Chapter 33 Bastian
BASTIAN
“What do you mean?” Taylen asks, his confusion evident in the way his brow furrows.
I cup his face gently, forcing him to meet my eyes.
“Baby, as endearing as that little speech was—down to your request for a mold of my dick, which we can absolutely discuss later—it makes no sense.” My thumbs stroke his cheekbones as I study his expression.
“Not unless… Do you think I’m going somewhere? ”
His body tenses against mine, answering the question before his mouth does. “I overheard Daisy,” he admits quietly, “at the festival. She was on the phone talking about recording schedules, tours, saying you’d be back in the studio within six months.”
Understanding crashes over me like a wave. “And you assumed I was leaving,” I finish for him, watching as guilt and fear war across his features.
“What else was I supposed to think?” The words carry years of accumulated hurt. “You kept saying you were staying, but then I hear your agent making plans—”
“Plans that aren’t happening the way you think they are,” I interrupt gently. “Sit with me?”
I guide him to a hay bale, settling beside him while Gouta investigates our legs with her usual nosiness. The new calves shuffle in their stalls, providing a gentle soundtrack to what I need to say.
“There are two things I need to tell you, and I should have mentioned them earlier. That conversation you overheard? Daisy wasn’t talking about us.”
His eyes go wide. “What?”
“She was talking about the local band we saw at Thanksgiving. Remember them?”
He nods.
“Nikko’s been working with them. Helped them put a demo together. Daisy’s representing them now. Them, not Hall of Fame.”
I watch the information sink in, see the exact moment embarrassment starts flooding his features. “I’m an idiot.”
“No,” I say firmly because I need him to understand this. “You had reason to worry based on what you heard. I should have told you what Nikko was doing.” My thumb traces the line of his jaw. “Which brings me to the second thing.”
I take a breath, knowing this next part is important. “We’re leaving the record label. Going independent.”
“Independent?”
“Think of us as a less attractive foursome version of Taylor Swift. Complete creative control. We decide when we record, where we record, if we tour, and for how long.” Excitement bleeds into my voice despite my attempt to stay calm.
“For the first time in our adult lives, we get to have actual control over our schedules. We can build our lives around the music instead of the other way around.”
I watch hope bloom in Taylen’s eyes, tentative and beautiful. “So when you said you’re staying…”
“I meant it.” I cup his face, needing him to feel the truth in my touch as much as hear it in my words.
“I’m expanding the studio here. We can record in Vermont.
If we tour, it’ll be shorter runs with real breaks in between.
And you know what the best part is?” My smile grows despite myself.
“We don’t need permission from anyone to make those decisions anymore.
The only partnership we have with the recording label is for distribution. ”
He closes his eyes, and I can practically see the fear draining from his body. When he opens them, I see something else. “Taylor Swift may be the boss, but you’re way more attractive. And you’re mine.”
I laugh. “About that mold…”
His cheeks flood with color. “Forget I said that.”
“Absolutely not.” I can’t help laughing, the tension of the last few minutes finally breaking. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Shut up,” Taylen mutters, but he’s smiling now, his body relaxing into mine in a way that makes everything feel right again.
“I love you, Taylen Howard,” I tell him, pouring every bit of what I feel into those words. “And I’m not going anywhere without you. Not for recording, not for tours, not for anything. We figure this out together, okay?”
His response comes in the form of a desperate “Thank fuck” before his mouth finds mine with an intensity that steals all the air from my lungs.
The kiss quickly turns hungrier as his hands tangle in my hair.
My grip tightens on his waist as I walk us backward until his back meets the workbench with a soft thud.
“Sorry,” I manage when we break for air, though his laugh suggests he doesn’t mind the rough treatment. “Got carried away.”
“Don’t apologize,” he tells me, pulling me closer until no space remains between our bodies. “I like it when you get carried away.”
My hands slide lower, finding the gap between his shirt and jeans.
“Hmm, Bastian…”
“We…should stop,” I manage, even when my mouth continues trailing kisses down his neck. His hands clench against my shoulders as I find a particularly sensitive spot.
“Probably,” he agrees, but he hooks his leg around mine to keep me close. “Definitely. Any second now.” But neither of us moves.
It’s Gouta who finally breaks the spell, her imperious bleat making us both jump slightly. She stands a few feet away with an expression that clearly conveys her disapproval of our behavior in her domain.
“Come on,” I tell him, taking his hand in mine. “I have something I want to show you.”
His confusion is evident as I guide him across the property toward the studio, but he follows without protest.
Inside, I lead him to the couch, watching as he settles into the worn leather.
My acoustic guitar waits in its usual spot. I grab it, feeling the familiar weight settle against my body as I position myself on the couch beside him.
“Bastian, what—”
“Just listen, okay?” I interrupt gently, my fingers finding the opening chords to a song he’s probably heard a thousand times. Our biggest hit, the one that plays on every radio station, the one that made us household names.
