Chapter 17
The Austin tour stop didn't help whatever was unfolding between Mickey and me.
Already three weeks in, Hunter and I maintained our comfortable distance. I felt his attention often, but we seemed most at ease with manufactured silence between us.
Luke remained the older boy next door type, giving me pizza and cracking jokes. Corrupting me with weed and orgasms.
But things with Mickey felt as volatile as a tank of gasoline.
It all started with him storming into my dressing room moments after my performance, kissing me breathless, pulling our leather show clothes flush together, leaving me squirming and trying to wrap myself around him before Wood was knocking on the door, saying it was stage time.
Mickey gave me one long look, both of us panting, before wordlessly leaving to perform.
What the fuck.
I kept trying to sense any underlying jealousy or resentment from Tom. He said this was fine, but I never could have imagined how intense this would all feel. The rational part of my brain kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to suddenly realize what he'd given permission for and take it back. But every time I searched his face, all I found was that same warm acceptance, tinged with something that looked almost like pride.
Not that my feelings for Tom were any less present. If anything, everything was more intense with him too. All my feelings about everything spilling over into an insane amount of physical contact with him. We couldn't keep our hands off each other, as if touching him could anchor me to something solid while everything else spun out of control.
Heat be damned, we couldn't get enough of each other.
But things with Mickey were intense too. A different kind of intensity that felt like coming home and jumping off a cliff at the same time.
The Seattle show makeout was followed by insane bouts of eye contact while eating dinner on the bus and a very visible breakfast erection the following morning under Mickey's boxer briefs. I pretended not to notice the way he adjusted himself when he caught me looking, or how his coffee mug shook slightly in his hands.
After a day of fitful naps and lazy orgasms with Tom, Luke turned on some music after dinner, offering his hand to me. The gesture felt loaded with possibility, like he knew exactly what he was setting in motion.
It was perfect music for the dimmed lights and billows of weed in the humid air. I closed my eyes and moved to the beat, wrapping one arm lightly around Luke's much taller neck. The familiar weight of performance mode settled over me, muscle memory from years of dance training taking over.
His hands were quickly at my waist, moving with me to the beat, pulling me flush with his body. The heat between us was immediate and obvious, amplified by our mostly undressed states in the muggy air.
Thank God for the months of dance training—it probably looked fairly decent if not inappropriately horny.
I felt Luke hot and pressed against me, the intimacy of our barely clothed bodies moving together in the dim light. But there was no self-consciousness to it, not when the music was too perfect and the weed had smoothed all my sharp edges.
Luke eventually spun me around to bring my ass to his hips, our bodies moving in perfect fluidity. Feeling him so close was making me desperate for more, wanting him to grip me harder, pull me closer, fuck me right there on the sticky linoleum floor.
That need was only ignited when I opened my eyes to find Mickey's unwavering stare. His green eyes tracked every movement, every breath, like he was memorizing me. The intensity of his attention made my skin prickle with heat.
Something about it all—the post-show release, the weed, my own inner exhibitionist—made me reach for the hem of the tank I was wearing. The thin cotton was already clinging to my sweat-dampened skin, and pulling it off felt like the most natural thing in the world.
I began pulling upward to the beat, dancing as I slowly revealed one breast, then the other, to their desperate stares. The air conditioning kissed my newly exposed skin, making my nipples harden instantly.
I felt like a meal being watched by starving dogs.
I loved it.
Luke's hands were quickly enveloping my breasts, kneading the flesh until I was getting breathless and losing all remaining focus. His calloused fingertips from years of bass playing sent electricity straight through me, making me arch into his touch.
The music carried me—down, up, in every rhythm, through every movement of Luke with me—leaving me heady and breathless. Time became liquid, measured only in beats and the growing pressure between my legs.
The next song had the other three guys standing up to join us dancing, hunger in their stares and visible erections straining against cotton boxers. Even Hunter had abandoned his usual cool composure, his pale skin flushed pink in the dim light.
But it was only Mickey that I cared about right then.
He came directly to my front, matching my heavy breathing with his own dazed expression. His dark hair was mussed from sleep, hanging in his eyes in a way that made him look younger, more like the boy I'd fallen for in college.
He was never one to shy away. He was always the heart of it all, the beating pulse of any room. I'd watched him command stages and conversations with the same magnetic pull, but this felt different. More urgent.
