by Luana Ferraz
He’s not as muscle-y as his clothes suggest. He’s lean, and thin, and I can see the tip of his bones through the skin of his shoulders and hips. There’s also a lot more hair than I expected to find.
“We’re going somewhere,” I say when I look at his face again. He laughs.
“I hope so,” he replies in a hushed voice as he walks closer again.
He brushes my cheek with the back of his fingers and kisses me. With intent. I reach the hems of his shirt again for balance, but find bare skin. I let my hands travel down and unzip his tight pants—which feel particularly tighter now—and he moans, pressing his whole body against mine. The urge to get it over with returns, but, again, he’s taking his time.
He slides his hands down my body, following them with his mouth. He kisses the base of my neck, then my collarbone, then my chest. When his tongue finally meets one of my nipples, I bite my lip hard so I don’t gasp too loud. I know he can tell I’m barely hanging on—he can definitely feel my heart trying to escape my body, not to mention the way my skin crawls under his callused fingers and warm mouth.
He continues his way down, kissing my slightly apparent ribs, the side of my hip, then my legs as he slowly pushes my skirt, pantyhose and knickers down at once. When his mouth meets my inner thigh, I have to grab the nightstand behind me not to melt down into a puddle, right there. I don’t remember being this intimate with anyone in my life. Ever.
When he finally gets rid of the last of my clothing, he kneels down and lets his eyes travel up my body again. He bites his lips as he studies my generous curves. I’d give anything to read his mind now. When our eyes meet this time, he doesn’t smile. He doesn’t move. But his stare is so flaring that if spontaneous human combustion was really a thing, now would have been my moment.
I picture a very sexy scene in my head, where I take two steps in his direction and descend graciously to meet him on the floor. But in reality I can barely move, my legs fail, my entire body trembles, so I just stumble down to the carpet. I half crawl towards him and we kiss again.
I pull him until he’s seated and hop on his lap—just to be immediately startled. It isn’t there anymore. What I had just felt pushing against the jeans fabric, what his eyes and his hands and his mouth led me to believe I would find. My mind races. Maybe I’m too much for him to take, after all. Maybe my inner voice was right all along. Maybe he’s not that into me.
“What?” He stops. “What’s wrong?”
“Well…” I hesitate. Shouldn’t I be the one asking this question? I let my gaze fall down to his lap and the lack of proof of his desire.
That’s when I spot a wet stain on his dark blue underwear. I try to get off him, but he pulls me back by my thighs, securing me in place.
“Did you…” I can’t contain myself, and enjoy it a little too much when his face turns crimson red.
“Yes,” he admits, closing his eyes. And goes silent. He’s uncomfortable. He’s embarrassed. He’s never looked so hot.
I wait until he opens those beautiful blue eyes of his again to smile. He doesn’t smile back. I kiss him lightly on the lips. He doesn’t move, so I do it again. And again. And again. Until he grabs my hair and holds my head in place for a real kiss. He lets me move away just an inch as I slide my hands down his chest and finally get rid of the remainder of his clothes.
“Let me see if I can do it again,” I tease.
“I trust your abil—” he sucks in the air when I touch him, making me grin wildly.
DAY TEN
I wake up in the middle of the night with my bladder exploding. I try to roll out of bed just to find that I can’t—there’s something pinning me down. There’s someone pinning me down. My heart races as I slowly remember where I am, and what happened. I look to my side, to the body attached to the heavy arm that is sprawled across my chest. It’s dark, so I can’t really see him, but I can hear him snoring. That makes me chuckle.
I disentangle myself from him slowly, trying not to wake him up. When I’m almost free, his head jerks up and he throws his arm over me again.
“Don’t leave,” he says. His voice is raspy and creaked.
“I’m… I need a wee,” I say back, praying he can’t feel my heart speeding up in my chest.
