Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
CRUE
"I need a favor."
Kai looks up at me over the top of his Kindle, his gray eyes narrowed. "The last time I did you a favor, I nearly ended up in a jail cell in Tokyo, Crue."
Fucking Tokyo.
"This won't be like that," I mutter. "This favor is simple."
"You said that last time." He lifts a finger and then dramatically swipes it across his screen. The asshole.
Hendrix, one of the roadies, sees him as he passes by and chuckles.
"I won't make you play a solo when we introduce you for the next three shows."
That gets his attention. Kai is a fucking phenomenal guitarist. He also hates being the center of attention. If he could, he'd play from backstage, and no one would ever see him.
"What's the favor?"
"I just need you to take this to the nearest paper and drop it off," I say, holding out an envelope.
He glances at it and then back to me. "What's it in?"
"That's between me and the paper." And the rest of the world as soon as the paper confirms the document inside is real. It is. It's a copy of the marriage license Ireland and I signed. I just printed it at the hotel's business office.
Ireland has no idea what I'm planning. No one does.
I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want anyone trying to talk me out of it.
After I fucked my wife to sleep last night, I laid awake, holding her, thanking God…
thinking. I fucking hate that she's afraid that things are going to change between us when the world finds out.
I don't want her living with that worry.
I don't want her afraid that I'm going to change my mind about her or us.
There isn't a chance in hell of that happening.
But I can tell her that all day. It won't wipe the fear from her mind.
She's too damn smart. She knows rockstars don't marry their fans often… and she knows why.
In this world, things don't work out more often than they do.
Celebrities and normal people don't mix because celebrities don't know how to be normal, and normal people don't know how to be celebrities.
It's a lot of fucking pressure on a relationship in a world already under pressure.
But this hasn't been my world for a long time. Once this tour is over, I'm done.
I have no desire to continue on or to get the band back together permanently.
We've done what we set out to do. We have our lives and our own futures now.
We'll always be brothers. Maybe we'll get together and make new music when the mood strikes.
Maybe we won't. But we're done touring. We're done with the chaos. At least, I am.
All I want is the sassy little redhead who drives me wild. If the world doesn't like it, fuck 'em. Our opinions are the only ones that matter. And we're the only ones that get a say in what we do.
She's my choice. She'll be my choice every time, without hesitation.
I need her to know that, too. And the best way to ensure she knows that is to remove the sword dangling over her head.
If the world knows now, she doesn't have to keep worrying about it.
But I don't want her to find out until it's already said and done.
She'll lose her damn mind if she does.
"Will you take it for me or not?" I ask Kai.
"Fine," he sighs, setting his Kindle aside to take the envelope from me. "But if this gets me into any bullshit, I'm telling Beckett about Tokyo for his fucking book." He narrows his blue eyes on me. "And I'm telling Jameson's girl that you're responsible for whatever is in this envelope."
"I'll tell her myself as soon as the news breaks."
Kai eyes me sideways, and then he shakes his head. "You know what? Whatever it is, I don't even want to know. I'm keeping my big ass out of it."
"Smart man." I smack him on the back and then jog toward the bus where I left Ireland earlier.
She was trying to convince Mason to teach her to speak British…
whatever the fuck that means. I'm not entirely sure she even knows, but I have a feeling she'll be using every slang word Mason could think up by the end of the day.
I find her outside the bus, talking to Havoc. Laughing with Havoc, actually. What the fuck? Why is everyone always fucking smiling at my wife?
I stomp toward them, scowling daggers at my bodyguard.
He sees me coming, notices the look on my face, and immediately goes stoic.
But not before shooting me an amused smirk, as if he thinks it's hilarious that she has me all twisted up in knots.
I'm sure he probably does. He's listened to me bitch for months now about girls trying to sneak backstage, into our rooms, or onto the tour bus.
He's given me shit about it more than once.
And then here comes this tiny little goddess, and suddenly, I'm singing a different tune.
No, I'm singing a fucking musical.
"You have to tell me all the juicy stories about him, Havoc," Ireland is saying when I walk up behind her. "I have to be able to use it against him. Otherwise, what's the fun of being friends with his bodyguard?"
