Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-six
CASSIDY
“I’m going to bring Aria home with me to visit when Isaiah goes to Austin,” I tell my mama.
“Isaiah is okay with that?”
“Yes.” I nod into the camera.
The baby and I going to Kingsbrier for a few days while Isaiah has to perform for the awards show makes more sense than us sitting around the bus, bored and waiting for him to return.
“Is everything okay? Are you homesick?”
“Mama, we FaceTime or text every day during Aria’s nap. It’s not that I don’t want to give you a huge hug. But I hardly have time to miss you.”
“Well, I miss you and I can’t wait to give you a big hug. Daddy, too.” My mother replies wistfully. “I’m glad you’re having fun, though. It’s really impressive how much sight-seeing you’ve been doing in between shows and I suppose cooking and taking care of Aria makes the day go by fast.”
“It does.” I’m always tired around the time that Isaiah takes the stage.
“I remember how exhausting having a young family was. Go rest before you lose your chance. I love you. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“I love you, too.” I press the X and tiptoe into the bedroom, as not to wake Aria, and slip my phone on the charger.
My laptop sits on the bed, waiting for me. I recline on the messy sheets and my fingers begin clicking over the keyboard.
In my spare time, I’m recording Benita’s tried and true recipes and the variations I’ve made to them. I’m not sure what I’ll do once I’ve cataloged the fragile cards. However, I won’t have to worry if the originals get lost to time, and the project keeps my mind off of whether anyone on tour is spreading gossip and Ben telling me I’m “good” for Isaiah—Not that I believe otherwise, I simply could have done without the conversation altogether.
Outside the tiny windows, I hear the commotion before I see Isaiah’s shadow. It could take another five minutes for him to get on the bus, or fifty, depending on who stops him on the way back from his workout.
My bet’s on Vespa. I haven’t had to endure Isaiah’s personal assassin in my space for any extended period since his mother called—thank goodness for small favors—and that was at least three cities ago. Vespa prefers relaxing on the band’s bus and marking her territory in arena dressing rooms, where she conducts business.
I like it, too. It keeps the bus feeling homey, like a sanctuary. When we step outside, we flip a switch and the work begins. Isaiah as a country music celebrity and me as the woman his fans lie in wait for to screw up. And the sad truth is I’d fear tripping over my words, or my feet, far less if the queen of black pantsuits was on my side the way she’s on her boss’s.
Yet, in the months since Vespa first saw me as a threat, it’s become apparent that asking for everyone to get along won’t happen.
There’s a quick rap on the window. Two soft knocks. Isaiah’s signal to me he’ll be another ten minutes.
Aria grunts in her sleep. I shift to peek at her in the portable crib wedged between the wall and the foot of the bed. Then I remove another recipe card from the box and scan it with my phone. The image pops up on my computer screen. I make a copy and import it into the document I’m editing.
The bedroom door opens.
“Monty’s showering at the gym. Go grab yourself a snack from craft services. We’re good here,” Isaiah says to Steve as he slips in.
Breathing heavily, he flicks the lock and wedges his hands on the waistband of his track shorts. His shirt is damp.
“Why are you out of breath?” I whisper.
“Ran back here to coordinate a schedule change for the country music awards show with Vespa. How long has she been out?” Isaiah kicks his chin at the crib.
“Twenty-five at most.”
“Would you be pissed if I picked her up to snuggle?” He keeps his voice low.
“Yes.” I close my laptop and move my things to the edge of the bed.
“Would you be pissed if I picked you up to snuggle?” He reaches behind his neck, tugging his sweaty shirt over his head and leaving him wearing only the track shorts. The very low slung track shorts that direct my attention to the gorgeous V at his hips and the soft trail of hair below his belly button.
“No. Maybe.” My chest softly rumbles.
Isaiah plants a knee on the mattress. “Maybe? What kind of answer is maybe?” He crawls toward me, pushing me prone and covering my body with his.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re stinky.” I wrinkle my nose.
“I stink because I have to burn off all the food you cook. Not all of us willingly pass up a good meal like Vespa does.”
“Vespa complains about whatever I make.”
“Because she doesn’t think she has enough time to join Monty and me at the gym anymore. She says she hates coming on the bus because whenever you cook, it makes her hungry.”
“I thought she hated the infant toys?”
“Nope, that’s different. She’s afraid if she accidentally touches a pink plushie we’ll make her watch Aria the way Monty does.”
“Monty volunteers.”
“Chou, are we laying here arguing about why someone doesn’t come around who you don’t want around, or are we making the best of the next,” he looks at his watch, “twenty-five minutes of nap time?” He uses both palms to smooth back my hair. “The door’s locked and the baby is bottle drunk. We could get naked and squeeze into that shower. Maybe you find a way for me to smell better while I find a way of making you dirty?”
Isaiah leans his weight on his shoulder. His hand travels from my check to my collarbone. Further down, he kneads my breast through my top. My back arches. I close my eyes and bite my lip, holding in a whimper. Wet and naked with Isaiah sounds perfect.
He dips his face to nuzzle my neck. A single fingertip slips under the waistband of my pants, sliding toward the button, which he deftly undoes.
“So wet for me,” he mumbles, cupping my sex. “Get up or we’re not moving.”
Wanton for his continued touch, I make a needy whimper as he extracts his hand and rolls to the side. I shimmy off the bed as quickly as I can, pushing my pants and panties down when my feet hit the floor and tip-toeing out of them. Isaiah rips a condom from the drawer. Chasing me the few steps to the bathroom, he shoves his shorts off of his hips.
