Chapter 57

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

LAKE

31 bobas left until we both die … (the same day)

My pop star boyfriend is going to kill me before the curse does.

How? How did he ever learn this dance? I wonder as Tam rolls his hips, his heavy breathing over the mic that’s pressed up near his lips. I’m close enough right now to see the sweat on his face, tucked up with a bunch of security guards between the metal fence behind me, and the pit beyond that. People are screaming for Tam, crying, singing at the tops of their lungs.

From where I am, I can get backstage in less than a minute. Nobody will stop me if I walk up those black steps and slip behind the curtain. I have a badge. Also, I’m a minor celebrity myself. People are recording me, taking photos, yelling for my attention.

I’m literally famous for having sex with Tam Eyre.

“What’s he like in bed?” a girl screams from way too close to my ear. I edge away from her, watching as Tam struts to the end of the stage like he’s looking for someone.

You better not! I think at him, and here he comes, moving much closer to the edge of the stage than this routine is supposed to. Trust me, I know. I’ve seen this exact same routine dozens of times by now. And that’s just live. I’ve watched it even more times online. You know why? Because it’s “Break Up With Me”.

Tam never stops dancing or singing; he just closes the distance between us, takes off the bracelet on his wrist. Tosses it to me. I catch his sweaty bracelet in my palms, and the people around me go crazy. Some of them beg me for the bracelet.

You know what?

They can have it.

I toss it into the crowd, and fans dive to collect it. A girl holds it up in triumph, and others groan.

I put a hand over my mouth and dash backstage, so that I can see Tam between sets.

He saunters off that stage, pausing right in front of me. Headset still on. Hair shiny under the bright lights. Tight black shirt. Some weird half-kilt thing over his pants that’s supposed to be a nod to his Scottish heritage. Big black boots.

“I gave your bracelet to a fangirl,” I tell him, and he laughs.

“You gave my bracelet to a fangirl when I threw it to you? Aw, Lake. I’m hurt.” Tam slides his fingers through my hair, pushing his mic aside so that he can kiss me. I tilt my head back to give him easier access, but it’s a kiss that doesn’t last nearly long enough.

He takes off for the dressing room, and within minutes, he’s onstage again.

“Green Apple” is starting.

I refuse to remember Tam’s exact words to me this morning.

I won’t do it.

Fuck the shit out of me, that’s what he said, right?

I immediately go into the dressing room, just to ensure that I won’t be late.

I bite my lip and look around, but it’s a small space—much smaller than the one in San Francisco.

Hmm.

I lock the door, and then I strip down to my lingerie.

It’s the same lingerie that I wore under the hot dog costume, yes.

In the corner of the room, I can see a small monitor showing the stage and Tam’s current song.

“Green Apple” is this cheeky K-pop esque taunt. I’m not sure how I missed it the first time around—I used to skip this song when it came on—but now I hear it for what it is. He’s talking about people he doesn’t like. Don’t know who, but it’s a subtle roast.

He’s so clever, goddamn it. I knew he would be. I’m still finding myself surprised. He manages to trick me with that pretty smile every time.

Tam does a move in this particular routine that involves holding his arms above his head, elbows out in a diamond shape. He clasps his hands together, moves his hips to either side, and gets low until he ends up falling to his knees. One palm down on the stage, then the other. Essentially on all-fours.

Damn.

He gives this bedroom face that has me wondering how I survive that look when it’s focused solely on me. Tam crawls for a few seconds, and then gets expertly back to his feet.

“Just a sour bite, but you’ll like it. The fruit you want, those green apples. I got them for cheap, but you can have them for free.”

Mm. Mm-hmm. Okay, maybe not a subtle dig after all. That’s kind of obvious, isn’t it? Green, like envy. Sour apples. He’s teasing, and I just didn’t notice it. I can be so dense sometimes.

Tam finishes the song with this a cappella note that just destroys the audience.

They’re frothing at the mouth for him when he winks and turns, striding offstage.

There’s a special intermission today, featuring a few guest artists who are local to the area. And when I say ‘local’, I mean Beverly Hills, probably next-door neighbors to Tam. It’s a big deal. Kaycee Quinn was never scheduled to sing tonight because she was supposed to be working on her drama.

Instead … she went to Arkansas with my brother? Of course they’re matched. I feel stupid for not realizing it until now. It’s as obvious a plot as Tam’s quippy lyrics.

