Chapter twenty-seven
Violet
The bus idles outside the hotel, the scent of Tom Ford’s Black Orchid surrounding me before I even clear the top step. Is someone wearing it, or did the driver spritz it into the air before we boarded? Wouldn’t put it past him when spoiled musicians are involved.
My backpack’s cutting into my shoulder; every compartment in that thing now rattles with spare lenses and memory cards. The longer this tour goes, the shabbier my luggage gets.
I catch the familiar babble of voices before I even turn the corner into the main seating section.
Hailee’s the first to spot me. She waves like I’ve been gone from Eden for years, not months.
Chloe is curled beside her in one of the big recliners, scrolling her phone with tired eyes.
Cora’s stretched along the sofa, a bowl of chips balanced on top of her bump, radiating beautiful “beached whale” energy.
She looks serene, equal parts glowing goddess and exhausted human who desperately needs a nap.
Hailee’s been my boss long enough to read my mood from thirty feet away just from the angle of my eyebrow.
Chloe, too. She’s always been easy to like—a little quiet and reserved—mostly keeps to herself, but solid all the way through.
Cora’s newer to me; she was only at Eden for a short time before James dragged her out of that life and put a ring on it.
From the little time I spent with her, it was obvious she was honest down to the bone.
There are no Blaires or Cindys on this bus. Thank fuck.
“Welcome to my babymoon,” Cora announces, popping a chip into her mouth. “Well, mine and James’s. You lot are just tagging along.”
Hailee chucks a pillow at her feet. “Couldn’t James spring for a private beach in the Maldives?”
“I offered,” James calls from further back. He’s at the table with Dameon and Zac, cards fanned out in his hands, a bottle of scotch parked in the middle. “But she insisted on being with you degenerates.”
“Hey!” Hailee and Chloe chorus.
Chloe pushes herself up a bit as I drop onto the couch opposite. “You ready for Como?” she asks. Her messy bun still somehow looks chic. “Because I, for one, am ready for wine, pasta, sunshine, and absolutely zero responsibility.”
I could say I’m excited about the lake, the view, the fresh air that doesn’t smell like arenas and stale hotel carpet.
And yeah, that’s nice. But it’s not the headline.
I’m glad for this break because it means no sneaking around and ducking cameras or pretending I’m not tracking Carter every time he walks into a room.
It means alone time. Actual alone time with him.
“Yeah,” I say, letting out a deep breath. “Bring it on.”
The bus door hisses shut behind somebody. Carter turns the corner with his hands up, and the whole bus erupts—cheers, whistles, someone banging a hand on the table.
“About fucking time,” James calls.
“Glad the rock god could grace us with his presence,” Zac adds.
“I know, I know,” Carter drawls, flicking his hair back out of his eyes. “Sorry I’m late. Had shit to do.”
His jeans sit low on his hips, his Pink Floyd tee soft and worn. He zeros in on me, and the grin that takes over his face is so fucking bright, it could probably power the bus.
He stalks straight for me and fists the hair at the back of my head, tilting my face up. His lips press softly to mine. Completely at odds with the almost-feral way he crossed the floor and his tight grip on me.
“Hi,” he breathes against my mouth.
My stomach does a slow, traitorous flip.
“Hi,” I answer.
The whites in his eyes are clearer today.
“Oof, that was hot.” Cora fans herself with her hand. “If I could move, I’d be in James’s lap so fast right now.”
James chuckles but doesn’t deny it.
Carter releases his grip, then heads to the card table to get heckled properly.
We all settle in as the bus pulls out of Milan.
Everyone’s already half comatose from the after-party and the late night.
I bailed early to give Carter time with his mates who traveled halfway around the world to see him.
I missed out on catching up with the girls properly.
But I knew I would get time to hang out with them over the next couple of days.
The PrimeTime+ crew and roadies have scattered across the city for their own downtime, everyone craving space.
The afternoon light slides warm through the tinted windows of the bus.
