by Lauren Rowe
He exhales and closes his eyes.
“Side note,” I say, filling the silence after a moment. “How the hell would I even be able to get with someone else, even if I wanted to? Which I don’t. I’m glued to your side twenty-four-seven, Zander.”
Zander opens his eyes. They’re blazing. “No, I’m glued to your side, Aloha. There’s a difference. You could tell me to go away and that you’ll see me in the morning and then you could bring some guy to your room and there’s nothing I could do about it. You could send me away for an hour or forever, at your whim. You’ve got that power. I don’t have shit.”
My heart pangs. Oh, God, I’m evil. Pure evil. The pain in his eyes is making my heart squeeze painfully. “Oh, Zander.” I grab a fistful of his shirt. “For the next two months, I belong to you every bit as much as you belong to me. And when we get to New York, we’ll know what comes next. Just, please, let’s not worry about what the future holds.” I pull him down and his mouth crushes mine. He wraps his arms around me and kisses me passionately... wordlessly telling me he’s surrendering to my stated terms of engagement.
Chapter 36
Zander
It’s just after three when I lay Aloha down, fast asleep, onto the bed in my hotel room. As we were getting into the back of an Uber in front of Captain’s, I asked Aloha, my eyebrow cocked with mock smarminess, “Your place or mine?” I wasn’t being serious. The girl’s never touched as much as a pinky toe in one of my tiny hotel rooms in any city on the tour. But to my surprise, Aloha replied, “Take me to your lair.”
Not gonna lie. I was electrified by that response... that is, until Aloha fell fast asleep in the back of the Uber. I can’t blame her for crashing, of course. The girl’s had a long and emotionally exhausting day that began in Portland with her finding out a lunatic had broken into her house and ended in Seattle getting fucked against a bathroom door. All things considered, I’m surprised she stayed awake as long as she did.
I sit on the edge of the bed with my back to Aloha’s sleeping form and take off my shoes. I’m just about to peel off my shirt when my phone buzzes with an incoming text from Barry.
Aloha’s sick?
Wow. Fake news travels fast. When Aloha and I emerged from fucking in the bathroom at Captain’s and started making the rounds to say our goodbyes, Aloha surprised me by telling Brett and Crystal, “Hey, guys, I just barfed my lungs out in the bathroom, so Zander’s gonna take me to the hotel.”
I understood why she said it—that she was trying to protect me in case word got to Barry about our kiss and subsequent disappearance into the bathroom—but I was nonetheless disappointed. In truth, I was hoping Aloha and I would emerge from that bathroom, loud and proud, neither of us telegraphing a lick of apology for what we’d so clearly been doing in there. Indeed, that’s exactly how things were going at first, as we said our goodbyes to the Morgans and Faradays: we were loud and proud. Of course, none of my peeps said a word about the fact that Aloha and I had devoured each other in front of them and were now acting like a couple, but everyone was most definitely nonverbally congratulating us.
And I loved it.
And then came our goodbye to Brett and Crystal. And Aloha walked it all back. Suddenly, we weren’t loud and proud anymore. We were quiet and ashamed. And I hated it, even though I knew Aloha had my professional interests at heart. Because, fuck it. Barry be damned, this job be damned—this whole new potential career be damned—I’d have given my left nut to hear Aloha say to Crystal and Brett, “Hey, guys, Zander just fucked me raw in the bathroom and we can’t wait to do it again. So, we’re heading to the hotel to fuck like rabbits now. See you on Monday morning!”
Hey, a guy can dream, can’t he?
Sighing, I stare at the text from Barry on my screen—the one asking if Aloha is sick—and I realize that, unfortunately, I’ve got to toe Aloha’s line.
Yeah. AC wasn’t feeling well at the bar but she’s sleeping soundly at the hotel now. Just to be on the safe side, I’m gonna sit here with her. She plans to stay holed up in the hotel today, so she won’t need coverage. I’m gonna take it easy today, too, so I’ll handle anything she might need or want. We’ll see you tonight at Casa Morgan. Z
I press send on the message and put my phone on my nightstand... just as fingertips begin sensuously stroking my tailbone.
“Oh, Shaggy Swaaaaggy,” Aloha’s voice coos behind me.
