“I’ve—it’s my job. We’re flying out to Chicago for a concert today and there’s—maintenance problems on the plane.”
Lies, but I was already gathering my things and practically sprinting to the door.
“Call meeeeeee!” Vermilion warbled.
But I knew I wouldn’t. I was stupidly and head-over-heels in love with someone else.
Where are you?I texted Kingsley.
For several minutes, there was no response, and I tensed, my stomach dropping.
Had I taken too long to respond? Had he moved on to the next girl on the roster?
God, everyone knew his roster was absolutely legendarily deep, packed with the hottest actresses, models, Olympic skiers, WNBA stars, and politician’s wives desperate for his dick.
Back of the plane
Sick relief and joy flooded me.
He hadn’t immediately moved on to the next girl.
Because my dumb hopeful heart couldn’t help hoping this was it.
He’d always said he would be ready to settle down. . . when he got to the right point in his career.
And now he was an international superstar and one of the top-earning musical artists in the world. If not now, when? What was he waiting for?
Maybenowwas the time he was finally going to admit he was in love with me.
I’d been hopelessly in love withhimever since the first moment I saw him in college, the first moment my friends had dragged me over to see this hot guy playing his guitar at a coffee shop.
And no other man had been able to match up.
I rushed over to the airport and showed my ID to get past security and onto the stairway for Kingsley’s private plane.
The front of the plane was already filling up. The rest of Kingsley’s band—grungy drummers named Mick and Rick. A serious, quiet bass player named Constantine. His harp player Dolly, who was a sweet, shy classically trained musician aroundour age, with bouncy blonde curls. Our college friend Matt, who was an NFL quarterback and out with an injury this season, so he was able to come on the whole tour this time. Rounding out the group was Kingsley’s manager Cornelius, a hard-driving corporate suit bootlicker.
I gave everyone a quick nod and pulled back the divider to the rear of the plane, where Kings had a private bed, chef, and spa.
And there he was.
Kingsley towered over me in a T-shirt that was molded to his muscular form, his golden skin looking impossibly mouth-watering. He had messy golden-blonde hair, with messy stubble, brown eyes with the most unfairly gorgeous lashes, his face perfectly proportioned yet strong and masculine.
And of course he knew it.
“You took your sweet time,” he said, with that shit-eating sexy grin that I was fuckingweakfor.
Then he pulled me into the back bathroom and I could already feel drool pooling in my mouth at how his athletic pants hung low on his hips, showing off his impeccable v-lines.
V-lines like that on a man should be fuckingillegal, and I dropped to my knees before him, pulling down on his waistband so his cock sprung out.
My skin was buzzing, arousal soaking my panties as I flicked his tip with my piercing, then ran my tongue around the smooth metallic bar curved around that big head.
“Just like that,” Kingsley grunted as I took his length eagerly in my mouth. After five years I was pretty good at being able to relax the muscles in my throat and jaw to be able to take him deeper, suck him longer.
“You’ll have to hurry, baby girl,” he said. “We don’t have much time.”
I never wanted to rush through anything with Kingsley, but I obeyed.
