Sinful Ever After (Sinful Serenade Book 5) (19 page)

"I can listen to you sing another dozen songs."

He nods.

"After you explain?"

He takes a step closer. "After I explain, I'm going to take you backstage and make you come."

"After that."

"Afraid I've got the entire night dedicated to making you come."

My lips curl into a smile. Already, all the tension in my shoulders is relaxing. "I can live with that."

He moves close enough to touch me. His fingertips skim my wrist, the scarred one. He looks into my eyes. "This tour, Ethan is going to fill in for me any time I need to be home with you. I'm going to be there every doctor's appointment, every time you get scared. Every time you need me, we're going to be together."

"And after that?"

"Got four session musicians lined up."

"Someone else is playing for you?"

He nods.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"But you're not leaving the band?"

"Not unless I get kicked out." He looks toward Tom. "Not going willingly." He brings his gaze back to me. Brings his palm to my cheek. "You come first, Kara. Our family, that comes first. But you were right, Sinful Serenade is our family too. As much as I hate to admit it, we need them."

I stare up at him. "Explain the details."

"First year or so, I want to be there, at home with you. After that, I'll still go on the road, but we'll never be apart for more than a week. I'll fly home or you'll come with me. It won't be easy. It will be a lot of trial and error, but we'll make it work."

Drew's letting someone fill in for him while he stays home with me, with our family.

But then he's going back.

I'm not derailing the band. Not derailing him.

He rubs my cheek with his thumb, wiping away a tear. "That a happy tear?"

I blink, and my lashes are heavy with happy tears. It's an obvious solution, but I wouldn't have ever guessed Drew would be willing to do it.

He's more protective of his role as the guitarist, the best musician in the band, than he is of anything.

But he's still the band's guitarist, because the band is so much more than the music. It's a family.

All eight of us are a family.

Drew wipes another tear from my eye. "I love you. I want a life with you and with all our family."

"I love you too."

He squeezes me. "You're gonna be a great mom, Kara."

"You think so?"

"I fucking know so."

"Really?"

"Really."

I rise to my tiptoes to press my lips to his. He tastes like home. He always does, but in this moment, it's more potent. It's exactly what I need.

Wherever we are, that's home.

He's my home, and I'm his, and together, we're going to be this baby's home.

"You're going to be a good dad," I whisper.

"I'll be there whenever you need me, honey. Anytime. I'll make it work."

I nod. "We're really doing this. We're really having a baby."

He smiles. "Yeah, we are."

I kiss him again for good measure.

––––––––

W
illow

"What are you looking at, kid?" Tom presses his back into the mirrored elevator wall. He looks me up and down, his green eyes lighting up.

Why am I reading an email on my cellphone when my husband is eye-fucking me?

God, he's really my husband.

It's been two months, but it still feels like a dream. Like it's too good to be true.

My gaze goes to my wedding band and the huge, three-stone engagement ring sitting atop it. It's not a dream.

He's mine.

Tom pushes off the wall. "You're gonna make me insecure at this rate."

"Is that right?"

He nods. "You better remind me that you prefer me over that cellphone."

I better. We're riding the elevator back to our hotel room. This email can wait.

We've been helping Kara and Drew all day. They've got a lot on their plate, what with her being pregnant, but he made his big gesture. They're both happy.

It's our turn to tend to each other.

Only my gaze refuses to leave my cellphone.

I can't keep this from Tom.

I can't delete it.

I have to do something, but I'm not sure what the right call is.

"Don't tell me it's more interesting than this." He slides his hands around my hips and pins me against the elevator wall.

Then his hips are against mine. His lips are on mine.

My eyelids press together as his tongue plunges into my mouth. My husband really is a hell of a kisser. It's hard to believe he avoided locking lips most of his life.

I'm so overwhelmed with need and affection I nearly drop my phone. My other hand goes to the back of his head, playing with his wavy dark blond hair.

I want to kiss Tom forever.

