Page 172 of The Comedown

While I’m carefully dismounting his cock by shifting my knees to the table one at a time, a dollop of his cum falls out of me on to his lower abdomen. Using two fingers, Julian scoops it up, and with an arm around my back, he draws me into his chest, making my torso arch toward him. The fingers with the cum tease my folds before he pushes both digits between them, then without further prompting, my body starts rocking into his palm. His semi-erect cock is slick against my ass crack, bookending me with hot, wet, continuous stimulation.

“I love you,” spills out of him again and again as our noses bump into each other from the deliberately slow motion, then he switches it up, saying, “I’m getting it reversed.”

“What…” I pant as his fingers curve, massaging my clit from the inside.

“My vasectomy. I’m getting it reversed after the tour. Imma fill you with all the babies you want.”

“Julian,” I warn, the familiar inferno ramping up inside me just waiting to explode.

He increases the pressure, whispering, “Imma give you everything you want,” against my parted lips, and my entire lower half seizes up, my pussy muscles clamping around his fingers like a vise as I come on his hand.

After a long, searing kiss, Julian rasps, “My queen.” Then he helps get us cleaned up and dressed again.

By the time Finley returns, we’re in a similar position to the one he left us in with me sitting on top of Julian, our hands restless as we smile into each other’s eyes. Our bodies are marked now—forever—and they’re done being denied connection.

This tour didn’t just change me; Julian did.

His love did.

Julian

“You seen Collette anywhere?” I ask a passing roadie carrying a tote box, but he just shakes his head.

I stop to look back at where I just came from, scanning the faces now filling the hallway.

Where’d she go?

Shit’s been crazy around here lately. When we’re not onstage, we’re prepping for The Mousais, and when we’re not prepping for The Mousais, we’re talking about them. We’ve had meetings around the clock because every tiny detail has to be discussed and agreed on before being discussed and agreed on again. There’s no room for fuckups on live TV, at least not on The Mousais’ watch. Collette and I have had to deal with photo shoots, video shoots, interviews, rehearsals…all while still traveling and performing our regular sets for The Family Julez Tour. I just got done recording the piano melody of the song we’re performing on The Mousais since I won’t be playing it live. They don’t want us to just do what we’ve been doing, they want us to do something else entirely. So unfortunately, me and Collette making out on the piano’s out.

We’ve barely had any time to ourselves which is why I’m looking for her now, to squeeze in a few minutes together before tonight’s final concert.

As insane as all this has been, I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.

I finish off my Jell-O, tossing the cup into a trash can as I head toward the dressing rooms, in case she’s already in hair and makeup. Instead of barging right in though, I end up hesitating outside the closed door. What if she’s talking to Holter? They FaceTime every day, sometimes twice a day, and as much as I wish I could hop on and catch up with him, too, I try to give Collette all uninterrupted time with him as possible. He is her son, even if…I mean, I wish…

I miss him, too.

I lift my hand to knock only to freeze when I hear her voice—I’d recognize it anywhere—except it’s not coming from her dressing room. It’s coming from…

A quick glance in both directions of the hall, then I’m following her voice like a sailor would a siren’s.

The locker room?

I’m leaning against the wall just outside the locker room, listening to her fucking belt Lady Gaga’s part in “Shallow” while trying to keep my shit together. Even after all this time, performing with her night after night, her voice still slays me dead.

Some things are unavoidable, like hurricanes in August and peas tasting like shit. Me loving Collette with everything I got falls under the same inevitable category. It was always gonna happen, it just took a while for me to wrap my head around completely. The only other women I’ve ever loved, died, and I didn’t want to risk that. I still don’t. But there’s a reason why we met, and I’m pretty fucking sure that reason’s fate. We’re destined to be together.

Fuck. It’s still crazy to believe. I’m in love with The Collette and she’s in love with me. Now that I’ll admit might’ve had more to do with luck than fate, considering she’s way outta my league.

Her voice trembles, so I push my body off the wall, joining in with Bradley Cooper’s part of the shared post-chorus. My voice isn’t as croaky as his, but I pull it off as I enter the locker room, dueting with my queen.

Collette’s lying on the floor of the large shower space, her back arched off the tiles as she sings for her motherfucking life. Her open eyes catch on mine as soon as I round the corner, and I see they’re fucking full of built-up emotion.

What are you doing, Poohbear?

She hits every goddamn note of the bridge and chorus, then we finish it out together with a repeat of the post-chorus.

I fall to my knees beside her, dropping my forehead to her stomach, inhaling her sweet peony scent until my lungs ache. She never lights the candle on her bus, just keeps the lid off, so she always smells like it.