“Yeah? Stasi said she likes them. Guess I’ll send her more and leave you out since you never reply to them.”
His voice drops to a threatening murmur. “You stop sending them to me, and I’ll make sure you don’t get off the next time we’re in bed together.”
Smiling, I close my eyes. “Stasi seems open to this.”
“Yeah.”
I don’t know if I expected him to tell me otherwise, but when he doesn’t, I ask, “We’re playing to her comfort level, aren’t we?”
“I’m not sure how else to do this,” he admits.
After a few beats of silence, I do my best to lighten the mood. I chat with him about musicians we’ve been working with in the studio. He shocks me by offering his Porsche for me to drive so I don’t have to sleepat the studio or rely on Uber to get around. I don’t tell him it’s not safe for me to drive. Not with the way my vision sometimes warbles and blurs with these persistent migraines.
Instead, I ask him for his best Atonement tour stories. He tells me his wildest experiences always involved his bassist and drummer. He tells me about Hail and how he fell hard for the pretty, broken singer from Visage in a smoky London bar.
Running my hands over the soft fabric of his comforter, I ask, “Did you ever hook up with any of them?”
“I don’t hook up with people I work with.”
“You’re working with me.”
He pauses. “You’re the only one I’ve broken that rule for.”
“Yeah?” A goofy smile takes over my face. “Maybe Iamtrouble.”
Another grunt. “You have no idea.”
I rub my socked feet together under his sheets. “Are you partial to solo workouts, or could I come with you to the gym next time? Does Stasi work out with you?”
“Solo. But I’m trying this new thing where I don’t shut people out. Fair warning, I won’t go easy on you. And youcannotinterrupt Stas, no matter what she’s wearing.”
The visuals his words summon up go straight to my groin. I’ve been rocking a semi since he picked up the phone and rumbled my name. Now that I’m thinking about Stasi in tight shorts and sports bras, I’m aching to get off.
I slip a hand beneath my sweats and give my shaft a slow pump. “Warning heard and ignored.”
He lets out a laugh, and then his voice drops low. “Are you touching yourself, Beau?”
This conversation has effectively turned my entire night around. “Would you like that?”
“Hold on.”
He cuts the call, leaving me frowning with my hand around my cock. Seconds later, a FaceTime call pops up.
“Oh, hell yeah.” I grin, sliding a finger across the screen to answer it.
My mouth waters at the image of him in the empty locker room, dressed in a sleeveless tank and gray sweatpants. His tattooed skin glistens with sweat, and his hair is piled on top of his head.
I’m so done for. I’m in over my head for sure. Obviously, the only reason I came to Dallas was to torture myself.
“Do you evernotlook good?”
Liam smirks as he drags his shirt off his body, revealing each set of rigid ab muscles and those defined pecs I want to run my tongue over.
“You too, trouble. Shirt off,” Liam demands.
“Shit, is that what we’re doing? What if someone walks in on you?”
Liam’s smile turns wicked. “Let them watch.”