It has velvet seats, polished floors, and more amenities than anyone needs for a ninety-minute drive.
The hallway at the back is narrow, but it leads to a row of small sleeping pods with thick curtains and blankets that smell of hotel laundry.
I fish my camera from my bag, thumb finding the playback button.
Milan backstage scrolls past in a series of fractured moments.
The lighting had been total shit, harsh fluorescents and shadows that cut across faces at strange angles, but somehow the energy still seeps through the frames.
Sweat shining on Carter’s shoulders, Kai mid-drumstick twirl, Theo yelling at someone off-frame, Chris looming in the corner with his permanent dissatisfied face on.
I lose myself in the rhythm of it, flicking.
“Can I see?” Hailee’s already leaning across the aisle before I answer.
“Ooh, me too,” Chloe adds.
We migrate to the U-shaped booth at the front. Hailee slides in first. Chloe squeezes in beside her. Cora performs an impressive wiggle-and-angling maneuver to get her belly behind the table. She exhales triumphantly once she’s in place.
“You good?” Chloe asks, eyes wide.
Cora gives a breathy laugh. “Barely.”
Chloe groans. “Please don’t make me deliver your baby on a motorway in Italy.”
“No promises.”
I stay standing, hips pressed against the table, camera angled so they can see the display. They crowd in, heads almost touching, their reactions dropping to whispers and little gasps as each frame blinks past.
“Oh my God,” Hailee murmurs. “This one. His face.”
Cora squints. “Why does he always look like he’s coming when he hits the high notes?”
“That’s literally the point,” Chloe says, laughing softly. “Fans lose their minds over it.”
I flick to another shot, one where smoke is spiraling around Carter’s silhouette, light catching his hair so he looks almost mystical. They all inhale at once.
I laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” I say, but I get it. I do.
“These are insane, Vi.” Hailee’s eyes are wide. “Like . . . proper magazine-cover insane.”
I know. My work has been on covers before. But they don’t know that. They don’t know I’m Vega Wolfe.
Cora leans her head on Chloe’s shoulder. “You’ve caught the stuff that people don’t usually get to see,” she says quietly. “The in-between moments.”
Pride warms the back of my neck. And then my thumb slips. The gallery hops sideways into a different folder entirely. A new image jumps onto the screen. One that was never meant for anyone else’s eyes.
The sheets are rumpled around Carter’s naked waist. Just out of frame, his hand is curved over my hip.
His eyes look directly into the lens and his smile is small but real, the kind he only shows when no one is watching.
The image punches straight through me because I remember exactly how that moment felt—him looking at me like I was something he’d spent years wanting and wasn’t convinced he was allowed to keep.
I suck in a breath, too loud to hide it.
Hailee leans closer, her mouth falling open. “Holy shit, Vi . . .”
Chloe’s voice is almost reverent. “That’s . . . wow. That belongs in a gallery.”
I don’t say anything. My throat’s gone dry.
I move to swipe it away, embarrassed about showing something so personal and intimate, but a shadow falls over the table before I can escape it. Heat presses along my shoulder.
“What are you all staring at?” Carter’s voice rumbles.
Of course he shows up right at this moment.
My first instinct is to yank the camera to my chest. He’s private about the soft parts of himself, and this is . . . that. On a plate.
Instead, I angle the camera so he can see.
He completely stills.
I look over my shoulder and watch as his eyes move slowly across the image, taking in the way he’s looking at me, the whole intimacy of the moment reflected back.
He leans down until his mouth brushes the shell of my ear. His breath is warm, the words hardly move the air.
“I’ve never looked at anyone the way I’m looking at you in that picture.”
My heart misfires. My throat goes tight around a lump the size of an orange.
I haven’t cried in years, not since I learned that tears don’t fix shit, they just make your face blotchy and give people ammunition. But for a second, I’m genuinely convinced my eyes will give me away.
This is everything twelve-year-old me wanted and never thought she’d get. Everything seventeen-year-old me tried to burn out of herself. It presses into all the empty spaces, and I can feel the shape of myself changing around it.