We're married. I get to kiss Tom forever.

He shifts his hips so I can feel his erection then he pulls back and stares into my eyes. "What's the verdict?"

"I think I need a little more evidence to be sure."

He cocks a brow and shakes his head like I'm as ridiculous as he is.

I am. His zest for life is contagious.

This time, he's faster, more aggressive. Hands on my hips, he pins me to the wall.

His crotch grinds against mine.

His hands slide under my t-shirt and go flat against my lower back.

He sucks on my bottom lip.

What the hell was I looking at on my phone? I can barely hold onto the damn thing at the moment.

Ding. The elevator slows to a stop. Our floor.

Tom breaks our kiss, but he stays pressed against me.

"What's a phone?" I mumble.

He smiles. "It's been miserable keeping my hands off you all day."

"You have a funny definition of 'keeping my hands off you'."

"Was being polite in front of Kara."

"That was your idea of polite?" I laugh. Making out with tongue
without
any over or under the clothes touching is probably Tom's idea of being polite in front of Kara.

My eyes meet his. Sure enough, there's nothing but playful sincerity in those mischievous green eyes of his.

He ignores the open elevator and the people standing outside it and slides his hands to my ass. "You're my wife."

I nod.

"This is my marital duty."

God, I love the sound of that. It's been a long day. I'm glad we could help Kara and Drew through the stress of an unexpected pregnancy—I'm still overwhelmed that I'm going to be an aunt in seven months. I can't imagine how scared she is that she's going to be a mom—but I've had enough of everything besides me and Tom.

I slide my phone into my purse. This
is
important, but it can wait until after. Sure, I joined Tom for the last week of his international tour, but that still leaves a solid three weeks to make up for.

Three weeks of kisses and hugs and orgasms we owe each other.

He takes my hand and pulls me into the hallway. We pass a group of twenty-something women in cocktail dresses and teetering heels.

A few months ago, I would have been jealous of their long legs and ample chests. Before we got together, I would have worried Tom would go home with one of them. By all accounts, he was the world's biggest manwhore.

But, right now, I'm utterly secure with my relationship. Tom has been with plenty of women, but he's never cared about any of them.

He's mine, and I'm his, and he's never shy about reminding everyone around us of those two facts.

The girls stare at Tom. Specifically, at the erection straining against his jeans. It takes longer than usual for anyone to recognize him.

My husband is usually quite the obliging celebrity, but today he hasn't got a hint of patience.

He pulls me closer. "What the fuck are you waiting for, kid?"

"Uh... aren't you Tom Steele?" one of the women asks.

He offers a polite smile. "Yeah. Nice to meet you. Write the label if you want an autograph. Don't have time today." He nods goodbye. "If you'll excuse me, I need to fuck my wife until everyone on this floor can hear her coming."

The girl turns the same color as a tomato. I'm not doing much better on the blushing front.

My cheeks are burning.

Dammit, I'm hot everywhere.

One of the girls lets out an orgasmic gasp.

Tom is smiling from ear to ear. What can I say? My husband knows every button he has to press to get a reaction.

Damn, I love the way he presses my buttons.

He squeezes my hand and motions toward the hallway. "Don't tell me you don't want to be under me, screaming my name."

"I don't."

Tom cocks a brow.

I offer the girl a smile and turn back to Tom. "I want to be on top of you, screaming your name."

His smile widens. "Could never deprive my wife of what she wants."

"Promise you'll always say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like we're newlyweds."

"We
are
newlyweds."

"Promise."

He nods. "I promise, kid." He leans closer.

"Promise you'll always call me that."

"Even when we're eighty."

I ignore our audience and press my body against his. His clothes—the usual hoodie, t-shirt, and jeans—get in my way, but I can still feel every hard inch of him.

Damn, I want him out of those jeans.

It's been a while since we had to sneak around, but I still get a thrill from being with him this openly, from kissing him like no one is watching.