Hallelujah. I twist around and smile at her. “Well, hello there, sexy girl. I thought you were down for the count.”
“Hell no. I was just recharging my batteries for round two.” She flashes me a naughty smile and yanks at my shirt. “Take it off, Zandy Man. I stuffed a twenty into your waistband at Captain’s. That means you owe me a striptease.” She yanks again. “I’ve been dying to see you completely naked since the second I laid eyes on you in LA. Gimme.”
I rise from the bed, a wicked smile on my face. “Oh, you want a striptease?”
“I do.”
“Oh, I’ll give you striptease.”
As Aloha giggles and hoots, I head to my laptop across the small room and cue up a few songs, the first one being “Dancer” by Flo Rida. It’s the song that happened to be playing at Reed’s party when Aloha hypnotized Mr. Happy like a snake charmer on the dance floor. I didn’t know it then, but I was Flo Rida that night—a guy falling in love with a dancer. Well, God willing, the tables will turn tonight and, as I dance for Aloha, this song will coax her into falling in love with me.
The song begins playing and Aloha squeals her approval. She puts her hands behind her head on the pillow, readying herself for the show. “Come to momma,” she purrs.
I’ve never done a striptease before. Not even in a mirror. But I’ve seen Keane do it plenty of times, for audiences big and small. Plus, I’ve heard Keane recount his “stripping philosophy” more than a couple times, which basically boils down to giving your audience a long tease. You gotta give ’em plenty of time to fantasize about your cock before you take it all off and show ’em the bulge, Keane always used to say. By the time you get down to your itty bitty G-string, you want the mere sight of your bulge to set ’em off.
Words to live by.
I begin by gyrating my hips to the beat of the music. And when Aloha looks like she’s had enough time to simmer at that heat level, I turn up the dial, but only a bit. I pull my shirt above my abs, giving her a peek, and then drop it back down. Rinse and repeat.
Finally when she’s screaming for me to take it off, I peel my shirt off sloooowly and throw it at her, hitting her upside the head. And, much to my pleasure, Aloha squeals with glee.
My shirt off, I give Aloha a nice little tour of the gun show and my washboard abs. I flex and pose for a bit like a contestant in a Mister Universe competition—or, I guess, a Mister Bodyguard competition, if there is such a thing. And then I follow that bit of awesomeness by turning around gracing Aloha with some enthusiastic shakes of my rock-hard ass.
“Yassss!” Aloha yells. “Come to mommmmmaaaaa!”
Oh, God. This is fun. No wonder Peenie loved doing this so much.
After some slow thrusts and gyrations of my pelvis, I begin unbuttoning my pants—a maneuver that elicits hoots and mattress-pounding shrieks from Aloha. Laughing, I pull my pants down to the ground, revealing my hard-on straining behind red briefs.
“Red!” Aloha gasps, wacking the mattress with both palms like a seal on a rock. “Perfect! Yes! Red-hot! Oh, baby!”
I throw my pants at her, the same as my shirt, and she catches them and shrieks like she just caught a bouquet at a wedding.
“Don’t stop now, Zandy Man!” she yells. “Let’s see the cock!”
After a few pointed thrusts in my red briefs, I pull down my briefs, freeing one very happy Mr. Happy from his bondage. And Aloha loses her shit.
Aloha springs to her knees on the mattress and applauds raucously. She hoots. Grasps at her neck and cheeks like they’re on fire, all the while bouncing up and down on her kne
es. “You’re gorgeous! Incredible! Beautiful!” she shouts. “Oh my God, you’re a god among men, Zander Shaw!”
I’m in heaven. If I didn’t already love this adorable, sexy girl, I’d have fallen in love with her just now. I throw my briefs at Aloha and she brings them to her lips and kisses them ravenously—like, seriously, the woman is having a full-on make-out session with my briefs. And I laugh hysterically.
The song ends and the room falls silent.
Our laughter has subsided.
Raw sexual energy is coursing between us. Heat. Desire. Need. I’m wearing a wicked smile, a straining boner, and my tender heart on my proverbial sleeve. I’m hers and she knows it, in every conceivable way. I’m free. Unleashed. Nothing to hide now, in any way.
I shouldn’t say it, but I can’t resist. Apparently, she’s not the only one who likes to play with fire. “You in love with me now?” I say with a smile.
