“Zane’s inside?” I asked, and Shady gave me a nod.
I knocked on the door, then popped my head in. “Zane?” I called.
“Yeah.”
The sound of his voice, a little rough, a little soft, gave me goosebumps.
That definitely hadn’t changed.
I climbed up into the bus and shut the door. Zane was standing in the lounge, alone. He’d just finished whatever he was doing on his phone and set it on the table as he turned to me.
I gripped the papers in my hand, ready to serve up my excuse for needing to talk to him… but I didn’t even get that far.
He was wearing soft, plaid pajama pants—and nothing else.
They clung way-low on his hips, like not-suitable-for-children-low, and my eyes followed his chiseled abs down to the amazing sculpted V of his groin… the deep indentations inside his hipbones, and his neatly shaven, golden treasure trail… and I fucking salivated.
I must’ve been ovulating or something, because no matter how much I’d gotten myself off last night, I was still horny as fucking hell.
I’d been up half the night, unable to sleep, I was that horny.
For him.
He pulled up the pants a bit, adjusting them on his hips. It didn’t do much to cover him any better, but he pulled up his pants.
Zane had never in his life attempted to cover more of his body in my presence.
“Uh, Maggs? Got a face up here.”
My eyes jumped up to his face. His beautiful face. And shit, he was wearing his glasses. The little frameless glasses he wore sometimes to read and stuff.
I fucking loved his little glasses.
His light-blue eyes danced with amusement. Or maybe it was affection. But he definitely didn’t smirk or gloat.
And I was reminded of that Seinfeld episode… Men get smarter when they don’t have sex, and women get stupider?
I smiled a little sheepishly. “Hi.”
“What’s up?” he asked, gently, taking the glasses off… all laid-back and sexy.
For the last almost-three weeks, despite whatever personal hell he may have been going through with his withdrawal, he’d been all laid-back and non-cocky and fucking sensible with me—and it was definitely turning me on.
Granted, Zane Traynor had been turning me on since the day we met. Since before that, actually, if you counted all the times I’d gotten myself off fantasizing about him when I didn’t even know him yet. I couldn’t possibly remember all the orgasms I’d had either as a result of him touching me, or me touching myself thinking about him touching me.
But I didn’t think I’d ever been as turned on by him as I was these past few weeks.
And now he didn’t want to have sex with me?
I swallowed, my eyes dropping from his face, because eye contact with Zane when I wasn’t supposed to be having sex with Zane was a bad idea. I tried really hard not to stare at his pierced nipple. It had a small steel barbell through it, and that tiny, sensitive dark-pink nub looked like it was just begging to be flicked by my tongue.
I remembered the way he’d groaned when I’d licked it in the past, and my clit throbbed.
“I, uh, brought you a couple of things.” I laid the papers Talia had given me on the table and tried to find anywhere to stare that wasn’t Zane’s naked flesh.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Silence.
Awkward silence.
I looked up into his eyes again… and there was that feeling.
When I’d first met Zane, every time our eyes met, there was an explosion of butterflies in my stomach. Considering I was around him all the time and soon had to witness firsthand what a manwhore he was, I managed to convince the butterflies to cool their jets.
Ever since his pilgrimage into the desert with Seth, the night he’d laid out his plan to give himself one more chance to stay sober and stay on this tour? Butterflies. A whole mad chaotic swarm of them, every time his eyes met mine.
Maybe it was how much clearer his eyes looked now that he wasn’t smoking pot.
Maybe it was that calmer, steadier vibe he was starting to put off.
Maybe it was something to do with the respect I’d gained for him when he didn’t fall apart but instead stood strong.
Whatever it was… it was like Zane was new to me again. In a very good way. Or at least, the butterflies hibernating in my stomach seemed to think so.
“Is that all?” he asked, when I just kept staring at him.
“No,” I admitted. “I was just thinking… I miss you.”
“Maggie,” he said, slowly. “I really think—”
“Not like that. Not sex.” Well… not just sex. “I just meant… I miss talking to you. I haven’t really had anyone to talk to about what’s been going on, you know? There’s Jessa, but she’s so far away.”
Concern etched his features, and it felt good that he cared. I didn’t want him to worry about me, but I definitely didn’t want him to stop caring. “What about Katie? You two are tight.”
“Yeah. But I think I feel guilty for not being honest with her all along. I feel weird talking to her about everything now, like I betrayed her or something.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t think that. Why don’t you just talk to her?”
“Yeah. I will.”
That seemed like as good a place as any to make a graceful exit.
But I made no move toward the door.
Zane’s eyes scanned my face, slowly. “And, hey, if you really need someone to talk to, I could be your girlfriend. I could just tuck it.”
“Tuck…?”
I glanced down, at the bulge of his dick in his thin pajama pants… then looked back up to meet his small grin.
Then I burst out laughing. I laughed until tears shimmered in my eyes.
Zane’s eyes shone, too, with something like happiness.
I cleared my throat and got my shit together.
“Thank you for the offer, I guess. But… I don’t want you to tuck it.”
Zane’s slight grin faded, but he still looked happy.
