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I pinched her chin between my forefinger and thumb, forcing her to look at me. “None of that now. We’re way past all of that shyness.”
I pulled her in for a kiss.
“That was interesting,” she said, her face turning all shades of pink. “It’s been a while”—she gulped—“since I last had an orgasm that was induced by a man.”
I squeezed her ass. “We’ll make sure there’s not a long span in between this and the next one.”
Our eyes locked, and for a moment, I was stunned into silence. If I were a stupid emoji, there would be hearts in my eyes.
“I think I might have a crush on you.”
Her smile was breathtaking, but the moment was short-lived when there was a swift knock on the door that had Sydney basically jumping off my lap.
A tall, broad, bald guy poked his head in and did a sweep of the room before Hawke Calvin, the lead singer of Def Deception, entered the suite.
Her eyes went wide, and she squeed as though she were going to have a heart attack and possibly turn fangirl on him and make him sign her boobs.
Meanwhile, my insides heated with a jealousy I’d never really experienced before. This guy had just walked in the room, but I, on the other hand, had just given her a mind-blowing orgasm, and he somehow got a better reaction.
I was surprised they were coming in before their performance.
“Austin Callaway, from the Chicago Tigers.” Hawke walked in with an entourage of people—the band, his guards, his groupies. “I’m a big fan.”
“Likewise.” When I snaked an arm around Sydney’s shoulders, I wondered who the hell I was and what I was turning into. I was claiming her in front of him and the others. And I didn’t think I’d ever done that before. I wasn’t the type of guy to get jealous, not normally.
The groupies and other band members made their way to the buffet, which I was fine with. What I wasn’t fine with was them looking Sydney up and down, smiling at her, asking her what her favorite song was.
She oozed schoolgirl crush. “My very first concert was when I went to see you my senior year of high school. I was with my mom and sisters.”
“So, you’re an old fan,” Hawke said, lighting up a cigarette, though I was pretty sure you couldn’t smoke indoors.
“I am.” Sydney giggled. Fucking giggled.What the hell?
My good arm tightened around her.
“Are you enjoying the show so far?” Hawke asked, grinning at Sydney as though he were God Almighty.
And I knew—yes, I knew—how petty this sounded. I had been the one to suggest the concert. I had wanted to take her, show her off, spoil her. I was the one who had paid a fucking fortune so she could meet these douche bags, and here I was, acting like a jealous chump.
Okay, so maybe they weren’t douche bags. They were rock stars. I got it. But they could go be rock stars somewhere else. Maybe I shouldn’t have paid for the full VIP treatment.
“I love the show,” Sydney gushed. “Taylor, Rolling Guns, Jim Thompson. All the biggest and hottest acts are here.”
Sydney was dripping with excitement, and for a tiny moment, I wanted to be a rock star, so I could vie for her attention.
“I gotta get back to the show. We’re up in an hour.” He tipped his chin toward his bodyguard. “Tilton …” The massive bald male handed Sydney a bag, and Hawke said, “It’s got our latest CD and shirts and stuff.”
She took it within her hands as though it were worth more than the cash she had in her purse.
“Do you also want a picture?” He inhaled deeply and blew a puff of smoke in the air.
I swore her smile could not get any wider. “I’d love a picture.”
When she took a step away from me, all my muscles tightened. Sydney handed her phone to the bodyguard, and I stepped into her.
“Hey, I want a picture too.”Chump.
Hawke was on one side of her, and I was on the other. His arm was draped around her waist, and so was mine, damn it.
