Page 1 of Rising Star

1

MADISON

While sipping champagne with Sam after his success, I was completely absorbed in the intimacy of the night, especially when he shared about his ex-wife, and couldn’t help reaching for his hand. How was I to know the sparks of our attraction would shoot right through me? A buzz arose where our skins touched. My breath caught somewhere between my lungs and throat.

I hadn’t planned on hinting about my childhood. It just happened. An invisible vise strangled my heart, and I prayed Sam wouldn’t pry about my past any further. And that’s when he intertwined our fingers together, sending a bulk load of mixed signals to my body.

I squirmed my hand away, unable to process how the minor gesture had such an impact on me.

After what appeared like hours, Sam reached back for my hand. Of his own volition. Shooting addictive heat through my blood. And more confusion into my head. As if he couldn’t not touch me. As if the small connection was meaningful to him too.

Right there, I melted for him a little more. And my stupid heart imagined scenarios that couldn’t exist in real life, only in my mind.

Hours later, I was lying in bed, unable to rest my mind long enough for sleep to claim me. After an hour of tossing and turning, I got up and decided that sinking into a hot bath would help me relax. The scorching water did miracles to untie the knots in my back. But it did nothing to ease the one around my lower abdomen. Moving to my knees, I reached for the phone I’d placed on a folded towel on the floor and did something I’d sworn I’d never do. I put Sam’s new album on, the one I bought the moment it got released. Setting my device back down, I immersed myself deeper in the water and closed my eyes, the sound of his voice erasing the remnant jitters waltzing through me.

How could a voice be powerful enough to appease my body, heart, and soul all at once? As if it connected us in a way no words could express.

Rocked by every word he sang, I ventured one hand between my thighs, imagining those were his fingers. The ones I never got to experience in the way I craved the most.

My breasts pushed out of the water, my back arcing when I touched myself the way he would if he were here. With me. Not sleeping a flight of stairs above, unreachable.

I cursed at myself. Pressing on my clit with the heel of my hand, two of my fingers found their way to my center, and a crazed sensation zipped through me.

Sam’s voice sang about love. And lust. And my hand moved to the rhythm of his guitar, playing my own body like he played his instrument.

With ease and abandon. With purpose and conviction.

My movements turned frantic. I increased the pace. My vision blurred. My breath spasmed with every exhale. My lower belly filled with pools of lava.

I pictured him in the bar that night when he sang on the stage for the first time in two years. When he cooked on the grill, sending glances my way. His hands on mine when he taught me to play the guitar. That irresistible grin every time we argued and he didn’t agree with me because he knew he was right. That vulnerability he didn’t hide when we opened our hearts to each other, retelling the stories of our lives.

My head tilted back. My thighs spread apart giving me more space. I had no more conscious control over my body. It was only regulated by the pleasure building in its depths.

With my free hand, I strangled the edge of the tub as the orgasm hit me. It rippled from so deep inside my core, for an instant, I believed the ride would never come to a stop.

…Baby, I’m holding ya

Baby, you can count on me

I have your back, now and forever…

The song ended, and tremors shook every fiber of my being as I landed back into my physical body.

I had touched myself dreaming about Sam in the past, but this, the images of him invading my head, the sound of his voice, the words he sang, it had never felt so real. He was with me, touching me, without even being here.

Breathless and relaxed, I dried myself and ignored my reflection in the mirror. Yep, I wasn’t ready to assess how pathetic I had become. Not even taking the time to put any clothes on, I slipped under the covers, chasing sleep.

A part of me still hoped Sam would walk right in here and relieve us both of the pent-up tension impossible to ignore when we were standing close to each other. And touch me until his skin was branded on mine for the rest of my life.

Within a minute, I passed out, ready to continue the fantasy, promising myself this would never happen again. And knowing I would have a hard time resisting if temptation called my name again.

* * *

The next morning, I woke up early. I had my bedroom to set, some of my boxes to unpack, and my clothes to hang in the closet. I still wasn’t sure why I agreed to move into the Stevenses’ home, other than it made sense to prepare the girls for their new adventure. No doubt, I would have to adjust too. When I lived on a yacht last year, it took my stomach two weeks to adapt to being on the ocean twenty-four-seven, the swell of the waves more perceptible when I lay down at night.

The sound of little feet padding in my direction brought a curl to my lips. Mikaella and Justine stood in my doorway, wearing matching PJs and grins, fawning over every piece of clothing spread on my bed when I invited them in. None of the outfits was spectacular, but they rubbed the material of the denims, T-shirts, blouses, and summer dresses between their fingers. Justine, spread on her front, took a whiff of one of my cardigans.

“Do you wear perfume?” Mikaella asked, now standing next to me, her big sparkling eyes traveling over my few possessions.