She giggles. “Not yet. But I’m a whole lot closer than a few minutes ago when you were fully dressed.”
Yet. The word sends rockets of excitement shooting straight to my dick. “I’ll take it,” I say, just as the next song on my playlist—”Silvertongue” by Young the Giant—begins. I noticed Aloha going ballistic for this song when it played at Captain’s earlier, so I figured I’d play it for her again now and see if it got her motor running behind closed doors. And, clearly, I made a wise choice.
I crawl onto the bed and kneel before her, taking the same position on the bed as Aloha. With my dick straining between our bodies, I peel off her shirt and then her bra and guide her back into a lying-down position. I get her out of her pants and undies, my entire body shaking with excitement. She’s writhing. Moaning. Ready to go off at the slightest touch. Her thighs are glistening from her arousal. She’s beyond wet and ready for me.
I spread her thighs and lap up the wetness on them and then head straight to her hard tip and she comes in under a minute. My entire body on fire, I crawl up to her face, every cell in my body alive with the desire to claim her, press my mouth against her ear, and whisper, “Time to show you what your body can do, sexy girl.”
Chapter 37
Aloha
Oh my God,” I breathe. I grab the duvet underneath me with white knuckles. “What are you doing to me? How are you...? Oh, fuck! Zander.”
In a torrent of outrageous pleasure, I come harder than ever. Even harder than the last time and the time before that. So hard, I feel like I’m having a seizure. So hard, fluid is gushing out of me. This ain’t no trickle this time. I’m a freaking porn star.
It’s my fourth orgasm of the “sesh.” My third since Zander started doing this crazy thing deep inside me with his fingers. And I swear to God, I think I’m gonna die of pleasure. But, oh, what a way to go.
When I come down from my fourth climax, Zander’s already between my legs, lapping up whatever the hell just came out of me. I begin babbling. Thrashing. Gasping. I want to beg him to fuck me. But the syllables coming out of my mouth aren’t making sense. I’m a wild animal.
Suddenly, Zander’s lips are pressed against my ear, his fingers stroking that same spot deep inside me again, and his voice begins leading me to Nirvana again. Against all odds, his magic fingers are ramping me up to full-throttle, yet again.
“You’re gonna come so hard this time, you’re gonna crack wide open for me,” he says, his voice low and intense. “Do you feel it coming, baby? Do you feel your body getting ready to split apart?”
I whimper and nod, on the verge of shrieking like a madwoman.
“Let go,” he coos. “Listen to my voice. Imagine me fucking you hard.”
I can’t reply. I can only moan. I grab ahold of the bed cover beneath me, instinctively bracing for the looming tsunami...
Zander slides a finger up my ass as he continues stroking that magical spot deep inside me, and it’s like he’s flipped a switch inside me. A switch I didn’t know existed. A next level of pleasure... one that turns me into a raving, rabid, electrocuted animal.
“Yes!” I blurt. And it’s the last coherent thing I say before the most shockingly pleasurable orgasm of my life—a full-bodied seizure emanating from deep inside my core—rockets through me. Shockwaves of pleasure shoot across my every nerve ending. My walls and womb aren’t simply rippling or rhythmically constricting—they’re violently slamming up and down. Physically quaking. My eyes roll back into my head. I’m seeing flashes of light. Stars. Pinks. Whites. Yellows. I’m seeing God.
A stream of gibberish gushes from my mouth—sounds I’ve never made before, all of them punctuated, over and over again, with pleas for Zander to fuck me.
Without warning, Zander plunges himself inside me and I cry out with pleasure, enraptured.
I’m his. He’s mine. He’s magic. And I never want anyone else, ever, ever, ever, ever.
When Zander comes, he does it like a wild beast, the words love you slipping from his lips. He collapses on top of me, sweating profusely, quaking, shuddering, growling, his hard chest crushing my soft breasts.
Our hearts pound together for several minutes. Our breathing is ragged.
After a long moment, Zander rolls off me, breathing like a drowning man just pulled to safety. He pulls off his condom. “Holy shit, Aloha.”
“Holy shit.”
“Six,” he says. “Six! A new PR.”
“Damn, Gina,” I say, and he laughs.
