26. Foolish Boy

26

FOOLISH BOY

MAZEN

With a little more coaxing than I'd like, I convince Sophia that the paternity test doesn't matter anymore, that she's the only thing that matters to me. I lost sight of that … of what we could be. Losing her by pushing her away is one thing. Losing her because I'm a coward, a broken man, is a fate I refuse to accept.

With double the effort of convincing on her end, she admits that she wants answers almost as badly as I do.

Hours later, we land in Chicago. It's almost midnight by the time we arrive at the hotel. After the plane landed, we went right to the private clinic of the physician we hired to perform the DNA test. These things usually take weeks. For us, the results have been expedited. A perk of being rich, I suppose.

"You booked two rooms?" she asks, brows knitted together as we step off the elevator.

"Assumed you wouldn't want to bunk with me." I'm too ashamed to say the words after I flipped the table you were sitting at, then dragged you out of bed like a maniac out loud. "Not after how I acted."

"We've been ‘bunking'"—she air-quotes the last word—"for weeks. I literally hear you guys fart and burp. Oddly enough, I'm not even repulsed by boys being boys even though I definitely should be. You guys are like a pack of dirty, feral wolves. Jupiter is cleanlier than you." At that, she smiles.

Everyone loves our canine. Half the time, I think our fans prefer him to me.

"I thought we squashed all this insecurity on the plane?" Her chest brushes against my front.

"You shouldn't forgive me so easily. I was a dick. My behavior was inexcusable, and if you haven't noticed yet, we are wolves. Wild ones. If you were thinking with your head, not your heart, you'd run far away from us."

When Sophia doesn't respond, I nod perfunctorily once, then twice before turning my attention on opening the door to her suite.

"Get some rest." I gently push the small of her back, guiding her into the room before I set her duffel bag at her feet. "We'll talk in the morning when we've both had time to sleep and process everything. It's been a long day—a long couple of days." Running my hands through my hair, I exhale loudly before I attempt to shut her in her room.

I don't want space. I've never had anyone who looked at me like she does. Hell, even when we acted like we hated one another, that glimmer of attraction still shone bright in her emerald eyes. I fear space is what she needs tonight. This one act of kindness, of putting her needs before my own, speaks volumes about how sorry I really am for my rampage.

When I feel her arm brush by mine and see her palm plant firmly on the cool door, stopping me in my pursuit to be a gentleman for once in my life, I know what she's going to say before she says it. Don't ask me how. I just do.

"You know this is the same room, right?"

"Couldn't forget it if I tried." My heart turns over as I stare into her soul, begging it to call back to mine.

No sooner do the words leave my mouth than the realization of my admission registers.

Sophia's head slants, and her eyes widen as she soaks in a truth that means more than any sorry I've mustered today. She looks every bit like Jupiter does when he's batting his lashes, wanting a treat another one of us previously denied him. She's looking at me like I both hung the moon and hand-planted every star in the universe.

An overwhelming floodtide of emotion passes between us. A reminder that this infatuation with her began in this very spot over ten years ago.

"Mazen." She remains shell-shocked as her plump lips spread, allowing my name to escape.

Sophia's gaze softens like the gentle caress of her hand when she tattoos me.

The sound of her whispered petition lights me on fire as much as an arena of thousands of fans shouting it in unison at one of our shows. One word, a demand. An invitation to claim what is rightfully mine. Her heart and her body.

"Mazen," she repeats, only this time, her voice is breathier, needier, laced with a tone of longing.

All gentleness has been trampled by wanton need, lying at her feet. The lush green of her eyes meets the steel-gray of mine. She dares me to cross the threshold into her room with nothing more than a couple blinks of her thick, full lashes.

Yep. I'm fucked .

A ripple of invisible warmth, as hot as the sun, almost as unbearable as the prolonged sexual magnetism we've been fighting for weeks on end, flutters wildly in my once-abandoned chest. There's a rush of pink dancing along Sophia's cheeks, throat, and chest as if she lost a fight with a tube of lipstick. Her desire is palpable.