He’s coming.

Any second … the doorknob jiggles, and I rush over to open it.

Tam explodes into that room like a storm, slamming the door shut, grabbing me. There are clothes coming off of him between sharp, hot kisses, roaming hands. His skin is wet and hot from dancing, and he’s breathing hard from all the physical exertion. His voice, just a little rough from singing live, is husky and horny and tender all at once.

“What the fuck is this?” he asks me, fingers tracing the edge of the balconette bra. He burns a line over the two pale mounds of my breasts, his green eyes destroyed by the desire in his pupils. Tam is hyped up from the show, and the crowd. The energy here tonight is hot. I can feel it. I know the crowd can feel it.

They’re even crazier than normal, making the stadium feel like the close confines of a bedroom.

“I wore it for you the first time; I’m wearing it again to see what it’s like when you actually want me in it.” I’m smirking as I say that, just a tease, but Tam takes it like a challenge.

“Oh?” He laughs at me, putting his hand in my hair, and taking hold with firm fingers. He tilts my head and nips at the wicked-fast jump of my wild pulse. “You think I didn’t want you in it before? I hadn’t had a hard-on in months, Lake. Months. Couldn’t get it up to save my life. Even went to the doctor and was told I was exhausted, that’s it. But then you came along and what do you think happened?”

Tam bites me, sucks on the sensitive, exposed skin of my neck. Bites me again.

I moan and slide my hands over his strong shoulders. Somehow, he’s already not wearing a shirt. Just the pants from the video, these leather ones that I’ve always wondered how he was able to dance in. When I reach down for his fly, I see how hot his hips are underneath, skin dewy and inviting. I want to kiss every square inch of Tam Eyre’s body.

My eyes slide over to the curse mark on my wrist.

Nope. Still there.

Oh well. I don’t even care in that moment. If I’m going to die, this is what I want to be doing in my final days. Tam takes my hand and puts it right over the tight black briefs he had to wear to squeeze into these pants. Trust me: his dick would be an obscene line under the leather if he didn’t, and I don’t think he wants his concert to be X-rated.

I rub him through the fabric as he guides me over to the couch, encouraging me to sit on one of the square-shaped arms. On the monitor in the corner, a cheer goes up and one of Tam’s guest artists takes the stage. The timer on the wall beside it reads fifteen minutes and twenty-two seconds.

We don’t have a lot of time for foreplay, do we?

I shove Tam’s underwear down, freeing him and taking his hot, hard length into my hand. Our mouths are magnetized, drawn to one another like fireflies under a summer rain. Lightning in the sky. Lightning in our signals. Lightning when we crash together, grabbing at each other.

My hand is in Tam’s hair; his is buried in mine.

Undoubtedly, he’s the one gripping harder, pushing our mouths together as I work his body with my fingers. His hips are pumping into my fist, his free hand gripping my shoulder while the other remains tangled in my hair.

Tam is panting hard now, even harder than when he walked in the room, sweaty and wild from his time onstage. He looks at me, really looks at me, and that iceberg melts a little more. Warm water, sloshing around in my heart. I need it to go hot. I need it to boil.

The crowd is in a screaming frenzy outside this small, closeted little room. I’m almost afraid to see what happens when Tam takes the stage again. The guest artists are nice, but we know who everyone came here for.

My boyfriend.

That whole stadium is here for my man.

That makes me smile, and Tam kisses the sweetness of that thought right off my mouth. Strong, lascivious licks. He melts my bones, makes it hard for me to move my hand on his cock. I’m liquid under that stare, under that wicked mouth.

“I … I can’t move. I’m sorry,” I breathe back at him, the sound stuttering and strange.

Tam captures my face between both of his hands, putting his forehead against mine.

“We had a whole year for foreplay,” Tam murmurs. “We can skip it for right now.”

His headset is still on, but twisted, muted, the mic shoved out of the way. His hair is all messed up, his stage costume bunched around his thighs. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, seeing Tam Eyre so disheveled and wild and male.

He wets his already swollen lips, my fingers almost slack around his impossibly rigid hard-on.

“Say it again,” he commands me, and my skin goes tight, like it’s a suit that I want to shed. I want to meld with Tam, twist up in him until there are no discernible lines between us. Not between our hearts. Not between our bodies. Not between … I don’t think about the curse.

