Guess I had a lot to say first."

He chuckles. "Give me about five minutes, you won't be able to get a word in edgewise."

"Five minutes?" Half joking that he can retool and be ready again so quickly. He responds by pushing his already semi-hard erection up against my a.s.s.

"Oh."

"The five minutes were for you, not for me."

The next time there is no race to lose control. Instead, it's beautiful and slow and everything he promised it would be. His eyes don't break from mine as he slides inside of me, not even as he brushes his lips tenderly against mine. And then we begin to move, a sensual and slow-burning rhythm that is so much more than just two bodies heading toward a magnificent finish. We're two souls colliding, rocking as one person, doing something I never realized I hadn't done before. Making love.

The rest of the night we speak only with our bodies, listening to each other's heartbeats, and truly feel each other in a way I've never experienced.

What I don't feel for once is guilt. Giving in to my emotions, allowing ourselves to truly let go and just be with each other leaves no room for anything else. There will be plenty of time for guilt tomorrow.

Chapter Thirty.

Lucky

Not since I was fifteen and Avery and I snuck out to meet up with the Raven brothers at eleven on a school night have I felt so nervous creaking open a door to a place I'm supposed to already be inside of. I swallow a deep breath, attempting to calm my nerves. It almost works, but then I remember what happened when I returned from that decade-ago dalliance. Avery got her first real kiss with Kyle that night. I, on the other hand, walked straight into the angry glare of my father the minute the door opened. It was a solid two weeks before I saw the outside of our apartment again, aside from school.

Dylan isn't supposed to return until early this afternoon, but plans can change. Finally mustering enough courage to slip the key into the door, I brace myself for the consequences of my actions.

The room is dark.

I heave a sigh of relief when I flick on the lights and find the bed hasn't been slept in. Thankfully, I have a few hours to clear my head.

I'm in the middle of drying my hair in the bathroom when I hear Dylan call out my name. He's back early.

"Hey. I didn't think you'd be back for a few more hours." I force a smile as I step from the master bath to greet him, but my knees are actually trembling.

"Neither did I," Dylan bites out. Uh oh.

"Did the meeting not go well?"

He turns and stares at me, a very unhappy look on his face. "The meeting was fine. I felt guilty leaving you alone all night, so I came back early."

"Oh." I get the feeling he's angry with me, but I'm almost afraid to ask. "You didn't have to do that. I'm fine."

His jaw flexes and he turns away, emptying his pockets on top of the tall dresser. "So I've heard."

What's that supposed to mean? I don't respond, but I'm sure more is coming.

"What did you do last night, Lucky?" His tone tells me he's not making small talk. It's an interrogation, and I have the sickening feeling he already knows all the answers.

It would be the perfect time to come clean. I've dragged this out way too long already. Yet I can't seem to get the words out. Lies seem to flow from my lips with ease these days. "I gambled for a bit at one of the casinos."

His unrelenting stare makes me squirm, so I pretend to focus my attention on packing the blow dryer in my hand into my suitcase.

"At the Wynn?"

I freeze. I hate myself. What I've done is loathsome and vile. It was never meant to happen. I didn't mean to fall for another man. I wasn't looking, we just sort of found each other. And after last night, I finally realize that nothing can stop what is going on between Flynn and me. What we have is real, not a fantasy I'd spent years imagining.

"Yes, I'm sorry." I bow my head repentantly.

Dylan forks his fingers through his hair and edges over to me. He sighs loudly when I don't look up. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I f.u.c.ked up."

Not what I was expecting.

My eyes jump to his, finding a pain that is familiar. Guilt? He places his hands on my shoulders and I wait for him to continue.

"I've been so preoccupied with the tour, how things are changing for Easy Ryder, I haven't given you the attention you deserve." He closes his eyes, and when he reopens them, remorse looms in the forefront. "I shouldn't have gone last night. It was a mistake." As if I didn't already feel like a horrible human being, he's apologizing for having to go to a business dinner, when I was with another man.

"You had a business dinner. I understand that. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I won't be going to any more business dinners. I promise." The declaration is so heartfelt, it feels like he's promising something much bigger. "You're what's important and I won't let you slip through my fingers. I'm going to fix things between us."

"Dylan. I...I need to tell you something." I steel myself with a deep breath and wipe my sweaty palms against my jeans discreetly.

A knock at the door interrupts what is about to be my confession.

He ignores it. "It can wait. Go on."

Like a coward, I cling to the interruption for a minute of reprieve. "It's fine, why don't you get it?"

Dylan lumbers to the door as the second knock comes. Just as I'm beginning to steady again, I hear the voice from the hall.

"Brett said you wanted to see me?" Flynn.

"I'm making some changes to the show," Dylan replies curtly and then looks back at me. Not a single muscle in my body has moved, I'm so tense. "But I'm busy right now. Lucky and I are"-the sneer on his lips grows to a full-blown self-satisfied smile as he adds-"going to enjoy our last few hours in a hotel room before we have to get back on the bus. I'll meet you in the lobby at three to talk."

If Flynn responds, it isn't audible, but the slam of the door makes me jump.

I convinced myself it was a bad idea to break things off with Dylan before he was going to have a sit-down with Flynn. Although the truth of the matter is, I'm just buying more time. I'm afraid that when I end things, Dylan will see right through whatever I say and know I've fallen for Flynn. And that won't be good. Dylan is already clearly bothered by the attention that Flynn's receiving. If he finds out we're together, it's Flynn who will pay the price.

The last show in Vegas is uneventful, and I'm anxious to speak to Flynn when they finish playing, but backstage is crammed with people and Dylan keeps me tight against his side. "Change of plans. Lydia flew in to tell Mick she got the all-clear from her doctor to try to get pregnant again." A few months ago she miscarried; I remember Dylan telling me she was really upset. "They want to go out to dinner to celebrate before the bus rolls tonight."

"Wow. That would be three, right?"

"Yep. We have a lot of catching up to do." Dylan nuzzles into my neck and I blanch, finding Flynn's eyes trained on me, watching us together from the other side of the room.

I down three gla.s.ses of wine at dinner, well aware that two is my max. Lydia and I spend most of the night talking about her two boys and plans to try to have a girl. But my mind keeps wandering back to Flynn. Before we leave, while Mick and Dylan are busy signing a few autographs, I take the opportunity to throw out a random question to Lydia.

"How did you know Mick was the one?"