“Haven’t seen you much today. Everything okay?”
Court’s hand lands on my waist, his thumb brushing the slip of skin that peeks out on my midriff between my shirt and mini-skirt. I squirm at the contact.
Sensation overwhelms me because if this can happen to me with just a soft stroke of his thumb, what would happen if…
I tamp down my insane and sudden visions of the three of us in bed together and clear my throat.
“Oh yeah, everything’s fine. I was running around just doing my job, so Rye’s performance goes off without a hitch tonight.”
Court’s large, hard body presses against my backside and sweet baby, Jesus, he’s sporting a massive erection. In a move that seems ever so casual and would go undetected by anyone looking right now, Court leans over my shoulder, his arm extended, picking up an apple from the fruit basket.
My pussy clenches tight at the contact of him. He brings the apple to his mouth as I peer over my shoulder, watching him take a bite and chew, the juice from the crisp fruit dripping on his chin. Without thought, I lift my hand and wipe off the remnants with the tip of my finger. His eyes flare and his grip on my waist tightens just a fraction.
Court leans in closer, his rich baritone rumble in my ear, as he says, “We’d like you to go off without a hitch tonight, too.”
Oh dear. Molten heat spreads through me, dampening my panties as I press my thighs together to rid myself of the sudden ache taking up residence there.
I try to speak, but it comes out parched and weak. “I need to grab a drink.”
Spinning away on my heels, I move toward the ice-filled bin of bottled drinks, of various alcoholic and non-alcoholic varieties. I’d normally go for a Coke but decide to douse this heat inside me with a nice cold beer.
Not missing a beat, Court swipes the bottle from my hand, and using his teeth, he bites off the cap before handing it back to me, turning to spit the aluminum cap into the garbage.
“That’s – wow, I’ve never actually seen anyone do that in real life.”
Court just chuckles and gives me an amused smirk. Of the two men, Court definitely smiles less. Which is odd to me, because from what I know of the two stepbrothers, it was Court who had the easier life.
Rye had been put into foster care when he was six and adopted by Court’s parents at age eleven. It was a widely known biographical story, and one that every journalist who interviewed Rye was always fascinated with because it made great headlines. It was especially unique because Rye, being a white kid from drug-addicted parents, was adopted by a black family.
Not unheard of, but certainly an interesting twist on the adoption story. And clearly made even bigger because Rye became a huge country rock star.
Court arches a salaciously wicked eyebrow. “You should see what other things I can do with my mouth.”
My jaw drops to the floor, my brain addled with conflicting emotions. I’ve never heard Court talk this way before. As Rye’s manager, Court is the studious, rational and always professionally composed of the two of them. He’s always spoken eloquently, bluntly and never displayed even a hint of emotion. In fact, I didn’t even know he had feelings. He’s the Tin Woodman in the Wizard of Oz. All brains and brawn, but no heart.
But now? He’s blowing my mind with his filthy suggestive comments. And I love it. It’s a completely different side of Court than I’ve ever seen. I knew he was smart, but who knew he was just plain wickedly dirty, too?
I choke out a cough. “I’d like to see that.”
I return a sexy smile over my shoulder as I head toward the side stage, awaiting Rye’s arrival. He’ll be coming out with his bandmates in just about ten minutes. Court follows me, ambling along like nothing is amiss. Like he hasn’t just spoken suggestively to me or pressed his raging hard-on into my backside.
If he’s surprised by my response, it doesn’t show. He simply sidles up next to me, picking a grape from my plate and plucking it into his mouth. I turn to give him a disgruntled look, but stop as he stares down at me, then brushes my crazy wild curls behind my shoulder.
“I like watching your excitement during a show. You’re so beautiful and genuinely love the music.”
His compliment is sweet and kind, but it doesn’t diminish from the lustful gaze in his eyes.
“Thank you. This is definitely one of the perks of the job,” I admit, staring up at Court, who stands with his shoulders straight, proud and tall.
He’s a warrior in a tailored suit. A show biz manager. Brother. Friend. Lover.
Not my lover, yet. I remind myself.
He bends down, brushing the barest of kisses at the side of my neck, sending a jolt of sensual heat down my spine.
And then he whispers, “There are so many other perks if you want to take us up on them.”
The lights turn off, producing a collective gasp from the audience of hushed excitement, and then a rush of movement to the side of us, as Rye runs out to the middle of the stage, grabbing the mic just as the lights go back up to cheers and applause.
