Sinful Ever After (Sinful Serenade Book 5) (3 page)

My body takes over. It needs more. Needs harder. Needs every inch of her.

She rocks her hips as I thrust into her. We're working together to bring our bodies closer. To bring each other to orgasm.

"Mhmm," I groan. My nails dig into her skin.

She breaks free of our kiss to groan. Her eyes fix on mine for a moment then her lids press together.

Her lips part with a sigh. She's almost there. I know how to get her there.

I guide her hips so I can drive deeper. She groans.

Then it's her hands on my chest. Her nails digging into my skin. Her hips arching.

She groans. "Miles."

Her thighs squeeze against my hips.

And she's there. Her cunt pulses around my cock, pulling me closer, inviting me deeper.

I shift my hips to drive into her.

Fuck. She feels good.

My lips go to her neck. Her shoulder. I sink my teeth into her skin as an orgasm takes over.

With my next thrust, I come. She groans. One hand goes to my ass, holding me close as I fill her.

I linger inside her for a moment. Then I shift onto my side and pull her body into mine.

"Promise we'll never be apart that long again," she murmurs.

"I can't promise that." I pull her closer. "But I will do whatever it takes to make this work."

––––––––

M
egara

Lying in a hotel room with Miles is nearly as familiar as cuddling on his couch. How many nights have we spent pressed together in a hotel bed?

At the moment, I'm too tired to do the math. I nestle into his chest and let the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull me to sleep.

When I wake, the sun is setting and Miles is sitting in the armchair in the corner with a paperback in his hands. A
Star Wars
novel. One that came out two days ago.

"Don't spoil it," I plead.

He smiles, that smile that means
Meg, you're adorable
. "I couldn't." He pats his lap. "Wanted to get Nobu for dinner, but traffic will be insane."

"We're on Sepulveda. Traffic to anywhere will be insane."

Miles is wearing only boxers. I'm still wearing nothing. I slide into his lap, reveling in the sensation of our skin connecting.

He's here. I'm here.

It's overwhelming how much I need his body next to mine.

I press my forehead into his. "You leave in two weeks."

"Then you come with me for two weeks."

I like that part. Not as much what comes after. "Then four months on the road?"

"Two months, two weeks off, another two months on."

"Just a U.S. tour this time?"

He looks up at me with those clear blue eyes. His fingers curl over my chest, tracing the lines of my tattoo. "Be Brave, Love."

I nod.

"What is it you're thinking?"

I bite my lip. I don't like the direction my thoughts are heading, but I don't want to run from them. "You're on the road the next five months. I'll be finishing my first year of medical school. When are we going to find the time to plan a wedding? To even have a wedding?"

"What if we do it in Vegas?" He stares at me, his eyes as deep with affection as the ocean. "We can leave tonight and get married first thing tomorrow."

"Just us?"

"Your parents will want to see it."

I nod. "Our friends will want to see it. And I want them there."

"Even Tom?"

"Especially Tom."

"Thought you hated him."

"I did for a while." I run my fingers through his hair. "But I know he meant well telling me to get lost. He'd never admit it, but he loves you. And I know he'll kick your ass if you start using again."

"You think Tom could kick my ass?"

"If you were high, you wouldn't see it coming."

He laughs and presses his lips to mine.

Damn, his kiss is intoxicating. I don't collect my senses until it breaks.

"You still worry about me relapsing?" he asks.

I nod. Miles has done well for years, but there's no way I'll ever stop worrying about him relapsing. I still have nightmares about Rosie's overdose.

I nod. "Yes. I trust you, but—"

"I know. It's okay to worry, Princess. I worry about you burying yourself under the weight of your coursework."

A fair concern. I stare into his blue eyes. "Is it a good idea, you going to Las Vegas?"

His expression softens. "As long as you aren't planning a runaway bride move."

I trace the lines of his tattoo.
Be brave, live.
I'm braver with him. I live more when I'm with him. I have no doubt I want to marry Miles, no doubt I want to be with him forever.

