Code red, p.14
Code Red, page 14
He was devastatingly beautiful.
I wished I could have stayed all night with him, and I stayed there for as long as I dared. He felt so good in my arms—warm and muscular edges in all the right places—and he smelled like peaches and oranges. He tasted like heaven. But my eyelids were heavy and my blinks were getting longer, and if I let myself doze, I would sleep until morning and I just couldn’t let that happen.
As much as I wanted to. I just couldn’t.
So with a kiss to his temple, I peeled myself away from him and covered him with the quilt, pulled my boots on, and checked the peephole in the door. The hallway was clear, so I slipped outside and went to my room.
I showered and climbed into bed, wondering when the creeping feeling of regret would come. Or maybe the cold realization that this foolishness would need to end. Or maybe reality would snap its fingers and remind us of our jobs and that it was selfish of us to jeopardize everything.
But none of that came.
Instead, under my breastbone, a small ember of warmth glowed red. A tiny spark of something special caught aflame beneath my ribs. I put the heel of my hand against my sternum to see if I could feel the heat of it through my chest, which was absurd. I laughed at myself for being such an idiot.
But that little ember glowed some more. It burned a little brighter, warmer.
I wasn’t brave enough to give it a name.
Not out loud, anyway.
So I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes, absolutely certain I could smell peaches and oranges on my skin.
The next morning was a rush. I hit the gym early, and when the band members came in for breakfast, Amber, Ryan, and I were busy organizing the move to Vegas. Even though we had logistics down to an art, it was always a pain in the ass and there was always additional stress.
Maddox said hello like he usually did, though there was a hint of a smile in his eyes. We didn’t have any chance to talk or even share more than a passing glance until we were packed up and leaving the hotel for Van Nuys Airport.
“We’re not going through LAX, right?” Maddox asked as we headed toward the van.
“Nope. Thank God.”
The terminal for private charters was not out of the LAX departure terminal. I wasn’t up for dealing with that shitshow. Maddox’s thoughts must have followed the same train of thought as mine. “Sure as hell don’t miss getting through the old check-in.”
“Same.”
Or, more to the point, I didn’t miss the hundreds of fans screaming and pushing. We’d had a few close calls and I’d had to be more bodyguard than manager, but once we’d started flying private charter, my stress levels dropped considerably. As did everyone’s.
And the private plane was a godsend too. We didn’t have that last time and it was a logistical nightmare. We’d done tours on buses too, and that was too exhausting. This time we’d take one plane for all of us, and it was a huge relief for the whole crew.
With all our luggage taken care of, Maddox climbed into the backseat of our van, and as soon as I sat beside him and the door slid closed, he lifted my arm and slung it over his shoulder. He half leaned on me, making himself comfortable in the crook of my arm and playing with my fingers at his chest. “So I was thinking,” he began, “that it’d be a terrible shame if we were a room or two short in Vegas and we had to share.”
I snorted. “Is that right?”
“How does one go about incorrectly booking out a hotel?”
“I don’t know.”
“I woke up at two and you were gone,” he whispered. Then he let out a long sigh. “I didn’t go back to sleep.”
I nudged the side of his head with my chin. Not a kiss but close enough. “You know why I can’t stay.”
“That’s why we need to share a room.”
“They’d put you with one of the boys before they put you with me.”
“Not if we go last and they said, ‘Oh, it looks like we only have one room left,’ and we could say, ‘Oh, that’s a terrible shame, and there’s only one bed? Whatever will we do?’ and then it’d be fine.”
I laughed. “Sounds nice.”
“Oh, and I have your shirt.”
“And I still have yours.”
“You’re not getting it back, just so you know. It’s mine now.”
“Everyone will know it’s mine if you wear it.”
“I don’t care. You can leave the Bruins one too.”
“You’re not getting that.”
“We’ll see.”
“Maddox,” I murmured.
