Chapter 20
“Sex on Fire” - Kings of Leon
Saylor
Thanks to me, there are no phones allowed into the after-parties, and since the hotel is right next to tonight’s venue, I didn’t have the drive over to upload the concert footage to social media the way I usually do.
So I take a few minutes in the corridor outside the party to get everything posted.
I’m beginning to regret offering to handle Rhett’s socials.
It gave me something to do during the first few weeks of the tour, but as his fame grows, the number of troll comments is increasing as well.
And to be honest, he’s been keeping me so .
. . busy . . . that I’ve spent less time than ever on his accounts.
We’re staying in the hotel tonight, which will be a nice relief from the bus, which we’ve slept on for most of the past week. Not that Rhett and I have done much sleeping. My gut tightens just thinking about his arms around me, holding me close as he makes my entire body sing.
It’s becoming hard to remember that none of this is real. When we’re with the rest of the band, he puts his hands on me, leans in close when I talk, gives me a quick kiss before heading onstage. He did all of those things before, too. The only thing that’s changed is that we have sex now.
It’s stupid, I know. Possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, with the exception of marrying Nate. But god, the sex is good. But is it good enough that I’m willing to throw my life away for it? Because that’s what will happen if things continue down this path.
Like I said, stupid.
I upload the last batch of photos to Rhett’s story, then hand my phone to the security officer at the door and enter the party.
The hotel’s Wi-Fi is slow, and it took me longer than usual to post everything.
I feel bad for leaving Rhett alone for so long.
What if he got into trouble while I was outside?
It takes all of two seconds to determine that I needn’t have worried. He’s not sitting in the corner shooting up or even smoking a doobie. There’s no tray of drugs in front of him like there was that first night. Tonight’s buffet is of a different sort.
Surrounding Rhett is a ring of groupies so blond there’s no way a single strand of hair among them is its natural color.
He doesn’t notice me entering the room, and why would he?
He has both arms slung around members of his fan club, and judging by the smile on his face, I’m pretty sure the only way he could be happier is if he were an octopus with eight arms instead of just two.
They’re pawing at him—hands on his chest, in his hair, on his arms. He’s not exactly pawing them in return—nothing that could get him in legal trouble, anyway—but between the massive grin and his relaxed posture, it’s obvious there isn’t a place on earth he’d rather be.
I head to the bar along the wall and order a cocktail. I can’t even remember what I asked for until the bartender slides the glass across the counter and I take a sip. Why the fuck did I get a Manhattan? I don’t even like them.
Forcing myself to turn around, I sip my disgusting drink and scan the room, trying to look everywhere—anywhere—but at Rhett and his posse.
We agreed this wouldn’t mean anything. I’m here to act a part.
And while it sucks to play the humiliated girlfriend, at least it’s not real.
No one even glances my way. Apparently, they don’t care any more about my feelings than Rhett does.
I finally allow my eyes to rest on him again, but he’s still entangled in the bronze limbs of those American girls, with their flawless skin, short dresses revealing way too much ass, and nasal drawls. How am I supposed to respect a guy who thinks that kind of attention is the ultimate achievement?
I down the rest of my drink in two swallows and turn to go, since I’m evidently not needed here. There’s no way Rhett is trading that kind of attention for a drug of any sort.
Back in our hotel room, I change into my bathing suit. Nothing like a late-night swim to clear my head and help me form a plan.
The water does just that. There’s no one else here, so I swim my laps in peace. Swimming lessons were the one extracurricular my parents could afford, and I’ve never been more grateful.
I’m about to wrap it up for the night and head back to the suite when the door to the pool room opens. I open my mouth to say hello, but snap it shut again when I realize who’s just entered.
Rhett’s black floral-print shirt hangs loosely from his shoulders, his hands shoved into the pockets of his white jeans. He walks to the edge of the pool and gazes down at me. “I looked everywhere for you.”
I fight the urge to snort. We both know “looking everywhere” means asking Leo for my location. “Here I am.”
He crouches down so we’re closer to eye level, but I stay in the middle of the pool. “You didn’t come to the after-party.”
This time I can’t hold back a biting laugh. “Or maybe you just didn’t notice me there.”
“I thought your job was to stick with me.”
I narrow my eyes. “You looked taken care of.”
He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me without an expression. The light reflecting off the water dances on the ceiling and across his face.
I move into a backstroke, swimming away from him along the length of the pool on the other side. When I reach the end, I glance in his direction. He’s no longer crouching, but he’s still looking at me in a way I can’t read.
As I watch, his fingers move to the buttons on his shirt. He undoes all of them—only half of which were done up in the first place—while I doggy-paddle at the far end of the pool. Fuck.
“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he calls. He tosses the shirt aside, leaving those mouth-watering abs on full display. Even from here, I can make out all the dips and ridges I’ve enjoyed exploring the past seven days.
