“I slept a little on the plane from LA.”
She flattened her hand over my heart. “You have to take better care of yourself. Tours are stressful and exhausting. Please promise me you’ll get sleep tonight after the concert.”
“I will try.” Try being the operative word. Performing in front of thousands of people was an indescribable high. But four nights in, and the tour had only made the longing, my craving for her, worse. My attention and patience had narrowed, leaving room for nothing but filling my hands and mind and memory with Mona.
“You’ll try?” She narrowed her eyes, one side of her mouth tugging upward.
“I will. But after a concert, all the energy, and I’m thinking about you, wishing you were there, knowing it’s not possible. It’s . . .” I slid my teeth to the side, unable to stop my self-conscious grin.
“What?”
“Hard.” The word slipped out before I could stop it.
Her head tilted slightly to one side. “What’s hard? Going to sleep?”
She has no idea what she does to me.
My grin became rueful and I swallowed, my eyes moving between hers. “Please don’t make me say it.”
Mona’s eyebrows slowly pulled together. I could almost see the gears turning, and the hand still loosely fisted in my shirt slid down to the front of my pants, as though she were unthinkingly confirming a hunch. Her curious fingers gave me an investigatory stroke, but it was more than enough. I sucked in a breath through my teeth as my cock swelled, lengthened, hardened, greedy for her.
“You—you shouldn’t do that.” Not trusting myself to hold her and not tear her clothes off, I braced my palms and forehead on the door behind her, again willing my heart to slow.
“Ah! Sorry. Sorry!” Mona completely removed her hands from my body, yanking them away. “Sorry. I should’ve asked permission.”
Lifting my head, I peered down at her. She’d covered her face with her hands and was peeking at me from between her fingers.
“No.” The single word came out gruff, raspy. I cleared my throat, reaching for her wrist and pulling it away from her face. “No, Mona. Not permission. But, if we’re going to talk at all, you shouldn’t—do that—today.”
She was nodding before I’d finished speaking. “Yes. Sorry.”
“Please don’t apologize.”
“Okay, sorry—ah! I mean, okay. Okay.” Mona rolled her lips between her teeth, still nodding, her eyes wide and remorseful, but also bright, like she found my situation a little funny.
A pretty, pink blush was creeping up her neck, and it was fantastically distracting. I wanted to pull the neck of her shirt to the side again, peek inside, find out where the blush started.
Instead, I stepped away—one step, and then another—clearing my throat again and forcing firmness into my voice. “We need to talk.” It was as much a reminder to me as it was to her.