He sighed, and pulling on my arm around his shoulder, he pressed my hand to his chest. “So, tonight . . . will we have any time together?”
“I don’t know. I’ll try.”
“I sleep better when you’re there with me.”
“I almost fell asleep in your bed last night. You were so warm and you smelled so good.”
He turned then, sitting up a little and surprising me with a kiss. We were in the backseat and Steve and our driver couldn’t see us unless they were actively looking, which they weren’t. But still. This was risky.
I didn’t care about that for too long though. He cupped my cheek, and his lips were soft and urgent.
“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured. “Please.”
Christ.
“I’ll try. No promises though.”
This time when he sat back, he leaned against the door and slung his leg over my thigh. Those black jeans with holes across the knees, tight across his muscular thighs . . . tight in all the right places. It’d be so easy to lean over him, lay my weight on him, and kiss him how I really wanted . . .
I swear he could read my mind. “You can if you want,” he said with a delicious smirk.
“I can what?”
His smile became a grin. “You’re looking at me like you want to do very bad things to me.” He pushed his leg up my thigh, a little closer to my crotch. “And I won’t stop you.”
I chuckled and squeezed his knee. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
He laughed and pulled his leg back, ticklish. My gaze went to Steve, but he never turned around. I smacked Maddox’s thigh. “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”
Maddox, now sitting up, took my hand. “I don’t care.”
But I did. It was easy for him to say he didn’t care—there would be zero ramifications for him—but it could very well cost me my job. Even if he swore it wouldn’t. Ultimately it wasn’t his call.
“Have you read the reviews on last night’s concert?” I asked instead.
“Nope. And I don’t want to see it. The guys were reading a few this morning, laughing about it. It’s all kinda crazy.” He sighed. “It messes with your head if you read all the hype. You start believing it and . . . you know, it’s not real. It’s crazy-fame shit, talking about how I’m this and how I’m that, and then I log off and I’m just me. I’m not that guy they think I am or who they hype me up to be.”
“True.” I shrugged. “You’re better in real life.”
Maddox smiled and he nudged his knee to mine. “I did look for more Roscoe stuff though,” he admitted. “You have fan clubs on social media now.”
“Which is ridiculous.”
He chuckled again. “I was going to make a fake account just to join so I could squeal with all the other fanboys and girls.”
I snorted out a laugh. “God, please don’t do that.”
“Imagine the photos I could leak. I mean, if you’d let me take photos of you . . . of us.”
I laughed again. “Then I would get fired.”
He took his phone out and opened the camera, holding it out for a selfie of us. He dropped his head onto my shoulder, so I leaned my cheek against the top of his head, and we smiled for the photo. He studied the photo for a long while, then lightly touched the screen. “I like this,” he murmured.
“You look great,” I added. He looked great in every photo. “Me, on the other hand . . .”
“Are you kidding me?” He sat up, his expression disbelieving. He showed me the photo again. “Are you blind?”
“I hate photos of me.”
He tapped the screen and brought up his last internet search. It was me. A lot of photos of me, mostly walking in public with him, by his side or one step behind. “Look at how fucking fine you are,” he said. “And I hate to tell you, but the world is right. You are the sexiest manager.”
“What were you just saying about all that hype being bullshit?”
“It’s bullshit when it’s about me. Not you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure.”
Steve turned around. “ETA, ten minutes.”
Maddox sighed. “No more alone time,” he mumbled.
“We’ve survived so far, haven’t we?”
Maddox straightened up and met my eyes. He made a face and turned back to the front, clearly deciding not to say what he was about to say.
“What?” I prompted. Was he hurt by that? Offended?
“Are things not different now?” he asked. “With us?”
“Well, yeah. Kind of.”
“Kind of.”
“Behind closed doors, yes.”
He nodded slowly but again, chose silence.
“Maddox, can’t we just enjoy this? Whatever this is.” We really hadn’t talked about what it was or, god forbid, put a label on it. “It’s new, and it’s just ours. Can’t we keep it that way? Without the complication of management, the band, the staff.”
