My noodle-weak arms fall to the side as he collapses on top of me. We’re a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths, the sheets damp beneath us.
Minutes later, I startle a little as Zane’s fingers brush my cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle after the way he just fucked me senseless.
His eyes are still dark, still hungry, but there’s something else there now—something beyond the manic possessiveness he’s exhibited in the last twenty-four hours.
This is something…permanent.
As if he’s imprinting…imprintedsomething on me.
“You’re perfect, Ruby Lane. And this, sweet girl…this is just the beginning," he promises, his voice a low rumble against my ear.
7
UNHINGED FILMING CHAOS
RUBY
One Week Later
Music videos are not glamorous.
Not even a little.
They are sweaty and loud and disorganized and involve way more “look sultry over your left shoulder” and “try that again but pretend you want to set the world on fire” than any one human should endure before noon.
Also…I really can’t sing.
Nothing has ever been proven this faster than the ten minutes the sound guy spent testing my mic.
“You don’t have to sing,” Freddie assured me, valiantly hiding a grimace. “And for the love of God, don’t.”
Super comforting.
Zane? He doesn’t care. He doesn’t even pretend to care.
The first night after I signed my life, hormones, and sanity away, Ifinallymanaged to talk him into letting me go home.
And the second the money landed in my account I quit my job, told Toby I was done frothing his beans and he said I was welcome to “froth something else.”
That his wife didn’t need to know.
I smiled, leaned in, and whispered,“Sweetheart, she’ll know the minute I post your DMs on the church Facebook group.”
He choked so hard he almost frothed himself.
And after that delightful encounter, I did some ‘homework’. As in, I deep-dived into YouTube like a deranged honors student preparing for the SATs of Feral Rockstar Behavior.
I watched every interview, every live performance, every fan cam, every “Zane Draven Growling for 10 Minutes Straight” compilation.
Bad fucking idea.
Because nothing prepares you for how famous he actually is.
Or how feral.
Or how violently adored.
Fans screamAll Hail Saint Sinwhen he walks on stage.
