He murmured sweet things in between sucking bites and kisses. My neck and shoulders were going to show evidence ofwhat we were doing, and I didn’t care. I welcomed it. I needed it. I would treasure every bruise and be sad when they were gone.
It took a long time, and Ville never faltered. And when I finally came, it snuck up on me from one moment to the next, my whole body locking down as I whined. When my balls were empty, Ville pulled out, stroking himself fast and hard until he shouted his release, painting my back and ass with his cum. I gave a weak chuckle as he rubbed it in.
“Done marking me?” I managed to get out, sated and still sleepy.
“Never,” he assured me as he laid down on top of me, pressing me into the mattress, the way I liked. I wanted to stay like this forever.
But time waited for no one and eventually, brunch was over and Ville, Wren, and Abigail had packed up the SUV for the trip to Denver, where they were flying out of. I kept my lips pressed tight so I wouldn’t say anything I shouldn’t, or couldn’t take back. And eventually the goodbyes were done. The promises of visits and tickets to shows made. And it was just me and Ville, standing on the porch.
It was time for him to go.
We kissed, but it was sweet. When I pulled back, Ville grabbed me again and kissed me one last time, hard and full of promise.
“I love you,” he murmured against my lips.
“I love you,” I responded, meaning it. I had to suck in a breath as he rested his forehead against mine.
It didn’t last. It was over too soon. But they were on a schedule and he had to go.
“I’ll call you when we land,” he said, pressing his face into my hair. And then he let go, and turned, walking away without looking back or another word.
I watched him get in the vehicle. Watched it turn and drive away. And I stood there on the porch long after it rounded thecurve and disappeared from sight. Only then did the tears come, not because my heart was breaking, but because I didn’t want to be without him and I knew how hard this was going to be. How often long-distance failed because it was such a challenge.
But there were success stories too. And I was determined that Ville and I would be one of them.
Demi appeared out of thin air—I hadn’t been paying attention, lost in my own thoughts, so I hadn’t seen where she’d come from—and looped her arm through mine. After a second, we both tilted our heads at the same time so our temples touched. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. She knew what was going on in my brain.
“Wanna take the babies for a ride before you have to head to work?”
I could think of nothing better. “You bet.”
Chapter 23
Ville
As relieved as I was that we’d chosen to do the long distance thing, the relief didn’t help with the pain of driving away from him.
We didn’t even get off the long driveway before Wren said, “Ville, pull over.”
He was sitting in the back and I immediately did as I was told. Abi, who sat next to him, got out of the SUV.
She came to open the driver’s door and gave me a sad look. “I’m driving.”
For a moment I was confused, then I opened my mouth to protest, before closing it again. I took off my seat belt, grabbed my phone, and got out. I switched seats with her, and strapped myself back in, this time next to Wren.
He took hold of my hand and said nothing. We’d been driving for about fifteen minutes when the tears started to fall down myface, and Wren moved to sit in the middle. He gently pulled my arm until I leaned my head on his shoulder, then handed me a tissue. Chuckling wetly, I cleaned my face, closed my eyes, and used the drive to the private air strip trying to collect myself. I was partially successful.
When we were in the air, flying toward Nashville, I put my feelings back where they belonged and started a meeting with Abi and Wren to sort out his schedule for the coming week.
We hit the ground running, which meant that I had barely time to message Emery every day. I did it, but calls and video calls fell through before they had time to start. It made me feel shitty, but I was just simply too tired to do anything but fall asleep to the sound of him telling me about his day.
Once Wren went into the studio, a nice private one on a fellow country artist’s property outside Nashville, I had more downtime. Of course my days were still filled with making last minute plans for the promotion cycle and the tour, but I could sit down with a beer every now and then, too.
One evening, about three weeks since I’d left Emery standing on that porch, he called me as I walked around the bike path that looped around the property.
“Hey, sugar,” he said, sounding tired but happy.
“Hey, baby. How are you feeling?” I asked, smiling just because I was hearing his voice.
