Wild Thoughts

by Charity Ferrell

I start following him up the stairs. “Is this some scheme to get me into your bedroom?” I call out.

  He turns around and winks. “Something like that, sunshine. Will it work?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “You take the fun out of everything, Graves.” He holds his hands up and wiggles his fingers. “I promise I’ll keep these bad boys to myself.”

  “You better, or I’ll bite them off.”

  “Why? So you can use them to pleasure yourself without having to deal with me? That’s some twisted shit.”

  “You’re seriously incorrigible.”

  “And you’re seriously slacking at your job. Come on.”

  I groan and curse with every step up. I’m being overly dramatic, but the more he talks about what happened in the backseat, the more I want it to happen again. I need to keep my distance from this man, which is going to be completely unrealistic considering I’ll be with him everyday for months.

  He waits until I meet him at the last door down the long hallway and pulls out a key to unlock it, gesturing for me to go in first.

  The bedroom is huge with an expensive bed taking up most of the space. The bed is black and covered with dark bedding. The walls are painted a light grey, giving it some brightness to the dark furniture, and a big screen TV hangs on the wall across from his bed with a dresser underneath it.

  It screams masculinity from every angle. The pleasant scent of mint and pine drifts through the air.

  Five platinum records are hung up on one wall with a guitar that looks like it’s seen better days below it.

  “Is that the guitar? I ask, walking over to it.

  I know my fair share about guitars from being around my dad’s band so much, and this guitar isn’t expensive. It’s cheap, beat up, and the only reason someone would keep something in this terrible of condition is if it means something to them.

  He looks from the guitar to me and nods. “That’s the guitar that changed my life.”

  I want to reach out and touch it because of the sentimental value it holds to him but hold myself back, feeling like he’s the only one allowed to do that. I’m not sure if he catches onto my hesitation, but I tense up when he walks over to me. He slowly drags his hand over the face of the guitar back and forth slowly.

  “I will keep this for the rest of my life. I have guitars that are worth thousands and thousands of dollars, but this is my most prized possession.”

  The look in his eyes when he talks about this guitar is hypnotic. You can’t help but fall in love with it too. The passion. The love. This cheap piece of wood is what gave him the life he has now.

  I suck in a breath before gaining the courage to slowly run my fingers over it, feeling all of the chipped pieces and wear and tear from over the years. I wonder how many other music lovers learned to play their favorite songs on this instrument.

  I look over at him when I feel his finger slowly graze the side of my hand. He’s staring at me in a way I’ve never seen before. There’s no cockiness. I’m not sure exactly what it is, but it reminds me of a mixture of nostalgia and tranquility.

  His large hand folds over my slender one before he weaves our fingers together. The air in the room goes heavy, and the scent of fresh chlorine hits me as he guides our connection over the strings.

  Warmth rushes through my body when he starts to play using the tips of our fingers. The strings feel coarse against my skin. Our eyes are locked, and I can’t force myself to look away.

  “This is the first song I learned to play,” he says quietly.

  He starts to sing, and I swear if his hands weren’t on mine I would lose my concentration on what we’re doing.

  It’s no lie that he can sing, and he does it so beautifully I get myself caught up in his spell. It’s sensual and masculine and runs through my veins like silk. I could stand here and listen to it all day, especially when he’s giving me my own private show.

  “The House of the Rising Sun?” I ask.

  He squeezes my hand. “It was my mother’s favorite song. She’d listen to it on repeat, and somehow I ended up catching onto the beat. It’s not perfect, but it’s what shaped me into who I am. The lyrics hit pretty close to home.”

  He starts to sing again, and I never want him to stop. I can’t take my eyes off him. I feel like he’s giving me something he’s never given anyone else. Or maybe I’m hoping that’s true – that he’s never opened up himself like this to anyone but me. I want to be the only woman he’s given this incredibly personal show for.

  “Wow,” I whisper when he finishes. “It still has it.”

