“Tell me you’re close,” he grinds out. “Because I can’t hold off…for much longer.”
“I’m close, Tom…yes, just keep…doing…that…”
His pelvis hits my clit, and the orgasm tears through me. My eyes close, unable to stay open from the magnitude of the orgasm, breaking our connection.
“Jesus…this is…I can’t…”
I feel his cock jerk inside me.
I open my eyes to see his shut tight, his head thrown back, his chest heaving with the force of his orgasm, as he pumps himself empty inside me.
Seeing him like this, feeling him bare, the feel of him coating my insides—it’s too much.
My chest feels tight. I can’t catch a breath.
It’s like he just punched his fist into my chest and took my heart back out with him.
Oh no.
I’m in too deep. I’m starting to feel things…for him.
Tom lays his damp chest against mine. He kisses me. “Wow, that was something else.”
I force my feelings away and smile at him. “Who knew it could be so good without a condom?” I run my fingers through his hair.
“No, it wasn’t just that…it’s you. You’re amazing.”
Too deep…
“Well, you’re not so bad yourself. Not that you need me to tell you.”
“True.”
His laughter rumbles through his chest. I feel it deep inside me.
“But it’s nice to hear. I don’t often get compliments from you.”
“True.” I smile.
He kisses me once more. Then, he lifts himself up onto his hands. “I’m just gonna go clean up. Back in a sec.”
He eases out of me, and I watch him walk to the bathroom.
I hear running water, and he’s back moments later with a cloth in his hand. He crawls up the bed and presses the cloth between my legs.
I rest up on my elbows. “What are you doing?”
“Cleaning up after myself.” He gives me a cheeky grin. “And I wanted to take care of my girl.”
His girl?
He cleans me up and takes the cloth back to the bathroom. Then, he climbs back onto the bed, laying on his front.
Rolling onto my side, I start to trace my finger over his tattoo. “Who’s Thomas, the third?”
He stiffens under my hands. “My father.”
“You lost him?”
He sighs, and then his head turns my way. “Yeah.”
I lean down and press my lips to his tattoo. “I’m sorry you lost him. When did he pass?”
“A long time ago.” He moves away. Rolling onto his back, he puts his hands behind his head.
“So, that makes you Thomas, the fourth.”
“Yep.”
Remembering what he said before about having songs for people he’s lost, I ask in a soft voice, “What’s your dad’s song?”
Something painful passes through his eyes, and I instantly regret asking.
“‘Ordinary World.” His voice sounds odd…stiff.
“Duran Duran.”
He nods, once.
“So…do you listen to your dad’s song every day, like you do Jonny’s?”
He sits up abruptly. “Jesus Christ,” he snaps. “What the fuck is this? Grill Tom time?”
Taken aback by the sudden venom in his voice, I start to stammer out, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did. You know exactly what you’re doing. You want to know about me? Fine. No, Lyla, I don’t listen to that fucking song every day. I haven’t heard that song in sixteen years, and even that’s not long enough. So, is that sufficient information for you? Have you gotten enough out of me? Or do you need more?”
Tears hit my eyes, a lump forming in my throat. Confused and hurt, I sit up. Turning my back on him, I start to move away.
I hear him sigh. Then, he catches my wrist. I feel him move up behind me. His long legs come either side of mine. His chest against my back, his arms close around me, holding me, he presses the side of his face to mine.
“I’m sorry. I just…I don’t talk about my dad. Ever.”
I remember what he said to me about needing to talk about loss. I want to remind him of this, but I’m afraid to push it, worried that I’ll push him away if I do.
“It’s okay. I understand.” I close my hand around his wrist.
We’re trapped in this awkward moment, and I don’t know what to say, so I say the first thing that comes into my mind. “Do you have a song for me?”
He moves his face from mine. I can feel his eyes on me, so I turn my head to look at him.
He looks puzzled. “I haven’t lost you, have I?”
“No.” I shake my head gently. “But the tour will end, and—” I stop because I don’t know how to finish the sentence, or if I even want to.
Tom’s eyes flash with something I don’t understand.
Then, he says, “‘Thought I’d Died and Gone to Heaven.’”
And my heart stills in my chest.
That song was playing the night we had sex under that stage.
“Bryan Adams,” I croak out.
He nods, eyes fixed to mine. “Well, either Bryan’s version or the one that band was playing the night you let me go where no man had gone before.” A sexy smile lights up his face.
I’m speechless. For once in my life, I have no words.
That song…its meaning…