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“Need anything else?” he asked.
“Nope. I’m good.”
“Glad we had this talk.”
“Sure,” I said.
I stalked back up to the house and made for my bed. I passed out face first, ready to sleep off this entire day. I slipped in and out of sleep for what felt like ages, but when my stomach woke me up with hunger the sun hadn’t even set. I rolled back out of bed and went downstairs to rummage around in the fridge for something to eat. I fixed myself a sandwich and felt the urge to sit outside, so I headed for the porch and opened the door.
But when I did, I saw a gaggle of girls giggling at my gate.
They were pretty far away, but it was enough to ruin the mood. The wonderful town of Nashville had listed my house on its fun little tour stop list. Now, every fucking person in the world could just drive by my ranch without any fucking repercussions whatsoever. They could stand at my damn fence and take pictures, ogle over my property, and bargain for a few more minutes to see if I would walk out onto my porch.
And the moment I did, they always started screaming.
I backtracked into the house and went up to my room. It was the only place in the house where the screaming didn’t penetrate the walls. I slammed my door behind me and sucked down my sandwich, hardly tasting it as I shuffled toward my closet. I reached for the shelving unit above my clothes and grabbed a beer, then brought it down and opened it with the palm of my hand.
Guzzling it, not caring that it was warm, I washed the sandwich down as I made my way to bed.
I was trapped.
Trapped in the home I’d grown up in and the place I was supposed to be able to seek solace. A place that was supposed to be safe for my sister and be a home to comfort me after tours. A place that held so many memories with Shannon and Ava before the accident. So many jokes, so many stories, and so many moments of laughter filled the walls of this house.
Before that fucking accident.
Before they died.
Before everything fell apart.
I was trapped in the one place that should always be safe. It was the one place every hard-working man should be able to walk into and hang up his hat. The one place that should put a smile on his face. With a good woman in the kitchen and kids to keep him warm on the couch. Family to come bustling in with more food than a man would ever be able to stomach, and enough sweet tea to last a lifetime.
That was what a home was supposed to be. Not some prison to keep me cut off from the world.
The only thing I had to help me relax was my beer.
And I figured another one wouldn’t hurt.
CHAPTER 12
Delia
If I closed my eyes I could see him, feel him leaning forward to kiss me. I could feel his arms. I could feel his muscles twitching underneath my fingertips. Had I just let all of my rules go, I would’ve had him. I would’ve known what it felt like to have a man between my thighs. I could’ve eased my ache with his body had I just pulled him into my apartment.
But no. We had to be interrupted.
I had already had to masturbate to the thought of him. Slamming the door in his face did nothing to quell the want that had surged through my body. It was dripping down my thighs as I spread my legs for my hands, moaning his name and writhing on the couch. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough just to see him. To imagine him.
I wanted to feel him, to feel his muscles against me and underneath my tongue. I wanted him to open my eyes to the world of sex, no matter what that meant. I wanted that beautiful, broken man. I came to him twice that day. Twice to the memory of feeling of his tongue raking against the roof of my mouth.
But now I had to see him. Now, I had to talk with him. I had to follow behind his damn tour bus and stay in a hotel across the hall from him, all the while trying to deny the fact that I wanted him, even though he’d already caught me once in the act. God the look in his eyes that night. They were hungry.
He showed up in my dreams. My mind concocted all of these scenarios that left me breathless every time I jerked myself awake. I saw him taking me on that balcony, my body turned out for the world. I saw him taking me on my couch, his face planted between my thighs. I woke up moaning his name, feeling my body shaking and contracting like his cock was buried deep inside me.
But he wasn’t there. My mind was so focused on him that it was conjuring his aura around me. Like a ghost or a phantom residue I couldn’t scrub from my skin.
I got out of bed and readied myself for the day. I took as cold of a shower as I could manage, but it didn’t do anything to stop the pulsing of my clit. I flipped the water back to warm and slid my fingers between my folds, feeling myself already dripping at the thought of him. I closed my eyes as I slid to the shower floor, my conditioner dripping down my face. I bucked into my hand as my fingers pressed into my aching clit and I imagined his tongue there. His tongue that had so languidly licked my mouth.
Oh, the things that tongue could do between my legs.
