24. Twenty-Four
Twenty-Four
Lacey
I feel Nate’s laugh against my skin. Then I’m pulling his hoodie over his head, his hands covering mine as he raises his hips so we can peel off his jeans. They get tangled in his boots. He sits up, and I help him tug off his dark leather footwear.
Only stopping when he’s as naked as I am. I give a satisfied smile as I run my eyes and hands over his bare torso. I feel him shiver as I trace my fingertips over the ink of his tattoos.
Smugly, he bends his arms, placing his hands beneath his head. “Like what you see, Lace?”
“You know I do, drummer boy,” I mouth against his chest as I’m bent over him, trailing my lips over his flat nipples while my hands explore his defined abs. He lets me have my way until he finally lifts his head, his fingers grasping a handful of my hair. He pulls slightly, tilting my face up so he can see my eyes.
“Bedroom eyes,” he whispers as he pulls me close enough for him to lean up and kiss me.
When he finally releases me, I give him a wicked grin. “We haven’t made it to the bedroom, Nate… yet.”
He glances around, noticing my temporary apartment. Where I’ve made sure the vanilla interior reflects me. I see his eyes take in the low couch with my multiple bright, colorful pillows. My potted plants, and finally, he spies the furniture—comfortable furniture, I think, with a grimace, as my muscles suddenly protest the hardness of the tiled floor.
He sits up, then stands, pulling me up beside him. His arm is possessively around my waist, not allowing me to escape his touch. He needs me close—as much as I need him this close.
We leave our scattered clothing, and I lead him to my bedroom. His eyes darken as he sees the queen bed with its pristine white coverlet and pretty pillow shams. He keeps walking through my bedroom to the ensuite. He hums a sigh of approval when he sees my large walk-in shower. I see his eyes gleam as he takes in the rain shower head and tiled seat.
“I’m ready for a shower. Aren’t you, Lace?”
I nod as he reaches in and turns on the hot water. The steam billowing around us. I open the cabinet and pull out three big fluffy towels, placing them within reach. Nate finishes testing the water and then holds out his hand for me to take. As I place my palm in his, I shiver at the gleam in his eye as he follows close behind me into the warm stall.
Then I feel his arms go around me, and I can’t think—I can only feel as he pulls me under the warm spray. He scoops up my shampoo and pours it into his palm, and then he’s gently washing my hair, and I tremble in his arms.
Once we have both rinsed our hair, he grabs a washcloth and slowly lathers it with my scented lavender soap. Then he washes me, running the washcloth oh so slowly and thoroughly over my damp skin. He takes special care to ensure every inch is clean. By the time he’s through, my legs are weak, and my breath is choppy in anticipation of his touch.
It’s finally my turn, and he presents his broad back as he faces away from me. My hands massage in the soapy washcloth, feeling his hard muscles bunch beneath my palms. His body is a work of art. All hard chiseled muscle, and his ass is oh so fine. I feel his muscles clench under my hands as I caress his firm buttocks. I hear his muffled curse, and he turns around to face me. His fingers encircle my wrist, stilling my wandering hand. I look up, and his face is tight. I look down, and my breath catches.
He’s fully aroused. His cock long and thick as it taps proudly against his flat stomach. My eyes graze over the defined lines on either side of his hips, and my hands itch to explore those taunt lines.
My eyes go to half-mast as I maneuver around him and sit on the warm, tiled seat. This puts me in line with what I want to do to him. And when I glance up at his face, it’s as if he’s turned to stone, and his jaw clenches as I pull him closer.
Close enough that I can lean forward and wrap my fingers around his turgid cock. He feels like velvet, wet steel, as I begin to stroke his length from root to tip. Bending, I take him into my mouth, and I hear his breath grow harsher as my lips wrap around him. As I continue to pleasure him, he braces his hand on the tile behind me. Leaning into my touch. I hear him give a strangled breath when I suddenly deep-throat him.
His hips begin to move, thrusting towards me as I continue to suck and stroke him. Suddenly, he backs away, and I look up at him in confusion. He growls as he pulls me off the seat, then roughly turns me around, his hands bending me over, and my hands go out to grip the seat.
“I want—I need to be inside you.” His voice is gruff. My head is down, my ass in the air. I feel his hair-roughened thigh as he spreads my legs farther apart, and I shiver in response.
His hand presses down on the small of my spine, and I arch my back. I feel him behind me as he positions me right where he wants me. Then he’s thrusting forward, and I have to lock my elbows to keep me in place for his forceful thrusts. In this prone position, he fills me completely, and I gasp at the fullness of him.
His hands grip my hips, and I feel him plant his feet, his stance wide as he continues to surge into me, and I push back, wanting more, wanting him—all of him.
He increases the tempo as he pounds into me from behind. I’m close, but my passion builds slowly. “Come for me, Lace.”
Then I feel his hand come down in front of me, his long fingers finding my swollen clit, and he deliberately presses down on it. Hard. The unexpected stimuli is just enough that I shatter. My body involuntarily clenching down on him and milking him. He gives a low groan as he gives a final deep thrust and follows me over the edge.
When he finally reaches down, assisting me up, my face is flushed not only from being in that position but from the strength of my orgasm.
