His eyes turn soft in a way I don’t remember seeing before. His words are soft too.
“That’s not what I want. I just want you in my arms for a minute before the craziness of tonight kicks off.”
I close the distance between us and melt against him. The warmth rushing through me from his words turns to molten need when he whispers into my hair.
“But later? Things are going to get as dirty as you can handle.” His hand slides down my back and cups my ass, his fingers curling into the crease between my cheeks. “We’re going to keep working you up to a bigger plug so I can finally fuck this tight little asshole.”
He pulls me against his groin, and the hard, hot length of his cock sends flares of arousal ripping through me when it grinds against my center. I want to dry hump him until I come.
So I do. It takes all of three minutes, with the pressure of his fingers against my ass. Stepping away on shaky legs, I know my cheeks must be flushed, and my hair has to be a disaster.
“I need to go back to Rochelle and Chris to touch up,” I whisper.
Creighton’s smile is superior, but I’m too content to want to slap it off his face.
“You do that. I’ll see you after the meet and greet.” His gaze turns sharp. “And don’t give Marcus any shit this time about standing so close. He can be out of the picture, but I want him right there in case some fucker tries to make a move on you. Those lips are mine, and I don’t share.”
He snags my hand, tugs me back close, and pulls me into a kiss before steadying me once again.
I gather myself and then salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”
He slaps me on the ass, and I stride out of the room on clicking heels.
I’m watching Holly kill her set in Biloxi from what has become my normal place, leaning against a speaker, stage left. From this vantage point, it’s clear to me that the arenas are filling sooner at each venue, almost in time with the buzz that has continued to grow in the media about Holly. The stories are focusing more on her and her career now, which is as it should be. People come as curiosity seekers, but even I can tell from the rapt look on their faces that they’re leaving as fans.
Right now, Holly has the attention of every single person in the place. People are on their feet, singing along to every single word. Just like every night before, I continue to be in awe of her talent. My wife is a fucking rock star. Well, country star would be more appropriate.
The deep drawl from behind me alerts me to the presence of Boone Thrasher.
“If you keep staring at her like that, you’re going to be handing over the keys to your vault, because that woman will know she owns you.”
“What are you doing out of your little kingdom before your set?” I ask, glancing at him for only a moment, because I don’t want to miss a beat of Holly.
“If you think you’re the only one who knows she’s a hell of a talent when you see it, then you’re wrong. I try to get out here and catch one of her songs every once in a while, but tonight I came out because I had to see for myself that you’re just standing here like a smitten kid. People are talkin’, you know.”
I tear my eyes off Holly to stare him down. “And why would I give a fuck about that?”
“I’m just sayin’, the bitch knows she’s got you by the balls, you’ll have no leverage. And I’m guessing a guy like you is all about leverage.”
“What’s your point, Thrasher?”
“No point. Just offering a word of wisdom. My woman has me wrapped up pretty neat too, but I don’t let her know it.”
“I thought you told me I’d better treat her right or you’d be on me?” I vaguely recall his warning from the first day we met, three long days ago.
He cracks the knuckles of his tattooed hand inside the other. “Fuckin’ right I will. But that don’t mean you gotta be showin’ all your cards, man. This is a strategy game, after all.”
I laugh, because I feel like I’m the one who should be giving this guy advice. “You ever been married before?”
His chuckle booms out, but the sounds of the bass guitar and drums ensure only I can hear it.
“Nope. That’s why I’m giving you advice, Richie Rich. You’ve already failed at this shit, from what I hear. I’m doing the marriage thing once, and that’s it. Thought maybe you’d been all lapdog and pussy whipped before, and that’s how you fucked it up. Ladies want to know their man is theirs, but they don’t want someone trailin’ after ’em like a schoolboy.”
“Thanks for the advice, but I think I’m good. You worry about yourself getting pussy-whipped, and I’ll worry about Holly.”
Thrasher shrugs, but doesn’t drop it. “You don’t know girls like her, Karas. She’s not your high-society type. She’s never gonna be easy around your money or your people. Even if she’s sipping champagne out of platinum cowboy boots, she’ll never lose that backwoods girl. You sure you’re okay with that? Because if you’re not, it’d be kinder to let her go now before she falls for you.”
There are so many responses I can give to what he just said, but I don’t reply because I’m stuck on his last words. “Before she falls for you.” Because she hasn’t yet.
It’s a sobering reality check. I’ve decided what we have is the real thing, and Holly . . . I have no frigging clue what she thinks. The only place she’ll let her guard down is in the bedroom—or wherever we happen to be when I’m giving her every bit of pleasure she can handle. I know how to seduce my wife, but how the hell do I break down her walls? How do I get her to trust me?