"I want you. Bad. I need you, Mazen." The intensity of her heated glare in her fuck-me eyes shatters my resolve.

Something intense flares through my bones, along with a thunderbolt that goes straight to my hardening cock. Like a snap of a rubber band, my need for her outweighs all rational thoughts. Thoughts of what tomorrow will bring. Thoughts of how this situationship will really work between four people. Thoughts of her being so much more than just a casual lay and conquest.

Ignoring my subconscious, I take three steps into her room. Each one feels like I'm trudging through water, but I can't get to her fast enough.

The woman I love takes a calculated step backward. She's kicking off her shoes and hastily sliding her shirt over her head, dropping it onto the floor in one fluid motion. Every article of clothing caressing her skin follows until she's nude, bared for me in more ways than one. When she runs her talented hands over her delicious, perky mounds, my mouth waters.

Now, I know how Jupiter feels when we have a fresh bone for him.

Sophia's devastatingly beautiful body is my prize.

In amazement, my eyes dart across every inch of her ivory skin to the bed behind her, the one where I more than claimed her body all those years ago. The bed where I claimed a woman who turned into my muse. The bed where our child was conceived .

To tell you the truth, aside from my sister, Sophia is the only woman I've ever loved or cared about. I should be a little ashamed to admit that, but I'm not. She owns me in every way imaginable, and these feelings all started with that one night we shared. Two strangers planted a seed that bloomed over the years, flourishing into an untamable garden caged in the confinements of my heart.

The only difference now is that she's no longer a ghost. Our story is no longer past tense. This is our moment of reckoning, and that bed—the one that has haunted me for years—is about to create new memories in my mind. I'm going to fuck my love into her so hard that my name will be written on her organs. The sheets will forever be stained with our essence, and Sophia Rose Lozier will never be able to forget me again.

"Do you remember when I picked you up at your apartment the day before we went on tour?" I don't wait for her answer before I take a considerable step toward her, planting myself firmly against her. "I said, ‘Be careful if you call out for the devil; he just might come.' You've called to a part of me that I'm afraid I can't ignore anymore, Rosella."

Not even a second passes before I gather her into my arms, holding her tightly, breathing in the scent of her hair. I catalog how good it feels to have her in my arms. I breathe in the vulnerability she radiates. I memorize the feeling of how her soft curves mold to the contours of my body.

Pushing away with my heel, I step backward despite her hands that reach forward, tugging at my shirt, trying to protest. "I don't want you."

Her eyes widen in shock … and hurt.

Sophia swallows hard, accepting my lie.

Before she can bend at the knees to pick up her shirt, I reach forward and grab her by the back of her neck. Strands of red hair tangle in my palm. "I don't want you. I need you. In more ways than I fear you need me."

I step back in front of her, bridging the gap, and any doubts she had are incinerated as my lips sear a path down her neck, across the ridges of her shoulders. Her body shudders under my mouth as it presses hard kisses along her body, demanding her to never forget me or this moment again.

"I want more than your body."

Capturing her mouth with mine, I press into her, allowing our emotions to whirl around us. A current of desire and lust and love ebbs between us like a volcano until we're both on fire, panting and animated. This time, when I pull back, she lets me.

"Whatever happens in this room, it's not just for tonight in my eyes." I kiss the side of her mouth. "It's not just while we're on the remainder of our tour." Another kiss is planted on the opposite side of her mouth. I don't want to leave any part of her body untouched by my hands or mouth. "I won't accept anything less than forever from this moment on."

"What if—"

Doubt is an ugly uncertainty.

"What if the paternity test results come back, and I'm not Roman's father?" I finish for her.

A melancholy frown flits across her strained face before she nods, giving breath to the uncertainty that coats her glossy, worried eyes.