“Fuck me,” I whisper, my eyes on his, my pulse so fast and fluttery that I’m getting dizzy.

“That’s my good girl,” Tam says with a smile that’s as sweet as it is spicy. He takes my mouth again, like we have all the time in the world.

According to the clock, we’ve been kissing each other for five minutes.

Only ten left.

Ticktock.

A different, better sort of countdown than the curse.

Tam slides his hands down to either side of my neck, over my shoulders, and then he uses his thumbs to pull down the blue silk of the balconette bra. My breasts spill into his warm, rough palms, and I shudder against a surge of fresh heat when he gives my nipples a worshipful brush with his fingertips.

“Beautiful.” Tam continues his appreciative exploration of my body, moving his hands down the front of me, squeezing my waist, gripping my hips. He takes hold of my panties next and then pauses, muscles going taut with tension. “What the hell is this?”

“If you don’t put the panties on over the garters then—”

Tam exhales, and then he’s wild as he rips the underwear off me. My thigh-highs and garter belt are still in place, an obscene frame for the wet heat and the delicate curls above it, trimmed and tidied up for this exact moment. I am ready for this.

“I had no idea …” he breathes, studying me with a fervent obsession that I can feel reflected in my own heart. “You’re so naughty, Kayak.”

“Virgin by choice. But not na?ve. Not without desires, Tam.”

He lifts his gaze from my body—with great effort, mind you—and meets my stare again.

His lips curve.

“Not without desires, Tam. I need a sports bra, Tam. Fuck me, Tam. Are you trying to kill me?”

He grabs onto my ass and drags me to the edge of the sofa arm.

But it’s too short. He’s too tall.

He makes a face, and then he just tips me backward, and I let out a small gasp. I fall onto the sofa, and Tam climbs on with me, using his arm around my waist to scoot me down so there’s enough room for him.

I put my hands on his bare shoulders, struggling to catch my breath. No, I don’t think I need to keep struggling. I’m not going to catch it at all because Tam has thoroughly caught me.

“Have you gotten bigger since we met?” I whisper, and he gives a low, private little chuckle, nuzzling his face against the side of my neck.

“You make me eat more. I just work out more to make up for it. I got a little more …”

“Stacked?” I supply as Tam lifts up, using a hand on the couch arm behind my head to give himself leverage.

“Fuckin’ stacked.” Tam reaches between us, lines our bodies up, and then it’s just a smooth glide of his strong body into mine. He’s so athletic, it’s like he can make anything work for sex. Any position, anytime, anywhere. Against a wall, on the floor, on a couch that’s too narrow and too low.

I arch my back as Tam fills me up, our pelvises hitting with a hiss from him and a whimper from me.

There’s a knock on the door that Tam ignores. Pretty sure it’s Jacob.

We ignore him, my arms slipping around Tam’s neck, his body rocking mine with every thrust. My nipples are points of fire, catching and blazing when they rub up against Tam’s naked upper body. I can feel his leather pants when I rub my foot along his calf, and my mind conjures up images of his music video, the one I masturbated to way back when.

Tam seems to have a thing for my neck, using his free hand to tilt my head back, his lips on my throat. Kissing, sucking, leaving more hickeys than I can count. I don’t even care. Every inch of my skin has turned into an erogenous zone that needs, begs, pleads to be touched.

I writhe against him, pushing my hips up to meet his downward thrusts. Or … I try to anyway. Tam is savage, a slick hard slide of his body that pins my pelvis to the couch cushions. I let him take over the interaction, working my fingers into his hair, my head thrown back, throat exposed. He owns that, too, bruising me with kisses and nips and sweet, hot suction.

“More, more, more,” I’m murmuring mindlessly, pulling him against me. He’s moved his hand from the couch’s arm to the back, his spine curved so that he can reach my neck with his mouth while he fucks. Tam kisses up my jaw, sucks on my lower lip.

My hands slip from his hair to his neck, rubbing his warm, dewy skin, working over all those wonderful muscles. He bites my lip next, and I make a noise for him that he likes. He kisses over that bite, and I make another sound. He thrusts deep and there’s yet another, different sort of whimper.

“I can make music with your body, can’t I?” he whispers, and then he braces himself and comes at me with such beautifully explosive energy that I don’t register the timer hitting zero on the wall. Don’t pay attention to the sound of the door opening, of Jacob cursing.

