Chapter Thirty-Two
Paige
“I love Dallas,” Eli slurs, arm draped over my shoulder, all six-foot-something of him, heavy and uncoordinated, dumping half his weight onto my five-five frame.
“We know, big guy,” Beau grunts from the other side as he tries to steady him.
I laugh, cheeks aching from the night, the energy of the bar still fizzing in my veins as we head toward the first hotel of the tour, courtesy of Reign Cooper himself.
Buses and being on the road are fun, sure. But the thought of an actual bed and no man-smell stinking up the place feels…like luxury.
“You’re my favorite drummer,” Eli mumbles, again.
“You’ve said that three times,” I tease, adjusting my grip as we round the corner.
“Yeah, but now I mean it.”
I gasp mockingly. “Are you saying you didn’t before?”
He stumbles, shrugging Beau off and flinging his arms around me, planting a wet kiss on my cheek. I stagger under his weight, right into something solid. A hand finds my hip, warm and steady, Maddox’s chest pressing into my back just long enough that I forget how to move.
“Okay, here we go,” he says, peeling Eli off me.
His fingers brush up my spine as he transfers our bass guitarist, a fleeting touch, but it still short-circuits my brain.
Jesus, every damn time, my body reacts to him.
“Why don’t you hang off me for a while, huh?”
Eli clings to him like dead weight, grinning. “I knew you were a cuddler.”
Maddox huffs, eyes flicking toward me. “Nah, I just don’t want you crushing your favorite drummer before the next show.”
My chest flutters stupidly at that, like he meant his favorite, not Eli’s.
I fall into step a few paces ahead, the hotel shining before us like a blurry lighthouse for the half-drunk and over-exhausted. Maddox is quiet, too quiet for someone hauling a human-sized koala drunkenly rambling to himself.
But the silence doesn’t feel like it used to when we first met, when he didn’t want me anywhere near him.
Now it feels intentional, like he’s holding something back because of the guys rather than shutting me out.
Even at the bar, he barely spoke, barely drank, barely moved. Except to watch the bull, to watch me.
When I was up there—laughing, wild, alive—I could feel his eyes on me the same way I catch him watching when I play. And I saw the smile. Not a smirk, or something polished for fans. A real one.
Now it’s inked into my memory, beautiful and real, just like one of Eli’s sketches.
“Have a good night?” Beau asks as we all steer inside the hotel and he presses the elevator button.
“The best,” Eli answers dreamily, his head lolled against Maddox’s shoulder.
“He’s gonna feel that in the morning,” Beau mutters as we step inside. He keeps to the back, eyes on Eli like he might hurl at any second.
The ride is quiet, just Eli mumbling and Maddox moving to adjust his grip.
When the doors open, Beau somehow manages to swipe Eli’s key card from his pants pocket and disappears into the first room, holding the door open as Maddox maneuvers our drunken bassist inside like it’s second nature, lowering him gently onto the bed.
I lean on the doorway, watching as they fight to get Eli’s boots off. Maddox curses, Beau tugs, and Eli flops like a happy, useless toddler.
“A big bed,” he slurs into the mattress. “I’m gonna starfish.”
Maddox laughs, tossing the covers over Eli’s still fully dressed body, and he starts snoring before either of them can say another word.
“Think he’ll be okay like that?” I ask, eyeing how his face is basically buried in the pillow.
“Yeah, he’ll live,” Beau says, walking to the adjoining door and unlocking it. “But I’ll leave this open just in case.”
“Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” I say, giving them a small wave and turning to leave.
I’m halfway to my room when Maddox’s voice stops me.
“Wait up. I’ll walk you.”
The hallway is seemingly endless, our footsteps muffled on the carpet but thunderous in my ears, along with my racing heart. Neither of us speaks, not about the show, not about the bar, and definitely not about the way his hand found my waist when he steadied Eli.
Or how I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
Each step is louder than the last, each breath a countdown, and my door appears too soon. I stop, nerves scraping beneath my skin, heat curling low in my stomach. He’s behind me, so close I can feel the static pull between us, charged and magnetic, like always.
Last time we were this close, it was messy and fast and totally reckless in the back room of the bus while the others were still out. We didn’t know when they’d be back, we didn’t care. We just…gave in.
Now? We’re in a hotel. With real doors, real beds, real privacy. It’d take nothing to cross the line again and give in to what’s right in front of us.
“This is me,” I say, voice quieter than I mean it to be.
Maddox glances at the number, then at me. His dark gaze drops to my mouth, and I press my lips together, feeling the faint touch from when he kissed me before.
“Right,” he mutters as he stuffs his hands into his pockets. “G’night.”
I fumble with the keycard, fingers trembling as I swipe it against the lock, eyes widening as it flashes red. Of course it does. I try again, shielding the reader with my hand this time, pretending I don’t feel the burn of his eyes as he watches me.
The light changes green, and the relief is instant as I push the door open, not daring to look at him. One glance and I’ll lose every ounce of restraint I’ve got and pull him inside.
“Night,” I say as the door shuts behind me with a soft click that feels final.
I sag against it, chest tight, my whole body thrumming with a want I can’t switch off.
My heart races, skin too warm, nerves frayed raw.
I press my palm flat to the wood, wishing that he’d follow me in, that he’d shut the door behind him with a kick of his foot, his hands on my hips and his mouth on mine, finally erasing the space we’ve been pretending doesn’t exist.
I wait.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Nothing.
A bitter laugh slips out, more ache than humor. I drag a hand through my hair and shove off the door, flicking on the light and pacing the room, refusing to glance at the massive, empty bed mocking me from the center.
“You’re such an idiot, Paige,” I mutter as I drop to my knees to rummage through my suitcase. “What did you think was going to happen?”