"You can't make promises of forever when it doesn't exist. If you're not Roman's father, then this"—her arms widen in front of her as if she's mocking our sacred place—"will have been for nothing. This trip down memory lane. These declarations of forever and a future together. All of it will be meaningless. You can't tell me you'll still want me if you're not his father."

The green of her eyes darkens from a lush meadow to a dark forest, signaling her beaming irritation.

"I can't handle the rejection I'll feel when that reality settles in. You'll regret giving light to all of these pretty words. I know it in the pit of my stomach."

Dropping down onto the mattress, her hand falls to her face, hiding it. She's defeated, and I'm fucking livid. Enraged by her dismissal of what is between us, of what's right in front of her eyes. This isn't some crush I've been harboring. This isn't some hookup reunion. This is real life. What could be the start of our lives … together.

I don't need a mirror to see the warning cloud that pairs with my stern-faced expression. "You want a dose of reality?"

Before I stoop down in front of her, I yank off my shirt first and then my pants. I want to bear myself to her like she did for me. When every bit of cloth is gone from my body, knees planted firmly on the carpet—my heart carved open, waiting for her to seal it back inside my chest— I say, "I couldn't breathe the morning I walked out of this very room, leaving you asleep on this very fucking bed. I was selfish. Fuck, I was a kid who didn't see what was right in front of him."

As bad as I want to reclaim her lips and show her with my body how much I need her, I know she needs more than just my touch. She needs my words even though she's trying to act immune to them.

"I made a decision that I'll regret until I die. I'm not a foolish boy like I was back then, baby. I'm all man now, and I know what I want. It's you, Rosella. I pinky promise you that I won't ever make that childish mistake of walking away from you again." Pressing a gentle kiss against her forehead, I continue, "I couldn't turn my back on you again if I tried. You're ingrained in here." I lift her palm to hover over my heart.

Pulling myself away from her, I stand and round the bed, stopping at one of the nightstands. "Look." I pull it out, away from the bed and wall.

There, on the side of the wooden nightstand, carved into the grain, are the letters M and S , a heart around them.

A gasp leaves Sophia's parted mouth.

"You had fallen asleep. I knew I had to leave in the morning, but I never wanted to forget how calm and cherished you made me feel. The sex was good. Better than good. It wasn't what made me feel alive that night though. That feeling came from your eyes. I'd never felt so seen in my entire existence."

Words are my weapon. They always have been. I pull them from my arsenal in an attempt to adequately portray the effect she had on me—still does.

"I carved our initials while you slept and wrote you a note." Changing tactics between heartbeats, I say, "Do you want to know how many times I've been back in this room? How many times I've sat on this bed, staring at our initials, begging the universe for a sign that you felt something as deeply as I did that night?"

Pushing her words past her dry throat, she asks, "How many?"

"Once a year for the last ten years and every time the tattoo convention came back to town. Or any city. I've scoured the globe in search of you. I thought you might still have a booth. But every year, my perusal came up empty. The guys didn't know. I didn't tell them about us and our night together. I didn't want it tainted by their commentary."

I gently ease us both onto the bed, not waiting for a reply. My lips explore Sophia's body, every curve of her pearl-colored skin. I use my mouth as a paintbrush, and her body becomes my canvas. She's all woman. Perfection. And tonight, she's all mine. Mine.

I'll face the truth of having to share her tomorrow.

My lips dance over her dusty-pink nipples. Her body instinctively arches toward me. I palm her body, exploring the lay of the land like I'm on an expedition of her soft flesh without a map. I'll die a happy, lost man in her arms, in her body. I crush into her like a tidal wave, my mouth covering hers hungrily, demanding entrance.

"Mazen."

Her body squirms, our mouths less than a breath apart. I glide my lips down her taut stomach.

"Stop." Her lip trembles. "Please."

Thrusting away from her, I stand at the side of the bed, body stiff by her sudden demand.

"I, um …" Jaw clamped, eyes sewn shut, she murmurs, "My scar."

Reality dawns on me. The scar. Her C-section scar. Is she ashamed of it?

