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I hastily pull on my jeans and buckle my belt after cleaning up—something that used to take much longer to accomplish, but I can now do in under a minute. I’ve had a lot of practice.
When I look up, Ash’s pants are back on, and that beautiful flush hasn’t faded from his face. People will think it’s because he’s overheated from the show. Little do they know he’s red, hot, bothered, and out of breath because of me.
I walk to the door hurriedly. I don’t like making fans wait, even if it’s on Ash’s account. Before I reach the door, he tugs at my hand and whirls me around and into his chest. He places his hands on either side of my face and kisses me deeply, consuming my lips and devouring my soul before we break apart.
I kiss his forehead. “I’m getting payback later tonight.”
Ash smirks at me and says, “I highly doubt that.”
Then, he opens the door, and we rush right back out onto the stage with our bandmates like we didn’t just fuck like horny teenagers.
My favorite part of the encore is when Ash falls into the pit. He does it at almost every show—aside from the venues that are too small—and the crowd sings the chorus with him as he’s carried to the back of the room. From there, he rounds back to the stage and screams at the top of his lungs into the mic like his life depends on it.
The only sound that is sweeter is when I’m the one making him scream like that.