I felt my own smile vanish. “I like you the way you are,” I told him, my voice kinda lusty and scratchy as I squeezed out the words.
I moved closer to him, a lot closer, and slipped my hand around the back of his neck. Then I leaned into him, stretching up on my tiptoes so I could kiss him, just a bit.
“Maggie…” he started to say, but I cut him off by pressing my lips to his. I ran my other hand down his body and grabbed his cock through his soft pants. He wasn’t hard yet, but he was getting there. His cock was swollen and starting to firm. I loved the weight of it in my hand. I squeezed his cock and balls and he groaned… A few quick strokes, and he was rock-hard. Then I wrapped my hand around his fat cockhead and squeezed.
“Maggie… stop, okay?”
I heard the words he whispered against my mouth, but they didn’t compute. The taste of him on my lips, the feel of him hard and ready in my hand, the smell of him… all these sensations triggered the overwhelming auto-responses in my body.
Sent all the signals to my lady parts that they knew so well…
I needed him inside me.
I knew, distantly, that he’d asked me to stop. But he didn’t really mean it, right? He was so hard…
I dropped down to my knees on the floor at the same time I yanked his pants down and got a hold of his bare cock. He swore and groaned as I fed him into my mouth, even as his hands landed on my shoulders and he started to push me back. I held on, closing my mouth around his cockhead, my hand around his shaft, and squeezed hard. Sucking and licking…
“Maggie… ah, fuck… babe… we can’t.”
His hands slid down my arms and he lifted me away, yanking me off his dick and depositing me on the couch.
I just blinked at him.
“Did you just pull me off your dick?”
He laughed shortly and kind of grimaced as he shoved his cock back in his pants,
which tented ridiculously. “Yeah. I did.”
“Why?” I asked, dazed, his text from last night suddenly coming back to me.
In the moment, I’d almost forgotten about it.
we shouldn’t be having sex
He stared at me for a moment, his chest heaving a little with his breaths as he swiped a hand through his hair.
I’d definitely gotten him worked up, but he didn’t look happy about it.
He looked uncomfortable.
Since when did sex make Zane Traynor uncomfortable?
“When I started in AA,” he said slowly, “Rudy advised me not to start up any new relationships with women for at least a year. I didn’t exactly listen to that. But this time, it’s different. I’m not new to the program and I’m not newly sober, but dropping pot has been a big change and it’s not easy for me. I don’t want to fuck this up.”
By this, I wasn’t even sure if he meant the drinking thing or the pot thing or the us thing—or all of the above. I was still stuck on two specific words he’d said.
“A year? You want me to wait for you… for a year?” I swallowed thickly as my pussy throbbed in agony at the thought.
Zane’s eyebrows went up. He looked genuinely surprised that I was mildly freaking out. Then the corner of his mouth turned up in the slightest hint of a smile.
“Well… maybe not a whole year…”
I tried to collect my thoughts. It was all a little hazy, what with the lust clouding my judgment and his dick still pointing at me. I knew, rationally, that this was what he needed. If he was setting a limit with me on this, it was important.
Zane had never set a limit with me when it came to sex.
And Brody was right; it was my responsibility to support Zane. To give him what he needed in his fight to stay sober.
His sobriety was the most important thing here.
It was definitely more important than my frustrated libido.
But that didn’t change the fact that seeing him like this was such a turn-on. Everything he did and said lately was a turn-on. He just seemed so in-control, and it was so damn sexy it was killing me slowly.
I glanced down at his massive hard-on and asked him, “Are you sure?” Because as much as I knew, rationally, that I should be listening to him right now, my body was still screaming at me to jump on that dick and fuck it into next Tuesday.
When my eyes jumped back to his face, my thoughts must’ve been written all over me—because his eyes went almost comically-wide with panic.
“You need to go,” he said, suddenly bolting for the door.
“Go?” I stared at him, my brain blanking out. I couldn’t make sense of the word.
Zane had never asked me to go anywhere. Other than to bed with him, or to some party where he planned to put the moves on me.
And once, to a wedding chapel.
“I need you to go,” he said, standing by the door and not even looking at me.
I blinked at him.
I got up, slowly, and went to the door. I stood in front of him and looked at his face, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.
I drifted my hand up his bare chest, just lightly, grazing his nipple piercing, and he flinched at my touch. I could feel the barely-restrained tension. I could sense every muscle hardening as his whole body went rigid.
He wanted me. I was sure of that.
I ran my hand up his neck and cupped his face. Finally, his ice-blue eyes met mine. I stood up on my tiptoes and gave him a super-quick kiss on the cheek.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Me too.” Then he reached past me and opened the door, and gently nudged me through it.
I stood in the lot outside, my back to Zane’s bus as he shut the door behind me. I was partly in shock, incredibly aroused… and deeply confused.
He asked me to leave.
I just stood here for a long moment trying to process it. When it finally sank in, more or less, I started to move. I crossed the lot to my bus and climbed on, headed straight to the back, to my locker… and I started to pack.
By nine o’clock that night, I’d arrived at Jessa and Brody’s home in North Vancouver. I’d called Jessa to let her know I was coming, and she’d put on a pot of tea. However, I was in the mood for something stronger and arrived with a bottle of wine in hand.