He chewed on his bottom lip for a few seconds. “Whatever this is,” he repeated. “Whatever this is . . .”
“Well, what would you call it?” Christ. We’d known each other for years. I’d worked with him, for him, for four years. The hand-holding, the making out, and sexual side of this was just a few days old.
Maddox swallowed hard. His voice was quiet when he said, “I’d call it . . . good. That’s what I’d call it. And I don’t want it to end.”
“So we need to protect it, right?”
“I don’t like lying to the guys,” he whispered. “I don’t like hiding or having to censor myself. It’s not who I am.”
“I know. I don’t like it either. But we need to look at the bigger picture here. We’ve just started a tour. We’re down three shows out of twenty-three and we’ve got a long way to go. And this thing, this good thing,” I used his words, “is still very new. Let’s just test the waters before we go doing things that can’t be undone.”
“Is that common sense you’re using against me?”
“I think so.”
He pouted. “I know what you’re saying, and I know it makes sense.”
“But?” There was definitely a but.
“But if any of the guys ask, I won’t lie to them.”
I sighed. “Fair enough. Though Jeremy’s already seen me wearing your shirt, so there’s a good chance he suspects something.”
Maddox sighed and leaned against me again, riding the rest of the trip in silence. We drove into the private terminal and our time alone together was coming to an end. Maddox lifted our joined hands and he kissed my knuckles. “You’ll come to my room tonight if you can, yes?”
I nodded. “If I can.”
The van slowed to a stop, and a second later, the door slid open. I climbed out first and waited for Maddox to get out. He had his cap pulled down low, his baggy black clothes hiding his body.
He could have worn a dirty potato sack and still been gorgeous.
Maddox put his hand on my back as we walked inside the terminal. He was swallowed up by the guys, talking and laughing, and I went to the service desk where Amber and Ryan were.
And we were both right. The day was beautiful, yes. I watched him practice, I watched him dance, I watched the way his body moved, I watched his throat when he sang. I watched him smile and laugh and pant for breath and lay on the stage when rehearsals were done. I could watch him forever.
But he and I barely spoke more than five words and were never alone until I knocked on his bedroom door at 10:00 pm.
He opened the door and smirked. The room was dark and he looked tired, but as soon as I brushed past him, he gripped my arm. The door closed and he pulled me in for a hug. “About time,” he grumbled into my chest.
“Been a long day,” I whispered. I rubbed his back and he moved under my touch much like a cat. “Need a massage?”
He chuckled and raked his hand down to my ass. “I need something.”
I slid my hand along his jaw and brought him in for a kiss. It started sweet and soft, but as soon as our tongues touched, he groaned and deepened the kiss. He pawed at my shirt, trying to get it off me, breaking the kiss to laugh. He got mine off me and I made quick work of his T-shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it toward the bed.
“On the bed, face down,” I ordered.
His eyes went wide and he grinned. “You just gonna do me like that? No asking nicely . . .”
I laughed and turned him by his shoulders, push-walking him toward the bed. “Massage, Maddox. Nothing else.”
“There better be something else,” he groused as he kneeled on the bed. I could see how his track pants were tented.
I gripped his hips from behind and kissed his shoulder. “Do you want my mouth on you?”
“Fuck yes,” he groaned.
“Lie down,” I whispered. “Massage first.”
I followed him onto the bed, kneeling astride his thighs. He put his hands up underneath the pillows, and his back stretched beautifully. He had a dancer’s body. All those hours of hip hop and choreography had made him lithe and muscular. He was fit enough to sing and dance on stage for hours, and by god, he felt good under my hands.
I rolled the heels of my hands up his back, pressing my thumbs into the muscle. I had no massage oils, so I didn’t push too hard, but I ironed out the knots in his shoulders. And if the moans coming out of Maddox were any clue, I’d say I did a pretty good job.
