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Fuck.
I try washing away everything—the post tour exhaustion, how weird and different everything is, all my thoughts of tasting and teasing Piper—in the shower.
The water pounds my back and neck enough to relax most of my muscles.
Not so much my cock.
The warm embrace of the shower is the closest thing I get to being high now. I don't miss the drugs, not exactly. But I do miss that safe, comfortable feeling of a good opiate high.
Like I'm exactly where I belong.
Like I fit in the world.
Like everything is gonna be okay.
There are only two things that compare— getting on stage and fucking a beautiful woman.
I could get out of this shower and text any number of booty calls to come over. Don't have to get dressed or say please or reciprocate.
But that doesn't fucking appeal.
Piper's sweet smile and her warm body against mine—that fucking appeals.
Her big blue eyes filled with pleasure—
Her lips parting with a groan—
Her hair in my hands as I come inside her—
Fuck.
I haven't been this hard in a long, long time.
I haven't wanted sex that was more than a physical release in a long, long time.
I wrap my hand around my cock and I stop trying to push away how badly I want her. My head fills with thoughts of Piper's soft body under mine.
Of her blue eyes filled with pleasure.
Of her teeth sinking into her lips.
Fuck, I come so fast it's embarrassing.
By the time I'm dried off, I'm on edge. Doesn't help that I've only got a towel wrapped around my waist. It would be easy to get her back here, to get her in my bed, to get her coming on my face.
I don't usually wear pajamas when I'm alone, but I do wear them nights we stay on the bus. Otherwise, I don't hear the end of
it.
Those things are still on the damn bus.
Shit, must have a pair of boxers around here somewhere. I dig through my drawer for twenty minutes. No boxers. But there is something in my bottom drawer, hidden in the pocket of my old leather jacket.
A prescription bottle.
My prescription bottle.
My Oxy.
