Seduction by Song (22 page)

“Come,” he says as he leans over me again, biting at the lobe of my ear as he growls the command. “Come for me, Erin.”

I gasp, loud and sharp, and come. My legs spasm beneath me, instantly turning to jelly. I hear him moan as I clench around him and I feel the heat of him spilling his own climax inside of me, deep and hot and
whole
.

With him inside of me, I feel
whole
.

I’m still trying to remember how to breathe when he wraps his arms around my waist and hoists me up again, carrying me into the bedroom this time. He drops me onto the sheets and before crawling up next to me, tangling our limbs together again as we rest contentedly in each other’s embrace.

“After lunch,” he says, his voice still a low growl against my ear, “we’re going again.”

I nod, eagerly—though I doubt either of us will be able to wait for
lunch
.

Chapter
Twenty Six

After a long day of fucking and resting and eating and living, I am so thoroughly exhausted and satisfied that I could barely even move. My whole body felt numb, buzzing with pleasure, and all I could do was smile at Romeo as he moved around the room gathering his clothes.

“I wish I could spend the night,” he says as he leans over me to press a kiss to my mouth. “Here, with you, I mean—but the band’s heading out. I can’t miss my ride.”

I pout, but only for a second. As much as I want him with me the whole night, I know I can’t interfere with his career any more than I already have. “
I’m going to miss you so much.”

“You’ll be there tomorrow,” he says—not a question, but an order. “Front and center, where I can see you getting wet for me.”

I grin and nod. I would have gotten wet right then and there if he hadn’t just spent the whole day bringing me to climax again and again and again.

“Or,” he says as he pulls his shirt on over his head, having peeled it off of me earlier as I dropped to my knees to take him into my mouth, “you could come with me. Ride with me and the band. We’ll send a driver for your friends if you have to. Y
ou won’t need to leave my side.

I internalize a groan, conflicted. On the one hand, I would love to stay with him all night and all day tomorrow. I would love to actually see him rehearse, to get that elusive private concert that I knew would be even more passionate then all the others. Yet I didn’t feel entirely comfortable with his band mates. It wasn’t that I thought they were bad guys or anything—they seemed to care deeply for their music, which couldn’t possibly be a bad thing. It was just very clear that they didn’t like me much at all, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to place myself in such a small space with him for so many hours on the road.

Before I could decide, a third factor occurs to me. I sigh and shake my head.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” I say, cringing as a disappointed frown appears on Romeo’s face. I shake my head again, more quickly now. “No, no, Romeo—it’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that—I just remembered it’s my father’s birthday tomorrow. I have to go to Fort Lauderdale to see him.”

The disappointment disappears from his face instantly, replaced by comprehension. It warms me to the core to see how understanding he is—to see that he knows family comes first. He nods after a moment.

“Give him my best,” he says as he pulls the covers up over my shoulders, dropping a kiss to my cheek before he straightens. “You can stay here tonight if you’d like. Checkout isn’t until tomorrow morning.”

I smile appreciatively. “Well, that’s good to hear. I don’t think I would be able to move even if I wanted to.”

He laughs and cups one of my breasts through the thin sheet covering my body, squeezing lightly. “Good. This is exactly how I like you.”

For one split second, I want so badly to ask him not to leave. I want to ask him to skip his show and just stay with me, to keep me in this totally fucked out and blissed out state forever. I knew, instinctively, that he would say yes, though, and I absolutely couldn’t do that to him.

“We’ll have to do the meet the parents thing sometime when you aren’t on tour,” I say instead, deciding that a lighthearted joke couldn’t hurt.

Romeo’s shoulders tense noticeably, then, and he freezes for a second before stepping back, a frown replacing the soft expression of adoration that had been on his face just seconds ago. I blink a few times, wondering if I’d said something wrong, before gasping and clapping a hand over my mouth when I realized I must have brought up horrible memories of his parents just then.

“I’m so sorry,” I say through my fingers, worry straining at the sides of my eyes as I scramble to sit up. “Oh, God, Romeo—I didn’t mean to imply—I mean, I’m just—.”

He shakes his head. He smiles again, too, but it’s a bit tight and forced. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it, babe. Don’t worry about it.”

“But—I should’ve thought,” I say, mentally berating myself. Of course I would never meet his parents. His mother has passed and his father—well, I can’t imagine Romeo ever wanting to speak to his father again. He probably doesn’t even want to think about him, and I can’t believe I brought it up so crassly!

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he says. He laughs, but it sounds almost sarcastic, and there’s a harsher look on his face than I’ve ever seen before when he continues, “My fault for not having a family to introduce you to, you know?”

I gape at him for a moment before shaking my head furiously. “Do you really think that?”

“Don’t you?” he asks, sarcasm still dripping from his words.

“No,” I say, firmly. “Absolutely not. None of this is your fault, Romeo. You said it yourself, your mother’s death—that was all on your father. He could have saved her, maybe, and he didn’t. You had no hand in this.”

He stares at me for a minute or two before his shoulders slump and he nods with a sigh. When he looks at me again, he’s smiling once more—honestly, genuinely. “Thank you
.”

I nod, holding out a hand to gesture for him to come closer. “I’ll say it anytime you need to hear it. It’s only the truth, after all.”

He leans down to kiss me again, and I wind my arms around his shoulders to pull him in close.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice dipping low again.

I smile against his mouth before dropping my arms down to the sheets again. “Also true.”

“I wish I could pin you down and show you just how true,” he says, murmuring the words against my skin as he presses a kiss to the crook of my neck. “All. Day. Long.”

“We’ll just have to meet like this again sometime, stranger,” I say, punctuating my words with a flirtatious grin.