  Our hands are still enveloped, and my fingertips slowly slide along the strings.

  “It always will,” he says, slowly releasing my hand from his. He takes a step back, and we stare at each other in silence.

  What is going on?

  I came here to help him pack, not to eye fuck him and develop an even bigger attraction.

  He closes in on the small space that’s separating us, and I know in this second, it’s going to lead somewhere if I don’t stop it.

  I fake a laugh and distance myself. “We better start packing before it gets too late. I have a feeling you’re going to be high maintenance,” I say.

  I’m trying to joke, but there’s no confusion in what I stopped.

  He forces out a chuckle, shaking his head, and points to the French doors on the opposite side of the room. “Closet and bathroom are over there.”

  I start to move in that direction while keeping my head down. Please don’t let him see the blush rising along my face.

  “And Libby.” I turn around at the sound of his voice and look at him, even though I’m terrified to. “I might be high maintenance, but I can tell you that’s not the case in the bedroom. I make sure I take care of her before me.”

  I gulp before answering him. “Thanks for the info.” He says things that make my imagination run wild. Why am I thinking about his hands on me? He’s the last person I should want touching me.

  “From the sexual tension that just happened, I’d like you to be well informed.”

  Oh my fucking God!

  I turn around and stumble a bit on my way into the bathroom. The room is as incredible as the rest of the house, and my favorite part is the claw foot bathtub that I know would be amazing to soak in. It’s my dream tub. I walk through the bathroom and straight into the closet.

  Yes, I lived a pretty privileged life growing up, but there is no doubt that Knox has more money than my father did … or he spends it more wisely and doesn’t pour it into women and drugs.

  I walk back into the bathroom and poke my head out the door. “Do you have your packing list?” I ask.

  “Shit, it’s downstairs. I emailed it to you, do you have your copy?”

  “It’s in my purse. I’ll grab it.” I go back into the bedroom and rummage through my bag. I start to separate the papers folded together until I find it. “Here it is.”

  I don’t get the chance to stop him before he grabs a fallen paper from the bed. “Is this yours?” he asks, his eyes trailing down my itemized list.

  Oh. My. God. I want to die, like I’m seriously debating walking over to his balcony and jumping off.

  I dart forward and try to snatch it from him, but he sprints across the room, grinning.

  “Vibrator is number ten and underlined multiple times,” he says. “Damn, I’m traveling with a bad girl.”

  How do I lie my way out of this? “I didn’t write that. Mia did.”

  “It’s in your handwriting.” I want to smack the smug smile off his face. He’s eating this up.

  I decide to just admit to it so we can move on. “Oh shut up, a girl has to release herself sometimes.”

  “Why can’t you use me as your release? I guarantee you I’m better than any toy you can buy. Don’t pleasure yourself with plastic.” He looks down at his swim trunk covered cock. “The real thing is always better.”

  “I don’t want the real thing.” I
can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I’m so pissed at myself that I was stupid enough to let that get out. I should’ve thrown it away when I finished packing.

  The amusement of my humiliation is still evident on his face. “So you’re saying you prefer artificial stimulation? I can tell you one thing for sure, there’s no way I’d prefer artificial pussy.”

  “Have you ever even tried artificial pussy?” And why the fuck are we saying artificial pussy?

  “Fuck no. Never have. Never will.”

  “Don’t knock it until you try it.”

  “I think you’d look at me completely different if you walked in on me fucking a fake pussy.”

  He does have a point there. “Probably, but I prefer using a vibrator because I don’t have to worry about my vibrator giving me the clap or any other venereal disease. I stay clean with my orgasm machine.”

  “Did you just say orgasm machine?”

  “It’s better than saying artificial cock!”

  “I’m traveling across the country with a pervert.”

  I scoff. “No buddy, I think it’s the other way around.”

