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A warm breeze wafts over my body, caressing every inch of my skin . . . including my dick and balls. And when I look down, perplexed, I realize I’ve been prancing around onstage . . . completely in the nude.
I look behind me, at the gigantic Jumbotron projecting my every movement, and, yup, there’s my naked dick, blasting out into the arena, as big as a barn. My eyes drift to Kendrick behind me at the drum kit and he guffaws at my stupidity, while not missing a beat in the song.
I turn around again, toward the audience, and discover everyone is holding up their phones, trained on me. Or, rather, trained, with sniper-like precision, on my dick. Which means, here we go again—my dong is once again about to become an internet star.
I suddenly hear Eli’s voice, screaming my name. Shit. My manager already knows about this latest fuck-up? Panicking, I look toward the wing of the stage, assuming that’s where I’ll find Eli. But the person I behold in the wings is a whole lot hotter than Eli. It’s Little Miss Laila.
Well, well, well. I knew she’d finally come crawling back to me, eventually, begging me for another ride on my pony. She’s standing in the wings, wearing that eye-popping dress from the awards show—the one that left only the tiniest sliver of flesh to the imagination. Not that I need my imagination to fill in the gaps when it comes to Laila’s gorgeous body, since I’ve already seen every glorious inch of it on the best night of my life. Every inch, that is, except her glorious pussy, up close and personal.
What did Kendrick say last week while showing me Laila’s interview on Sylvia? He said, “I think you’ve got a fish on your line, brother.” And now, hallelujah, it turns out Kendrick was right.
Laila’s blue eyes burning with sexual desire, she begins banging her fist against a nearby wall, commanding me to stop gawking at her and get my ass over to her in the wings.
“Patience,” I coo, enjoying her little tantrum. After everything Laila has put me through, I must admit I’m enjoying her obvious desperation. Taking my sweet time, I stroll languidly toward her, like I’ve got all the time in the world, like I haven’t been dying for this moment to arrive for half my life. And when I finally come to a stop mere inches from Laila, when the tip of my naked cock brushes against the sheer fabric on her belly, I physically spasm with pent-up arousal and anticipation.
I lick my lips, poised to say, “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist me forever.”
But she shuts me up by gripping my cock, the same way she did the night of the hot tub.
“Don’t speak,” she cautions. “And don’t kiss me, either. Just fuck me. Fuck me, hard, like you did in Phoenix.”
Exhaling a stilted breath, I wordlessly unzip her dress and peel it off her, until it’s in a crumpled heap at her feet. With my cock dripping, I pick her up by her glorious ass, push her back against the wall, press my aching tip against her wet entrance, and—
“Savage!”
No.
It’s my manager, Eli, again.
“Savage!” he shouts. “Open up. It’s an emergency!”
No, no, no!
All of a sudden, Laila disappears from my arms in a puff of sensuous smoke. There’s another banging sound. And then Eli’s voice rips me from my dream and into stark consciousness. I open my eyes and discover I’m not backstage in an arena, on the cusp of finally fucking Laila again. I’m in a hotel room. Naked and alone in bed, in the late morning light. Also, damn, I’m nursing one hell of a hangover.
Groaning, I rub my pained forehead—and as I do, Eli’s yelling and banging on the door persists and becomes even louder. I glance at my phone on the nightstand and curse at the time: 10:18. That’s way too early for anyone to wake me when I’m not on tour, especially the morning after Kai’s birthday party. Whatever brought Eli here, it’d better be damned important.
At the thought, goosebumps erupt on my skin. And not the good kind.
Mimi.
Quickly, I swipe into my texts, making sure I don’t have something from Sasha. And, thank God, I don’t. Exhaling with relief, I throw on a pair of underwear and shuffle to the door. And the minute I see my manager’s facial expression, I know whatever “emergency” he’s come to tell me about this morning, he’s not here to tell me the worst possible news. The news I’ve been dreading since Mimi took a turn for the worse. Which means, whatever it is, I really don’t give a fuck.
Scratching my belly, I lean against the doorjamb and yawn so wide, I’m sure Eli can glimpse the inside-bottoms of my ball sacs through my mouth. “Whatever this ‘emergency’ is,” I drawl, “it’d better be damned important. I was in the middle of an amazing dream.”