But I'm not as sure about planning a wedding in under two weeks.

"I've been thinking." He runs his fingertips over my shoulder. "What if we toured during the summer and kept it short the rest of the year? You could come with me."

That would be amazing. I look into his eyes. "Could you really make that work?"

"It's possible." He runs his fingertips over my chin. "The band can slow down. We've talked about it."

"There's no way Tom has talked about slowing down."

"He has a wife now." His voice softens. "Things are different than when we started. Our priorities are different."

I shake my head. "You need the stage, Miles. You're at home there."

"Yeah, but I'm at home with you too. I'll still have the stage, just less of it and more time with you. Wouldn't you want that?"

"Of course." I'd love to have Miles around more. I'd love to have him home every night. But not if it means he's giving up his passion. "I can't be the thing standing between you and your dreams."

"You aren't." He presses his lips to mine. His fingers go to my engagement ring. "Let's go to Vegas. Let's get married now."

"Why?"

"Because you want to marry me."

"But why now? Why not in a year?"

"Why in a year?"

As Miles would say, fair enough. Why not now? Why in a year?

"You like depraved rock stars," he says.

I smile. "I do."

"See, you're already halfway there."

I laugh. I want to be there. I want to throw away all my concerns.

"I think you want a depraved rock star husband right away."

He's right. I do. I want forever with Miles, and I want it right away. Why not now?

Now is good.

I press my fingertips into the spot where his neck meets his collarbone.

He shudders with pleasure. His hands go to my lower back. He pulls me closer.

"Promise you won't think about quitting Sinful Serenade." I muster all the confidence I have. "Promise, and I'll go to Vegas with you and get married now."

"Then no question." He leans closer. "I promise."

***

T
he next morning, we call my parents over breakfast—they're surprised, but supportive—and drive straight to Vegas.

The city is breathtaking in a strange, money-worshiping, party-worshiping kind of way. Even in the afternoon, the neon lights stand out against the blue sky. One side of the freeway is miles of desert. The other is an oasis of depraved, adult fun.

There's no specific theme to our hotel. It seems the concept is luxury. Our suite is adorned in shades of mauve and silver. It's sleek, modern, and a little showy.

Miles sits on the bed, his legs spread. It's inviting. I want to mount my husband-to-be.

Damn, this is moving fast.

I linger in the thought of Miles as my husband—a long honeymoon on the beach, us buying a house so we can really live together, him surprising me at school, me surprising him for a weekend on tour.

We'll have a good life together.

There are obstacles, but we'll figure them out, one at a time.

He pushes himself to his feet and stretches his arms overhead. Then his eyes are on mine, this look that says
let's go.
"Ready to start looking at venues?"

No. But I want to marry him, and there isn't much time for everything.

I nod. "Ready as I'll ever be."

***

O
ur first stop is a drive-through chapel. For a mere two hundred dollars, we can get married in a drive-through. It's only an extra hundred dollars to have Elvis officiate the ceremony.

I watch in horror as another couple ties the knot. They're sitting on the top of a bright red convertible. Her dress and lipstick are the exact red of the car. He's in a sports jacket and jeans.

When the officiant says I do, they lean in for a sloppy, drunken kiss.

My stomach twists.

This is all wrong.

"It's different," Miles says.

I shake my head. My lips barely part for my objection. "No way in hell."

"My old favorite song." He runs his fingertips over my t-shirt, tracing the spot where my new tattoo is. "I have a new favorite."

"No, Miles. I'm not getting married in a drive-through."

"You want something classier?"

"Is there something less classy?"

He laughs. "Fair point."

I take a deep breath. The sun is bright in the sky. We're near the Stratosphere tower. I'm sure they do weddings at the top, but that isn't right either.

I don't want a church wedding.

I don't want a drive-through or a hotel deck either.

Nothing feels right. They all feel like places Rosie would hate.

