Sinful Ever After (Sinful Serenade Book 5) (20 page)

He shudders. His lips part with a sigh. "Willow."

I watch his reactions as I tease his tip with my thumb. First the flesh then the metal balls of his apadravya. He groans every time I touch it.

Never thought I'd be with a man with a cock piercing. Certainly never thought I'd marry a man with a cock piercing.

But I fucking love this thing.

His pupils dilate as I wrap my hand around him and stroke him.

He squeezes my nipples. Harder. Hard enough I have to bite my lip to take it.

Tom brings his hands to my wrist and sets it against my side. Then he's unbuttoning my jeans. In one swift movement, he slides them, and my panties, to my feet.

I kick my shoes off. Then the rest.

No more clothes in the way. We're naked in front of each other. We've been here a hundred times—more even. Every time, it feels exhilarating, intimate, loving.

Every time, it feels hot as hell.

I let Tom lead—he's damn good at it. He shifts onto the bed on his back then he pats the spots in front of each shoulder.

He's telling me to sit on his face.

I did ask to come on top of him.

My sex clenches at the memory of his tongue. It's only been a few days, but my body is greedy.

I'm greedier. I need more than coming on top of him. I need him coming under me too.

I crawl up the bed next to him. His eyes are still wide with desire. He's still in that
fuck, I need you
daze.

My lips find his. His kiss is hard, hungry, needy. He groans into my mouth. His hands slide to the back of my head, pulling me closer.

Damn, he tastes good.

I press my palms against his chest as I break the kiss. It takes a bit of careful maneuvering to swing my thighs over his shoulders.

I sit on him, facing his feet, and I plant my hands outside his hips.

His hands go to my hips. His mouth goes to the inside of my thigh. "Fuck."

I plant a kiss on his stomach and watch his muscles tremble with anticipation. I kiss lower. Lower.

I trace the lines of his tattoo with my tongue.

His fingers dig into my hips as I brush my lips against his cock. He tastes good here too. Like soap and like Tom.

He kisses his way up my thigh. He gets closer and closer then his lips are on me. He licks me with patient strokes. Every flick of his tongue sends another wave of pleasure through me.

I surrender to his movements, sinking deeper into the bed, my sex pressed against his face.

He groans with pleasure as he licks me. It feels so fucking good.

I have to have him feeling this good too.

I take him into my mouth.

He groans against me. He licks harder, faster. His hands are firm against my hips. They hold me in place against him.

I play with his piercing with my tongue, reveling in the way his thighs shake and his fingers dig into my skin. Then I take him deeper. Suck harder.

He licks me, and I suck on him. The sensation of giving and receiving at once is overwhelming. Not just physically, but emotionally too.

We never keep score. All of me is his, and all of him is mine.

Pleasure flows between us the same way love does.

My thighs squeeze against his ears as my sex clenches. I'm close, but I want him coming with me.

Tom can last a hell of a long time, but I know how to get him off quickly. That piercing is like a turbo button.

I flick my tongue against the metal balls until he's shifting his hips to drive his cock deeper into my mouth.

His thighs shake.

He plunges his tongue inside me.

I forget any intentions of anything at all. My body takes over as I wrap my hand around him and suck harder. Harder.

His tongue flicks against my clit. Again. Again.

There.

My sex clenches. Everything unwinds. I can feel the orgasm all the way in my fingers and toes. The only thing I can do to contain it is groan against him and suck harder.

He's close too.

I can feel it.

I press my hand against his thigh to steady myself. I need him coming. I need to feel his orgasm.

Tom doesn't stop. He licks me again. Again. He goes harder. Faster. Until I dig my nails into his thigh.

I flick my tongue against him a few more times then I take him as deep as I can, sucking as hard as I can.

Another orgasm rises up inside me. I press my thighs against his ears.

There. I dig my nails into his thigh as I come. Pleasure rolls out to my toes. My sex clenches with aftershocks.

I suck harder.

He starts to shake. His fingers dig into the flesh of my ass, lifting my body away from his.

Then he's groaning my name into my thigh.