But people are watching, and I don't want those people following us to our hotel room.

Tom doesn't give a flying fuck about our audience. If anything, he's angling to give them a show. He kisses me hungrily. His hands go to my ass. He lifts me into the air. My attempt to wrap my legs around his hips is messy, but I figure it out.

He pushes me against the opposite wall.

I'm not aware of much besides his tongue in my mouth and his hands against me. Even over my jeans, the touch makes me burn with heat.

It's been a long day. No, it's been a long few days and a long week before that. Yes, I have to deal with this email thing soon, but it can wait until tomorrow.

Everything else can wait until tomorrow.

The giggles and groans stop. The elevator doors close and the carriage whirs.

I peek my eyes open as I break the kiss. Sure enough, the giggling girls are gone.

"You gave them something to think about tonight." I motion for him to set me down.

He does. But he keeps his hands against my ass, keeps me pressed against his erection. "Gotta make sure my wife comes every day." He motions for me to follow him to the hotel room.

This time, I do. The damn thing is all the way at the end of the hall. The only downside of a corner suite is that it's in the corner.

The opposite corner of the elevator.

By the time we get to the door, I'm on fire. These clothes are far too much. His must be worse. God, I don't have a clue how he's walking with the way he's fighting those jeans.

Tom unlocks the door and pushes it open. "My eyes are up here, kid."

"Uh-huh."

He pushes my coat off my shoulders. His lips go to my neck. His kiss is soft, tender, the Tom only I know.

"I remember something about your wife coming every day."

He unbuttons my jeans and slides them to my knees. "Have I missed a day?"

"What about when we're apart?"

"Prefer to do it myself. With my cock, or my mouth, or my hands." He presses his palm against me, over my panties. "But I'm not picky. It can be your hand. Or a vibrator. As long as you come, I'm happy."

"Even if you aren't there?"

"Yeah. Course I prefer when you let me watch or listen." He rubs me harder. "Fuck, you're wet."

Pleasure floods the spot. I can only respond with a groan.

My hands go to his shoulders. The hoodie. I suspected it was evil, but now I'm sure. It needs to be gone.

My hands struggle to find the zipper. It only gets more difficult as he rubs me with his palm.

"Tom," I groan.

"Say it again."

"Tom." I find the zipper and pull it down. Then I push the thing off his shoulders. "Please. I need you."

"Say
that
again." His voice gets heavy, breathy.

All this time, and he still needs to feel needed.

I can barely pry my eyelids apart to look up at him. Those gorgeous green eyes of his are fixed on mine. There's vulnerability in them.

How the hell did I get so lucky to find Tom? He's...

He rubs me harder. His voice gets rough. "Say it."

It's hard to think much beyond
he's Tom
. But there's no better way to describe it.

He's everything.

I stare back into his eyes. "I need you."

"Fuck, Willow." He pulls me into a deep kiss, still teasing me with his finger.

I
do
need him. And now. I break the kiss so I can pull his t-shirt over his head. After one long, sweet moment of gawking at his body, I undo his jeans and push them off his hips.

Then the boxers. Only enough that I can see his tattoo.
Willow
. My name in a curvy script over his hipbone.

My name on his body forever.

I trace the letters with my fingertips.

Tom kicks off his shoes. He pushes his jeans and boxers to his feet. Then they're gone, along with his socks.

He does away with my t-shirt. My bra. He takes his time exploring my chest. He traces the lines of my tattoo—he does it nearly every time he sees it—then he drags his fingers up my torso.

He cups my breasts with his hands. I used to feel like small breasts meant I was missing out, but I love the way his hands envelop me.

The way his eyes go wide as he plays with my nipples.

God, he's good at this. Pleasure shoots to my core with every flick of his fingers.

He stares into my eyes with a wealth of affection. Right now, I'm the most important person in the world. The only thing that matters in the world is the two of us together.

My hands go to his hips, but that's not enough. I need him feeling good too.

I brush his cock with my palm.