31. Thirty-One
Thirty-One
Lacey
The red-eye from LAX leaves me exhausted but buzzing with anticipation. Three days felt like three years, and as I descend the private terminal stairs in Jacksonville, my pulse kicks up because I know he’s waiting for me—my private drummer, who can barely stand the spotlight but commands it every night.
I spot him the moment I clear security—leaning casually against a pillar, baseball cap low, and wearing a black hoodie zipped up just enough to disguise him from prying eyes. But it doesn’t matter. I’d recognize him anywhere.
Those sharp cheekbones. That strong jaw. Those impossibly blue eyes.
The moment he sees me, his entire posture shifts. His grip on his phone tightens, his broad shoulders straighten, and his eyes lock onto me like I’m the only thing in this entire airport that matters.
And just like that, my entire body tightens. I don’t think. I just move.
His arms are open before I even reach him, and the second I’m there, he wraps me up tight.
God, I missed him.
His scent—clean, warm, Nate—fills my lungs, and I exhale against his chest, breathing him in.
“You’re here,” he murmurs against my hair, his voice rough with something more than relief.
“Of course I’m here.” I tilt my head, grinning up at him. “I had to remind you what I look like in person.”
His lips curve into something wicked. “As if I’d ever forget.”
I roll my eyes. “So, you missed me?” I tease with a grin.
He doesn’t answer, and I don’t stop him as he leans down, cups my face in his hands, and kisses me like we’re alone instead of surrounded by airport personnel. I melt into him, my carry-on hitting the ground forgotten as I wind my arms around his neck.
Because this isn’t just a kiss; it feels like he’s welcoming me home.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I murmur against his lips when we finally break apart.
“You have no idea.” His voice is rough, sending shivers down my spine. He grabs my bag with one hand, keeping the other firmly around my waist. “Let’s go home.”
Home. There’s that word again—it does funny things to my insides.
The drive is a blur of stolen glances and linked fingers over the gearshift. When we reach his beachfront sanctuary, the sun is just setting, painting the waves in shades of gold and pink. But I barely notice the view—not with the way he’s looking at me.
“Hungry?” he asks, keys jingling in his hand.
“Not for food.”
His eyes darken. “Good answer.” He begins to strip off my clothes one by one.
He lifts me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the bedroom.
“I’ve got plans for you,” he says, laying me down with infinite care.
I pull him down with me, finally getting his shirt off. “Show me.” The rest of his clothes disappear as they hit the floor.
His smile is tender, even as his touch ignites fire under my skin. “All night long, babe. All night long.”
He rolls, pulling me on top of him. I feel his hands around my waist as I sit up, straddling him. He groans when my hands caress his tattoos, following the ink down his chiseled chest. He pulls me forward until his mouth can close over my breast, sending flames of desire shooting through me. His teeth lightly grazing my nipples, turning them to sharp peaks. Then I feel his hands in my hair, pulling it loose so it falls softly around my shoulders. I see his satisfied smile in the dim light.
His hands straighten me until I’m back in a sitting position, and he helps me up. Until I hover above him, his hands guide me down onto his hard, thick length. Filling me. I shiver at the sensation of fullness. Nate’s hands on my hips urge me to move—so I do. I rise up on my knees and then give a swivel as I come down again, and I smile at his low groan. I continue increasing the pace until both of us are panting—our breaths harsh.
I tilt my head back, arching my back, my hands gripping his hair roughened thighs. I hear him give a guttural groan, and then both of us are flying. My orgasm is so intense—I see stars.
As Nate pulls me toward him, I land softly against his chest, resting my forehead on his shoulder. He shifts his weight beneath me so that I’m lying by his side. I turn, rolling closer, and throw my leg over his hip. Anchoring myself to him.
His fingers trail over my thigh absently, as if he’s creating silent music in his head. Snuggling closer, I close my eyes. Knowing I’m safe and sound in his arms.
Sometime during the night, I feel Nate as he pulls me closer. Then his arm around my waist tightens, and he’s positioning me on all fours. He pulls a pillow under me, and then I feel him on his knees behind me.
“That’s it, baby.” His hand presses down, so I arch my back. “Damn, you’re beautiful. I love watching you as you take me—Watching my cock sliding into you.”
I shiver at his crude words. He’s normally quiet when we make love. But not tonight.
His hands span my hips as he continues to pound into me. It’s rough and wild, and I revel in the claiming. I push back against him as he continues to slam into me relentlessly.
I’m glad for the pillow underneath me as he picks up the tempo. My knees feel weak; my head falls forward as he sets a grueling pace. I suddenly cry out his name as my entire body clenches hard. He growls out my name. Then, he finally lets out a shout, slumping forward over my back, his arm wrapping around my waist as he rolls, pulling me with him.
His arm anchors me to his torso, and we both fall into a soundless sleep. Spent.
I wake up to the soft patter of rain against the window.
Seriously? First Seattle, then Hollywood, and now here?
I groan, rolling onto my stomach and burying my face in the pillow. “Tell me that’s just the shower running.”
A low chuckle rumbles beside me. “Sorry, Lace. It’s raining outside.”
I peek up to find Nate already propped against the headboard, phone in one hand. His dark hair is still messy from sleep, and the faintest hint of scruff shadows his jaw.
He looks obnoxiously good.
I stretch, letting the covers slip just enough to reveal bare skin. His eyes flicker down, and I grin. “Distracted?”
“You’re always a distraction—and you know it.” His voice is low and rough—exactly how I like it.