He mumbles, lying back down and letting me go. I run to the bathroom and do my business. I yawn and the smell of my breath makes me grimace. I’m also sticky and kind of sweaty—just gross all over. I turn on the lights to try to at least brush my teeth and groan when I see my reflection in the mirror—makeup smeared everywhere, curls pointing out in every direction and a huge bruise near my collarbone. Hickey. That idiot.
I wash my face, try to tame my hair and brush my teeth with my fingers. And I still feel disgusting. What am I doing, anyway? Am I actually planning to just crawl back in bed with him? I never do that. I’m sure he never does that. I should just leave.
Of course, I’ll still have to see him in the morning. It’s not just one of those situations where I won’t even remember his name. Where we’ll never see each other again. Where we’ll never have to talk about this. What is the proper procedure now? Should I stay? What will it mean if I do? Would he stay if we were in my room?
Ugh. What have I done?
“Hey,” I hear a rapid-fire knock on the door. “I need to go, too.”
“Just a minute,” I shout back to him. I take another look at myself in the mirror and sigh. There’s nothing else I can do right now.
I turn the lights off before I open the door, suddenly very self-aware of my nakedness. I walk by him without looking up. He runs to the bathroom and closes the door without a word. My stomach sinks.
I walk to the bedside table and turn on the little lamp. My phone clock says it’s nearly 5. Gee. I kind of did spend the night, didn’t I?
I hear the toilet flush and start to panic. I look around the room, at our clothes scattered about—just the memory of how they got where they are makes me hot. I debate for a moment about putting on his shirt, but then decide it would imply things I don’t mean. So I just grab my knickers and my own top. When I hear the bathroom door opening, I run back to the bed, as if I’m a small child caught doing something she shouldn’t. I’m so embarrassed. But at least I’m dressed now. Half dressed, anyway.
He takes two steps back into the room and pauses, squinting in the faint light. I avert my eyes. I can’t look. I sense him shuffling and picking up something on the floor. Then, he walks up to me and sits by my side. He’s put on his underwear, but that’s the only thing he’s wearing. We sit there, at the edge of the bed, in silence.
“You’re dressed,” he says, finally.
“You’re dressed,” I retort.
“Because you’re dressed,” he says. I bite back a smile. “Do you… do you… want to go?” he stutters. It reassures me, somehow. He doesn’t know what to do, as well.
“Uh… I was… well… I was thinking about it,” I say, still not able to look at him.
“Okay,” he says, and I can tell he’s nodding. “Well, I… I… I don’t want you to.”
That’s when I finally look at him. He’s frowning, his cheeks a bit flushed. He holds my gaze for two seconds and then stares at the floor, letting his hair cover his eyes.
“This is awkward,” I blurt out. I don’t know why. It’s pretty clear it is. “I should go.”
“Wait,” he says, grabbing my arm and pushing me back down. “Just… wait a second.”
I sit back, turning to him. We manage to keep our eyes on each other’s faces for a moment. Then I sigh.
“Tyler…” I mumble, covering my face with my hands.
“Just wait,” he insists.
“Wait what?”
“Until… until it dissipates,” he says. His voice is so soft, it makes me smile.
“What if it doesn’t?” I ask, my face still hidden behind my palms.
“Let’s… let’s just wait and see,” he says.
I take a peek of him from between
my fingers. He’s looking at me. He smiles when he sees I’m looking. It just makes me more nervous.
“Is this part of your strategy?” I ask, letting my hands drop to my lap. I immediately start to fidget with the hem of my shirt.
“What strategy?” he frowns.
“Do you ask them all to wait?” I ask.
I can see shock light up his eyes when he understands what I’m talking about. Needles to say, I regret it.
He opens his mouth to answer, but then shut it again, along with his eyes. He lets out a small sigh.
“No,” he says, eyes still closed. “I’m usually out the door before they’re even asleep.”
“Me, too,” I admit. He opens his eyes again, meeting mine. Then staring at my lips.
“Well, you’re still here,” he says. And then he smiles.