But as I begin to play, I change the words. Keep the melody that millions know by heart, but replace the lyrics with something I’ve never shared with anyone.
“Winter lights reflecting in your eyes,” I sing softly, watching his face as recognition dawns that this isn’t the version he knows. “Vermont snow falling like confetti from the sky, and I’m finally home where I’m meant to be. Right here beside you is where I want to stay.”
His breath catches, his eyes widening as he processes what I’m doing.
“No more running from what I feel inside, no more hiding from the truth I’ve tried to fight. You’re my anchor, you’re my home, you’re everything I need. And I’m not going anywhere, I promise you, I swear it’s true.”
I continue through the chorus, transforming our band’s anthem about life on the road into a declaration of everything I feel for the man sitting beside me. Every chord progression filled with the promises I’m making, every word chosen specifically for him.
The melody shifts as I continue.
There’s a goat sleeping on my pillow
Chickens roosting in my bed
Got a rooster named Elvis
Who won’t let you sleep in
And somehow you’re still in my head
You brought chaos to my life
Turned my quiet into sound
But I’d take all your crazy gifts
Every last ridiculous bit
Just to keep you around
Taylen’s laugh breaks free, genuine and warm, his hand covering his mouth as his shoulders shake. “You wrote a song about our animal warfare?” he manages between chuckles.
“About how you invaded my life with livestock,” I correct, grinning as I watch joy transform his features. “And how I wouldn’t change a single thing about it.”
“Just thinking,” he says, color rising in his cheeks as a smile plays around his mouth.
“About how teenage me would absolutely lose his mind over getting a private performance from Bastian Hall.” His hand slides higher on my thigh as he adds in a husky whisper, “My crush was so big that I used to jerk off to posters of you.”
The air around us feels charged again as I watch desire darken Taylen’s eyes.
“You know,” I say carefully, watching as his pupils dilate at the tone of my voice, “I think I’ve earned a performance of my own.” The suggestion draws a sharp intake of breath from Taylen that makes my blood run hotter.
“I don’t sing.”
“Wasn’t thinking about singing,” I tell him, running my hand up his thigh. “I was thinking I’d like to see you touch yourself for me. The real me.”
The look he gives me contains enough heat to melt the polar ice caps. “Only if you play that song again,” he counters, his voice dropping lower as he adds, “in your underwear.”
“Deal,” I agree immediately, already reaching for the hem of my shirt. His hands catch mine before I can begin undressing. “What?”
“Let me,” he says quietly, his fingers sliding beneath the fabric, making my muscles contract beneath his touch.
His hands move way too slowly as he helps me undress, each newly exposed inch of skin receiving attention that sends fire through my veins. By the time I’m down to my boxer briefs, every nerve ending feels hypersensitive to the slightest touch.
The guitar feels different against my bare skin as I settle back onto the couch. Taylen’s eyes never leave mine as he begins his own slow strip, each movement a deliberate tease.
The opening notes of the song come less smoothly this time, my fingers slightly clumsy on the strings as I watch him touch himself through the remaining layer of clothing.
His underwear joins the pile of discarded clothing as I reach the chorus. The sight of him stroking himself while watching me perform sends such an intense wave of desire through my system that I nearly forget the words I wrote myself.
Before I throw my favorite guitar onto the floor, I set it on its stand with less care than it probably deserves.
I need to touch him so badly, but Taylen’s hand on my chest stops me before I can reach for him properly.
“No touching,” he says quietly, though the strain in his voice suggests he’s fighting the same battle I am.
So I maintain the distance he’s set, letting my hand mirror his movements. Our eyes lock as we pleasure ourselves, the connection between us feeling more intimate than any physical touch.
His breathing grows more ragged with each stroke, his chest flushing a beautiful shade of pink.
The sight pushes me toward the edge faster than expected.
I fight to maintain control because I want to watch him fall apart first. His eyes are half-lidded as he gives in to pleasure, one hand stroking his cock steadily while the other seeks his hole.
Every muscle in his body seems strained toward release.
When he finally comes, my name is on his lips sounds like a prayer. The sight proves too much for me, and I let go with my eyes pinned to his beautiful blues.
I grab my T-shirt from the floor and clean us both before pulling him against my chest.
“That was…” he trails off, his laugh carrying pure joy. “Definitely better than posters.”
“Should hope so,” I tell him.
“I vote for a jerk-off session at least once a month,” he says, letting out a yawn.
“Agreed. One day,” I say quietly, watching as his eyes find mine, “in the not-so-distant future, I’m going to marry the hell out of you, Taylen Howard.” I run my hands over the warm skin on his back as I add, “Fill a house with mini Taylens who’ll drive me completely mad.”
His laughter fills the studio with pure joy. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, cupping his face. “If you’ll have me. You, me, a whole bunch of kids who’ll probably be as stubborn as you and as musical as me. Sound like a future you might be interested in?”
“Ask the question, and you’ll find out.”