Tam doesn’t look at anything but me, grinning when I tense up suddenly and shove at his chest.

We look at each other, but it’s not a no from me, just an involuntary reaction. I can’t seem to climax without fighting it a little bit first.

Tam keeps going, and I push even harder at him, harder, dig my nails into his chest. He curses under his breath, but he doesn’t stop. I’m wrapping him so tight now, locking down, propositioning him with my body. He puts a hand on my shoulder when I thrash a little bit, and then the wave crests, crests, breaks.

With a groan, I just let go completely, my body surrendering to his.

Tam doesn’t make it much longer than that, finishing with rhythmic rolls of his hips, hand still on my shoulder, holding me still as I pant beneath him. When he collapses, I catch him, wrapping my arms around his body and breathing alongside him, hearts pounding together, muscles rippling with the aftershocks of pleasure.

On the monitor, I see that the crowd is chanting Tam’s name.

“I think you’re late,” I tell him, and he laughs, pushing up and out of me as I groan and roll onto my side. I squeeze my thighs together. Is there … I think there’s an attached bathroom. There better be.

“I’m never late. They’ll survive this one time,” he says, kicking his shoes and pants all the way off. Tam snatches the navy pants he’s wearing for his next set, pulling them on before he comes over to me and offers his hand. “C’mere, Kayak.”

I take his hand, loving the way his fingers look when they wrap my wrist. He hauls me up, catching me when I stumble a bit. Tam leads me into the bathroom. There’s a toilet and a sink, but no shower. Why would there be? We’re backstage at a concert venue.

“Don’t clean up too well. I want to know that part of me is still inside of you.” He winks at me, tongue pressed against the corner of his lip in this cheeky look that is in no way by accident. “Here. I saw these hanging out of your duffel bag, and I snatched ‘em up for you to put on after.”

Tam tosses me the sweatpants I bought from his merch stand—the ones that read I Heart Tam on the ass. I catch them, cheeks going red. He moves to leave the bathroom, and I call out to him.

“What about you? Don’t you need to clean up?”

“Me?” Tam glances back with his hand on the doorknob. “Hell no. I’m going to perform with you all over me.” He gestures in the general direction of his dick, and then he leaves. He shuts the door behind him, and then I hear Jacob cussing him out.

Oh.

Okay then.

I like you, Tam Eyre.

I shiver all over, and then I clean up and get dressed.

When I step out of the bathroom, Jacob is waiting, watching the monitor in the corner. I look up to see that Tam is doing his next dance, dressed in a navy coat with gold buttons and no shirt, leather boots on his feet. His hair looks exactly like it did when he walked out of here, and his makeup is smudged.

The crowd is absolutely loving it, especially when he does this little shoulder shimmy and drops his jacket off his shoulders.

“You might be poisonous, but I’m the one with the venom. It only hurts when I bite you. My teeth in your neck, your poison in my veins, my venom in yours.”

I stop right where I am, reaching up a hand to gingerly touch my palm to the soreness on my neck. Jacob looks back, and then he chokes, blushing and turning away. Am I that, um, marked? I rush over to one of the mirrors—I never bothered to look at my reflection in the bathroom—and find that I’m covered in hickeys. Covered in them. My neck is a mess of red, and it’s only going to get worse.

I steal Tam’s hoodie and yank it on while Jacob’s gaze remains fixed firmly on the wall.

He says nothing to me, and I say nothing to him.

I book it back to that sweet spot in front of the stage. Best seat in the house.

As soon as people see me, I wonder if haven’t made a mistake?

I’m back. Wearing a different outfit. Wearing these sweatpants.

And the hoodie?

“Is that the hoodie from “Kiss This Rizz”?” a woman says, loudly enough that I can hear her over the crowd. I look down to see that I’ve taken one of Tam’s stage outfits. I’m wearing the hoodie he performed in.

Right.

Dating a pop star is weird.

I flee backstage, and I hide myself on a stool in the corner.

Two songs later, Maggie brings me a drink carrier with four bobas in it, and Leo—the guy that asked me out—sees me there and keeps a very healthy distance between us.

With my cheeks tinted pink, and a private little smile on my lips, I suck on a brown sugar lava milk tea with brown sugar jelly and tapioca boba.

And then I wait for that critical moment in the night when Tam Eyre is all mine again.