Maybe this is what emotional growth looks like, this terrifying swell of hope that refuses to be stuffed back down, a slow realization that letting someone see me might not be the death sentence I’ve always assumed.
I blink hard, hoping the girls don’t notice.
Carter does.
He presses a slow kiss to the slope of my shoulder, teeth scraping against my skin. His hand finds my waist, fingers tugging lightly at the waistband of my jean shorts.
“What are you doing?” I murmur, glancing at him from the corner of my eye.
His eyes light up. “Free use, Storm.”
He hooks his fingers into my waistband again, eyes on mine, giving me space to say no.
I don’t.
I lift my arms above my head in silent answer.
He strips my tank top off in one smooth move, unclasping my bra with fingers that know exactly what they’re doing. The air against my bare skin makes goosebumps race over me, and his palms close over my breasts, thumbs brushing across my nipples in a slow stroke that has my knees buckling.
I’m standing in front of three women I trust, shorts and panties riding mid-thigh, socks and sneakers still on. I should feel exposed but I don’t.
I glance at them.
Hailee’s grinning, absolutely here for the show. Chloe’s smirk is a little hungry. Cora’s cheeks are pink, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she crunches on another chip.
Heat boils low in my abdomen.
“Bend over for me.” Carter sets a warm palm on my naked spine and pushes me forward.
I plant my hands on the table, fingers curling around the edge. My hair falls around my face. I hear the faint drag of denim and belt as he moves. Then he steps in close, T-shirt-covered chest against my back, the press of his mouth at the nape of my neck.
“You good?” he asks quietly, low enough that it’s just for me.
I nod, breathless. “Yeah.”
The cold brush of metal slides through my slit before the head pushes in. The stretch bites—always does—but after days without him, it’s a hot, perfect burn that tells me he’s finally home.
He drives the rest of the way in, and my eyes slam shut at how obscenely full I am. Absolutely not the moment to be thinking about this, but my brain flashes to how huge he must have gotten with that cock pump. Utter fucking insanity.
His hips snap against my ass, and I lose all ability to think.
Every single thought is erased from my mind.
I hold on tight, acutely aware of the girls only inches away from my swinging tits, all three of them getting the full show.
A quick glance sideways catches the guys, too, eyes locked on us, entertained and by the looks of it, turned on as well.
“Oh God, Carter,” I whimper.
“That’s it, Storm. Show everyone here who owns this pussy.”
He tweaks his angle, and the piercings along his cock rake over that spot inside me. My whole body jolts, everything clamping down around him.
“There we go,” he pants, driving into me again and again as I unravel in front of him—and everyone else—coming hard, shuddering with him buried deep.
He cracks his palm against my ass, and my vision sparks.
His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head up as his rhythm stutters.
“Fuck . . .” he grinds out, pushing deep and unloading in me, in three, no, four pumps.
He must’ve had quite a build-up sitting in his balls, because it gushes out of me while he works in a few slow after-thrusts.
“Goddamn,” he whispers, spent on my back, loosening his grip on my hair. I fold forward over my arms on the table, limbs heavy, forehead pressed to my crossed wrists. Hailee’s hand finds my damp hair and gently smooths it off my face.
He eases out of me and taps the back of my thigh. “Take these off. I want you naked for the rest of the trip. I’m not done with you yet.”
I straighten slowly and shimmy my shorts and underwear down, kicking them free along with my sneakers and socks. I’m dripping down my thighs, a complete mess.
He turns me to face him and hoists me up. His T-shirt’s gone, jeans hanging open at his hips. I lock my legs around his waist and drag myself along his stomach, leaving a warm, messy trail on his skin—my own private brand.
He drops onto the nearest recliner with me in his lap and kisses me hard, tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes my toes curl all over again.
Somewhere behind us, James’s voice cuts through. “Girls. Get over here.”
I smile into Carter’s kiss.
Guess we’ve started a chain reaction.