He growls playfully and swats me on the hip. “Don’t tempt me.”

The fact that I even can tempt this man is enough to flood me with pride. I nod, kiss him again, and let him go.

I borrow Maddie’s car and hit the road without any problems, but I can’t stop thinking about Romeo as I drive.

Memories of his hands on me and his seductive voice wrapping itself around me flood my mind. I can barely concentrate on driving. The memories become distracting to the point where I have to pull over once in a while just to text my phone.

I feel silly about this until I see that Romeo has indeed texted me, asking me about the drive and telling me he misses me already. We text back and forth a few times whenever I stop, unable to keep my eyes and mind on the road, until, finally, I reach Fort Lauderdale just before sundown.

My brother’s truck is already outside—of course it is. I cringe as I step out of the car, knowing that he would probably have a slew of lectures all lined up for me. How
dare
you be late to Dad’s birthday dinner, Erin? Where
were
you, Erin? What were you
doing
, Erin?

I roll my eyes, getting my frustration out of my system now before I would have to pen it up for the rest of the night.

Fortunately, it’s my dad that answers the door when I knock. He’s the same cheerful man who walked with me to the grocery store every Thursday night for a gallon of milk all throughout my childhood. His face lights up when he sees me, smiling that same infectious smile that always makes
me
smile as well.

We wrap tight hugs around each other as he pulls me inside with a whispered, “Erin, sweetheart. Welcome home.”

I hug him again, the warmth of a father’s embrace soothing away the ache of the drive. I kick off my shoes and follow him inside as he leads me down through the house, rambling about the feast he’s cooked up for the night. I smile and listen, knowing that he
loves
to go on about his cooking—he had retired not long ago and still missed his days as a culinary genius.

“Dad, Dad!” I say, laughing as I hear him starting to get a bit out of breath describing (in such vivid detail that my mouth begins to water) the citrus grilled tuna steak he prepared.

He stops in his tracks and looks back at me, surprised at the interruption for a moment before a slightly sheepish expression comes over his face. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ve done it again, haven’t I?”

I smile and lean down a little to press a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t worry about it, Dad, but you know I don’t mind a surprise every now and then.”

“You wouldn’t have to be surprised if you were here on time.”

I jump a little at the sudden appearance of Logan’s stern tone. He had come up behind us silently—or at least quietly enough to be unheard by either of us. I try to offer him a smile, too, but the tension crackling in the air between us is practically physical.

“Hi, Logan,” I say, stiffly. “Traffic was tight.”

“I’ll bet it was,” he mutters under his breath.

I roll my eyes internally and don’t even dignify that with an answer. That’s
always
what he said when he didn’t have a good response for something. Instead of letting him get me riled up or feeling like crap, like he always does, I turn back to Dad with an easier smile.

“Dad, you were telling me about the wine you opened up?”

He smiles, too, and brightens instantly as he waves for me to follow him into the kitchen. “Oh, yes—yes, it’s still breathing, but I can’t imagine sneaking a sip will hurt anything.”

I can still feel Logan’s glare on my back as I head into the kitchen, looking over my shoulder once I’m sure he’s out of sight. He hasn’t followed us, thankfully, and I breathe a little easier as Dad pours a glass for me.

“—but I’ve been rambling,” I hear Dad saying as I’m pulled out of my thoughts. “Tell an old man about his favorite daughter. How have you been, Erin?”

I laugh and don’t bother reminding him that I’m his
only
daughter, instead taking a sip of the wine—which
is
a perfect blend, just like he promised. “Oh, you know—the usual. I’m still off on summer break, so I’ve been taking a few tutoring jobs to get some spending money in my pocket. Boring stuff, really.”

I just barely manage to contain a cringe. It isn’t that I want to
lie
to my dad, but—this just didn’t seem like the right time to tell him about Romeo. I knew I would tell him eventually, maybe even later tonight, but it seemed like too heavy a topic to bring up so early in the evening.

Too heavy?
I think to myself, frowning inwardly.

Since when did this become
too heavy
to bring up in casual conversation? A flash of Romeo’s perfect smile crosses my mind, making me sigh. Even though it had started as something like a casual fling, like summer love, I knew it was much more than that now. I knew I was falling for him, and
that
wasn’t something one could tell one’s father so easily. Especially
my
dad, the hopeless romantic. He would start making wedding plans in a second.

Instead, I talk about my dissertation. My dad listens raptly even though I know only half of the words make sense to him, and I’m grateful for that. I’d have been grateful for anything to fill the silence as Logan paces around outside, as though guarding us.

Finally, the oven
dings
and Dad claps his hands together once. “That’ll be the quiche! Would you help me set the table, Erin?”

“Of course!” I say, springing into action and happy to have something to do with my hands.

Logan comes in when Dad calls him once we’re finished arranging the impressive selection of fine dishes that have been prepared for the night. I never did feel right about letting Dad cook his
own
birthday dinner, but he always insisted and he was definitely happier preparing the meal himself than ordering in or having one of us cook. It wasn’t that we weren’t perfectly capable chefs ourselves, having learned a lot from him growing up in this house, but being able to go all out and cook such a lavish dinner was the high point of the day for him.

Mom would always insist on cooking for Dad on his special day, but ever since the divorce—I shake my head to get rid of those thoughts. They were both happier these days, and that’s all that mattered.

Dinner is, of course, a smashing success. Dad loves to talk during his meals, just like he likes to sing while he cooks. He launches into an animated speech about the new restaurants that are popping up in town, telling us which ones we
have
to try and which ones we shouldn’t be caught dead in. Logan, for once, is quiet. He focuses on his food instead of on me, and I breathe a little sigh of relief as it becomes clear he won’t be antagonizing me in front of our dad.