“Have you given more thought about what you want to do for your birthday?” Oliver asked me on Thursday, a week from the big day. We were in one of the dressing rooms at tonight’s venue, hours before the show. His fingers were under my shirt, carefully kneading my breast.
“No,” I half said, half gasped. His other hand was unbuttoning my jeans, something he hadn’t done before. We hadn’t progressed past heavy make-out sessions, but the only reason for that was his hectic schedule. I knew he had at least twenty minutes before he had to leave now.
His fingers dipped inside my underwear, and I stiffened.
“Relax, beautiful,” he said and chuckled softly. “Is this the furthest you’ve gone with a man?”
My eyes shuttered closed as he pinched a nipple. “What does it matter?” Lingering insecurity trembled in the back of my mind. Was it obvious to him that I was a virgin?
“It matters plenty.” He nuzzled my ear with his nose. “If I’m the first, I want to know so that I can make it special.”
His breath washed over my exposed neck and he planted a kiss on the patch of skin that was pounding with my racing pulse. “Tell me.” His voice was low and commanding.
I nodded against his shoulder. “Yes. You’re the first.”
I could feel his smile against my skin. “Good girl. We’ve got a lot of territory to explore before the big finale on your birthday.”
The meaning of his words tangled in my brain as he pushed his fingers farther inside of me. I gasped and clutched on his shoulders. I’d touched myself before, but I’d never experienced the foreign sensation of someone else’s fingers inside of me. He began to work my clit with his thumb, and I writhed against the wall as the pleasure between my legs began to build.
“God, you’re so tight. You’re going to feel so good around me,” Oliver murmured, his voice strained.
I groaned and held on to him until stars exploded in my eyes.
It was only after we had parted that I remembered his earlier words.
The birthday finale.
* * *
I goton Ritual Disruption’s bus for the first time a few days later.
It was bigger than Bleeding Moonlight’s, a mind-boggling sixteen-bunk sleeper bus with an entire king-sized bed in a room at the back. I was stunned by the opulence, but Oliver didn’t give me time to drink in the surroundings.
“The guys will be back from lunch soon,” he said between kisses while he backed me into the bedroom and undid the buttons of my shirt. I fell back onto the bed, but Oliver didn’t follow me. He paused at the foot of the bed and raked his gaze over my chest. “Do you want to make me feel good, Ivy?”
I bit on my lip. He’d made me come multiple times by now with his hand, and I’d known it was only a matter of time before he’d expect me to return the favor.
You want to see him, don’t you?
I did. He’d taken his shirt off with me before, but I wanted to seeallof him. Still, my silence stretched between us.
He frowned and extended his hand, as if to help me back up. “I don’t want to ask you for something you’re not ready for.”
Emotions battled in my chest. In truth, I was nervous about a million things. Was I ready to go further with him? Would I live up to his expectations? The past week had been a whirlwind of emotions, and I felt like I’d had no time to even try to ground myself. When I wasn’t with Oliver, all I did was daydream about him and when I’d see him next. So why was I so scared?
A twenty-seven-year-old rock star isn’t going to wait for you. Stop being immature.
As I took in his expression, I knew there was no time for childish hesitation, not if I wanted to keep him interested in me.
“I want to make you feel as good as you’ve made me,” I said, forcing my thoughts away from my worries by focusing on how goddamn attractive this man was. His lips were pouty from the kisses we had just shared, and his blond hair had been tousled by my hands.
His teeth ran over his lip ring, and his lids grew heavier. “Okay. Only if it’s what you want.”
See, he’s not even trying to pressure you into anything. It’s all in your head.
I sat up, bringing my face in line with his waist, and began to undo his jeans. He smoothed strands of hair away from my face as he watched me from above. My forearms grazed against his muscular thighs and the bulge that was straining against the fabric of his jeans as I worked the buttons open.
When I’d finished with the last one, I looked up at him, expecting to see a smile, or even one of his signature smirks, but instead, his expression was impassive. As if he were a king looking down at one of his insignificant peasants. I swallowed.