Kneeling over him though, straddling his ass, pushing against him, having him between my legs and touching him and having him moan like that, it was hard not to be turned on. Hearing him writhe and grunt didn’t help either.
Then he widened his thighs and raised his ass up a little. “Lie down on me,” he whisper-moaned. “Wanna feel your weight on me.”
But I did as he asked, aligning my cock with the crack of his ass, and I slowly pressed down on his back. I slid my hands up his arms and threaded our fingers while I kissed his shoulder, the nape of his neck, behind his ear. I rolled my hips, both loving and cursing my jeans for the friction. “Like how it feels?” I whispered into his ear.
He shivered and his breath caught. “Hell yes.”
I ground against his ass again, my erection rubbing him in all the right places, and he tried to rise to meet my thrust. He wanted it . . . It would be so easy to undo my fly and pull his track pants down, just far enough . . .
I stilled and had to make myself rise up off his body. He whined, so I kissed his shoulder again. “Roll over,” I urged him. “Time to do the front.”
He twisted himself around so he was on his back. His torso rippled with the movement, his hand ran down his taut stomach to his dick, and he gave himself a squeeze through his sweatpants. He was fully hard now, his eyes were dark and heavy lidded, his smile sultry and delicious.
I slid one knee in between his thighs and positioned his legs until I was between them. I leaned over him and kissed his mouth, his jaw, his neck. I kissed all the way down to his stomach and palmed his erection. I pulled the elastic of his pants down and wrapped my fingers around his shaft. I nuzzled my nose into him, inhaling the very scent of him, then licked up the underside of his cock before taking him into my mouth.
“Oh, holy fuck,” Maddox murmured, arching his back a little.
I took as much of him in as I could and sucked, swirled my tongue, and swallowed around him. He gripped my hair and tried to move his legs, but I held him still and sucked him harder.
“Roscoe,” he groaned, a pained sound. A heavenly sound. “Gonna come so fast.”
Oh fuck. The way he said my name.
He ran his hands over his chest, over his face, through his hair, trying to grasp on to some kind of control. He fisted the comforter at his sides and arched his back as he came, coming in spurts down my throat.
His body twitched, his thighs trembled, and he moaned indecipherable sounds that ended in a chuckle. I pulled his sweatpants up to cover him and he did a whole-body shudder and laughed again.
“Christ,” he breathed, smiling that lazy post-orgasm smile, and he pulled me by my shirt until I was lying on top of him. He wrapped me up in his arms and snuggled into my neck . . . until he must have realized what was poking him in the belly. “You almost enjoyed it as much as me,” he said, sliding his hand in between us to palm me.
“You said my name just before you came,” I said, kissing up his jaw to his ear. “It almost ended me right then.”
He rolled us over so I was on my back, and he grinned down at me and he purred my name. “Rossssscoe.” He maneuvered himself between my legs, popped the button on my jeans, and slowly undid the fly. He ran his hands up my thighs, over my hips, digging his fingers in, then roughly pulled my jeans and briefs down. “Fucking hell,” he whispered. “Such a beautiful sight.”
I needed . . . something. So I gripped my base, hard enough to stem the orgasm that was lingering just under the surface.
Maddox batted my hand away. “Don’t touch,” he said before licking up the shaft. He tongued the slit and kissed the head. “This is mine.” Then he proceeded to tease and taste, moan and murmur, pump me and please me . . . but not enough. Like he wanted to see how far he could push me, edge me.
I wanted to grip his hair and thrust into his throat. I wanted to come so bad. But of course I wouldn’t do that to him . . . unless he wanted it. “Maddox,” I warned. “No games. I need you to—”
He laughed, then proceeded to take every inch of me into his mouth. He finished me so fast, so intense and so fucking good, the room spun. He drank me, swallowing every drop, his tongue licking me clean. I saw stars, and I swear to god, my soul left my body.
