19. Justin

Chapter Nineteen

JUSTIN

H oly shit, that was fun.

I didn't know it could be so fun. It was even better than the tiny bars I'd been playing and better than the world tours. It was downright electric. I could feel the excitement. It was somehow just... perfect. It was exactly what I wanted. Not small, but not overwhelmingly huge.

They were there for me, and they were there for the songs I wrote.

I can barely wait for Waylon to unlock the hotel room door, sliding his keycard in just as my lips meet his. I don't care if anyone sees. I don't care if anyone knows I'm with him that way.

I mean, I guess I'm not, but it feels like I am. He's on my mind all the damn time. I was thinking about him on stage and how he made all this happen. How he didn't just write me off and call me an idiot when I left.

He fought for me.

That's a big deal. That matters. And I have him.

I kiss him hard, hating to pull away, even if it's just to remove our clothing. Wanting every part of me touching every single part of him. He made this happen for me. Do I think it's going to be totally simple from here on out? Of course not. But Daisy really seems to get it.

To get me. And Waylon found her for me.

When we're finally naked and on the bed, suddenly I'm not in such a rush anymore. I don't want this to end. I was a grumpy asshole, hoping like hell I could hide from the world—or so I thought—but really maybe in the back of my mind, I knew he'd come for me.

He seemed to figure it out and fix it. Making me feel safe in ways no one has ever done for me. I kiss his neck and move down over his chest, giving attention to each nipple. My tongue lashes over each one before sucking the hard nub and then lowering my mouth further.

His hands go to my hair, tugging a little extra hard—just the way I like. It makes me feel wanted and secure, but he doesn't direct my movements. He just lets me know he's there. Like he always is.

My ever-steady rock.

When I swallow his dick and hear that sexy shout of surprise, I can't help smiling around his engorged cock. It jerks when it hits the fleshy back of my throat, and I fight my gag reflex but refuse to pull off him. I want to devour him.

I want to kiss him and suck his dick, and fuck him and have him fuck me, all at once. I want to live right fucking here. Never come up for air. I'm not sure what the hell is happening, but I don't want to fight it. It just feels right.

His hand tugs on my hair, and he's breathless when he says my name. "Justin... so close. I want you inside me. Please."

I'm not going to deny him. There's no way. I lick my way up his shaft slowly, taking my time before I release him. Grabbing a condom and lube, I quickly cover my cock and use two fingers to prep him.

He doesn't want a lot. I know he doesn't from the way he's squirming impatiently. I use the excess lube to slick my cock and press the head to his hole, looking into his intense eyes before sliding into him.

It's almost too much, being inside him. My chest feels like it might crack open from the sheer pleasure I see in his eyes. And there's something else there. Something under the surface he isn't saying.

And I'm pretty sure I'm feeling it too.

He rears up at the same time I lean down, and our lips crash together as I thrust into him over and over, both of us chasing our pleasure and taking it through desperate, hungry kisses.

My hand wraps around his cock as I push inside him, trying to fucking live inside him as his hands grip my ass and push me deeper, like he has the same goal. Soon, I feel that familiar tingle, trying to keep it at bay as I slide my lubed hand up and down his hard shaft. When he comes with a sharp cry, I let go, my release hitting me so damn hard, I almost collapse on top of him but manage not to crush him.

I kiss him softly as we both recover, and then I pull out, quickly get rid of the condom, and fall next to him on the bed, lying on my stomach and panting like I ran a marathon.

"That's one way to celebrate one hell of a show," Waylon says, and I can hear the grin he's no doubt wearing.

I finally catch my breath and roll to my side, facing him while he's still lying on his back. I watch his chest rise and fall with each rapid breath. "Thank you."

His head swivels in my direction, and his eyes lock on mine. "You did that, Justin. That was all you."

A slow grin takes over my face. "Bullshit."

He actually looks a little shy. A slight blush emerges on his pale cheeks. "You could have done it. You would have."

"I'm not so sure about that," I say honestly. "I'm glad you found me." I feel vulnerable and raw, but I owe him that truth.

I watch his elegant throat flex as he looks up at the ceiling again and away from me. "I am too. You're settled now." He looks over at me again, and for some reason, I can't seem to breathe. Panic starts to claw at my insides because there's something in his gaze I instantly don't like. "You're happy."

Not so damn happy now . There's something permanent in his tone. "What aren't you saying?" I ask carefully.

"I need to get back to my other clients, Justin. I did what I came to do."

I lean up on my elbow, looking directly at him. "Get back? You're leaving?"

He sits up slowly, his hand pushing through his hair, and he won't look at me. "I have to."

"But Dalton is handling everything." Panic surges through me as I sit up too, trying to will him to look at me. But he won't do it.

"He can't take on my clients forever, Justin. We found what you were looking for." His eyes meet mine, and I see the sadness in them, nearly crushing me in an instant. He's serious. "I've never seen you look so damn settled than when you were on that stage tonight. I'll help you book more venues, just like that, and you have Daisy here too. She knows what she's doing. She's fantastic."

But I want you.

I don't say it out loud, my self-preservation too damn strong because I can see his resolve. He's leaving. "So this was just a goodbye fuck?" I ask coldly, motioning to the rumpled bed.

He stands up from the bed, still gloriously naked, but I can't even take the time to admire his body because I feel like I might vomit. "Of course it's not goodbye. If you still want me as your manager, I'll happily accept that position."

But nothing else.

He's leaving.

"And what? You'll still throw me a fuck every once in a while, when we meet up to talk business?" I sound bitter. Really fucking bitter. But I can't seem to cut it out.

He winces, and I almost feel bad, but I keep my chin held up. "We knew what this was. It was releasing tension. Professional, remember?" His eyes meet mine sternly. How the hell can he be so cold? Professional? That's what this was. Shit. How the hell did I lose control?

He grabs his clothes and starts dressing, and I want to rip every single piece of clothing out of his hands and make him stay. Make him look me in the eyes and tell me this is only business. That it's nothing more. That I don't mean anything more to him than a client.

"Right," I say, finding my boxers and jeans, tugging them on but not bothering to zip my jeans up. "So when do you leave?"

I watch him button his shirt, his eyes finally on me, but they look different. Shuttered. Like he's protecting himself. As if he's the one who needs protecting right now. Clearly, this was nothing to him. I wonder how many clients he's done this with. The thought makes me cold. "My flight leaves in an hour."

If he'd have punched me right in the heart, it would hurt less. "Wow."

He walks closer to me but doesn't touch me, though for a brief moment, it felt like he wanted to. "This is a good thing. You're on the right path. This is what I came to do. I'm sorry I can't stay."

"You should go," I say, trying my best to keep all emotion out of my voice.

"Justin..." he starts, but I school my features into an ugly scowl.

"Go. I don't want you to miss your flight. You're right. I'll be just fine."

He studies me carefully for what feels like an eternity, but then gives a reserved, clipped nod. "Okay, you have my number. Call me with any questions, and I'll get more gigs just like tonight scheduled."

I don't say anything. I can't seem to. I'm afraid I might throw up if I open my mouth. I can't believe I let this happen.

I thought I was smarter than this.

Clearly, I'm not because watching him leave feels like he's taking a piece of me with him.