I felt that in his movements, his expressions, providing a direct line into his mind. We used to do this sometimes when playing music together in college, and we were doing it now—slipping into that wordless communication where we moved as one entity.
We got into this shared consciousness, total flow, bodies speaking a language our minds had forgotten how to use.
He moved in closer and closer, his hands coming to my waist, crowding me between him and Luke's solid presence behind me. The heat from both their bodies was overwhelming, making the already stifling air feel electric.
We didn't stop to consider consequences. He tilted his chin up ever so slightly, asking the question. I answered with my own slight nod, and our lips crashed together again.
He tasted the same each time—like coming home to something I'd been missing without realizing it. His sweat was a blossoming salt in my mouth, leaving me dizzy and desperate for more.
Mickey was soon flush against my front, his cock hot and heavy and closer than it had ever been. I felt desperate to feel more of him but didn't dare burst the bubble we were in. I let him drive, trusting him the way I always had, even when I shouldn't have.
And he didn't leave me wanting.
Despite our height difference, he shoved his thigh between my legs, urging my hips to grind down into his muscled leg, working my clit through the thin fabric of my underwear and stealing my breath against his mouth. The pressure was perfect, building heat low in my belly.
That didn't last long, however.
"Enough of this,"
Mickey said against my lips, his voice rough with need. Pulling away but keeping me flush against his body, he repeated to the group, near aggression in his tone, "Enough of this."
I tried to get my brain back online to understand what was happening, but had no time before Mickey was pulling me back into a searing kiss, this time moving me backward with obvious intent toward the bedroom. His hands were possessive on my waist, fingers digging into my skin like he was afraid I might disappear.
Luke stepped out of his way without comment, a knowing smile playing at his lips. Mickey eventually wrapped his arm around my waist and lifted me to walk faster, my feet barely touching the ground as he carried me toward the closed door.
The bedroom felt like a sanctuary, cooler and darker than the main cabin. Mickey's urgency evaporated the moment the door closed, replaced by something tender and uncertain. We stood there for a moment, breathing hard, looking at each other like we couldn't quite believe this was happening.
It felt very stupid and very Mickey and me that we had fucked it out before talking anything through. But maybe that's how it had to be with us—bodies first, words second. Too much history, too much pain to navigate with just conversation.
A huge part of me was still holding my heart far away from him, even if I was more than happy to share my body. Trust was earned, and he'd broken mine once before.
His heartbeat felt different than Tom's as I listened to it against his warm chest. More punctuated somehow, more severe. Where Tom's was steady and reassuring, Mickey's felt like it was trying to convince both of us of something.
"I missed you."
He tipped my head up to meet his gaze. His green eyes were so sincere, almost watery with intensity. The whole thing felt so desperate, as if he was holding something he never thought he would have again.
"I missed you too."
The quiet truth left my lips easily, surprising me with its honesty.
His sweat smelled good, like a younger, freer version of myself. More words were on my lips, but I left them unsaid. The temporality of it all felt too heavy—this tour had an end date, and then what?
He apparently didn't feel the same restraint as he began to speak.
"I'm so sorry about what happened."
His sincerity was so intense it was nearly painful. I couldn't stop myself from meeting his eyes, seeing the regret that had apparently been eating at him for years.
His lips quickly pressed down to meet mine, as if he could transfer his apology directly through touch.
"I am too,"
I said honestly. Mickey may have been kissing another girl, but I was so stupid to run away, to ice him out completely. I couldn't face the idea of him not being mine, so I had to push him away myself. It was too painful otherwise, easier to be angry than heartbroken.
But I didn't have to keep it up. I could have texted him at any point. Listened to him. Actually heard what he wanted instead of assuming the worst.
"I wanted you that whole time,"
he confessed, his voice breaking slightly.
"From the moment I met you, I wanted you. I just knew I had to wait because you were still with your ex. I never could have imagined what a mess it would become."
He shook his head, and I could see the weight of years of regret in the gesture.
"You know I felt the same,"
I said so sincerely my voice cracked.
"That's why I couldn't handle it when I saw you with her. I had just broken up with him, and I had been planning to tell you that night—"
"Really?"
He frowned, shaking his head more vigorously.
"Yeah. I was hoping you would want me."
His lips immediately met mine with a ferocity that answered every question I'd been carrying for five years.
We didn't need to speak another word. We may be five years late, but we had finally found our way back to each other. Some wounds could only be healed by time and proximity, by the courage to try again.
