Chapter Thirty
The next day, Gus joins me in Toulon as we follow a historical tour of the city.
We stroll along at the back, taking in the sights as Gus captures copious amounts of photos.
I even listen, as instructed this time, letting Gus boss me about, walking ahead in my denim mini dress, sun-kissed hair tumbling around my shoulders as I hear the click of his camera.
He’s once again wearing dark clothing with his blacked-out sunglasses and sun cap pressed low over his forehead. I watch the way his body moves, the flex of his muscles, the way, even though people don’t know who he is right now, they’re caught on his aura, eyes flicking in his direction.
It’s so damn hot. I cross my thighs. Bite my lip.
He gets up from his low position; camera still pointed at me. He moves slowly like a tiger on the prowl. I’m leant against an old building unable to take my attention away from his lips, consumed by his lazy smile.
We’re given thirty minutes of freedom from the tour to grab some lunch before we get the cable car up to Mont Faron. I pick a small café with an array of fresh pastries, and we sit at a table tucked into a shadowy spot.
I’m one mouthful into my pain au chocolat when Gus’s main phone lights up. I don’t catch the number before he grabs it, but I do watch the way his face runs through a myriad of emotions, see how he squeezes his chin, tension returning to his shoulders.
He glances at me. “I’ve got to take this.”
“Ok,” I say, nodding.
“Will you be ok? I’ll go back to the yacht.”
“Oh. Sure.” I work hard to hide the disappointment on my face, forcing a smile as he rises from the table and strides back down the busy street, phone already placed to his ear.
I finish my pastry and coffee just in time to join the tour again. I check behind me to see if he might catch us up but when there’s no sign of him, I queue with the rest of the tour to ride the cable car.
I hold onto the handle as we slowly rise in the very hot, cramped metal box, looking out over the view. I try to spot him on the yacht waiting elegantly in the port. But I don’t see him.
I take my phone out to snap a photo like the rest of the tourists. The views really are magnificent. Except I notice a message from Millie.
Check this out! It says with a link to an article.
Heartbreak As Just4Summer Breakup
Following a statement by the band themselves, Will, Callum and Gus have officially announced that Just4Summer have split for good.
It comes after a twelve-year stint of major success, following six albums, ten number ones, three sold-out world tours and even a hit, most-watched documentary following their career.
DuckEgg Records CEO, Nigel Burns, said, “We know this news will bring Just4Summer fans a lot of heartbreak. But every good thing must come to an end at some point. On behalf of the whole team at DuckEgg we want to thank Will, Callum, Jax and Gus for their time in the band and for the music they gave us.”
Fans around the world will be reeling at this news…
I don’t finish the article.
“Fuck,” I mutter, receiving dirty looks from the elderly women sat beside me. “Sorry,” I say. “Fuck!”
Now I’m up here.
And he’s down there.
No, no, no.
I’ve never felt more frustrated at the snail pace of anything in my life, not even the damn coach between Split and Dubrovnik. It’s infuriating as I push myself through the crammed-in tourists, much to their displeasure, so I can be the first out when we reach the top.
Once the doors open, I frantically search for the queue to get back down. The tour guide is yelling something at me, but I don’t register. All I can think about is Gus down there on his own, agonising over this announcement. Did he know? He looked so heartbroken when the phone rang.
I should’ve guessed.
“Excusez-moi,” I say to the man running the cable car descent queue, trying to remember any crumbs of GCSE French that I can. “J’ai une… Er… Urgence.”
Thankfully, he takes pity on me, allowing me onto the cable car about to head back down the mountain.
I leap on, ignoring the groans of those queuing behind me.
Once it’s moving, there’s nothing to do but tap my feet and stare at the breath-taking scenery of Toulon below and stunning French Riviera beyond that.
I find a scrunchie in my bag, roll my hair into a bun and secure it.