I stretch lazily in his obscenely comfortable bed as he stands and walks naked into the bathroom and turns on the shower. He then turns with a wicked grin. “Coming?”
Smiling, I roll out of the bed and join him.
An hour or so later, I sigh when we emerge from the shower. Nate, in only a towel slung dangerously low on his hip.
“So much for our beach run.” I grimace, glancing at the window and seeing the raindrops race down the glass.
“We could always go back to bed,” he suggests with a look that makes my toes curl.
“Or...” I walk to my suitcase. “We could do yoga.”
“Yoga.” I pull out my favorite set of yoga pants and matching sports bra. “It’s great for flexibility, stress relief, mental clarity—“
“I can think of better ways to improve flexibility,” he drawls, dropping onto the bed to watch me change with unabashed appreciation.
I ignore the heat his gaze sparks under my skin. “Come on, it’ll be fun! I’ll teach you the basics.”
I unroll my mat in the spacious living room, positioning myself so he has a clear view from his perch on the couch, a mug of coffee in one hand. “I’m good right here.”
I arch a brow. “So, you’re just going to watch?”
His gaze darkens. “Yes.”
I shake my head but don’t argue. Instead, I press play on my playlist and start moving into my first position. At first, I pretend not to notice the way he’s watching me.
The way his eyes track every movement.
The way his grip tightens around his coffee mug when I stretch my arms overhead, arching my back.
But when I shift into downward dog, his breath audibly hitches. I peek at him upside-down through my legs, and sure enough, he’s sitting there, coffee forgotten, his blue eyes locked on me.
His mouth parts slightly, and when I move just a little bit more—pushing deeper into the stretch, arching my back in a way that I know he enjoys—his jaw clenches.
His throat bobs as he swallows. Hard. His fingers flex against his thigh. The darkness in his eyes makes me forget all about proper form.
Slowly, so slowly, he sets his coffee down. Then, in one fluid motion, he’s off the couch with predatory grace and stalking toward me.
“Nate, you’re ruining my concentration,” I manage, though my voice comes out embarrassingly breathy.
He crouches beside me, fingers tilting my chin up, as one hand trails down my back, and I nearly collapse from my pose.
His blue eyes burn.
“You know exactly what you’re doing to me.” His voice is husky, rough.
I swallow hard, my pulse hammering. “Do I?”
His gaze drops to my lips. “Yes.”
My breath hitches, my heart slamming against my ribs as he leans in, his breath warm against my ear.
“Forget yoga, Lace.” His voice is a growl. “I can think of much better ways to loosen you up.”
And just like that, the rainy day takes a very different turn—and the weather is forgotten.
The next morning, my phone chirps with Rachel’s ringtone while I’m fixing coffee in Nate’s kitchen. He left early for a band meeting, leaving me with a sleepy kiss and promises of dinner later. I didn’t mind as after all of our love making yesterday, my body’s a little sore though I have no complaints.
“Lacey! Perfect timing.” Rachel’s voice has that particular tone that usually means she’s about to ask for something. “How quick can you get ready? We have an amazing opportunity.”
“What kind of opportunity?” I cradle the phone between my ear and shoulder, adding cream to my coffee.
“Family First! I’ve arranged everything. The cameras will be there in an hour to film you and Nate giving back to the community. It’s exactly what we need right now.”
My stomach knots. “I don’t know, Rachel. Maybe we should run this by Nate first—“
“Already taken care of,” she interrupts smoothly. “The facility director is thrilled. Think about it, Lacey—this kind of exposure could mean so much for those kids. Donations, awareness, support...”
I bite my lip, remembering how passionate Nate is about the place. “He’s in meetings all morning.”
“Perfect! You’ll arrive first, get some solo shots with the kids, and he’ll join later. The timing couldn’t be better.”
“Rachel—“
“Trust me, this is gold. The caring couple, giving back together? The press will eat it up, and Family First gets the attention it deserves. It’s a win-win.”
I glance at my phone, composing a quick text to Nate: ‘ Heading to Family First. Rachel has something set up. Call when you can?’
“The cars are already lined up,” Rachel continues. “Wear something casual but camera-ready.”
Before I know it, a rental car arrives like magic, and I’m heading to the Family First building, my message to Nate still unanswered. The knot in my stomach grows as I pull up to the facility. Camera crews are setting up outside, and the facility director greets me with enthusiastic handshakes.
Inside, the children’s faces light up when they see me. “Lacey!” Emma, the little girl from our last visit, runs up, throwing her arms around my waist. “Where’s Nate? Will he be playing the drums?”
“He’ll be here soon,” I promise, trying to ignore the cameras already rolling. More kids gather around. Their genuine excitement about being on camera is infectious, and I find myself relaxing despite the artificial setup.
I kneel down beside one of the younger boys. I forget his name, but he looks adorable as he begins to strum a guitar.
The door swings open.
And suddenly, the energy in the room changes.
I glance up—And there he is.
Nate stands in the doorway, tall, broad, still in his dark jeans and white dress shirt from this morning. His blue eyes scan the room, taking in the crew, the staged scene—and the warmth I’m used to seeing there turns to ice.
And when they land on the cameras—Everything freezes.
My stomach drops as his jaw clenches and his entire posture stiffens.
Emily walks in behind him, frowning when she sees the camera crew.
The kids don’t seem to notice, still bouncing with excitement as they run to greet him.
But I know better because of the way Nate is looking at me right now.
It’s the look of a man on the edge—furious, seething—one breath away from losing all control.