Sugar on the Edge (Last Call #3)(57)
When we leave, Savannah is blitzed, and I’m thankful I limited myself to just three drinks the entire night, the last one having been drunk almost an hour and a half before we left. I’m completely fine to drive.
Where I run into trouble is when Savannah—who is a little too inebriated—decides to knock off an item from my sex wish list. She tries her damnedest to get me to pull the car over on the side of the road, so she can f*ck me in my car.
I groan at the thought and groan more when Savannah leans over in the seat and palms my raging hard-on. She even leans over and kisses me through my jeans.
“Get back over in your seat, Savannah,” I tell her gently. “I don’t want you slipping out of your seatbelt like that.”
“Then pull the damn car over, Filthy, and prove to me why you earned that nickname.”
Chuckling, I grab her hand and bring it to my mouth, giving her a soft kiss on the tips of her fingers. “Oh, Sweet… you are absolutely perfect for me.”
She giggles as she turns to look at me. I give her a brief glance. Even though her blood is swimming with alcohol, her gaze is serious and intent. “I’m so f*cking perfect for you, Filthy. We were made for each other.”
I can’t hold her gaze for long because it belongs on the road, but I murmur in agreement. “I think you’re right, love.”
I’m overwhelmed. Positively overwhelmed by Gavin’s fame. I had no clue.
We arrived in Chicago yesterday afternoon, where we promptly checked into the hotel. Then Gavin stripped me bare and made me come three times to his one. We showered, got dressed, and went out for some Chicago-style pizza. I loved it. He hated the doughy mess, proclaiming that New York-style was the only way to go.
I laughed at him then, and I laughed repetitively with him as we walked the streets of The Windy City, finally ducking into a small bar because it was practically Antarctic weather outside. We sat in a small booth in the corner, and I drank wine while he drank Scotch. We held hands, talked, laughed, and laughed some more. When it was midnight, he bundled me back in my winter coat, which I had to buy for this trip because I didn’t own one, and we walked back the five blocks to our hotel.
Back in the room, I let the two glasses of wine impassion my desires for this beautiful man. I pushed him down on the bed, unbuttoned his jeans, and stroked him with my soft hands. Then I put my mouth on him, and I licked, kissed, sucked, and licked and sucked, while his hands fisted my hair and his hips kept pushing up from the bed. His moans fueled me on, and I devoured him down without giving him any mercy.
“Christ, Sweet,” he panted when I was done. I crawled back up to lay beside him on the bed with a satisfied smile on my face.
“You give amazing f*cking head,” he murmured while gathering me in close.
I smiled, completely happy with my life in that very moment.
I got even happier when Gavin tore my clothes off and extended the favor back to me.
The next day is when I got slapped in the face with Gavin’s success. His agent, Lindie Booth, met us in the hotel restaurant for breakfast. She was a no-nonsense type of woman… tall, regal, with jet-black hair and even blacker eyes. I guessed her age to be about fifty. When Gavin introduced me with an arm around my shoulder, she briskly shook my hand and said, “Pleasure.”
Then I was forgotten, and it was down to business.
As I ate my egg-white omelet, Lindie went over Gavin’s afternoon schedule, which included an appearance on a popular, national TV talk show, his signing at a major book retailer, and a party being thrown by his publisher for several of its more successful authors.
“Savannah… you should go out and see the city today,” Lindie had said as she looked across the table at me. “Gavin will be extremely busy, and we can send a limo to pick you up at the hotel for the party.”
“Savannah’s staying with me,” Gavin said before I could even open my mouth to respond. “She’s my assistant.”
“But… I have an assistant for you for the book signing, and I’ll be with you at the talk show,” Lindie said in disbelief.
“And yet, Savannah will still be there with me for both,” Gavin said smoothly, and took a sip of tea that he had ordered rather than his customary black coffee.
Lindie huffed and said, “Fine,” in a voice that didn’t sound all that fine, but then she moved on and prattled about various other engagements he had to attend in the next several months.
When Gavin walked on stage at the talk show and the audience went nuts over him, that’s when I started to get overwhelmed by his fame. The women were standing and screaming for him, many holding up a copy of Killing the Tides in their hands. I stood just off stage behind a partial wall so I could see Gavin, the talk show host, and about half the audience.
I was so proud with how he handled himself, addressing questions from the host and the audience. He cheekily talked about the erotic scenes, giving away no clear details of what drove his passion for writing them, but hinting thoroughly that they were extremely hot, and this I can attest to. Reading Gavin’s book made me squirm more than once.
I almost couldn’t breathe when one of the audience members asked Gavin if he was in a relationship with anyone.
He never missed a beat. “Absolutely.”
I about died when the talk show host asked, “And is that where you get all of those hot sex scenes you write about?”