  He throws his head back and groans. “Do you know how bad it’s going to kill me to know you’re in the hotel room next door pleasuring your pretty little pussy with some cheap imitation? Let’s make a deal.”

  “Let’s not.”

  “If you feel like you’re in need of an orgasm, you call me. You won’t even have to worry about taking care of me. I promise. I’ll come in, do my job, and then leave.” The excitement on his face as he talks about pleasuring me is mesmerizing, and I can feel myself getting wet between my legs.

  “How about no.”

  “I swear if I see said vibrator, I’m burning that sucker.”

  We need to move on from this conversation. “Has anyone told you you’re annoying?”

  “No, but I have been told I’m phenomenal in bed, much better than some ridiculous vibrator.” He shrugs. “Maybe I’ll steal your batteries and you’ll get desperate enough to come knocking on my door.”

  He’s so wrapped up in our conversation that I catch him off guard when I snatch the paper from his hand. “We need to get to packing because I can’t stay long.”

  “Why? Do you have a date with your vibrator?”

  “Say vibrator again and I’m leaving.”

  “Fine.” He laughs. “One more thing, though.”

  “What?”

  “We haven’t done our secret of the day yet.”

  I roll my eyes. “This is the wrong time for that discussion. We have packing to get done.”

  “My secret is that I’m positive I’ll be up all night thinking about you pleasuring yourself.”

  “My secret is that I’ve changed my mind and the vibrator is staying home,” I lie.

  “Looks like you may be in need of my services after all.”

  Chapter 20

  Knox

  I wasn’t lying yesterday.

  I did jack off to the mental image of Libby using a vibrator to get herself off last night … and then I did it again in the shower this morning. I should feel guilty about it, but I don’t.

  She’s breaking through my barriers. I can’t get her off my mind. I planned on having whomever my fling of the month was to come over last night for a goodbye fuck. She texted, but I never replied, changing my mind because I couldn’t get Libby off my mind.

  I drag the bags Libby helped me pack down the stairs. There’s not much in them because I don’t keep personal shit with me when I travel.

  I head into the kitchen, grab a bottle of water, and open up the sliding glass doors to find Nate lying by the pool. I pluck the sunglasses off his face when I reach him.

  “I’m about to head out,” I tell him. “Take care of my house. No throwing parties.” I point his glasses at him. “And I’m not kidding. I have people watching the place and tattling on you every second.”

  He squints at the bright sun and scrunches up his nose. “You threw parties here almost daily,” he argues. I knew I had to have this talk with him to lay down some ground rules.

  “And? This is my house. I can do whatever the fuck I want to do in it because I pay the bills. Not you. You want to buy the house from me and throw parties? Cool. Until then, no parties. I don’t want my house trashed, my shit stolen, or people lurking around here.”

  He snatches the glasses back from me. “Yeah, yeah. I got it. I’ll be a good boy.”

  I’m not sure if I believe him or not, but it’s too late to find him a new place to stay. I’ll have Libby look for rentals while we’re on the bus. Nate has been working long enough to start paying his own bills, and I don’t give a shit if my family gets pissed about it. It’s not my job to take care of everyone.

  I head back into the house and pull out my phone to text Libby.

  Me: You almost here?

  I gave her a hard time about the whole vibrator thing and hope she doesn’t decide to bail on me for it. I contemplated texting her and apologizing last night, but decided against it.

  My phone beeps with a response.

  Libby: About 5 minutes out.

  I open up the front door to find most of the crew already outside waiting to leave. My chef, Marvin, and personal trainer, Lucas, are loading their bags onto their bus. I don’t keep a large staff on tour with me or do the outrageous shit like cigar rollers and foot massagers, but I keep my barber, trainer, and chef with me.

  When I first started, I didn’t bring a chef. I thought I could count on my mom to cook for us, but she bailed on that idea, and I hired Marvin so I don’t eat like shit the entire time.

