“Good girl.”
He thrust into me from behind, fucking me hard and fast. This wasn’t about my pleasure. It was about him putting me in my place. I was a lowly fuck toy who would let him fill me while I licked my own mess off the shoe of his bandmate…on his command.
And I liked it.
Loved it.
Lived for it.
No one else was ever going to give me this.
He’d successfully derailed my attempts to have a serious conversation about leaving, but I was no closer to having a better answer.
How was I supposed to live without this?
48
ZANE
Now
* * *
“You have a house in Vegas? Why?”
Maia spun around in the cavernous entryway, but her expression was teasing. We were in Vegas for two nights for an awards show and a concert the second night to crank up the buzz for the North American leg of our tour.
“Do you know how much of my life I spend sleeping in hotels or on buses or planes? We like to record in the studio where it all started, so this has become an oasis for us. Friends stay here too, so it doesn’t just sit empty all the time.”
“I’m not complaining,” she said, taking my hand. “If you miss sleeping in a real house, I’m guessing a home-cooked meal might appeal?”
Could she see it? The fantasy she was throwing in my face?
“You’re going to cook for me?” I asked, pulling her closer.
She nodded.
“Do I get to watch?”
Her mouth curved up into a delicious smile. “I have heard that’s kind of your thing.”
“Then you better hurry. The guys will be here later and my kitchen has a no-clothes policy.”
She squealed as I chased her into the kitchen, pulling her clothes off as we went. She stood there naked and laughing in my kitchen with the late afternoon light streaming through the windows and I had stop and savor it, trying to hold on to the details so I could remember them forever.
She bit her lip. “You’re really going to risk me burning some of your favorite parts?”
I disappeared into the pantry and came out with an apron. “I’ll allow this and only this.”
“And what about you?” she said. “You should at least have to take your shirt off in solidarity.”
“I suppose that isn’t too much to ask,” I said, shrugging out of it. I’d never wear a shirt again if it got her to keep looking at me like that.
She opened the fridge and hummed happily.
“I had some ingredients delivered. A guy can dream, right?”
She started pulling out ingredients, chopping and prepping in a mad flurry of different bowls and pans.