When my tour bus had arrived in Chicago, I’d gotten off the bus, gotten into a taxi and headed for the airport, and caught the next available flight to Vancouver. The first thing I did when I landed was pick up the wine. And the first thing I asked Jessa as we settled into a couple of cushy seats by the fireplace on her rooftop patio was, “Is Brody mad at me?”
“That’s what you’re worried about right now?” My good friend looked over at me. She’d been tinkering with her baby monitor; Nicky was sleeping inside.
Brody was in Chicago; he’d flown out for the Chicago shows and the filming of the “Blackout” video. His mom lived in Chicago, too, so maybe he’d see her while he was there.
“Yeah,” I admitted, taking a generous gulp of wine. “That’s one of the many things I’m worried about right now.” I’d had a couple of drinks on the plane, too. Now that I wasn’t around Zane, having a drink—or a few—had become top priority.
“I don’t think he’s mad at you. I think he’s worried about you.” Jessa set the baby monitor on the table and sat back in her chair. “He was mad at me, though. You know, for not telling him about you and Zane.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Really.” She picked up her mug of tea and sipped.
“Shit, Jessa. I’m sorry. I should never have put that on you. I should never have asked you to keep a secret from Brody like that. He’s your man. I honestly didn’t think about that part when I told you.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. I should never, ever have asked you to lie to Brody for me.”
“You didn’t. You asked me to keep your secret. And I never really lied to him. It’s not like he ever asked me, ‘So, do you think Maggie and Zane are secretly married?’”
I cracked a smile. “Thank God for that.”
“If he’d ever asked me something like that, I don’t know what I would’ve done. I wouldn’t have been able to lie to him, even if I wanted to. But I never would’ve voluntarily told him, Maggie. You told me in confidence, and even Brody respected that once he got over being offended that I didn’t tell him. I never said a word about it to anyone.”
“I know you didn’t. And thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She picked up her iPhone. “Music?”
“Yes, please.” I sat up to refresh my wine glass; my first few gulps had already put a dent into it. “Put on your girlie mix or something.”
“Uh-uh. Not what you need right now.” Instead, she put on Soundgarden, “Fell On Black Days.”
“Oh shit, yes.” I melted back into my seat, glass of wine in hand. “This is better. Turn it up.”
She did, and we both sat back and just listened, let Chris Cornell and the boys take care of things for a few minutes.
About halfway through the song, Jessa turned it down a bit. “Okay, I can’t stand it. I’ve gotta ask. What are you going to do about Zane and the marriage thing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you leave the tour?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you going back soon?”
“I don’t know.”
Jessa was clearly dissatisfied with those responses. “Well… how are things between you and Zane?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maggie.”
“I seriously don’t know,” I told her. “I tried to get in his pants this morning. I mean, I did get in his pants, for about two seconds. I got his cock in my mouth. And then he took it back.”
“Excuse me?”
“He pulled his dick out of my mouth and told me to stop. And kicked me off his tour bus.”
Jessa smushed her mouth shut, biting back her
first response to that. Then she sipped her tea. “That’s… um… gotta be a first.”
“Yup.”
Together we stared into the fire, listening to the music and the soft crackle of the flames.
“You know, everyone says he’s doing well, but in reality he’s probably in a pretty rough place right now,” she offered. “And in the middle of a tour… You probably need to be patient with him.”
“Yeah.”
“You once asked me what I would do about it if I were you,” she said. “About the marriage. And I told you that would depend on how much I loved him. So… how much do you love him?”
“Enough to stay married to him for almost two years, in secret, and pretty much put myself through hell.”
“So,” she concluded, “a lot. Enough to make a marriage work.”
I looked over at her, and she was looking back at me, steady.
Jessa Mayes had changed in the last year. She’d grown up. Matured and softened and gotten stronger all at once. She looked good, too. Obviously, she always looked good. She was a lingerie model, for one. Long brown hair with golden highlights and this undeniably gorgeous face; similar brown eyes and dazzling smile as her rock star brother.
But these days, she looked like she was feeling good, too. Coming home, coming back to Dirty and writing with the band again, being with Brody and having baby Nick, becoming a mom and someone we could all count on… she’d become part of us again. Part of our family. It was good for her, and it was good for us.
It was good for me, because she’d become someone I could count on again.
“I’ve never talked to anyone else about him,” I told her. “Just you.”
“You can talk to me about anything, Maggie.”
“Yeah.”
She fiddled with her phone, and a new song started. It was “Maggie May” by Rod Stewart.
I groaned. “You’re a bitch. I hate this song.”
“And you forget I was there,” she said, big brown eyes blinking at me innocently. “I was at the Wet Blanket show in L.A. when Zane sang this song, and you definitely didn’t hate it that night. You looked pretty starry-eyed, if I recall.”
“I hate you a little right now.”
Jessa grinned, but she left the song playing quietly. And I wondered what I’d come here to talk to her about, exactly. Or if I’d even wanted to talk.
Dirty Like Zane: A Dirty Rockstar Romance (Dirty, Book 6) Page 21