Chapter 40 #2
She stiffens, and I swear I can feel the heat rise off her skin. Right now, I’m glad I can’t see her face, because it would tell me everything I need to know.
"Avery," she says with a breathy pause, no doubt contemplating her next move.
Tell me you care about me too. I want to beg her.
Tell me I’m not alone in this.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she picks up her phone—a call coming through—bringing it to her ear. "Hello?"
A pause, then, "Yes. I can be there." She hangs up and stammers, "I have to get going. Something about soundcheck." She dresses in a hurry and rushes out the door before I can ask her anything else.
I don’t see her for the rest of the night.
***
The car ride to the venue is filled with half-finished thoughts and pointless chatter, just enough noise to keep the silence from swallowing us whole. Neither of us brings up what I said.
Eventually, I ask how she’s feeling about flying to California to present at the award show.
"I mean, I feel probably as good as you do about it." She shrugs, fingers tapping against her knees while they bounce. She’s nervous to be around me after our conversation yesterday, and I can’t say I blame her.
I shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t the right time, and it probably wouldn’t ever be.
But I needed her to know so I can tell myself I tried.
Even if it meant she didn’t feel the same.
Yet, all I want to do is take that hand of hers, and hold it in mine. Let her know that it’s okay. That I’m okay. That we are okay no matter what.
Then I remember that she’s my wife, and that it would be completely natural for me to hold her hand, and let her know without words that I care.
Fuck it.
I thread her fingers through mine and rest both hands in her lap.
Her knee stills, and she grips my hand so tightly it almost cuts off my circulation.
"I’m sorry," she whispers, looking out the window at the busy streets of Florida. "I’ve never had anybody—"
"Please don’t apologize for something you didn’t do. It doesn’t matter if you don’t feel that way about me, Olive. I just needed you to know that I care about you. That you’re important to me." And probably always will be.
She turns to face me, hazel eyes rimmed red with tears threatening to fall down her cheeks. She gives me a weak, heartbreaking smile. "I care about you, too."
She cares about me, too.
***
Ever since she admitted it, I haven’t stopped thinking about what this could really become. But I also know it’s something I can’t rush—something I can’t force.
The minute I got her alone in her greenroom, I shut the door and kissed her so hard I stole the breath from her lungs.
"Fuck. What are you doing?" she whimpers in my ear, the sound itself almost enough to send me right over the edge. "Because whatever it is—God—please don’t stop. I need you."
"Avery," I correct her, my tone gruff, breath heavy. "No other man’s name belongs on your lips. Deity or not. You only say my name. I’m the only man responsible for making you come." Another whimper, so close to my ear it coats my skin with goosebumps.
I have her body pressed up against the door that doesn’t lock, fully aware we could get caught, but I can’t bring myself to care.
Let everyone see. Hell, let them fucking hear. Let them witness Olive Herring screaming my name in total pleasure.
"Here is what’s going to happen," I whisper.
Unable to help myself, I take her soft, swollen lips against mine, swiping my tongue into her mouth.
Her head tips back, kissing me deeper, her legs parting on instinct.
I graze my fingertips along the waistband of her jeans, button already open, giving me the access I so desperately crave.
"Tell me." Her voice is coarse, chest rising and falling heavily while my other hand rests at her collarbone, her gold chain beneath my palm, her heartbeat thrumming against her ribcage.
I slip my fingers beneath her panties, guiding them to her pussy, already wet and begging to be touched. "What will I find if I just…slip my fingers a little lower?"
Her hips buck as she shivers ever so slightly. "You’ll find out exactly what you do to me. Something no words could ever fully convey."
When her big eyes flick up to me, they soften, and that’s when I see everything she isn’t ready to say.
But it’s enough for me.
I slide my fingers between her folds, her legs parting to give me better reach as her back arches against the door, arms locked around my neck.
She’s fucking soaking wet.
My groan rumbles through my chest, escaping the back of my throat, caught by her mouth before it’s even gone.
"For the next forty minutes," I begin, my thumb swirling over her clit, one finger pressed inside of her. "You’re going to be on that stage giving them all you’ve got." I kiss her, taking what I hope to someday have for real.
"Then what?" she asks, breath hitched, eyes still locked on mine.
"Then I’m going to fuck you like I’ve never fucked you before. I’m going to tell you how good my cock looks buried inside your pretty cunt," I say, sliding in a second finger. Her body stiffens then melts into my hands.
"Please," she begs. "Make me come now."
Just as those four words roll off her tongue, a knock sounds at the door.
Showtime.
I slide my fingers out and slip them into her mouth, letting her taste how sweet she is, then crash my lips down onto hers.
"Coming!" she calls out, her cheeks flushed bright red. "I’m going to hold you to that, Avery Jones."
"So you should."
"This next song is a cover. I don’t usually stray from my set list, but someone special is here tonight, and I thought I’d dedicate this one to him."
Her smile is wide, lighting up her whole face as she steps back from the microphone, fiddling with the tuning pegs on her guitar to keep it in tune before strumming the first chord.
I recognize it almost immediately, and my heart leaps out of my chest.
She glances toward the crowd where she knows I’m seated, but with the stage lights in her eyes, I know she can’t see me. Instead, she closes her eyes, playing the chords from memory.
The lyrics to Elvis’ 'Can’t Help Falling in Love' reverberate through the stadium as the crowd watches and sings along in complete awe.
I’m one of the few people listening in admiration.
Also, I’m a terrible singer, so I spare the people beside me the pain of hearing me try to sing the song that played at our wedding.
This version is even better.
She ends her set with that, the sound of screaming fans nearly bursting my eardrums.
In the past, I’d sneak off to her greenroom during her last song and wait for her in private.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I stand and cheer with her adoring fans, proud of the woman I get to call my wife, and everything she’s done to get to this point.
Proud of the battles she faces day in and day out, without even the slightest hint of struggle.
Proud of her.