Chapter 30
Maddy
Linked arm in arm walking up to the brooding, darkly romantic Michelin star bistro with my rockstar’s cum making a total mess of my inner thighs is one way to make an entrance.
As soon as we’re alone at our table in the back, white candles dripping down the walls, not unlike the dripping I’m experiencing, I breathe a sigh of relief just to sit down.
Jett bites his lip and reaches slowly under the table, fingertips at my knee, sliding up until our shared release coats his fingertips and Jesus if he doesn’t bring them up glistening in the candlelight.
My eyes are huge as I scan for any incoming servers, but the coast is clear as he licks two fingers clean and has me do the same to the other two before drying them with his napkin.
“Fuck that’s so sexy, you’re a squirming, wet little mess for me. You know … future Jett would be rather cross at the Jett sitting here with you, letting all that perfectly good cum go to waste.”
My chest heaves, and I try to slow my breathing. “B-because you’ll be, um—”
“No need to short-circuit, Baby. You can stop treating this relationship like it has some big, impending expiration date. When you turn thirty, I’ll be … what? Say it.”
I'm not about to correct him but, holy shit, it's actually four years next month. I lower my voice, not really believing I’m saying this in public to someone I’ve been seeing for two weeks. “You’ll be putting a baby inside me, Daddy.”
Jett lights up, grinning, and slaps the table exactly how I want him to spank my ass tonight. My wet inner thighs shake at the thought.
“Let’s go!” He is far too loud for a place this fancy, and my cheeks keep getting pinker. “Let’s fucking go! Damn right that’s what I’m gonna do, Baby!”
I shake my head with a quiet laugh. “And then you’ll be satisfied? One and done?” I ask, testing him.
He shakes his head, “How many kids does Rod Stewart have?”
My eyes grow huge, and he does a dark chuckle. “Seven?! Jett, no!”
He looks over his shoulder and back at me, serious as a heart attack. “How about … Daddy, yes?”
“Okay, but that was with, like, three or four different wives. Your plan involves me being wife number one of several, you know that, right?”
His eyes grow darker than the mood-lit bistro we’re sitting in, “No, it fucking doesn’t.”
My core tightens, and I want to keep arguing my point, the fact that my parents are the exception and not the rule.
Jett knows that, and I have a lot of evidence I could argue, but again, public place, and Jett’s arguments equal three ring circus.
And this is a ludicrous argument to be having with my brand new boyfriend, anyway, so I drop it.
I have years to talk him down from seven to maybe three; I don’t need to rush it.
Even the thought of that makes me feel like I’m floating on air, though.
Him being so adamant about me being the one for him turns me on and makes my head tingle in ways I could never have imagined a few weeks ago.
The server arrives, bringing us every wine in the restaurant to try; Jett and I are half drunk by the end of the tasting, and when the food arrives, I think the anxiety is gone enough to finally do this. He raises his wine glass, and I tap mine to his.
“Thank you for being here tonight, Baby. Looking into your eyes while I sang, there’s no better feeling. Except maybe when you come, the way you squeeze around Keane is just—”
“Jett! I know you have magic inside you. The way you sense things, the way you charm people. I was so disoriented during your set, it was literally otherworldly. So, I have to ask, did you maybe like … put a love spell on me while you sang earlier?”
Jett opens his giant mouth and pours most of the wine back in one go, looking incredibly amused, before setting his glass down.
“Fun perk of dating a serious actress, I never know when you’re fuckin’ joking. What if I said I attempt a love spell every time I sing for you and I always have?”
How true that is hits me, I just wish I'd let those spells work on me before, like when he crooned for me at the ball.
I gasp at another memory where we were at least half drunk.
“On the beach in Key Largo last year? Everyone else had gone to bed, it was just you and me and a beach bonfire and your acoustic, oh shit!” I thought he was just glassy-eyed from all the rum.
“Uh, yeah, Baby, wasn’t that obvious? AnnaBella nearly ripped my head off after that trip and she said we were done, that I'd chosen the Morningstars over her. I’m sure Lola told you. Truly, I can’t believe you didn’t realise until now.”
I want to smack my head on the table, but I need to say this before I can breathe, eat, or do anything, “I know this has only technically been a thing for two weeks. Is it insane to say you’ve already met your goal from the BuzzFeed vid?”
Jett drops his fork. “Goal of making you fall for me? Oh shit, Baby, is this it?”