"Fuck, Willow." He sucks on my tender skin.

His breath hitches.

His feet curl.

Then he's there, his cock pulsing as he comes in my mouth. That, too, tastes good. Salty and sweet and Tom.

I wait until he's finished, and I swallow hard.

Tom sighs with pleasure as he pulls me up and into his chest.

I nestle into his body.

He runs his fingers through my short hair and looks down at me. "You're fucking perfect."

"It's my marital duty too." I press my lips against his chest. "To make sure
you
come every day."

––––––––

W
illow

My phone is still in my purse, still beckoning me. I can't say it beckoned me all night—my husband's body had every ounce of my attention—but it's been calling me all morning.

It called me as I brushed my teeth and dressed, and as we walked to the cafe a few hotels down.

And now that Tom is meeting Ophelia in the lobby, my cell is tempting as all hell.

I pull it out and scan the emails. The first, to start.

I hope this email isn't an imposition, but I recognize your model and I was wondering if you'd pass along my contact information. There is no easy way to say this, but he looks a lot like my son. It's a messy story, but I lost him many years ago. My boyfriend was not the kind of man who should be around a child. The state was right to take Tommy away. But I wonder about him. I miss him dearly. I'd love to hear from him, to know he's doing well.

- Liberty Wright

And there's her contact information—she included everything about her save her social security number.

She lives in Las Vegas now.

Tom's birth mother lives in Las Vegas and she wants to contact him.

We've exchanged a few more emails. She had no idea Tom was in a band, that he was even famous. A friend of hers who was looking for a boudoir photographer showed her my website.

What a mortifying way to stumble on your long-lost son. There are many, many half-naked pictures of Tom on my site and on my Instagram. What can I say? The camera loves him almost as much as I do. The sexy pictures are enough to keep his fans wanting him and wanting our relationship to succeed at once.

She's sincere. She wants to speak with Tom.

He's still carrying around all this baggage about being in foster care, about being adopted. Everything worked out-Ophelia is the best parent anyone could ask for—but he went through a lot of pain along the way.

It might be good for him to meet her. To realize that his birth mom did love him.

He'll never agree to it. If I ask, he'll say no, and that will be it.

If our roles were reversed, Tom would push me to do it.

But will he forgive me for setting this up? I can't do anything that risks losing Tom. Even if it will be good for him. Even if it will help close a wound that still hurts him.

My thoughts are interrupted by Tom and Ophelia's arrival. He's not as bouncy and energetic pre-coffee, but they're still quite opposite. She's much more like Pete—calm, even, assured, and completely obsessed with sex.

Her hair was teal the last time I saw her. Today, it's a vibrant shade of orchid.

I slide my phone into my purse and rise to hug her. "Your hair looks great. Did you sleep well?"

Tom shakes his head. "Go tell her."

Ophelia smiles. She motions for Tom to sit. When he does, she takes her seat. "I didn't do much sleeping."

"Did Ellie come with you?" I ask.

Tom looks at his mom and cocks a brow. "You didn't tell her?"

"Tell me what?" I slide my phone back into my purse.

By all accounts, we're staying in Vegas through Christmas. Until the start of the tour even.

That buys me a week and a half.

But I don't like this hanging over my head.

"Sweetheart, your wife doesn't want to hear about my sordid affairs." Ophelia smiles.

"And I do?" Tom asks.

"You understand what it's like to enjoy something casual." Ophelia turns to me. "I'm afraid Ellie and I wanted different things."

"Oh?" I ask.

"Ellie was three or four women ago." Tom shakes his head. "And I thought I slept around."

I laugh. "There's no shame in sleeping around."

"Thank you." Ophelia nods to me then she turns to Tom. "Is your brother coming or is he
held up
in his hotel room?"

"Do you ever get tired of talking about your children's sex lives?" Tom clears his throat, but it does nothing to hide the blush forming on his cheeks.

"She likes embarrassing you," I say.

Ophelia mocks incredulity the same way Tom does. It's amazing how much they have in common when their dispositions are so different.