“You, too,” I say.
“Well, it’s my room,” he argues, laughing a little.
Silence takes over once again, but it’s not so bad this time. Maybe waiting it out does work.
After a while, he scoots closer, pushing my hair back to reveal my neck. It’s all it takes to set me on fire again. It’s ridiculous, I know. It’s also true.
“Do you still want to go?” he asks, his mouth just inches away from my ear.
“Kind of, yeah,” I say.
It takes him a few seconds to notice I don’t mean it. And, when he does, he kisses me. I notice he’s brushed his teeth, too. We’re both ridiculous, as it turns out.
“Do I still taste like death?” I ask when we pull apart, not sure I was successful in my attempt to freshen-up earlier.
“You taste like someone who’s going to spend the night on my bed,” he answers.
“Christ,” I laugh. I can’t help it.
“It was bad, wasn’t it?” he scrunches up his nose, clearly embarrassed.
“Yep,” I say, still laughing.
“Well, it’s the middle of the night,” he tries to justify himself. “I just woke up, I’m really tired, you wore me off—”
I interrupt him with another kiss. It’s deeper and slower this time. I know where we’re heading.
“And you taste like someone who’s about to get lucky,” I tell him when we pull apart.
“That’s not any better than—”
I cut his sentence short by sneaking my hand inside his underwear. I feel his grip in my hair tighten. The intensity of his eyes is almost too much to bear. So, I kiss him again. He tries to kiss me back at first, but soon he loses control of his tongue. He buries his face in my neck, moaning softly. Whispering my name. My real name. Gosh. It is too much.
In a quick move, he stops me, yanking my hand off his little friend and pulling me to his lap. I don’t even know how it happens, but suddenly I’m straddling him. He kisses me again as his hands travel up my body underneath my shirt. Within a second, it’s back on the floor and he’s covering my chest in kisses and soft bites.
Then, he stops. He stares into my eyes intently, watching—watching as he slides his hand inside my pants. If I thought it was too much before…
“Stay,” he whispers into my ear as I grab at his hair, pulling him closer. “Please.”
“Okay,” I moan.
The next word to come out of my mouth is his name.
***
I wake up again with my alarm clock when it’s almost noon. This time, though, we’re not all tangled up like a pair of teenagers. I sit up and look at him—his back is turned to me, moving slowly at the pace of his breathing. Once I questioned whether it was worth it for his fans to try so hard to spend one night under his sheets. And I’ll never admit it out loud, but, yes. Yes, it’s worth it.
I get up as silently as I can and go to the bathroom, gathering my clothes on the way. Somehow, I look even worse than I did earlier. And that goddamn hickey, too—it’s gonna be impossible to cover it up. I’ll need to rethink my clothes for these last days.
Last days. This is it. We have a little over 48 hours and then… then… it’s over. Everything will be over. The thought makes me sad, although it’s not a big realization. It was always meant to be over. And now I’m left wondering if it should have even started in the first place.
He’s still asleep when I come back to the room. I debate whether to wake him up, since we have to be in a van to Glasgow in under two hours, but then I decide against it. I don’t want to deal with what comes next right now.
I fish for the hotel’s notepad inside the drawer and write him a note. As soon as I’m finished, I want to tear it apart and throw it away. A note? Like, really? What am I doing?
I sigh, leaving it on the pillow that was mine for the night. I stand there, my boots, thighs, and purse in hand, just watching him for a while. Like a creep. Fuck. I should have kissed him earlier. At the club, that night on the rooftop, while lying on my garden back in Alnwick. Our trip would have been dramatically different. Then again, we would have to deal with it for a lot longer. And that’s where I screw things up.
I tip-toe to the door, opening it really slowly, stepping outside, and closing it with the same care. And then bumping into Neil in the middle of the corridor.
I freeze in place, feeling my face violently burn, as he looks me up and down with one eyebrow raised.
“Morning, Becky,” he says cheerfully.
