As if she’s reading my mind, Emma smiles up at me. “Third time’s a charm, right?”
I break out laughing, then sweep her up and into my arms before walking quickly down the hall to my bedroom.
“Third, fourth, fifth, forever baby.”
I take her straight through to my en suite before setting her down on her feet in front of my giant shower. I’ve got plans for the wide stone bench and multiple showerheads.
“Why are we having a shower?” she asks, an adorably confused frown on her face. I kiss between her brows in a gesture that is almost too sweet for the dirty things I plan to do to her.
“Our first shower together didn’t end the way I wanted it to. I want a redo.”
Her eyes darken with understanding and she steps into the large stall before turning and reaching her hand out to me.
“Sounds good to me.”
I follow her in and immediately crowd her against one wall. The hot water is pounding down on us from all angles and steam quickly fills the air as I kiss her until we’re both breathless and panting. I guide her back to the bench, and as soon as she sits down, I drop to my knees. The stone floor is hard on my knees, but any discomfort disappears the second my tongue hits her skin. I lick and swirl and suck her skin, dancing around her clit but never landing on it, until her cries echo, bouncing off the walls of the shower. Her fingers are tangled in my wet hair, tightly enough to sting in a way that turns me on more than I thought it would.
“Nash, please. God, just, please.” Her begging gives way to gasps and moans as I give her what she wants. Two fingers slide in and out of her heat as my mouth closes over her swollen clit. She detonates around me, her legs squeezing my head and her core clenching around my fingers. I keep it up, unrelenting until I feel her body relax. Only then do I kiss my way back up her body, taking a moment to lavish attention on her breasts before I finally reach her mouth. She slides her way up to standing, kissing me deeply.
“That’s what I wanted to do last time,” I growl against her mouth. Her eyes are closed but she smiles and tips her head back so I can kiss her neck.
“You better have a condom this time,” she says, her voice sliding over me like silk. I chuckle.
“I do.” Then I thump my head against her shoulder. “But they’re all in the other room. Fuck.”
Her peals of laughter fill the room, and soon I’m laughing, too.
“Seriously, Nash. When are you going to learn to just stash condoms everywhere we might go?” she teases, and I grin at the insinuation behind those words.
“Sorry. How about I make it up to you in the bedroom, and then we can figure out where else in the apartment we need to leave them. I think the process might require some hands-on research.”
“I hope you bought a lot of them.”
Christ, she’s perfect.
Chapter nine
Emma
You never truly realize how blinding camera flashes are until you’re faced with a wall of them going off at once.
Stepping out of a limo and into the arms of the man I love never gets old, even after several months of it. Nash’s smile is for me and me alone, even if the media is there to capture it. Tonight is the American Music Awards and Nash was nominated for Album of the Year. He’s nervous, even though I’m confident he will win. So confident, we made a bet early this evening. If he wins, we’re having celebratory sex in the limo on the way home. If he doesn’t, we’re having consolation sex in the limo on the way home.
It’s a win-win situation for both of us, really.
We sit through the first half of the show, his hand clutching mine and his knee bouncing. Then he and the guys hit the stage to perform, and if I didn’t know better, I would never guess that he’s nervous. Nash is the ultimate performer, singing a new song from their album that he wrote while we were on vacation together in Tahiti in the fall. It’s about second chances, and he said it’s inspired by us. Never in my wildest dreams would I have envisioned sitting at the AMA’s, watching my boyfriend perform a chart-topping song that was written about me.
But here I am. And tonight, we’ll go back to our hotel room together. Then tomorrow we’ll fly home to Vancouver. I moved in with Nash about two months after we started dating. Was it fast? Yes. Was it right? Also yes.
When he returns to his seat beside me, Nash is much calmer. Performing always does that to him; it centers and grounds him in a powerful way. He leans over and kisses me chastely on the cheek, but his hand is dangerously high up on my leg, his pinky brushing close to my core.
“Nash, unless you want the world to see me get all hot and bothered, I suggest you stop,” I whisper out of the side of my mouth, covering his hand with mine and moving it to a more appropriate location. He just smirks but doesn’t try to move his hand back.
Half an hour later, it’s time for Album of the Year to be announced. Nash sits up straighter, and his hand holds mine tightly. Tonight is a huge deal for him, and I know that if he doesn’t win, he’ll be devastated, even if just getting nominated is incredible.
Secretly I think that the fact that one of Nash’s best friends in the industry is presenting the award is a sign that he’ll win. And I’m proven correct when the presenter opens the envelope, and his eyes zero in on Nash with a wide grin.
“And the winner of Album of the Year is…Dirt Roadsby Nash Parker!”
