Chapter 11
Tai
Connor stands on the stage, crooning his heart out in a noise that barely deserves to be called singing. It sounds more like a cat trapped in a blender.
It’s the death of music as we know it.
And the worst part? He owns every single second of it.
The twangy music adds to the chaos, though it doesn’t surprise me that he chose a country song. Country or classic rock were the most likely options. Call it musician’s intuition, or something along those lines.
Certainly not stereotyping based on his wild half-mullet and that ridiculous straw hat.
The moment I realize he’s performing Dolly Parton, I cackle along with the rest of the crowd as he belts out “Jolene.” It’s so spectacularly off-key that I cringe even while joyful tears streak down my face.
Fueled by four shots, he fully embraces his lack of talent, dancing across the stage with zero shame.
He attempts a backward moonwalk that ends up looking more like a stiff, broken robot, but he does it with a grin.
By the time the song finally ends, a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead.
He’s breathless as he rejoins me at our table.
“I’ve decided you’re an evil man,” he declares, waving at the bartender to bring us another round.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, leaning forward on my hands. “Why’s that?”
Connor gestures toward the stage, where a new drunk victim has just stumbled into the spotlight. “You wanted me to embarrass myself.”
The bartender drops off our drinks, and we snatch them straight off the tray, clinking the glasses together before tossing them back.
“Oh, no,” I say. “Don’t twist this and turn me into the villain. Need I remind you it was your dare? All I did was make sure you followed the rules.”
He nods begrudgingly and thunks his empty shot glass onto the table. “That was before I knew you could do”—he waves toward the stage—“that. And don’t look so pleased with yourself!”
I’m accustomed to taking a backseat and rarely stepping into the limelight. There are occasional moments when I orbit close to the center of attention, especially when Eric and I share a microphone. For the most part, though, the keyboardist stays comfortably in the background.
And really, I’m perfectly okay with that.
My purpose in the band has always been about creating the music and supporting my brothers in chasing their dreams. I’m more of a wallflower by nature, content to observe everyone around me without feeling the need to jump into their conversations or activities. I don’t need to be noticed.
Or I didn’t—until Connor’s hazel eyes met mine three days ago and everything changed. Now I want all of his attention, and I’m terrified of what might happen if he gives it to me.
After the boat ports, we wave goodbye to Cho and Andrew and head back to the resort.
A half moon hangs high in the sky, and the alcohol still pulses through our veins as we walk back to our room.
Everything between us has shifted, and that realization clears the fog from my mind in an instant.
Distant music continues to thump from the boat as we slip onto the walkway, and Connor slides his hand into mine.
“Can I ask you something?” I say after a few quiet seconds.
“Of course.”
“Have you ever been with a guy?”
He shakes his head and gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “No.”
I hesitate before continuing. “You just seem so calm about it. That was a pretty intense make-out session up there—”
“Yeah, it was,” he interrupts, those dimples appearing as he playfully jiggles our joined hands.
“This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re already joking about it like it’s no big deal, and I keep waiting for the straight-man freak-out.”
“That’s a thing?” he asks.
“Very much so, and it can get ugly.”
Connor glances over and lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Do you expect me to have a meltdown just because the best kiss of my life happened to be with a guy? Who has the energy for that kind of drama?”
“Best kiss of your life, huh?” I ask, lips twitching.
“Don’t get a big head,” he warns, then drops my hand so he can open the door for me like the gentleman he is. The elevator is already waiting, and a sudden swarm of nerves flutters in my belly as we ride up to our floor and walk down the hallway toward our room.
Connor taps his keycard against the lock, and the mechanism whirs softly as it clicks open. It’s just the two of us now.
Alone.
We kick off our sandals, and for a long moment we simply stand there staring at each other. “C’mere,” Connor says, reaching for my hand and leading me over to his bed. He stretches across the mattress, propping himself up against the headboard with a few pillows, then tugs me down beside him.
I curl into his side, tucking my face into the warm crook of his neck. Cinnamon still lingers on his breath, mixed with the faint, masculine musk of his sweat.
“I have no expectations,” he says quietly, his hand stroking through my hair and smoothing it down my back in slow, soothing passes. “None at all.”
