I can feel Mike shift his attention to me, but I’m too busy staring at Shawn with my stomach dropping to my knees to care. When I finally turn my head, Mike reads the hurt in my eyes and then looks back at Shawn. He shakes his head and sighs. “Whatever you say, man. See you back at the bus.”
With that, the steel door of the hotel clicks shut behind him, leaving Shawn and me just standing there. Alone. Again. And last night suddenly seems impossible—if Shawn told me it was all a dream right now, I’d believe him.
He finally turns toward me, but I quickly drop my chin. The gravel crunching under my boots is real. The way my fingernails are stabbing into my palms is real. The metallic taste of my lip between my teeth—that’s real too.
“Hey,” Shawn says, his finger lifting my chin. Enchanted green eyes search mine.
“What do we do now?” I ask with his fingers gliding over my cheek, threading into my hair.
“What do you mean ‘what do we do now?’ ”
I step away from his touch, and his hand falls from my face. “Last night,” I stammer. “It’s cool if you . . . I mean, I’m sure Mike won’t say anything . . . and, I understand, you know . . . ”
Jesus, I’m tripping over words and feelings, crashing with no one to catch me. But then Shawn steps forward, his hand capturing mine. “Whoa. You’re not changing your mind, are you?”
My brows knit at him. “You just told Mike not to tell anyone . . . ”
A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, which only makes me want to yank my hand away, but he squeezes it tighter. “We’re trapped in a tin can with those guys,” he says, like that should be explanation enough. “We’d never hear the end of it, trust me. And there are only two days left of the tour.” When I continue frowning, he threads both hands into my hair and presses his forehead against mine. “I’m still yours.”
My hands close over his, and I don’t know what comes over me—maybe the spell in those green eyes. “Prove it.”
His lips are against mine in an instant, warm and intoxicating as they part mine and prove that last night happened, that what I felt between us was real. His fingers curl in my hair, and my hands slide to his wrists. I hold on as he kisses me—until my knees are weak, until my thoughts are miles away. My back collides with the brick building we’d fallen asleep against, and my fingers are tugging him close when I bite down on his lip, his body trembling against mine as a deep moan sounds from his lips.
Last night, this had been building. For weeks, this has been building. We postponed it, but now there’s only me, him, and nothing else to stop us.
When I release his lip from my teeth, he stares at me with a green fire flaming in his eyes. He kisses me until I turn my head, giving him access to erogenous zones that he knows intimately by now. His tongue flicks over a sensitive spot below my ear until my fingers are clawing desperately into his shirt. I’m squirming against him, my breaths coming out in twos and threes, when I finally find the sense to remind him, “We’re late.”
Mike said everyone was looking for us this morning, and Shawn and I are acting like no one matters.
“Adam’s always late,” he counters, his lips trailing lower, lower. He hooks a finger into the collar of my shirt and tugs it down to taste even more of me, heat pooling low in my belly—lower, lower.
“Shawn,” I protest, but it sounds like a prayer even to my own ears, and when he drops to his knees in front of me, my fingers bury in his hair.
“Five minutes,” he says, already pushing my shirt up to play his lips along my stomach.
Lower, lower.
He makes short work of my button, and then my jeans are being tugged down. Quick fingers tug at my bootlaces, and then I’m stepping out of those, out of jeans. My panties get tugged down too, but Shawn doesn’t even wait for me to step out of them before his lips press forward.
Heat—molten-hot heat—closes over where I’m already wet for him, and my head falls back in a moan that makes my knees quake. His strong hands hold my hips in place, pinning them against the wall and holding me up as the aged brick bites against my ass. My eyes are rolled back between closed eyelids, my fingers gripping Shawn’s hair as he devours me with the firm tip of his tongue and then presses forward even farther. Wetness rushes between my legs just as his hand slides up my stomach, over the swell of my bra, teasing at an impatient nipple that strains against the black lace. My entire body is alive, nerve endings dancing as Shawn tunes them like a neglected instrument, and when I open my eyes and gaze down at him, his green eyes are staring up at me under thick black lashes. He lifts a hand between my legs, finds the wet trail his tongue has paved, and buries two fingers deep, deep inside of me.