I became aware of the motion of the tour bus and the quiet sounds of other activity. We were on the move, and I guess the next stop would be Denver. I think it was still dark outside, so I imagined we had a ways to go. Now, semiconscious, I couldn’t believe Lexi and I had ended up on the Myles North tour, for god’s sake. Not to mention everything else that had happened. But I was adopting a new mantra: just go with it, and so far that had worked out pretty well for me.
I heard a huff.
Soft, slight, gentle, snores.
I twisted slowly around, and saw him.
Crow, lying next to me.
As magnificent as I’d remembered him from last night. More so, perhaps. His hair was messy, thick and black, cut into a short, utilitarian, easy-to-leave-messy style. His skin was so dark, a gift of his heritage certainly, but evidence of a life lived outside in the sun and weather. Squint and laugh wrinkles on the sides of his eyes. A scar over his left eyebrow, partially bisecting it. Another along his jaw. Thick stubble, almost a beard but not quite. His mouth was a thin slash in his face, but his lips were…was it emasculating for me to say they were plump? Because they were. As soft-looking as I remember them feeling. I wanted to kiss them all over again. Right now.
Gahhh.
He was shirtless, and god, the body on the man was unreal. Hard muscles, firm, large, but not shredded by obsession or compulsion, nor bodybuilder swollen out of proportion. Just fit, strong, healthy. Faint abdominal definition, enough to make my mouth water as he flipped onto his back, his head turned toward me. One hand rested on his thigh, low. The other tossed up over his head.
Thick arms, powerful, and covered in tattoos.
I’d never been a fan of tattoos, but god, on him they were extraordinary. More than just decorative art, it was obvious, even to me, they were meaningful.
His jeans were still on, but unzipped and unbuttoned, slung low, showing a hint of tight gray underwear. A bulge pushed against the fabric, straining. I could clearly make out the shape of the head, the ridge, an inch or so of the shaft, and I thought about how hard it had been behind his jeans last night, clearly fully engorged with arousal, yet as I’d shaken and shuddered through my orgasm and the ripping afterquakes, he’d just held me. He’d obviously let me drift off into sleep, and then had gotten me into bed. His bed, I assumed.
I felt a warm rush of gratitude for that. Yet gratitude didn’t seem like nearly a strong enough word for what he’d done for me—rescuing me from danger, feeding me, giving me two intense orgasms, and then allowing me to fall asleep and just be…
Taken care of?
It felt like heaven.
His bunk was a decent size, I realized. Larger than I’d imagined a tour bus bunk being, honestly, but this was no average tour bus. This thing was a luxury condo on wheels. There was enough room in this bunk to prop up on an elbow, but not to sit up. It had a flip-down TV screen in the ceiling, and a cubbyhole in the wall to plug in a cell phone and an iPad. There was also room for a battered black wallet, a small folding box cutter, and a much larger fixed-blade knife—that one was showpiece quality, the handle made of handworked antler, carved into an intricately detailed meadow scene with deer and trees, along with a leather sheath with an exquisitely detailed crow worked into the side. At the foot end of the bed, there was another cubby, this one was a bookshelf stuffed well beyond capacity with paperbacks—I saw sci-fi, fantasy, biographies, histories and historical fiction, and even a romance or two. All well-thumbed, dog-eared.
He snorted, shifted. His hips flexed, his ass tightening to push him upward.
I realized why.
The bulge was enlarging. Significantly.
I bit my lip, gnawing on it. Ohhh god, that was…gargantuan. As it hardened, it lengthened and thickened inside the gray fabric, straining against it, so clearly outlined it may as well have been uncovered.
And then, oooh wow, okay, wow. WOW.
It poked up out of the top of his underwear.
Pink tip, plump and round, with a tiny slit, peeking almost cutely, shyly, out of the elastic waistband.
I wanted to touch it.
He was asleep, though.
I shouldn’t.
Really, really I shouldn’t.
I should go back to sleep and forget I saw anything.
Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen.
Like I could ever, ever forget this. The monstrous size of the thing, so big it would fill my fist and then some, thick and so long, fat and hard.
Soft, I bet.
