She softly chuckles against my lips as I jerk her shirt off. “You’re always so horny every time I visit.”
“Mmmm.” I suck her tongue into my mouth as I cup her ass and press her body into mine. “You taste so good.”
When she runs her fingers through my hair and giggles, the sound is like soulful music to my ears.
“You’re all sweaty from performing,” she whispers against my lips while her hand wanders down my back, then she slips it into the back pocket of my jeans. “It’s sexy.”
With one swift movement and a low growl, I scoop her up into my arms and plant her ass on top of the table in the corner of the room. “You’re the sexy one.” I spread her legs and grind myself against her.
She moans in response, her head falling back, her eyelids fluttering. “God, that feels so good.”
“It’s about to feel even better,” I murmur against her lips as my fingers wander to the clasp of her bra.
Right as I’m about to unfasten it, someone knocks at the door.
“Go away,” I shout then devour Ella with my lips again as I unhook her bra and slip the straps from her shoulders. As the fabric falls from her chest, I plant needy kisses down her neck to the base of her throat, trailing down all the way to her breasts. Taking her nipple into my mouth, I suck hard, just how she likes it.
“Micha,” she gasps, her knees coming up to my hips as her fingers tangle through my hair.
I move to the other nipple and wrap my lips around it, giving it the same treatment.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Micha, open the door. We need to talk,” Mike calls out.
“In a minute,” I shout back, growing frustrated because he’s ruining the mood. And it’s the only mood Ella and I are going to have for a while.
“I know Ella’s in there,” he says, “but I promised the house manager that you’d sign autographs for an hour, so you need to get out here. It’s good for your image, too. It shows the fans you appreciate their support.”
Letting out a frustrated grunt, my forehead falls against Ella’s bare shoulder. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I’m really getting tired of this shit.”
“Of what?” she asks, smoothing her hand over my head. “Of signing autographs?”
“No.” Shaking my head, I stand up straight. “Mike, the label, my image.”
Her bottom lip juts out, and it’s so damn sexy I almost forget I’m upset. “I’m sorry, sweet boy. I don’t ever want you to be unhappy.”
“I’m not unhappy,” I assure her. The last thing I want Ella to do is worry. “I’m just not sure—”
“Micha, get your ass out here.” Mike bangs on the door and keeps banging.
“Fuck.” I kiss Ella one last time then back up to the door. “Wait for me?”
“Of course,” she responds, hopping off the table and reaching for her bra on the floor. “Where else would I go?”
Smiling, I open the door and walk out of the room. The smile vanishes from my face the moment I enter the hallway and leave the only person I really want to see behind. Because I only feel like myself when I’m with Ella—only then do I feel whole—which leaves me wondering if maybe it’s time to quit.
But then what? What would I be if I didn’t have my music? A good husband. I’m not even sure if I am since I’m never home. I want to be home more. I want to be a great fucking husband, have a job I love and one where I can see my wife every day. I want to know my home. Take care of it. Start my own family.
I just wish I could get the guts to do it.
Chapter 2
Rolling my eyes, I slipped into the building and let the door slam shut behind me. I was pissed off. Irate. It’s not like I believed her. I know Micha well enough to know he would never cheat on me. Plus, when I was on the road with him in the past, there were a lot of fans that said the same thing, even though I was with him. It’s still a lot to take in sometimes, and there’s a part of me—one I’ll never tell Micha about—that wishes he’d find a way to leave the touring behind and be home with me more.
I love him enough not to say anything, though, not to crush his dream.
Despite all the drama tonight, it was still amazing to see him perform. I sometimes wonder how he does it, how he stands in front of a thousand rowdy fans, so at ease. Well, he used to be, anyway. Tonight, he seemed restless to get off the stage and much less eager than he normally is to sign autographs.
“You’re Micha Scott’s wife, right?” the dark haired, late twenties bartender interrupts my thoughts as she appears in front of me.
I hesitate. If I’ve learned anything over the last couple of years, it is that it’s not necessarily a good thing in the female world to be the wife of a sexy rockstar. Hence, the crazy blonde tonight.