"I don't know what I want." I dig my fingertips into my jeans. "I've never thought about it. We haven't even been engaged twenty-four hours."

"You don't want a drive-through."

I nod.

"You didn't like the little white chapel."

Again, I nod.

"That's two things we've eliminated. We'll find something today or tomorrow."

"Today or tomorrow?" That's fast. Really fast.

Miles's voice is steady. Calm. "That a problem?"

"No, I guess not." My voice is the opposite of steady. I turn to face him. There's all this certainty in his piercing blue eyes. I don't feel any of that.

It isn't right that I don't feel any of that.

"Trust me. I'll find the perfect place for Your Worship." He presses his lips to my forehead.

"I'm
Your Worship
now?"

"You don't want me on my knees?"

I laugh. A full blown belly laugh. It eases the tension brewing in my shoulders. Miles makes me happy. Miles brings me joy.

We can do this.

We have to be able to do this.

––––––––

M
egara

We can't do this.

None of the twelve places we visit are right. The hotel garden isn't right. The church of Elvis isn't right. The poolside altar isn't right.

The last stop, a tiny chapel downtown, is the worst yet. The walls are a garish mix of orange and neon green. The woman manning the counter is wearing last night's makeup. Her clown red hair is in a frizzy perm straight out of an 80s movie.

She looks at us with faint irritation as she takes a drag of her cigarette. "We have ten spots today. Each spot is fifteen minutes. For an extra two hundred dollars, you can add fifteen minutes of photography." She recites the words without a hint of passion. "Samples of our photography packages are available on the wall behind you."

I turn so I can take in these so-called photography packages. They're as tacky as the interior of the chapel. It's not beautiful or special. These weddings look like accidents.

I close my eyes and sink into his touch. Something is missing. I can't picture us here. I can't picture us at the top of the Stratosphere, in the hotel ballroom, in the garden.

Miles takes a slow, steady breath. "We'll find something. Trust me."

I look up at him. That same certainty is in his eyes. I do trust him. But- "I've had enough for today."

He nods and pulls me closer. "Kara and Drew are flying in. We're meeting them tomorrow morning. She can help you with your dress. I'll take care of the rest."

"You're going to find a wedding venue?"

"You doubt me?"

No, but- "This is sudden."

"Trust me. I've got it."

He leans down to kiss me.

His lips are soft. He tastes good.

Slowly, my senses shift back into focus. Warmth floods my body. Then desire. My hands go to his messy hair. My back arches. My crotch presses against his.

I do trust him.

I want him.

I love him.

Hell, I need him. I need him like I need oxygen.

***

A
fter a long evening making up for lost time, I take a shower, change into my new hot pink
Las Vegas
pajamas, and collapse in bed.

For sleep, this time.

This still feels like a dream. Starting at my nail, I trace the ring finger of my left hand. Chapped skin, hard bones, the bump of the knuckle, and my engagement ring.

Marriage is as forever as it gets.

I want that with him.

I want everything with him.

He slides his arms around me and presses his lips to my forehead. His voice is nervous. "You still excited?"

I nod. "And scared."

"That's normal."

"You're scared?"

"I miss you when I'm away. It hurts." He runs his fingers through my wet hair. "Used to be, I thought it was easier, never getting invested in anything enough to hurt."

"Me too."

"It's not. Better to have seven months a year of joy and five where I miss you enough it hurts to breathe."

"Really?"

He nods. "I'd rather it be ten months with you and two away, but I can make this work. If you want me around more, all you have to do is ask."

I trace the tattoos on his chest and shoulders. Each is another piece of his heart. A fierce dragon scaring off anyone who tries to get too close. A rose covered in thorns, enticing, beautiful and guarded. Spread wings, ready to fly away from everything that hurts.

And those words.

Be Brave, Live.

Megara.

His chest heaves with his inhale and falls with his exhale. His eyes are closed.

He's asleep.

I
do
want more of him. I want 365 days of him. But I'm never going to ask for that. He needs the stage. I need medicine.