The Only Song (Only You)

24. Sadie

Chapter 24

Sadie

W e walk back to our hotel in the pleasant spring evening, violins strapped to our backs, downtown lights shimmering and stomachs full of sushi. When we change for bed, I toss around my suitcase for my pajamas and come across his sweater packed amongst my clothes. I snatch it up, padding toward him as he comes out from the bathroom.

“Hey. Just wanted to return this.” I stretch my arm out with the sweater.

Jaxon laughs softly. “Been looking for that.”

He takes the sweater and opens it up as if he might put it on. Instead, he lifts the bottom over my head, the material bunched up at my neck as I look up at him quizzically, my face etched with varying degrees of what the hell are you doing?

He laughs again and tugs me in closer to him, his cedar wood scent now enveloping me entirely.

“Put your arms through, Sass,” he says and since he won’t let go of the sweater over my neck, I push them through the sleeves and he tugs the rest of it down. “There. Looks good on you.”

His eyes trail down my body lightly and heat blossoms wherever his gaze goes, goosebumps rising in their wake. The muscles at his jaw feather as his hands linger softly at my waist and whatever gap was between us feels closer. I’m wrapped up in his scent like some mind-altering potion that has desire lick through me and turn my chin up towards him. Commercials on the TV reflect off his glasses in flickering motions, but behind them I can see his eyes darken.

“Goodnight, Sadie,” he husks, the words like a caress on my cheek.

Then his hands drop from my waist and an icy rush of air cools all the heat in me. Instantly, my hand reaches for his. I can’t get the sad look in his eye out of my head. I hated how his walls were up. The thin line of his lips. Arms crossed over his chest. Thinking that he’s no good for his family. Thinking that being alone is better than being rejected.

I feel the sting of my own rejection to him. The way I lied because I was afraid. And maybe this is blurring the lines, but I’m not sure I care when all I can think about is how I don’t want him going to sleep feeling alone. A part of me could use the comfort too.

Which is why his lips part when I say, “Can we sleep in the same bed together?”

“Are you sure?” he rasps. His fingers tighten. I squeeze back.

“We’re not having sex, Tanner. Just thought you could use the company.”

His lips quirk. “Didn’t say anything about sex, Sass. Just asking if you’re sure.”

Right. He didn’t. I did.

I squeeze my eyes shut and when they open, he’s smirking. Still, I say, “I’m sure.”

Because I am. Tours are lonely. But we have each other.

Why not let the lines blur a little and fall asleep with each other. What’s the harm in that?

Teeth graze on my skin. His tongue twists with mine. Fingers pinch over my nipple as the throbbing between my thighs swells.

“More,” I whimper. My breath shakes out from me as my back arches. His fingers lower until he finds the top of my underwear and taps teasingly over my clit .

“Can you take me?” he asks, gently pulling aside the lace.

Cedar wood and mint envelop me entirely. A strangled groan comes from his throat as his fingers slide up and down my wet slit.

“Yes,” I moan. My pussy is slick from his touch and then my body ignites as his face lowers, leaving a trail of kisses down my center, between my breasts, at my navel until his lips are what now hovers between my thighs.

I feel his hot breath over my clit and I glance down to see him smirk, dark eyes ablaze with heat and desire. He kisses it softly, eyes on me, his tongue lightly tasting, only to pull back to press a finger in, then another.

I moan at the stretch just as he growls, “Take it, Sass. I want to see you soak my fingers.”

My hips buck as his lips dive to suck tightly over my clit and he begins to pump his fingers into me.

I feel the crest. The high. The heat. It makes me whine and whimper and beg for more.

Until I can’t beg anymore. Until my body shudders over his fingers pumping into me. Lips sucking over me.

He pulls his fingers out so he can write with my cum his name and mine on my upper thigh even as pleasure continues to wrack my body in sparks and swirls that don’t feel real.

This isn’t real , a sleepy voice in me says.

And I jolt awake.

My hands clutch around the cool bed sheets. My gasps grate loudly in the dark.

I can’t see, but I don’t need to because Jaxon’s arm is draped over my stomach, his hand dangerously close to where I feel my pussy wet from whatever dream I just had.

His sweater clings to my skin like guilty proof. Proof that blurring the line between professional and unprofessional by sleeping in the same bed together apparently leads to dreaming about sex.

Or maybe that’s just me.