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No one had ever sparked this bright, bustling feeling in my chest before. I’d known since the moment I saw her backstage that I wanted her—fuck, I’d wanted her for so much longer—but I only then realized that I needed her.
That frenzy went beyond the triumph of a boyhood dream to sleep with his popstar crush. Before Diana, the thought of caring for anyone scared the shit out of me, but realizing how easy it was with her made me want to scream victoriously at the top of my lungs from the highest peak on earth.
By dawn, I’d finished my frantic new piece of music. I sat at my piano practicing the words and notes while praying to a god I didn’t believe in that Diana would return for work.
She never showed.
At midday, I got an email from her manager Damien that she intended to work from home for the rest of the contract. The crushing weight of that development sent me reeling.
My limbs moved sluggishly, and my brain functions reduced. Hours of not eating or sleeping barreled toward me. The empty ache in my chest where my heart used to be worsened the severe exhaustion slowing me down.
Lethargic, I climbed the stairs to my private quarters above the studio. When I flopped onto the black sheets of the bed, my conciseness slipped away. Dreams invaded my head the moment I hit the pillow.
Diana returned to me in the land of sleep. Naked and smiling with a halo of golden light surrounding her. Thick waves of her purple hair cascaded around her shoulders and over her breasts.
When I reached for her, I remained frozen, unable to move in my dream. But Diana could.
The dream version of her swayed forward, enticing my sight to the curve of her hips and the softness of her thighs. Despite being unable to move, my dick throbbed painfully.
Glowing and ethereal, Diana paused before me. She grabbed my face and pulled me in for a kiss that felt like a hot whisper while I slept. I wished it was real, and I longed for her sweet mouth again.
Then she withdrew, blinking up at me with those dangerous jade eyes. Her little tongue darted out over her bottom lip, enticing and wickedly inviting. And she dropped to her knees at my feet.
Her wet, hot mouth pulled my cock over her tongue, stroking me expertly. My head fell back, and a groan of delight flew past my lips.
“That’s it baby, come for me.” But that wasn’t Diana’s voice.
My eyes flared open, and the reality of the dream shifted. Instead of bright golden light embracing me in warmth and love, everything morphed into dark, vicious crimson.
Slick heat moved on my cock, and I looked up. Now flat on my back, a woman rode my cock with her head flung back in ecstasy.
She moaned loudly—too loud and too performative, as if the act of making love was just that—an act.
And when she glanced down, dark red hair swayed over her shoulders.
“Yes, baby, yes!” she screamed.
Scarlett.
“No. No. No. Not you!” I jerked upright, tangled in shadows and sheets. Sweat coated my forehead, and my breath sawed out of me.
I lifted a trembling hand to swipe at my temples. When I kicked the bedsheet from my legs, an odd dampness in my jeans caught my attention. My hand dropped to the front of my pants.
I kicked my legs off the bed and strolled into the adjoining bathroom. A white licked flicked on, revealing the stain in the wall-to-wall mirror. “Fucking hell. No!”
Stripping down, I discarded my clothes as if they burned. Disgust flushed through me from the unsavory wet dream. More guilt tainted my insides.
I showered and scrubbed my skin raw, as if it might erase the dream–the nightmare–from memory. Thinking of Scarlett like that sickened me and climaxing in my dreams because of it enraged me.
Before the sun vanished today, I needed to get to Diana again. I’d throw myself on my hands and knees and beg her for forgiveness. I had to apologize and regain her trust before I lost her forever.
Twenty-Four
Shadows on the horizon followed me through the city during my drive to Diana’s house. Outside, the burnt orange sunset faded to black, surrounding me in darkness. Upon arriving, I sat in the driveway white-knuckling my steering wheel until my fingers ached, hardening my resolution.
Despite my selfish desire to take her on tour with me and show her off to the entire world, I hadn’t taken her trauma into consideration. If she’d told Damien that she wasn’t working with me in person anymore, I must have deeply hurt her.
Someone she’d grown up with had attempted to assault her, and then killed her father when he came to save her. Paparazzi and journalists harassed her so relentlessly in the aftermath that she’d given up the world and relationships for the safety of isolation.
