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Maxim hears me ask the question, though. He slides his hand into Emma’s and slows their pace, frowning at Olivia over his shoulder. “Livvy, is everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” she says as unconvincingly as I’ve ever heard her say anything. She brings her gaze to his and shrugs. “I just got the strangest feeling that we were being watched. Anyone else feel it?”
Emma and I shake our heads, but Maxim’s frown deepens. “I’ve been feeling it on and off since the bus dropped us off. Do you think it’s anything to be worried about?”
“Probably not, but let’s just make sure no one walks back on their own tonight, okay? The parents should be back at the B&B, so I’ll just pop in and tell my dad that Ash and Jay are home before we head out. Then we’ll go do our pub crawl and all come back together when we’re done.”
I want to argue, but I don’t because the chances of Maxim and Olivia getting that feeling at the same time when they haven’t even talked are slim to none if there isn’t some kind of reason for it.
Which means we’re being watched. No one else knew what we were doing tonight except for Mike, but it’s possible that he put bodyguards on us to watch from afar but stay out of our way. Since that’s the least creepy explanation, it’s the one I’m choosing to believe for now.
When we finally get back to the B&B hours later, all thoughts about us possibly having been followed have disappeared from my mind. All I know is that I’m still so turned on that I can’t think straight.
We did go on our pub crawl, but then we went dancing, and Olivia has really gotten the hang of it. After earlier on the bus and then spending a couple hours watching her move, I’m teetering on a knife’s edge, likely to combust spontaneously if I don’t just give in and do something about it.
After shutting and locking my door, I start shedding my clothes. I don’t give a damn if I should be doing it or not; I’m doing it. I’m not even halfway across the room yet when I’m naked, my cock already as hard as the tiles in the bathroom I’m headed toward.
It’s throbbing and aching, my tip already covered in pre-cum, when I step into the shower cubicle and turn on the water. Without even waiting for it to get warm, I brace my hand against the wall and wrap the other around my shaft, groaning in relief as soon as I touch myself.
Memories of the night rush through my mind as I start stroking, and I’m not gentle or taking it slow. Fuck that. I need to come. Now.
Thinking about the way her body moved on that dance floor and felt pressed up against mine on the bus, I moan and pump my dick even faster. I won’t even try to lie or pretend it’s not true. I’m desperate, and I’m on my way to the orgasm I’ve been craving for hours now.
Hell, longer than hours. Weeks. I’m so hard I could hammer nails into a brick wall with my damn cock, and as I imagine what she’d look like if she was moving on top of me while I was buried so deep in her virginal fucking pussy that neither of us would know where the one started and other ended, I lose it.
The climax that thunders through me is so fucking amazing that I can’t keep quiet. Instead, I growl her name as my come shoots out of me, leaving me shaky and drained once I’m done. Holy shit. My head is spinning and it takes me much longer than usual to recover, and I know it’s because of her. Because I just got off to the last girl I ever thought I would and the only girl I want right now… but also the one I can never have.
11
VINCENT
“It’s sunset in the city of love, and you’re screaming at me.” I wave a hand toward the Eiffel fucking Tower in front of us. “Seriously, you’re disrupting innocent holidaymakers and lovestruck honeymooners. Just go back to the hotel, and I’ll meet you there when I’m done.”
“No, and I’m not screaming,” she insists stubbornly, her foot tapping on the sidewalk and her hands planted firmly on her hips. “We’re being followed, Vincent. Listen to me, please. We’re being followed. We should just forget about the party and go back to the hotel together.”
“No.” I echo the word just as stubbornly. “It’s my parents’ anniversary, and they haven’t had a party to celebrate it for years. They deserve to have their marriage celebrated, and besides, the tour has taken a turn for the boring. Outside of that one day in Dublin, I’m always stuck working, and I’m over it. Plus, the fans have been hounding me for some interesting behind-the-scenes information, and this party will make them, my parents, and myself happy. Won’t that be something? Me making my parents happy for once. We’re doing it. End of story.”
“A party right now is not a good idea,” she argues, fingernails turning white from how hard she’s gripping those curvy hips of hers.
“We’re not having the party right now,” I counter. “We’re having it tonight, after the show, and a party is always a good idea.”
“Not when you decide to have one on a whim and we have to race against the clock to get everything we need in time.”
“No one asked you to come,” I remind her forcefully. “You insisted on coming with me from the moment you found out I was planning on leaving the hotel. I could’ve been done already if we didn’t have to stop to argue about it every five minutes.”
“Vincent,” she practically growls but cuts herself off to look over her shoulder again.
“That’s it. Enough is enough. You’re making me paranoid for no good reason, constantly looking over our fucking shoulders. You refuse to let me check in or send any social updates in real time, and now you’re even interrupting the fucking argument about it. For what? It’s for nothing. That’s what. There’s no one following us. There’s no bad guy after me, Olivia. Just go back to the hotel, for God’s sake, don’t tell anyone about thesurpriseparty, and let me do my thing.”
When she opens her mouth again, I shake my head. “No. We’re not doing this. You’re acting like a psycho, and you’re dragging me into your crazy. I can’t take it anymore.”
“There is a bad guy out there, and he’s pretty darn angry with you,” she retorts. “Have you checked any of the emails I’ve sent you about that fan in the last week? He’s getting more and more hostile, demanding you reply to him, and threatening to do something that will get your attention if you won’t give it to him. How is that ‘nothing?’”
“Because he’s a troll.” I’m not yelling, but I’m getting pretty close to it. “You, your dad, and Maxim are all freaking out about some douche who probably lives in his mother’s basement and has unfulfilled dreams of being a rockstar.”
“That makes no sense,” she grumbles, her voice laced with frustration. “If he wanted to be a rockstar, he’d be stalking one of the band members, not you.”
“He’s not stalking me, and I’m both younger and prettier than the band, so maybe he wishes he could be a rockstar’s kid. The point, however, is that he’s not dangerous. He’s bored, and frankly, I can relate.”