"You're not making friends with my bodyguard, Ireland," I growl, shutting that bullshit down right now. Hell no. I trust Havoc with my life. But trusting him with my wife? Fuck that.
She spins around when she hears me, lighting up like the sun. "Crue! You're back."
Jesus. She beams like she hasn't seen me all day instead of thirty minutes. Somehow, that makes me feel more like a rockstar than taking the stage every night. What is it about this wild woman that makes me so crazy?
Everything. It's everything.
"Just in time, from the sounds of it," I mutter, tugging her into my arms. "You aren't making friends with Havoc, Ireland." I pause. "Or the crew. Or the band. Or anyone else with a dick, for that matter."
"It's cute you think you have a say in this," she says, patting me on the chest. "But you don't. I'll be friends with whoever I want."
"Uh, the hell you will."
"Do you like sleeping in the same bed as me, Crue?
Because you won't be if you keep brassing me off, acting like a numpty by telling me I can't be friends with Havoc and the band.
" Her smile never falters. That sweet voice never falters.
She lays down the law according to Ireland, newly learned Britishisms and all, without missing a beat.
I thought Shelby was mildly terrifying, but I think my wife may have her beat.
My dick is rock-hard.
"Inside," I growl, scooping her up into my arms.
She squeaks, clinging to my shoulders as I storm up the steps into the bus with her, Havoc's deep chuckle chasing us up the steps. The door slams behind us. Mason looks up, sees her in my arms, and shakes his head.
"That's my cue to go see a man about a dog," he says, rising to his feet.
"Oh. You don't have to leave," Ireland says.
"Yes, he does."
"Crue!"
I shrug, unrepentant. He doesn't want to hear what's about to happen here.
"He's right," Mason says, grabbing his phone off the table before striding toward the door. "I definitely have to sod off. Have fun. Godspeed. Toodles, fuckers. Whichever."
Ireland giggles, pressing her face to my chest as he slips past us, escaping the bus. I lock the door behind him before carrying her to the nearest chair and planting my ass in it.
"Did you have fun with Mason?"
"Yes. He was very nice and taught me all sorts of British words I plan to use against you."
"Good. Now, tell me to fuck off again," I growl. "But strip that pretty dress off before you do it so I can enjoy the show this time, éire."
"Crue," she groans. But she's already reaching for the hem of her dress, just as incapable of telling me no as I am of denying her. It's the reason neither of us slept last night. Every time she took a breath, I was ready to go again. And she made damn sure I did…over and over again.
I run my hands up and down her silky thighs as she rips her dress off over her head. With her on my lap, her perfect tits are right in my face. She isn't wearing a bra. Apparently, the dress has one built-in or some shit. Good news for me. I lean forward, pulling one hard nipple into my mouth.
She moans, her head falling back. Already, she's rocking on my lap, instinctively seeking the pleasure she knows I'll give her. I snap the bands on her panties, ripping them away from her body.
"Crue," she gasps. "Stop tearing all my clothes. I need them."
"I'll buy you more." I shove her panties in the pocket of my sweats before slipping my hand between her legs. "Ride my fingers, Ireland."
"Yes," she moans, already rocking against them.
I watch, unable to take my eyes off her as she grips the back of the chair, rolling her hips, moaning my name. She's a goddess above me, taking her pleasure without inhibition. My marks litter her skin, standing in testament to what we did last night.
I twist my wrist, using my thumb to jerk my sweats down while she's riding my fingers. It's not easy, but somehow, I manage to do it. My cock springs free, bouncing against her belly.
"Inside me," she pleads as soon as she feels it. "I want you inside me."
"Then take me, sweet girl. I'm yours." It's the truth. I'm hers, heart, mind, body, and soul, tied to her so tightly that nothing and no one will ever be able to undo the knots or untangle us. She has every piece of me. Every single fucking piece.
She lifts up, positioning me at her entrance. Instead of sinking down, she hovers there, her eyes locked on my face.
"Crue," she whispers.
"Ireland," I whisper back.
"I love you."
I open my mouth to respond, but she slams herself down on me, stealing the words and my breath. All I can do is roar her name as her hot cunt wraps around me like a vise, threatening to send me shooting over the edge.
She throws her head back, crying out in bliss.