In one swift movement, he hiked my skirt all the way up and lifted me so my legs wrapped around him. It took everything I had to hold back the squeal of surprise that wanted to escape me.
The thin lace between us did nothing to hide how badly he wanted this, and how badly I did, too.
My thumb brushed the skin at his collarbone where his shirt dipped, and the look that crossed his face softened something deep in my chest. He shifted closer, and I felt the change in him before I saw it, the way his shoulders loosened like he’d decided to stop holding himself back. My hand slid up his chest, following the steady beat under my palm, and he closed his eyes for half a second like he needed the dark to keep himself together.
Cash rested his hand over mine, stilling it. “Tell me again.”
“Hmm?”
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded in a soft, but insistent voice. “I like to hear you say it.”
I bit my lip and whispered, “I want you. Inside of me.”
He groaned, not pulling away, just anchoring me there with him. “I don’t think you can stay quiet.”
I studied his face, the familiar calm there, the kind that made him feel like the steady one in the band. The quiet one who watched instead of charged ahead. I should have known this animal was burning inside of him all this time.
“I can try.”
“You sure, Rox?” He pressed his hard cock into the dampness growing between my legs. “Because if you can’t, you need to tell me now.”
I bit my lips together and nodded quickly, which made his mouth curve into a wry grin.
We stayed like that for a beat longer, bodies close, breath shared, the thrill of being almost found out threading through everything we did.
The person in the next stall seemed to have finished, because we heard the curtain rings slide open and footsteps fade as they made their way to the counter.
In the mirror, I saw the way Cash looked at me. Like this moment, this ridiculous, risky, perfect moment, was something he meant to make the most of.
And then he did.
29
Cash
When I pushed Roxie into the changing room, it felt like stepping over a line I’d been tracing for weeks.
Now, with the curtain shut and this beautiful woman in my arms, I was acutely aware of how flimsy everything was. The panel behind her. The fabric between us. The excuse I didn’t have ready if someone pulled that curtain back.
I didn’t care about any of it. My mind, which was normally moving a mile a minute, was focused on just one thing.
Her.
It felt incredible to finally give in to the temptation that had been tormenting me since she joined our tour. Without realizing it, I’d been fantasizing about Roxie. About exactly this, taking her somewhere private and surrendering to the intense desire that had been pinging between us every time our eyes locked together.
Somehow, Roxie felt better than I ever could have imagined, and tasted sweeter than the finest wine. Her lips parted in a gasp, her fingers clinging to me like she never wanted me to let go.
The sound of someone browsing the shelves just outside our changing room snapped me back into my body.
Roxie froze at the same time I did. I should have pulled away. I should have stepped back, given her space, made this safer.
Instead, I leaned in just enough to rest my forehead against hers, careful not to move the curtain, careful not to make a sound. For whatever reason, pausing was better than stopping. Pausing meant I could pick up where we left off once the coast was clear, and that sounded like a way better idea than walking away from this.
“You okay?” I breathed, barely moving my mouth.
She nodded, and the look in her eyes told me everything I needed to know.
I covered her hand with mine, not to stop her, just to slow the moment down, stretch it, make it last. There was something about being this close, this quiet, this aware of every sound outside the room that made everything sharper. More intimate between the two of us.