I squeak and nod, offering my hands across the table. He threads his fingers through mine. “I’m so sorry it took me eight years to realize it, but I love you, Jett Raven Jones, I am yours and yours alone. Please let the intensity of my love and passion help make up for all the missed time?”
Jett jumps out of his seat, his arms heavenward in elation.
“After EIGHT YEARS! She fuckin’ LOVES me!
” I shush him even though he’s so adorable I can’t help but giggle.
I’m concerned about making a scene, even though we’re tucked away in a corner.
Jett is professionally loud as hell. He lowers his voice, “Eight god damn years, Baby, that’s how long I’ve loved you, and now you finally love me back. I love you, Matilda Rose Morningstar.”
Jett pulls me up, wraps me in his arms and spins me around, in the most sweeping, romantic, Oh shit, we have an audience. Why didn’t he book the private dining room? Because last week I said they’re too quiet and boring. Shit!
Apparently, the couple on the other side of the half wall wanted a quiet, romantic dinner, and of all the fucking couples that could be there, getting pissed at our volume and overall antics?
God damn Asshole Archer and his girlfriend that he fucking cheated on me with.
I see a blur of people coming around to our side of the wall, and none of them look pleased.
“Sir, relax, we can handle—” the server tries to placate Ace.
“I’ve had enough, I’m going to just tell them my—” Ace’s voice is interrupted by Jett, as he stops spinning me. Two servers, a manager, Asshole Ace Archer, and his girlfriend, Imogen, are all staring at us. The mousy brunette gapes at us like she's watching a trainwreck in slow motion.
“You’ve got to be fucking joking?” Jett asks, incredulous, seeing Ace.
“I’m sorry.” I smile pathetically at the manager. “We’ll, we’ll just go in the private room if that’s all right, I’m sorry we were so—”
Jett’s jaw is set square, right at Ace. “We’re going to need that room all right. The four of us are going in right god damn now to get this shit sorted.”
The manager closes us into the private room with curtains drawn in seconds flat. They don’t bring plates and glassware, and I’m concerned that's good foresight on their part.
“Eight years? You fucking kidding me, Jett?” Ace’s Prince William-esque demeanor and accent be damned, he can be a bit intimidating when he’s pissed.
Intimidating to an accountant or something, though, not to a rockstar.
“You think I want to hear you yelling about how you coveted her the whole time we were together, while I pay for quiet, romantic ambience? I mean, really?”
He has a few inches of height on Jett and steps closer to him.
Jett sheds all of his rings and hands them to me.
I don’t even try to fight the arousal that spikes through my body like adrenaline as he does.
I jingle the rings in my hand like a dungeon master about to roll the dice, glaring at Imogen as if she’d cross me twice.
“Couldn’t even treat her right for two years, you stupid twat! You think I’m supposed to feel for you? You can fuck right off!”
“We’ve got full press starting in two weeks, the following week is the premiere.” I turn to Imogen because, honestly, she looks so lost. “You do know, don’t you?” She nods. “Do you also know he was showing me engagement rings six weeks ago?”
Imogen’s eyes grow wide and watery, while Jett’s flash crimson as he unbuttons his wrist cuffs, adds his vintage black ruby cufflinks to my palm, and rolls up his sleeves.
“Surprised you’ve told her anything because I’m sure you’re just planning on fucking cheating on her anyway as soon as you head North, if not before.
” I try not to get distracted by the intricate butterfly and moth tattoos dancing with the veins and muscles that flex in his forearms as Jett confronts my ex.
God, I hate Ace’s sadistic laugh now that I’m forced to hear it again.
“Jett Raven, suddenly a feminist advocate, oh, now that’s hilarious.
I’m sure a simple Google search would show me a never-ending list of the slags you’ve fucked and never contacted again.
Even if Maddy retracted what she said to People and formally apologised, it wouldn’t change the fact that you’re more gutter rat than rockstar. ”
Jett cracks his knuckles, and I’m very aware of how pantiless I still am. “We’re not here to talk about my boyfriend, Ace; we’re here to discuss your plan to act like a decent fucking human being while doing press together.”
Imogen rubs her temples like she’s already tired of this man’s shit. “And how you’re possibly going to film a third season with her if it gets renewed. You’re clearly not over her! You’re acting incredibly immature and pathetic after what you did.”
“I don’t know if we’re ready to hear from you quite yet, Miss Mousey Mouse, after what you did to her … perhaps we never will be.”