At the bottom, I run as fast I can in sandals, with a dodgy ankle and a tight denim dress that keeps riding up my arse, all the way back to the ship. Arriving breathless and sweaty, I head straight to his suite and knock.
He doesn’t answer.
I knock again.
Nothing.
I sigh, pressing my head against his door. Maybe he isn’t in there. What if he’s left? I should take the hint, but instead, I try again.
“Gus,” I call out, half-choked from running. “It’s me. Let me in… I just…” I sigh, trying to win my breath back. “Are you ok?”
I nearly give up but then I hear movement behind the door.
“Please, Gus. I just want to check you’re ok.”
Moments later, the door opens. Luckily, I had one hand propped on the frame or I’d have fallen face first into his suite.
He looks tortured, eyes dark, lips parted.
I haven’t seen this version of him and it does something exhilarating to my core.
My heart beats faster, heavier. My toes curling.
I want this man beyond questionable doubt.
He swallows, that gorgeous ridge in his throat flexing.
I reach out and run my hand over his neck, trail my thumb over his apple. I step closer. His breath catches.
“I want to make you feel better,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his tense shoulder.
“It’s over,” he says, half-choked.
I kiss him again, working my lips up to his chin. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
When my mouth runs over his jawline he snaps, a ragged-pained sound escaping him, pulling me into the room, pushing me back against the closed door and crashing his mouth over mine.
I feel the pressure all the way down to my toes.
His hand cradles the back of my head to protect it, his fingers in my hair.
I can feel adrenaline rushing in my veins.
I want to distract him. I want him. I need this.
I twist from beneath him, stepping further into the room and spin to face him. He watches me, curious, a slight slant to his lips. I think he wants this distraction as much as I need to make him feel better. And despite his mood, I can see his wonderful energy bursting out of him too.
If his eyes could smile…
“Ensuite,” he orders, lifting his chin in that direction.
I laugh, nervously. “Make me.”
He doesn’t move for an unnerving moment. My breathing is coming quickly like I’ve been sprinting. It was barely a jog from the cable car.
“Is that what you want? You want to play?”
I nod, determined. Then I squeal as he strides toward me, long, quick steps. He grabs at my waist, but I evade him. I plaster myself against the full-length window that looks out to sea. You can’t see through it from the other side, so I know we’re truly alone.
He smiles at me now, laughing and shaking his head as if he can barely believe this is happening himself. This big, funny, silly, gorgeous man.
“Fuck. I really like you.”
I make a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
“Look at you,” he says, barely able to comprehend whatever it is he sees in me. I can’t imagine. “Come here.”
He leaps again, and although I hop away, this time he’s successful, trapping me in his firm arms and throwing me over his shoulder. I struggle a bit – got to make him work for it – but he has me in his grasp now, squeezing us through the door to the ensuite and placing me back on my feet.
He kicks the sliding door closed with his foot, not wanting to remove his hands from my sides.
His strong fingers press almost painfully at my hip as he spins me to face away from him.
We stare at each other through the mirror above the sink for a long second.
He grazes my cheek with his fresh stubble, and I feel the sensation in my toes.
Our gazes lock in challenge.
“Now, are you going to be a good girl and do as you’re told?” he asks, his hard, warm body pressing my hips against the cold sink.
I can’t even speak. So, I nod, biting my lower lip.
“Hold onto the sink,” he instructs, moving his hand up my spine slowly until he finds my low messy bun.
He tangles his fingers in it, tugging. I feel the pressure directed straight from my scalp to my core, clenching my thighs in response.
“Did you tie your hair into a slutty little handle just for me?”
Nope. Can’t run with hair in my face. But again, I nod.
He encourages my body forward, bending me at the hips so my butt is pressed into his crotch.
I can feel the solid length of him through his shorts.
But he keeps my head up so I can’t look away.
He nips on my shoulder, bare skin on show.
He runs his tongue up to my earlobe and pulls on it, a devilish glint in his eye.
“Shall I take you like this, gorgeous?”
