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“Number one.”
Everything inside of me goes still. “What?”
“You’re number one on theBillboardHot One Hundred. Number. One.” Roger’s voice vibrates with excitement. “Can you believe it? Number one, Tate. Number fucking one!”
“‘Red’ is number one?” I sit up, the sheets falling into my lap, and Scarlett does the same, pressing her head against my shoulder. I glance over at her, the inspiration behind the song, the album, everything, and I smile.
She smiles back, mouthing,Number one?!
“It’s been riding up that top ten the last couple of weeks, getting higher and higher, and the chart updated today. You’re number one.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard Roger sound so damn satisfied. “Enjoy your day, son. You’re on top of the charts.”
“Enjoy my day? What do you mean?”
“Take a break. A day off. It’s well deserved. There’s so much buzz surrounding you right now. You and Scarlett and this album. Just enjoy yourself. Take Scarlett out. Have fun. Congratulations.”
He ends the call before I can say anything else.
I sit there stunned, absorbing what he just said. What it means. How I’ll never forget this moment, when I found out that I hit number one on the top one hundred.
Holy. Shit.
“Tate.” Scarlett’s voice breaks through the fog, and I turn to her, blinking. “Your song is really number one?”
Nodding, I reach for her, gathering her in my arms, clutching her tight. She clings to me, her arms winding around my neck, her hands cradling the back of my head as we just sit there and hold each other.
“I just need to hug you for a second,” I whisper into her hair, and she squeezes me closer. “You’re the reason this happened.”
“No, I’m not. Not really.” She pulls out of my embrace, her gaze meeting mine. “You did this all on your own. You wrote that song. Sang it. Into your freaking phone. And look at you now.” She throws her arms up in the air, her breasts jiggling with the movement, distracting me. “Look where you are! On top of the world!”
I tackle her, tickling her sides, making her squeal. I pin her to the mattress, continuously tickling her and not letting up until she’s practically begging me to stop.
The next thing I know, we’re kissing. Rocking against each other. My cock is hard. Aching. When I slip my fingers between her legs, she’s wet.
Needy.
Rolling over and taking her with me, I devour her mouth, her ass wiggling against my dick, driving me out of my mind. Eventually I grab a condom, and she tries to help me roll it on but makes a mess of it and lets me take over.
“Ride me,” I demand, and she does as I ask, straddling me, her breasts swaying as she lowers herself onto my cock. Until I’m completely embedded inside her.
She sits up, her dark hair a snarled mess, her hard little pink nipples teasing me. Her movements are awkward at first, slow and methodical, as she tries to find her rhythm.
I grip her hips, helping her. Guiding her. The morning light shines brighter, gilding her skin, making her golden, and I can’t stop staring.
She’s beautiful. Sexy.
All mine.
“You’re so deep like this,” she murmurs, her eyelids at half mast.
“Too much?” I tighten my hold on her hips, halting her from moving.
“No.” She shakes her head, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. “It’s perfect.”
I let her do her thing. Silently marveling at her beauty, taking in the moment.
The morning I found out I have a number one song on my own. Not with the band but by myself. With a song I wrote.
About a beautiful girl who’s smiling at me, my dick buried inside of her.