“M-morning,” I stutter.
He just smiles, like this isn’t the worst thing to ever happen on this tour. He glances at his clock, resuming his walk towards the lift. He presses the button and then turns around again. He frowns when he sees me still standing at the same spot.
“We’re leaving soon, you know,” he says.
That seems to do the trick. I rediscover how to walk and stroll down the few meters to my own room. Although my legs are working, my brain is definitely not, so I can’t think of anything to say. I don’t even know what I should say. That is, if I should say anything at all.
I don’t—better to play it safe. I slide my card to unlock my door and rush inside, closing it with a slightly forceful bang. Crap. Crap crap crap crap crap! Am I in trouble? Will this affect our chances with the label? Goddammit, the label! Pete will literally kill me if this has professional consequences whatsoever.
Speaking of him, I take my phone out again, checking my messages. I clear all my notifications—so many useless ones—and open the chat app. My stomach sinks when I find nothing from Pete. And then it reaches a little lower when I find one from grandma.
‘Jo doesn’t seem to know about anything unusual. Have you talked to Peter yet?’
I forgot to call her, even though I set up an alarm for it. So, I decide that’s the first thing I’ll do. After taking a shower, I mean. I’ve never needed a shower so bad before.
***
By the time I hang up the phone, my head is pounding. Not from talking to grandma—it was, again, nice enough. Too nice, even. Although I did manage to not tell her about spending the night with Tyler. At least some of my best judgment is still intact.
The headache is probably hangover mixed with not sleeping and hunger. I’m so hungry. I decide to have breakfast in the room, since I don’t have much time until we leave to Glasgow. And because I’m a coward and I don’t want to see Tyler just yet. Although I can’t stop thinking about him. His eyes, and his hands, and his mouth. The way he made me hot by just looking at me, the way he touched me like I’m made of glass, the way my name sounded in his breathless voice. Dammit.
I try to clear my head by ordering my food and texting Pete to see if he has any medicine. I keep the chat window open, suddenly way too worried about him. I wonder how his night ended. Was it as good as mine? Was it bad? Something starts to bubble up in my stomach and I can’t wait for his reply. So, I call him.
“Becky?” he answers startled. I never call.
“Hey, how are you?” I ask.
“Wh-what? Why? Why are you asking?” he stutters.
“Because I have a mean headache right now,” I say, although
his jittery response throws me off a little bit. He’s probably not okay. “I just texted you asking for some aspirin.”
“Oh,” he sighs. “Right, aspirin. Well, I… I don’t have any.”
“Have you had breakfast yet?” I ask, starting to get anxious with his airy replies.
“Breakfast?” he repeats.
“I just ordered room service. Come over here, let’s eat,” I say, trying not to let it transpire I’m suspicious. If he notices, he’ll probably avoid me.
“Um… I…” he hesitates, making my heart race.
“Please?” I try, and then I have an idea. “I have something to tell you.”
I wait, almost able to hear the engines in his head turning. If I can’t get him by anything else, I can certainly get him by his curiosity.
“Okay,” he sighs, finally. I smile. “I’m coming.”
I stand at my open door to wait for him and the food. When he starts to take too long, I debate whether I should go knock on his door. But, then, the elevator doors open and he walks outside. He pauses when he sees me staring, and then walks faster until he reaches me.
“Where were you?” I frown.
“Outside,” it’s all he says.
I make room for him to walk inside and notice a stain in the back of his shirt as he walks past me.
“What’s that on your shirt?” I ask.
“What’s what?” he jumps, turning around fast. His eyes are wide, like a deer caught in the headlights. This can’t be good…
“That stain,” I say, slowly closing the door and blocking his way out.
“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “I must have leaned against a dirty wall or something.”
“Let me see,” I ask. He just stares with those crazy eyes. So, I walk up to him and grab his shoulders, forcefully turning him around.
“Why, no, wait!” He tries to resist, but I’m stronger than his thin arms.