I swallow thickly, my mouth as dry as chalk. “Nothing.” My voice carries across the water.
Rhett reaches for the buckle of his belt. “Saylor.”
My heart pounds at that familiar warning in his tone. I paddle in place faster, wishing now that I’d gotten out earlier so he wouldn’t have me at a disadvantage. Although, as he yanks the belt from his pants, then works to unfasten those as well, it hardly seems like a disadvantage.
“Were you jealous?” he asks, eyes on me as his jeans fall to the deck.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
He stands there, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. It’s a glorious sight, and my heart starts racing as he moves in the direction of the pool stairs. “Do you know who those girls were?” His foot touches the first step.
I shake my head, moving backward while keeping him in my line of sight.
“They were big shot influencers, all of whom were instrumental in me going viral.” He’s fully in the water now, and it swirls around his torso as if it too can’t get enough of him.
“I owed them some attention. The label execs called this afternoon to let me know they would be there and that I was expected to schmooze with them.”
It makes sense. I know how much pressure the label’s been putting on him. But it doesn’t completely erase the sting of him ignoring me or the ugly feeling rising in my chest as I watched him lap up their attention.
He’s only a few feet away from me now. I tried paddling backward, but it was nearly impossible to do while also watching him.
“You didn’t look like you minded too much.” The words squeak out of my mouth.
His gaze darkens as he closes the remaining distance between us. “They’re beautiful,” he says, “but you’re a fucking goddess.” He reaches a hand toward my face, and my eyes close unwittingly at his touch.
He tugs me closer, until there’s no longer a gap separating our bodies, and my nipples press against his hard chest. He slips his thumb into the bottom of my boring-as-fuck one piece, stroking those sensitive folds several times before dragging it back out.
I gasp as he lifts me out of the pool and sets me on the ledge.
He grins up at me wickedly. “I think it’s time for me to pay homage.”
He spreads my legs on the cool tile, and I catch myself by propping my hands behind me.
Slowly, he eases the crotch of my swimsuit to the side, then stares down at me for several long seconds.
Nothing has ever felt as intimate as him gently peeling back the fabric covering my pussy and gazing at it like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.
At the first stroke of his warm tongue, a strangled cry rips from my throat. He takes another long drag before pulling back to give me a smug smile. The bastard is way too pleased with himself.
With his hands under my ass and his mouth properly occupied again, he drags me to the brim of the pool, tilting me back so he can reach me better. I have to lean on my elbows to keep from collapsing.
My feet are dangling in the water, and I thrash when he slips a finger inside while tormenting my clit with his tongue.
Nothing in the world should feel this good.
My climax is building fast. As though he can sense it, he shoves another finger in to join the first, urging me closer and closer to the edge of both my orgasm and the tile.
When it finally breaks, I splash us both with a spray of water. He keeps his mouth and hands on me, making the wave last forever and ever. The sensation is too much.
I pant and look up at the ceiling of the pool room. At some point, my arms gave out, and I collapsed onto the deck. It occurs to me now that I should maybe be worried about someone finding us here, hotel staff especially, but the idea carries no weight.
Let them find us. Let them arrest us.
I just had the best orgasm of my life, and after the last week, that’s saying something.
Rhett lowers me back into the water. “That was the hottest thing ever,” he murmurs into my ear. “When your pussy squeezed my tongue, I nearly came.”
My brows shoot up. “You nearly came from going down on me?”
“Oh, baby.” He chuckles. “If you’re surprised by that, you have no idea how fine your pussy is.”
Heat creeps up my neck, while my insides turn to Jell-O. For this moment only, I’m going to let myself pretend he means it.
He’s holding me close, but his fingers are already finding their way back between my legs. I’m still so sensitive, but the ache is growing rapidly. He slips my swimsuit to the side and pushes two fingers inside again.
I moan and let my head drop onto his shoulder. His arm is fastened tightly around my waist, holding us both up in the water as he pumps his hand in and out of me. Then he moves us toward the shallow end so we can both stand. I realize why as soon as he lowers his briefs.
“We don’t have a condom,” I say as his hard length presses into my stomach.
“I got tested before the tour.” He rubs his cock against me with one hand, the other still busily working me over.
“Me too,” I pant. “And I’m on birth control.” A gulping breath. “But I was thinking more about contaminating the pool.”
His grin widens as he removes his fingers and drags his cock through my folds. “They have filters.”
I whimper as he rubs circles over my bud. Using his palm, he pushes my bathing suit out of the way, then plunges himself fully into me. I let out a gasping breath. The water only heightens the experience of feeling impaled on him.
Hands on my waist, he pumps me up and down over his cock. I struggle to stay upright, wanting nothing more than to sink into this feeling and never come back up.
It’s not real, I tell myself.
It’s not real.
But as we simultaneously climax again and I feel his warm cum filling me, that truth becomes hazier than ever.