He’s stark naked when the door to the tiny room snicks shut and he pins me to the sink. The heat radiating from his chest makes my thin tee feel invisible. His thick cock settles at the crease of my ass. Isaiah brushes my hair over my shoulder. Our eyes meet in the mirror as he trails his lips down my neck, sucking on the tender skin. His hand gropes under my shirt. Under my bra. He pinches my nipple. My knees weaken. The only thing keeping me standing is the pressure of his body.
I reach back, encouraging his ministrations while I tease, “I hate to break it to you, but that’s not the shower faucet.”
“Took too long. Not waiting.”
I’m put out when his hand and my shirt disappear, until I hear the foil wrapper crinkle. I gasp as Isaiah kicks my knees apart, and he traces each bump on my spine, bending me to his will.
He enters me with practiced expertise, and I lift off my heels.
“That’s right. Take all of me.” Isaiah fists my hair, twisting my face to his, sealing our lips together in a torrid kiss. His hips jolt, thrusting in and out of my slick channel, and I moan into his mouth.
My heart pounds like it will rip from my ribcage. My bra constrains my aching breasts. The silk fabric has transitioned from buttery soft to scratchy as I’ve gotten more turned on.
I want his hands on my tits. Plucking and pulling. I want his hands on my hips, slamming his hard cock into my pussy. Every waking moment, I feel Isaiah in my heart. But right now, I want to feel Isaiah everywhere.
“Watch us, Cass. See how good we fit together. You were made for me,” he demands. “Watch me. Watch me each time I make you mine.”
I take in the concentration on his face. The way his tongue and lips caress my neck… My bra strap has fallen to the side and my taut nipple is daring to escape… His hand reemerging over my flat belly and his silent promises when we make love to fill it someday with his child. It smooths over my skin, drifting lower, covering my curls. Spreading my folds.
My head falls back, cushioned by Isaiah’s shoulders. He circles my clit. My knees buckle and every other sensation heightens.
Isaiah’s muscular arms and chest hold on to me. My limbs are sluggish, yet somehow I feel as light as a feather.
“Don’t stop. So close,” I choke out.
He plays with my cunt with the same artistry as he plays a guitar. The smell of sweat and sex is overpowering.
“Gonna bring you home,” he grunts. “Not stopping till I’ve walked you up the stairs. To that big window in your bathroom with the view of the entire estate… I’ll strip you. Flatten your palms to the glass, and fuck you senseless. You’ll feel how deep I spill inside of you… Give you back everything you sacrificed for me. Place the world at your feet.”
I envision my hands splayed, my ass tipped back, and my breast smashed against the cold glass while looking out on the vineyard as Isaiah takes me. I see my wide-eyed reflection in the mirror. I’m amazed at how hot the idea makes me. Isaiah’s concentration on pleasing me is in this moment, but fucking me that way isn’t an idea he’s plucked out of the blue. I imagine him walking through the steps in his mind. How often? To be that detailed, it has to have happened more than once. Knowing the dirty things he wants to do to me makes my daydreaming over how to get him off all the more potent.
I detonate with a strangled mewl. Isaiah catches me as I float down. He leans us forward as we pant. Cradling my body, he pumps with harsh, short, jerky movements and fills the condom.
Isaiah pulls out, disposing of our second layer of contraception. “I can’t wait to be done with these things.” He reaches to twist on the hot water.
“Showers?...Ow! That stings.” I rub my hiney where he swatted me.
“Smart ass.” He smirks.
I shake my bottom, winking over my shoulder.
While I’ve never had unprotected sex, I’m on the pill and Isaiah has assured me the crazed female fans are nothing to worry about. We’re in a committed relationship. But as a teenager, his manager cautioned him to never… Go without. The repercussions would be a major distraction to his career. So, he hasn’t. And even though my man talks a big game about eventually knocking me up, Isaiah is currently dividing his attention between the tour and Aria and me. He has a high-pressure job and throwing caution to the wind isn’t in the cards.
Everything needs to stay status quo. At least, that’s what I’ve told myself since Ben suggested he might’ve been more to Kylie than her manager. I’ve started changing the subject if his name comes up.
“Get your sexy ass in here.” Isaiah drags me under the spray and soaps up a washcloth with my favorite elderberry body wash. I pour some into my palm and lather it. With an utter lack of embarrassment, my hands soap his undercarriage.
“What are you doing?” He laughs, tossing his head back with a gleeful grin.
This is why I need to stay mum. Maybe I’ll have the confidence to bring it up when we stop in Nashville for the week. Though the timing couldn’t be worse. We’re staying at Isaiah’s house.
I plaster on a smile and glide my slick hands glide over his length. “Cleaning you up.”
“Yeah, well, something’s about to go up. But I guarantee you, it’s not my cleanliness factor.”
“Then I’ll scrub your brain next. You have a dirty mind.” I keep washing.
“You enjoyed my dirty mind a few minutes ago.”
I bob my head from one side to the other, holding back a snort. I love our silliness and banter. I love our honesty. I love how at ease we are with one another.
Don’t ruin it.
Isaiah wraps his arms around me, trapping his erection between us. He places his hands on either side of my face and tips it up. “I have something serious I need to talk to you about.” He stops my heart. “I asked Vespa to cancel the charter from Wichita and to book a larger suite for us in Austin. I don’t want to be without you for a second if I don’t have to, so the bus drivers are taking us to Texas instead.”
“Is there enough time?” I wipe a rivulet of water away.
“Plenty. We’ll leave for the next tour stop after I perform at the show the way we normally do.”
“Another chance to stretch out someplace other than on the bus sounds nice.” If it weren’t for my niggling worry about Ben, I’d be thrilled to see where Isaiah lives. Perhaps when we land in Texas I’ll have nothing to fear.
“One other thing. I understand we haven’t been on a proper date since December, and I’ve already thrown a lot at you, but I want you to accompany me to the awards.”