He catches his breath. “You feelin’ good, baby?”
“I’m feelin’... dead. But in a good way. As in I’m resting in peace.”
He laughs again.
I close my eyes. I wasn’t joking actually. I’ve never felt this “at peace” in all my life. Satisfied. Serene. I feel... maximized. Is that a bizarre thing to think post-coitus? Oh, God, I feel like a freaking superhero. Sleep is coaxing me. Beckoning. The deepest, best sleep of my life. “Toothbrush,” I murmur. “Facial cleanser. Moisturizer. Get. For. Me... Please.”
He laughs. “I’ll get everything you need from your room. You’re not leaving my lair until it’s time for us to head out to the Morgans’ this evening.”
“Mmm hmm.”
I feel the mattress shift and then rise up sharply... and then...
“Aloha?”
“Mmm.”
But whatever Zander says next, I don’t hear it.
I’m out like a light.
Like an extremely peaceful and happy and powerful and sexually satisfied... fucking awesome... light.
Chapter 38
Zander
I know each and every one of Aloha’s forced smiles. Her fake laughs. Her go-to catchphrases. The rote words Aloha falls back on whenever she’s feeling anxious or panicky or bored or distracted but nonetheless knows “Aloha Carmichael” needs to do more than interact in any given situation, she needs to be dazzling. And I’m elated to observe that tonight at the Morgans’, Aloha hasn’t employed a single one of her familiar tricks. To the contrary, from the moment Aloha and I walked through the Morgans’ front door three hours ago and immediately got dragged by Keane and Maddy into the garage for a hotly contested round-robin foosball tournament, I haven’t observed Aloha switching into what I’ve come to regard as “Aloha Carmichael mode” even once. And I couldn’t be more elated about it.
Watching the real Aloha remain “in the building” throughout every conversation and interaction thus far tonight has made my heart variously melt, race, and ache. It melted when Aloha cooed at Colby and Lydia’s newborn daughter, Mia. It raced when she asked Ryan, Tessa, and Josh a bunch of questions about their plans to expand Captain’s to a location in Los Angeles and then said, “Wow, I can’t wait to come to the grand opening!” And it ached to the point of physical pain when Aloha stood in the middle of the Morgans’ family room and taught Lydia and Colby’s little girls, Isabella and Beatrice, the dance routine from her already-iconic “Pretty Girl” music video... and then, once the girls had gotten the steps, sort of, laughingly performed the dance with them for anyone lu
cky enough to witness the spectacle. And now, as we eat lasagna with the entire group at two large folding tables set up in the family room, it’s plain to see the real Aloha is still very much in the building.
It’s the usual suspects seated at the two large tables—all the Morgans and their significant others and kids. Plus, we’re joined by the “unusual suspects” of Aloha, of course, my mother and sister, Henn and Hannah, and Barry. And at this point in the party, everyone is loose and relaxed and acting like one big, happy family.
“Hey, Rock Star!” Kat gushes. She’s seated at my table, smiling and waving at her phone.
The sound of Dax’s laughter wafts from Kat’s hand. “Hey, Jizzy Pop!”
“Dax!” Mrs. Morgan chastises from the end of the long table.
Kat laughs. “Oops. I should have warned you, Daxy, I’m sitting here at dinner with the whole fam, including all the kiddos, plus a few guests who probably don’t need to know all my lovely nicknames.”
“Oh. Well, in that case: hello, sister Katherine!” Dax says, and the pair giggles. “Who all is there?”
“Everyone!” Kat says gleefully. She pans her phone around the room and everyone at the two tables waves and says hello to Dax as Kat’s camera grazes over them. When the camera lands on Aloha and me, Dax blurts, “Holy crap! What’s Aloha Carmichael doing in my house?”
Everyone, including Aloha, bursts out laughing.
“Kitty, bring me to Aloha for a sec.”
Kat moves closer to Aloha, as requested.
Dax grins at Aloha. “Thanks so much for that amazing tweet, Aloha. You gave us a huge boost at exactly the right time. You’re our ‘angel investor,’ so to speak.”
“I was just being honest. I love the album. And so does everyone else in the world, apparently. Congrats.”
“Thanks so much. Speaking of which... Hey, Kitty, stand at the back of the room so I can see everyone, all at once.”