Grabbing my toiletry bag and pajamas, I head to the bathroom. It’s sleek and modern, all neutral tones, crisp white linens, floor-to-ceiling windows that turn the city outside into a blur of lights.
I toe off my boots, stripping off my shirt and shorts in a trail behind me, dumping my change of clothes on the vanity before turning on the shower.
Steam fills the bathroom as I put my hair up on the top of my head and step under. The pressure from the spray is a welcome change after the last few weeks of being on tour with a crappy shower and barely any hot water by the time Eli’s done with it.
There’s no way I’m missing out on this one tonight; I could stay in it forever. I wash away the night, my skin flushed, not just from the heat, scrubbing harder than I need to, like I can rinse the desire out of my bloodstream.
Spoiler: I can’t.
When I finally step out, wrapped in a towel, the mirror’s useless, and I let my hair down from my clip, combing it out with my fingers before slipping on a tank and silk shorts. I’m barely done brushing my teeth when there’s a knock at the door.
My heart’s in my throat as I cross the room, peering through the peephole even though I already know who’s on the other side.
Maddox.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door, eyes sweeping over him.
“Is Eli okay?” I ask quietly, fingers tight on the wooden frame.
He’s leaning forward, hands braced on either side of the doorway, head bowed like he’s restraining himself. His chest rises and falls too fast, like he’s been pacing the hallway since we said goodnight, his hair a mess from where he’s clearly tugged at it.
Slowly, he lifts his head, his gaze dragging up the length of me, taking his sweet, torturous time that I feel his stare like a brand on every inch of my freshly scrubbed skin.
“Jesus,” he mutters, voice like gravel sending shivers up my spine. “I thought your denim shorts were small.” His tongue swipes the inside of his cheek. “But these are fucking killing me.”
My body warms as his eyes take me in, and I barely have time to blink before he’s moving.
Stepping inside, he curves a hand around the side of my neck, the other slipping into my hair, twisting, tugging me to him like he’s done waiting.
His mouth crashes onto mine, and the second his tongue slides past my lips, the world splinters.
Hard. Hot. Unapologetic.
I gasp, and he takes it, uses it to deepen the kiss until my knees go weak and my whole body pulses with a hunger that always seems to be simmering beneath the surface.
He groans an animalistic sound, one ripped out from the back of his throat as I fist the front of his shirt, dragging him closer as he walks me backwards, never breaking away from my lips.
The door slams shut with a heavy kick, like he could hear my little fantasy, cutting us off from everything outside, and severing whatever self-control was left.
“This doesn’t feel like a loophole.” I laugh, the sound more like a pant as I feel him everywhere.
“Fuck the loopholes,” he growls, driving me back until my legs hit the edge of the bed.
I fall, pulling him down with me, our bodies tangled and frantic. His weight pins me to the mattress, and it’s still not enough. Nothing is. I arch into him, chasing more, as his mouth trails down my neck, teeth nipping, tongue soothing, and I shudder so hard it feels like my bones shift.
I don’t want gentle. I want weeks of longing detonating into one wild, messy moment as we fully surrender to our baser urges.
And that’s exactly what he gives me.
His hands are everywhere, gliding down my arms, across my ribs, over my thighs, before gripping one leg and hooking it around his waist. Like he needs to anchor me in place, his fingers dig into my calf.
I whimper as his other hand slips under my tank, skimming bare skin, and I swear I see stars from that alone before he’s back to kissing me, each sweep of his tongue like he wants to devour me.
Now I get why he only ever gave me that one small kiss before. Because this isn’t like that.
One taste, and he’s feral.
One taste, and I’m ruined.
He tears his mouth from mine, eyes wild, lips swollen, the hard line of his erection pressing between my legs. I rock up against him, unable to help myself, the feeling of him there so fucking good. He growls—actually growls—and yanks his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him.
My hands are on him instantly, dragging down the ridges of his chest, over hard muscle. With a groan, he drops his head to my throat, kissing, licking, biting, until I’m writhing on the bed, gasping for air.
He continues down, the thin straps falling from my shoulders as he moves across my cami, leaving open-mouthed kisses that soak the fabric.
Another whimper leaves me when he reaches my nipples, sucking one hard through the silk.
The combination of the damp material and the suction is different to what I’ve ever felt before, and it makes me ache everywhere, arousal pooling between my legs.
“Maddox, please,” I beg.
Tugging down the material, he exposes one breast, the cold air nipping at the sensitive skin as teeth graze the nipple he sucked, his tongue quickly soothing the sting.
I moan, the sound filthy and low, his hands kneading the silk covering my stomach, the smoothness rubbing against my skin only heightening his touch.
“Paige,” he rasps, pushing me flat on the bed, hands roaming up my sides as he follows me down to the pillow, moving to claim my mouth with his again, hard and fast like a tease before wrenching himself away. “I need to…”
His gaze sweeps hungrily across my body, pupils blown wide with arousal, pausing when he reaches the apex of my thighs.
He swallows, throat moving so damn sexily, licking his lips. “Fuck, I need to taste you.”
His shoulders force my legs wide, and he drags my shorts off, grip possessive, pulling them down with a desperate tug until I’m bare beneath him.
“You don’t know what you do to me.” He positions himself between my legs, stomach flat against the bed, eyes locked on mine as his fingertips spread fire across my overheated flesh.
I should be embarrassed, exposed like this, trembling under his touch, but I’m not. How can I be when he looks at me like he’s been starved for so long and I’m the only thing that will satisfy him?
“I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over the inside of my thighs before blunt teeth nip at my skin. I gasp, squirming under his hold. “More times than I’m proud of.”
His mouth inches closer, and my eyes flutter in anticipation.
“And I can’t wait anymore.”
I cry out, back bowing off the bed as his tongue slides over me. Slow, certain and devastatingly good.