He pulls me close and slowly kisses me. Then opens the shower door and grabs the towels. We slowly dry each other off, only stopping a few times to steal a kiss or caress bare skin.
Suddenly, Nate bends, picks me up by my waist, and carries me backward toward the bed. My legs wrap automatically around his waist.
“We have the whole night, Lace. And we’re just getting started.”
Sunlight streams through my bedroom windows as I sit cross-legged in the middle of the queen-sized bed, a plate balanced on my lap, nibbling on a chocolate croissant as I scroll through my phone.
Across from me, Nate leans against the headboard, naked, arms folded behind his head, watching me like I’m the most interesting thing in the world. His dark hair is still damp from the shower, and the shadow of stubble along his jaw makes him look deliciously rumpled and thoroughly satisfied.
He smirks, eyes roaming over my bare legs where my oversized tee—the one I stole from his suitcase—barely covers me.
“You look so innocent right now—all wide-eyed and princess-like,” he muses, his voice still rough from sleep.
I arch a brow, swallowing my bite of croissant. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Not at all.” He reaches out, running a lazy hand up my thigh. “Just funny, considering how not innocent you were last night.”
Heat spreads through my cheeks, and I mock-frown at him even as my stomach clenches.
He grins, dragging his fingers higher, teasingly slow. “I mean, if only your adoring fans knew their company darling had a wild side.”
I nearly choke on my pastry. “Nate!”
“What?” He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “I especially liked the part where you—“
“Eat your breakfast, drummer boy.”
He chuckles, biting into his croissant, blue eyes twinkling with pure, wicked amusement as he pulls up his phone. I assume he’s checking his stock portfolio.
I focus on my food, pretending I’m not still feeling the effects of last night—the shower, the tangled sheets, the way Nate completely and utterly ruined me for anyone else.
But I can’t deny how good it feels, how much I needed this break—needed him.
The silent moment stretches between us, but reality creeps in too soon. I sigh, setting my plate aside. “I have to be at the studio in an hour.”
Nate lifts a brow. “Right. Time for America’s Sweetheart to get back to work.”
I roll my eyes, climbing out of bed. “Come with me.”
He blinks. “To the set?”
I nod, pulling on a pair of jeans and a top. “You’ve never seen me work before.”
“I’d love to go,” he admits as he stretches, cracking his neck. “You sure you want me there?”
“Of course.” I glance over my shoulder, fighting back the urge to lose myself again in his arms. Instead, I smile. “Come on, rockstar. Let’s go to the movies.”
The drive to the studio feels charged with everything we’re not saying—that these stolen hours are precious, that tonight he’ll be gone again. His hand on my thigh isn’t casual anymore—it’s possessive, like he’s trying to leave an imprint I’ll feel long after he’s gone.
The studio lot sprawls before us, a maze of soundstages and trailers. Nate whistles low as we pass through security. “So this is where the magic happens?”
“Something like that.” I flash my I.D., hyper-aware of his presence beside me. “Though usually with less brooding rockstar energy throwing everyone off balance.”
His laugh is dark velvet. “Brooding, huh?”
“Mmhmm. Very distracting.”
Inside Stage 6, the controlled chaos hits us like a wave. Crew members dart between sets, extras mill about in period costumes, and Leo catches my eye from the makeup chair, his expression curious as he spots Nate.
Tara materializes, schedule in hand, and nearly drops her clipboard when she sees who’s with me. “Oh my God—you’re—I mean—“ She visibly struggles to maintain her professionalism. “I’m Tara, Lacey’s assistant. And a huge fan. Your drumming on ‘Midnight Confessions’ literally gave me chills and—” She blushes furiously, glancing my way. “Sorry! Right. Scene twelve, Lacey. The garden scene. Where you receive news of your father’s death.”
I hide my smile as Nate handles her enthusiasm with easy grace. But when I lead him to the monitors, his touch on my lower back is anything but casual.
“You can watch from here,” I tell him. “It’s the best view in the house.”
His eyes drag over me, hot enough to burn. “I doubt that.”
The garden scene requires complete emotional vulnerability—grief, despair, loss. But today, with Nate watching, every nerve ending feels electrified. I’m hyperaware of his presence as I move through the scene, letting the tears flow.
“No, he can’t be gone!” The words tear from my throat, raw and broken. When Leo moves to comfort me, I catch a glimpse of Nate’s expression—dark, intense, almost predatory. It adds a new layer to my character’s distress.
“Cut!”
Between takes, Nate’s gaze never leaves me. When I pass near him during reset, his fingers brush my wrist—barely there, but enough to send shivers coursing down my spine.
“Again!” the director calls. “From the top!”
By lunch, I’m vibrating with conflicting energies—the emotional drain of the scenes and the electric awareness of Nate’s presence. In my trailer, he backs me against the door the moment it closes.
“Do you have any idea,” he growls, “how fucking incredible you are?”
His proximity short-circuits my brain. “Nate—“
“Watching you out there...” His thumb traces my bottom lip. “The way you can make people feel everything you’re feeling...”
A knock shatters the moment. “Thirty minutes, Ms. Monroe!”
Reality crashes back. Tonight, he’ll be gone. Back to stages and screaming fans while I’m trapped here in the company’s golden cage.
But for now… For now, he’s here, and he’s all mine.