She's a great mom. And Tom adores her. Everyone adores her.

Maybe it's better to delete these emails and pretend they never happened.

I feel for Liberty, I do, but I can't do anything that will hurt Tom more than it helps him.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Ophelia asks. "Don't tell me you're pregnant too. Not that it isn't wonderful, having children, but you're still young. You and Tom work nonstop. You can't do that if you have a child. God knows how your brother is going to manage balancing work and child rearing. It's hard enough when you have a normal job."

"No, I'm not pregnant." I try to shake off whatever unpleasant expression is plastered on my face, but I can't be doing a good job because Tom and Ophelia are still looking at me with concern. "I have an IUD."

"Nothing is one hundred percent except eating pussy," Ophelia says.

Tom presses his palm into his forehead. "You do this on purpose."

"Willow, sweetheart, how does Tom talk when I'm not around?"

"He's not as filthy as Pete," I say.

"God damn, both of you. Can't we talk about the weather or a movie or something for once?" Tom turns even more red. "Even Pete and Jess talk about
The Hunger Games
sometimes."

"Are you eavesdropping while they're... talking about other things?" I ask.

"Eavesdropping? No. I wish I had to try to hear him." Tom shakes his head. "Fucker still lives for phone sex."

"And I'm the one with a dirty mind?" Ophelia shakes her head with mock incredulity, exactly the way Tom does. "You shouldn't call your brother a fucker."

"What should I call him? Peter, like you do? He hates that," Tom says.

"You'll understand if you have kids." Ophelia hails the waiter and orders coffees for the table. Once we've all given him our orders, she turns back to us. "There's no rush. And there's nothing wrong with deciding you'd like to stay childfree. Don't give into pressure from anyone. Including me."

The tension in my chest relaxes. Ophelia is the most supportive person I've ever met, maybe even more supportive than Tom. She's the opposite of my mother, who pushed for her way so hard we're no longer communicating.

She was even worse with Drew. They haven't spoken a word since he dropped out of college. She pretends like he doesn't exist.

If Liberty is anything like my mom, Tom is better off never knowing about this email.

But if she really has cleaned up her life, if she's even half as supportive and sweet as Ophelia, then meeting her would be a good thing.

In theory.

"We're gonna adopt," Tom says. "But not for a while."

Ophelia's smile is ear to ear. Her whole expression is soft. "You are?"

I nod in agreement.

I swear to God, she melts.

"Tom, you don't... are you sure?" she asks.

"Have I ever done anything I wasn't sure about?" he asks.

"And you, sweetheart?" She looks to me.

"Yeah, I am." I squeeze my hands together. All this talk of family and children only highlights this decision. What the hell am I going to do? I need to know where I stand. "How long do you want to stay in Vegas?"

I've had enough of the city. I miss my bed, miss California, miss the smell of the ocean air.

Tom shrugs. "Meg and Miles are leaving late on Christmas. They want to do a big Christmas thing with everybody. Her parents are here. And he wants Ophelia there too. Probably 'cause they're both suave perverts."

Ophelia smiles, charmed by the comparison. "Miles still has a lot to learn about seducing women."

"Think he's got it figured out, being married and all," Tom says.

"You ever meet any adult man so fixated on his mother settling down?" Ophelia asks.

I shake my head. "No." There's nearly a whole week to the 26th. I'm not really a fan of Christmas—too many awful memories of awful family encounters. I don't mind spending it in Las Vegas. And that does buy me time to figure this out.

But I want to be home.

I want everyone else's problems off my back for a while, so the entire world is only me and Tom.

With his celebrity, it can be hard to shut out the world. The only place we can do it for sure is our house. Or on some private beach on some sunny island, him lying on the sand and frolicking in the waves in the world's skimpiest bathing suit.

Or frolicking in the waves in nothing.

That would be perfectly fine.

Ophelia's phone beeps with a text alert. She checks it and smiles. "Your brother and his fiancée will not be joining us."

Tom shakes his head. "He's making us look like a boring married couple just cause we're respectable enough to get out of bed once a day."

"You sound jealous," I say.