I'm on my knees.
Golden girl, where'd you go? I'm singing for the crowd, the music's loud.
And you're not there, with sunlight in your hair.
Eva, please.
I'm on my knees.
The spotlight went dark.
A long moment passed as the music faded.
Then the lights came back on and the drums exploded with sound.
The flames winked out and the crowd went crazy.
But I was lost to the roaring in my ears, the tightness in my chest, and a confusion that had me reeling.
"That song," Gideon growled in my ear, his fingers f**king me forcefully, "makes me think of you."
His palm pressed into my cl*t and massaged, and I cl**axed in a rush that took me by storm.
Tears came to my eyes.
I cried out, shaking in his arms.
Gripping the railing in front of me, I held on and let the unstoppable pleasure pulse through me.
* * *
When the show was over, all I could think about was getting to a phone and calling Cary.
While we waited for the crowd to thin, I leaned heavily into Gideon, drawing support from the strength of his arms around me.
"You okay?" he asked, running his hands up and down my back.
"I'm fine," I lied.
Honestly, I didn't know how I was feeling.
It shouldn't matter that Brett wrote a song about me that painted a different light on our f**k-buddy history.
I was in love with someone else.
"I want to go, too," he murmured.
"I'm dying to get inside you, angel.
I can barely think straight."
I pushed my hands into the back pockets of his jeans.
"So let's get out of here."
"I've got backstage access."
He kissed the tip of my nose when I leaned back to look up at him.