Lowering myself back onto the bed, I cup her cheek, holding her gaze toward mine. "This scar?" I trail my finger across the faint white line on her abdomen. "The beautiful mark that brought life into this world is what you're ashamed of?" I spread her legs, positioning my body between them. My eyes never once glance at her sensitive area between her legs. "Don't ever be embarrassed of your body or this scar. You're perfect."

"Imperfect, you mean." It's not a question. "I don't understand why any of you even want me. I'm short compared to the models I've seen you all pictured with. My boobs are a solid C cup and natural. Nothing like the porn-star women you've had. I have red hair, for Christ's sake. You guys can have any woman you want. Actresses. Singers. They're at your disposal. Ripe for the picking."

"And yet we want you."

"Why?" her counter is quick.

"You really don't know?"

She shakes her head, answering my question without words.

"You're everything we're not," I say matter-of-factly, resting my chin on her pelvic bone, looking up into her eyes, willing her to believe me.

The vacant look she offers back tells me she truly believes her allure is a mystery.

"You're unapologetically yourself. You're real in a world where fakeness drives people. You're so fucking compassionate that it physically hurts. That time you bought the homeless man at that Podunk gas station food for both him and his dog sort of solidified that you should win a Humanity Heart Award or some shit. Or the time when you stood in the rain, helping that elderly lady pump her gas. The kindness you offer the world just because your heart leads you to is rare. You're so pure. It's magical, Sophia. We … Ollie, Cannon, and I don't see that often anymore, especially not now that we can't even go to the grocery store without a team of security. You call yourself normal, average. We call you unique."

She leans up on her elbows. "You adopted a stray dog, gave him a life of luxury. You paid for your sister's best friend's grief counseling for the last two years—don't hurt Ollie for telling me that; he was trying to prove a point that you weren't the biggest douchebag in the world a couple of weeks ago."

That earns her an earnest smile. I really painted myself poorly there for a while.

"You're so much more than the man the world sees onstage, Mazen. I see the real you, and I like him. This version. The one who speaks from his heart. That's why people resonate with your music so much. Your lyrics are words gifted from a place that's so full of compassion and wonder. You're the rarity between us, not me."

"What's rare is the fact that I haven't bent you over this bed yet. You know that, right?" I laugh, adjusting my hardening length that's digging into the mattress.

"See?" She playfully pushes my shoulder. "You have such a way with words."

Tossing our heart-to-heart and banter aside, I lick my lips, wishing I could taste her arousal. Would Sophia still think so highly of me if she knew the suggestive thoughts running through my head?

As if our bodies are tired of waiting, in a clash of skin, Sophia's warm embrace welcomes my body on top of hers.

"I want you to fuck me like the first night we met. Not like the man looking at me like he's picturing me in a damn wedding dress. I need you inside of me, Mazen. I've been waiting too long for you to come to your senses about this. It's been torture, watching you parade around with other women in front of me."

"I'm a piece of shit. I don't deserve your forgiveness, but, fuck, I'll work every day to earn it any way. This sounds so cliché, but I only screwed them because I couldn't be with you. I only want to be with you in every aspect that matters. "

"You could," she interrupts. "You're the one who's been holding out for so long."

"Not anymore. Damn. Even the fucking tour bus driver wants you. It's what you do to men. Your essence, it's potent as hell. That's probably why the old bastard keeps the barrier between the driving section and ours pulled shut every day. He's probably so turned on by your incessant moaning—that Ollie and Cannon have gotten skilled at pulling from you—that his dick is driving the wheel."

"That's an awful image. Way to ruin the mood."

Her lighthearted laugh is a welcome sound. We've had nothing but in-depth conversations since we boarded the damn plane.

It's time to give our minds a break. Our bodies are ready to work.

"Lie back." I slowly slide back down her body until I slither onto the floor, my knees resting on the carpet, and then pull her down to me by her velvety skin. "I've been dying for another taste of this sweet pussy."