“Such a gentleman,” I murmur, swinging my leg over his hips and rolling him onto his back. Hooded hazel eyes stare up at me through the curtain of his lashes. I lean down and press my lips to his, savoring the soft, needy moan that vibrates against my mouth as he kisses me back.
Gentle hands settle on my waist, his thumbs tracing maddeningly slow circles along my hipbones. His fingers venture up my spine, sending a full-body shiver through me.
Connor grins against our kiss, then grabs the hem of my shirt. “Can I?”
“Only if I can too,” I reply.
He smiles, dimples flashing, before he helps me pull my shirt off and tosses it to the floor. A rumbling laugh escapes him when I struggle with his, clawing at his broad shoulders until he sits up and lets me tug it over his head.
He eases back onto the mattress, and I take a moment to drink in the sight of his sculpted form.
My fingers trail slowly through the dark curls covering his torso, raking them up and down until I graze the sensitive edges of his nipples.
Goosebumps rise across his skin, and I feel his cock thicken beneath me.
“Someone likes that,” I tease, repeating the motion before giving his chest hair a light tug. Connor smiles and pulls his arms back, tucking them under his head as he wiggles happily under my attention. “Enjoying the show down there?”
“You have no idea,” he replies with a playful wink.
I take a long, appreciative look at him—the bulging muscles, the sun-tanned skin sprinkled with that dark hair I’m quickly learning I love so much. My gaze traces the well-defined features of his face, lingering on his grin and those irresistible dimples.
He’s fucking stunning.
But it isn’t just the physical attraction that draws me in so deeply.
I’ve never been shallow enough to be fooled by pretty boys with no substance.
They’re a dime a dozen and rarely worth the headache.
Connor is different. He’s kind and chivalrous, willing to be vulnerable with me, and has a sunny outlook on the world.
All of that is every bit as attractive as his body.
The way he quiets my racing mind is just as breathtaking as his smile. He sees me, without all the bells and whistles I usually wear as a disguise. It’s terrifying.
With my hands still resting on his pecs, fingers woven through his chest hair, I drop my lips to his and roll my hips slowly. His cock flexes hard beneath me as our kiss grows deeper, his tongue more aggressive as it moves with mine. Driven by pure instinct, he bucks up off the bed.
I break the kiss and press my forehead to his, breathing hard. “When you do that, I can feel how hard you are for me.”
“Wasn’t trying to hide it,” he rasps. “What are we going to do about it?”
I groan softly and kiss my way down his neck. His stubble scratches deliciously against my lips and tongue as I suck the skin into my mouth, just enough to leave a faint mark that will fade by morning. My teeth scrape over his collarbone, and he gasps, hips jerking up into me again.
The muscles in his pecs twitch and pop beneath my lips as I weave a slow path downward.
I pause to flick my tongue over his nipple, savoring the tickle of coarse hair against my chin.
Noises spill freely from his throat now—quiet grunts and needy little whines that tell me exactly what he likes best.
His hands remain tucked under his head as I drag my nose along the curve of his armpit, breathing in his natural, masculine scent that blends with the faint woodsy notes of his soap.
“Fuck, you smell good,” I groan.
I take a deeper inhale, rolling my hips against him and drinking in the rumbling sounds of pleasure that vibrate through his chest. Eventually I tear myself away, sliding my body down his legs. I kiss a lingering path over his chest and stomach, stopping to nuzzle softly against his navel.
He watches as I grip the waistband of his shorts. “Is this okay?”
“God, Tai, don’t make me beg,” he says, voice rough with need.
I flick the button open. “If it gets to be too much or you want to stop, just say so, alright?”
He nods, not even blinking as I lower his zipper with a quiet whir. His cock strains hard against the fabric of his briefs, and I can’t help the surprised chuckle that escapes me. When I glance back up at him, he’s smiling so wide his teeth are showing.
“This was really your choice in underwear?” I ask.
He gives another of those lazy shrugs. “You seemed to enjoy the flamingo shorts earlier.”
“You picked these because you thought I was going to see them, huh?” I tease.
His face flushes a few shades deeper. “Hoped might be a better word… yeah, I hoped you might see them.”