  I talk to them until I see the Jeep roll up. Libby gets out wearing another one of her dresses and unloads her bag from the back before I get the chance to help her. I notice a small paper bag shoved underneath her armpit as she wheels her suitcase towards me.

  She hands me the bag, and I grin as I open it up. “You brought me an Egg McMuffin?” I ask, pulling the breakfast sandwich out.

  “I did. I know your trainer is traveling with us, and I have a feeling he’s not going to let you get your hands on these very often.”

  “I know I didn’t hear you say McMuffin?” Lucas yells from across the driveway.

  I hide the bag behind my back. “Nothing to see here,” I holler back. “Move along.” I tilt my head towards my bus and look at Libby. “Come on, let’s get our shit in here.”

  She leads the way and turns back to look at me when we make it inside. “This is seriously your tour bus?”

  I nod. “Go big or go home. I like to be comfortable when I’m traveling.”

  My bus is the most kickass one I’ve ever seen, and I paid a pretty penny for it. There’s a full kitchen with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. The sectional couch provides plenty of sitting room, and the flat screen TV will help keep us entertained. In the back, there’s a bathroom with a nice size shower and a master bedroom that doesn’t make you feel claustrophobic.

  “Do I stay in here with you or on the bus with the others?”

  “You’re my personal assistant. You stay here.”

  “But those guys are your personal chef and trainer.”

  “They make me run and prepare my food. If I ask them my schedule, they have no clue. If I ask them to take care of something business related, they can’t do it. You’re the most important person to me on tour, so I need you by my side.”

  “Knock knock,” Thomas yells, coming up the stairs. He looks straight at Libby before acknowledging me. “You ready for this?”

  “What am I?” I ask. “Chopped liver?”

  “I think so,” Libby answers him. “It’s definitely going to be a more peculiar experience than what I’m used to.”

  “If there’s one thing I can guarantee about this tour, it’s that. Knox can be a handful, but he keeps his bus clean, doesn’t allow groupies on it, and you don’t have to worry about walking in on guys snorting cocaine off the bathroom counte
r. You’ll be safe in here.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  I keep my eyes on her, and she doesn’t seem phased with Thomas talking about cocaine on bathroom counters. Damn, maybe her dad did give her a rough time when she traveled with him.

  Thomas is right, though. If I hook up with someone on tour, I take her to my hotel room. There’s something personal and sacred about my bus. Magazines have offered thousands for pictures inside, and I always decline. It will take away the sanctuary of it all.

  “I’ll keep in touch with both of you and try to make it to as many stops as I can. If anything important comes up, call me immediately,” he goes on.

  We both nod in response and then wave goodbye to him when the driver tells us it’s show time.

  “So … what do we do now?” she asks, plopping down on the couch.

  Tours are pretty damn boring, to be honest. You’re stuck on a bus for thousands of miles and countless hours. We thankfully have Wi-Fi, cable, and plenty of movies, but that can only keep you entertained for so long. Maybe that’s why this is where I get my best writing done. I don’t have shit else to do.

  “We can make out on the couch?” I suggest.

  She picks up a pillow and launches it at me. “We haven’t even left yet. You can’t start pissing me off this early.”

  Chapter 21

  Libby

  I haven’t wrapped my head around this yet. I’ll pretty much be with Knox seventeen hours a day, every day. I scheduled myself to stay at a hotel after every show, but sometimes that isn’t realistic. If the show gets delayed, or we’re running behind on time, we’ll have to crash on the bus while the driver gets us to our next destination. Some of his shows only have a day between them, so we’ll be pressed for time.

  “First stop, Vegas,” I say. He’s playing at the MGM Grand Garden Arena tomorrow night.

  “First stop, Vegas,” he repeats, sitting on the other end of the sectional.

  He doesn’t seem excited about going to Vegas like most people are. I’m personally not a big Vegas fan, either, but that probably has to do with the fact that my dad would go out and have a good time while I stayed in the hotel bored out of my mind.