Some part of my brain wondered about our other halves—whether I was allowed to be feeling what I was for Mickey while my boyfriend sat in the living room, whether Hunter was jealous and stewing somewhere. But when Mickey rolled on top of me, covering my body with his warm weight, I couldn't bother with another thought.
He looked down at me, his body sweaty, hot, all man, flush with mine. His eyes searched mine, as if asking permission to cross the line we'd drawn in college, finally, after all this time.
"Make love to me, Mickey."
I wrapped my legs around his waist, his cock rubbing up and down my slit and clit, eliciting a moan from deep in my soul.
He kissed me senseless, lightly thrusting against my clit until I was mindless and pushing back, desperate for more, for all of him. The anticipation was killing me—five years of wondering what this would feel like.
He finally pulled back enough just to line himself up with my entrance, his eyes piercing into mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"You're mine,"
he said as he finally, after eight years of wanting, fucked me.
"Mickey,"
I cried out. He was so thick, I felt every inch of him stretching me, claiming space inside me that felt like it had always belonged to him.
He was unbearably hot, heat radiating off of him like he was running a fever. It was all so new, feeling him so completely, yet familiar in a way that made no logical sense.
His lips moved on my neck in time with his hips, creating a rhythm that felt both ancient and revolutionary. Every nerve ending was on fire, years of fantasy finally becoming reality.
"God,"
I felt his deep groan reverberate through every cell in my body.
He paused with every inch inside me, rising to meet my eyes. The moment felt suspended, crystalline, like we were both afraid to move and break whatever spell we were under.
"You're perfect,"
he said it like a prayer, the experience near trance-like. I felt like an animal claiming my mate after far too long apart, every instinct screaming that this was right, this was home.
He made love to me the way he lived—so present, captivating, magnetic. The emotion behind it was palpable, as real as his flesh and blood, the sweat that dripped onto my flushed skin. Every thrust felt deliberate, worshipful, like he was trying to apologize and confess and claim all at once.
"I love you"
hung in the air in whispered admissions when we both came, the words spilling out before either of us could stop them. He fully collapsed onto me, his head burrowed into my neck, every muscle relaxed into my form like he belonged there.
I kept my legs tightly wound around him, as if he could disappear if I didn't bind him to me. The weight of him was perfect, grounding me after years of feeling untethered.
I couldn't tell you how long we stayed like that, the swaying of the bus eventually lulling us toward sleep. Everything felt different now, shifted somehow. Like we'd finally found our way back to a path we'd been forced to abandon.
I eventually awoke when Hunter and Tom entered the room, consciousness returning slowly through the haze of satisfaction and emotional exhaustion. I was relieved to see light smiles on both their faces instead of the jealousy or awkwardness I'd been dreading.
Mickey rolled off of me, stopping to kiss me senseless one more time before we broke apart. The kiss tasted like promises and second chances.
Tom scooped me into the shower, his familiar warmth a comforting contrast to the intensity I'd just experienced. Hunter followed us in to pass me the lit joint, the gesture casual and accepting in a way that made my chest tight with gratitude.
Whether following the smell of weed or drawn by some invisible thread, Mickey quickly packed into the bathroom, forcing me to make room for him in the shower. The space was ridiculously small for three people, but somehow we made it work.
He moved with an ease around me we had never achieved in college. We were always holding back before, every touch carrying fearful, reserved eagerness. Now he touched me with confidence, the comfort of long-time lovers mixed with burning desire.
We moved in coordinated manner, the hot water fogging the tiny space with so much steam I could barely see. Combined with the smoke from the joint, the whole room felt like a cocoon, tucked away from reality. Just us.
A tear almost sprang to my eye as Mickey pulled me in to rest my head on his chest under the hot spray. Love wasn't a word that could describe the depth of what I felt. I was wholly buried in the emotion, yet somehow at ease for the first time in years.
We eventually all made it out for pizza, Luke holding back from one of his usual quips for once. Things felt easy, but everyone also knew what a big deal this had been. I saw the same exhausted, raw look on Mickey's face that I was sure I wore on mine.
In what I couldn't help but feel was a meaning-laden move, Mickey handed me a pair of his boxers to wear, Tom supplying one of his oversized t-shirts. The gesture felt significant, like marking territory in the gentlest way possible.
I eventually fell asleep sitting between Mickey and Tom on the bench, feeling more complete than I had in years.