Consumed(10)

But we’d still be on a bus. And despite what Lucas has said about wanting to keep me around, anything could happen. I’m not aware that I’ve started to clench my teeth until Lucas stops touching me. It’s always been a nervous habit of mine and it drives him insane. “Please don’t stop,” I hiss.

“Come on tour with me.”

He’s asking a lot, he has to know that. I can’t give him a direct answer right now because it’s not possible—how can it be when I’m shivering beneath him, and I can feel every inch of him pressed up against my hip as he touches me?

I run my tongue over my lips and nod. “I promise I’ll think about it.”

His shoulders relax a bit, and I let out a satisfied moan when he slides his erection inside of me. He takes his time, going agonizingly slow, until he’s balls deep and I’m biting my lip to keep from clenching my teeth. And he sighs. Lucas-Effing-Wolfe actually sighs. For me.

“I’ll just have to f*cking convince you to come,” he growls.





Over the next couple of days, Lucas doesn’t directly ask me to come with him on the band’s tour again. Instead, he uses his mouth and hands and body, and his music, to persuade me to come on the road with him. By the time he drives me to the airport in Knoxville on Friday morning, I’m tempted to tell him I need another couple days of convincing, despite the fact I’ve had a very limited amount of sleep in the last several hours and my body feels like I’ve spent days doing nothing but hardcore Pilates.

Then I remind myself that I have been contracted to do a job this weekend—wardrobe for a debut singer’s photo shoot in downtown Nashville. I have to go back, even if it’s just to take care of one obligation.

My flight home is scheduled to leave at 10:45 a.m., and Lucas gets me to the airport with an hour to spare. As I check my bag in, I can feel his eyes on me, and I know he’s expecting me to give him an answer about the tour before I leave.

“When are you driving back to L.A.?” I ask as he walks me to security.

“Flying. Leaving late this evening, and Kylie’s driving my car back after she uses my place this weekend.” He gives me a distant smile. “I want you coming home with me, Sienna.”

I’m sure if I could see his eyes, I’d tell him anything he wanted to hear. Luckily he’s wearing sunglasses—the same ones he put on the few times we left his place during the last 48 hours— but any diehard Your Toxic Sequel fan would be able to spot him from a mile away.

He’s that memorable, and the tattoos don’t exactly help him blend in.

“What the f*ck have you done to me?” Lucas drags me to him, burying his face into my hair, breathing me in. “I’ve never cared about goodbyes and then you come along and make me need you.”

I swallow, trying to push down the tightness building up in my throat. I don’t want to be a big baby and cry, especially since I know that this isn’t it between us. Still, goodbyes are painful—they rip into you and tear you apart no matter how long they actually last. “I love you.”

He looks me in the eye. “Come on tour with me, even if it’s just for a few cities.”

And I think it’s because I hate goodbyes so much that I nod and say, “I’ll give you an answer by the end of this weekend.”

We kiss then, like it’s for the last time, though there’s a good chance I’ll be with him for nearly two months on the road. By the time I board my flight forty-five minutes later, though, I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

We couldn’t even last 10 days with each other before.

As I take my seat near the middle of the plane, I shove the negative thoughts from my mind. I refuse to let it screw up the way I’m feeling after my time with Lucas.

To my surprise, my brother is actually at the airport on time to pick me up when my flight touches down in Nashville. Seth greets me at the baggage claim grinning like an idiot, dressed in his usual attire of cargo shorts, bright boat shoes, and Polo shirt.

“You look surprised,” he says.

“You look incredibly . . . Chuck Bass.” When he gives me a look of confusion, I continue, “Didn’t think you got my text.” I’d sent him a message early this morning asking him to pick me up, but he never answered.

Four and a half years younger than me, my nineteen-year-old brother is notorious for not picking up his phone. “Do I ever let you down?” Seth asks.