“Mmm. Yes. Oh fuck.”
He uses the hand on my hip to venture lower, cupping my butt, testing the material of my knickers before brazenly trailing his finger through my middle. His pained groan echoes off the tiles. “You’re always so ready for me, aren’t you?”
I nod, still chewing on my poor little lip.
He pushes two fingers inside of me then immediately retracts them. It’s utterly cruel.
He pats me on the bottom, stepping away. “I’m going to go and grab protection. If you move from this position, there’ll be consequences. Do you understand?”
I can’t help the nervous laugh that escapes me before returning to my straight face and nodding sternly. He tugs again on my bun, pulling my head to the side to kiss me full on the mouth, his tongue pressing against mine, damp fingers grazing my cheek.
Then he’s gone, leaving me in suspense.
I stare at myself in the mirror, my hair already messed up, my lips swollen, lipstick smudged. It’s a moment of realisation that Mike never played with me like this and I know it’s because he wasn’t fun enough to try. He probably never even knew I’d be into it.
And maybe that’s a little bit my fault.
Gus takes longer than necessary, leaving me to stew, to wait in anticipation.
When he returns, he leans on the doorframe, his shoulders blocking the light, staring at my body for a long moment. Then his gaze flits back to mine in the mirror. “Take your knickers off.”
I do as I’m told, watching as he deftly rolls a condom on. I nearly turn around, the desire to touch him again is stronger than I’d like to admit.
He gives me a warning look. “Look in the mirror.”
I bite my lip, turning back.
“Still want this?”
I nod.
“Good.”
He works his hand back into my bun, pressing his lips firmly between my shoulder blades so I have to grab the sides of the sink to stay balanced.
He uses his foot to push my legs wider, so commanding and sexy.
I swear I could come just from this action alone.
His big, lean body bends over me as he works his cock over my middle.
I hum, closing my eyes.
“Open your eyes. I want you looking at me. I want to see you take me.”
And the second my gaze locks with his again, he thrusts inside, gasping into my neck. I throw my head back, but he repositions me again. As he begins to move us, whispering endearments, he runs his fingers over my front, pressing them against my tummy until he ventures lower.
He doesn’t hold back, no teasing, no waiting. His thumb grazes my clit and stays there, working into a rhythm until I’m practically humming with pleasure.
“I’m going to need you to come quick for me, sunshine,” he pants.
He tugs on my hair again, driving into me, working his thumb harder until I’m gasping at us in the mirror.
His lips are parted too and seeing him come undone for me, the desperation in his eyes, the vulnerability, it builds so quick, I swear it could blind me.
I grip harder onto the sink, collapsing forward, breaking eye contact.
“Gus,” I whimper as the release finds me like a flare spreading to every cell in my body, sparkling.
Almost instantly, I feel his teeth press softly into the skin at my neck as he groans, shivering from the release.
We must be still for a few minutes, breathing heavily, Gus’s thumb making small circles between my shoulder blades, his other hand on my stomach, holding me to him.
Finally, he rearranges himself then lifts me like a doll and carries me back to the bed, laying me down, trailing kisses everywhere, brushing his lips over my belly button then blowing on it, making me squirm.
He sighs, then looks up at me through the unruly curls that have fallen over his eyes. “Sara, you’re an excellent distraction. The best.”
I run a hand through his hair. “Are you ok?”
“I’ll be fine,” he says. He releases my bun from the scrunchie and plays with my hair, making me shiver.
“What are we, Sara?” he asks. “It’s only…”
I sit up a little when he pauses. “What?”
He sighs. “The band is over. But this lifestyle… It’s not going anywhere. At the start of our adventure, you said you could never be with someone famous. Is that still true?”
“I don’t know.” I flop back down so I don’t have to look at him.
Gus moves to sit up, pulling me with him. I find myself pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “Don’t say anymore,” he says. “I want to keep hold of this moment for as long as I can.”
And so I don’t.