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Prologue

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Aran

I slam back against the wall, a shudder ripping through my body. Ben cups my face with both hands, pressing his body to mine, and devours me with a fierce kiss.

A rush of electricity shoots through my veins—I’m so fucking turned on. I reach under his shirt and find his nipples, pinching them.

The man is pure sex.

“That was absolute torture,” he groans into my mouth, his fingers sliding down my sides before gripping my ass hard.

I spin us around and pin him against the wall.

“One last after-party and this tour is finally over.” I kiss his neck, lingering on the tattoo under his left ear—a star with a crescent moon inside it. “Have you decided where we’re going after?”

“The options you gave me aren’t making it easy,” he says with a sigh, fisting my sweat-damp T-shirt.

“Mexico?” I brush my lips softly over his Adam’s apple and along his throat. “Or Costa Rica?”

“Why don’t we do a week in Mexico, then a week in Costa Rica?”

I laugh and nibble on his earlobe. “Leslie’s gonna lose her shit. She already booked the studio. And she never lets us forget we’re still contractually obligated to play five more shows. She’s already planning some post-tour special.”

“Sounds like your manager’s got you on a tight leash,” Ben moans, knees nearly buckling as I keep teasing that sensitive spot under his ear.

I slide my hand into his pants and wrap my fingers around his hard cock. “Fuck… Ever since I left the stage, I haven’t been able to think about anything else.”

Ben chuckles, a sound that floods me with warmth. “I noticed,” he says with a satisfied smile, running his fingers through my messy hair. “You were so hot up there tonight. I saw it in your eyes. That hunger. You know how hard it is for me to wait when you look like that?”

“You guys insisted on playing your set first.” I grin, staring into his dark green eyes. His pupils are blown wide—just like mine—and I can see the same high burning in them. I stroke his lightly stubbled cheek and tuck a bleached lock behind his ear. “I’m gonna fuck you all night.”

“Maybe only half the night,” he teases, palming my dick through my jeans. “I’ll take the other half. But first I gotta piss.”

I step back and let him through. “Too bad you’re not into golden showers.”

“Cover me in as much cum as you want, but your piss belongs in the toilet,” I answer, laughing.

As soon as Ben disappears into the bathroom, I drop onto the massive sectional, pour myself a glass of Johnnie Walker, and cut a line. This is already our third night in Warsaw, and we’ve taken over the suite.

Used glasses, dirty plates, and half-empty liquor bottles are scattered everywhere. The “Do Not Disturb” sign has been hanging on the door since check-in. I especially love the nighttime view—the Palace of Culture is just a few blocks away and looks incredible lit up.

I lean forward, snort the line, and fireworks explode in my skull. I chase it with a big gulp of whiskey and wipe my nose just as Ben’s phone vibrates on the glass coffee table.

We agreed to turn our phones off after the shows. It’s the only way we get any real time alone.

Maybe he forgot.

A quick glance at the screen stops me cold.

Dallas.

I tilt the phone a little, squinting through the haze, convinced I’m hallucinating. But no—there it is. Dallas.

My good mood evaporates. I sit frozen on the couch, half-full glass in hand, trying to form a coherent thought while everything spins. A dark fog rolls in, swallowing anything still screaming for partying and fucking.

The bathroom door clicks open, snapping me back. The screen goes black again, letting me finally blink. I down the rest of the whiskey in one burning swallow.