Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
But I could ease her.
“Come here.” I cupped the back of her neck and brought her mouth to mine as I circled her clit with my fingers.
I swallowed every moan, every sigh, every gasp as I built her pleasure higher and higher, and when her hips writhed over mine, I strummed her clit fast and light until her thighs locked, then trembled. She was so close I could almost taste it in her kiss.
I deepened the pressure and pushed her right over the edge, capturing every sound from her mouth with mine as she rode out her orgasm.
It would have been so easy to kick her into a second—she was that responsive—but I eased her down instead, ignoring the demands of my impatient body.
When she lifted her head, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide, her breaths ragged—just like mine. I’d never seen a more beautiful woman in my life, never wanted one more than I wanted her in that moment.
“Nixon,” she whispered, her hands trailing down my chest.
Oh God. My control was whisper-thin and disintegrating with every inch she traveled. I felt that touch in every cell in my body.
Not here. Not like this.
I captured her wrists, then flipped us so her back was against the couch, pinning her hands above her head. Instead of demanding to be freed, she gripped my hips with her thighs and lifted her mouth to mine.
I lunged backward, barely managing to stay on my feet. Then I practically ran to the back of the jet and flung myself into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me. The counter was solid under my palms as I balanced my weight, my chest heaving as I recited every single reason I couldn’t go back out there.
She was on staff.
She had her own valid issues about what would happen if we did this and it got out.
We’d already agreed not to do the very thing we’d already done.
She deserved better than to be fucked on what was pretty much an aerial tour bus.
She deserved better than me, period.
I refused to use her like I had the innumerable women who’d come before.
“Nixon?” she asked through the door.
Just the sound of her voice was enough to send a shot of longing down my spine. Get a fucking grip.
“Yep.” I lifted my head and saw someone I barely recognized—not just in the healthier lines of my face but in the stark fear that lingered in my eyes.
Zoe Shannon scared the shit out of me.
“Were you thinking about coming out?”
My fingers gripped the counter so hard my knuckles turned white under the ink that marked them. The door was all that separated me from the heaven of her body, from treating her like one of those girls outside my dressing room.
“Nope.”
“Oh. Okay.”
The fact I was actually hiding in the bathroom from the sexiest woman on the planet only made me grit my teeth even harder.
“Now is when you choose to grow a conscience?” I muttered at the guy in the mirror. The timing was shitty, but nevertheless, here we were.
I stayed in that bathroom until the captain requested we take our seats for landing. Then I found myself wishing the toilet had a damned seat belt. But it didn’t, so I left the safety of the locked door and took the first available seat, which wasn’t anywhere near the couch where Zoe sat strapped in, staring at me in complete confusion.
I kept my eyes forward and promised myself that’s where they’d stay in regard to Zoe. No more flirting. No more stolen kisses. Definitely no more touching. All that soft skin needed to stay over there, out of my reach, for her own good.
Right. I could do that for her.
If I could give up drinking, then keeping my hands off Zoe Shannon would be a breeze.
Oh, who was I kidding? I was completely fucked.
10
ZOE
Nixon had been in asshole mode for an entire week. He was snippy, cold, and gave one-word answers every time I asked a question. I wasn’t stupid—I knew what had happened between us on the plane was the reason. I had my own issues about it, but I wasn’t taking them out on him.
He also wasn’t sleeping, which I knew because the tea packet I left out next to the honey on the counter every night was always used and disposed of by the time I woke up. He wrote every morning, and by the afternoon, his mood was even worse than the day before, which made our afternoon hikes anything but fun.
His writing notebooks were full of chord progressions, tablature, and even a few scattered piano bars here and there, but there was nothing solid. It was like he’d written sections of thirty different songs, without completing a single one of them.
I’d never really seen his writing process, so I wasn’t sure if that was normal for him or not, and I wasn’t about to call Jonas or Quinn and ask, so I left him to it. When I wasn’t with Nixon, I was online, scouring the internet for a band I could bet my career on.