Sophia's cheeks match her rosy peaks as they harden, and her breath becomes shallower. She moans softly as I kiss the inside of her thigh while running my thumb deliciously over her scar, reminding her that there's nothing on her body that isn't perfect.

When my mouth journeys closer to her core, her body stills, craving the ecstasy she knows is coming.

"Taste me, Maz. Fuck me with your tongue."

The degree to which her raw, unfiltered demand bores into me leaves me too stunned to reply, so I spring into action.

Each moan of praise that passes from her parted mouth is a taunt straight to my iron rod cock. I want so badly to be buried in her, I can hardly concentrate on lapping up her center.

The delicate fragrance of Sophia's warm opening reminds me of a field of flowers. Her scent is clean like air-dried linen hanging in a summer breeze with a mix of floral goodness that just suits her. I remember licking her clean after Cannon and Oliver made her come by the pool, but the sweet scent of her had long been washed away by chlorine and my friends' mouths. Having the pleasure of enjoying her before anyone else this time is a jolt of wanton need straight to my veined shaft.

Soft hands caress the tendons in my neck, pulling my face closer toward her pulsing slit. Each lap of my tongue becomes a savage harmony, pushing her writhing frame to soar until the peak of her delight is within reach. I can tell by her sharp intake of breath. The way her body starts to tremble under my expert tongue.

Contentment roars in my veins at the sound of her lips parting, breathing my name, "Mazen. Oh. Fuck." Each word becomes breathier. "Mazen. I'm gonna…come."

My gaze moves over her body in appraisal. I'd usually be an ass and ask do I get a merit badge for that, but all I can think is she's fucking breathtaking. My obvious appraisal doesn't go unnoticed.

"That was…epic," she pants, her thighs still pressed together firmly.

"My pussy-eating skills rank up there with singing. What can I say?"

Sophia scans me temptingly, appreciation beaming in her eyes. "How are your lovemaking skills, Wilde?"

Lovemaking .

"I thought you wanted it hard?"

She seems to be floating on a cloud in deep thought before she responds, "I want it all."

Four words spoken with the deepest compassion I've ever felt, by the only woman I've truly ever cared for, unlock my heart and soul.

It's easy to get lost in the earnest look she casts me. "There are no more secrets. Just you and me, Mazen. We've lost too much time. Make love to me. Show me how much your body misses me."

The urge to give her what she's asked for leads to the spark of haste in my movements.. Easing on top of her, I hold myself up with one hand on the bed, the other fondles her breast, its pink nipple is marble hard. Her deep emerald eyes connect with the cool steel of mine. The words of our first number one hit play in the forefront of my mind, Heart on Fire . That's exactly what she… my Rosella…is slowly doing to me.

She's set not only my heart but my body on fire, and I'm fucking smoldering.

I want to take my time exploring, worshiping her beyond belief. I want to reacquaint myself with every inch of her exposed skin. That thought is short-lived and then abandoned fully as she squirms under my weight, begging me to show her without words what she means to me in the way only a man depraved for a woman can.

We're flesh against flesh, heart against heart, muse against musician.

When my shaft inches into her already wet center, it's instantly the best feeling of my entire goddamn life. Our bodies reunite in the most intense reunion of the century.

There's a moment where my physical desire overtakes all rational thought, and I inch in deeper, not caring in the slightest about how Sophia's feeling. Nothing more than a hungry yearning to reach her hilt spirals through my every movement.

Inch after inch, she stretches. Her greedy little cunt gripping my dick so tightly until the sound of a sharp intake of breath suddenly halts my movement.

"Shit. Sorry, Rosella. I got carried away."

Her touch is like a hit of ecstasy against my flesh as she palms my ass, demanding me through a long, shuddering moan. "Move and kiss me."

We move in unison, our bodies gliding against one another's, soaring together into a masterful hysteria of unbridled passion. And for a moment in time, I don't care about what tomorrow brings.

How could I when my entire being is being flooded with Sophia's soft moans and essence?

I will crave her until the day that I die.