The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(44)
They pulled up outside the Mercer Hotel in the Gothic Quarter. It was his favorite hotel to stay at in the city. All exposed stone walls combined with glass and chrome. It was inviting yet sparse, so suited Jordan perfectly.
Their bags had been taken straight to the hotel when they’d landed so it was a simple matter to collect their keys.
Once in his room, Dred headed straight for the shower. Rehearsal had gotten him all sweaty and tense. Things ran smoother when they had their own crew, but drop-in gigs like this rarely called for that kind of support. The hot water pounded down on him, releasing the tension he was carrying in his neck as he scrubbed himself clean.
Petal, Pixie, the gig, the album. Giving Amanda the ten thousand dollars may not have been the smartest move, but he wanted her out of that shit-hole of an apartment. No. He wanted Petal out of that shit-hole of an apartment. Before he’d left his daughter that day, he’d laid Petal back into her bassinet and then turned on Amanda. It had taken every ounce of his self-control to not tear the place apart, but one whimper from his daughter had him reining it in tight. What burned more than anything was that she’d deliberately messed with the condom to get a better life for herself, without a single thought about the child they’d create.
He’d spent Thursday talking to Petal’s social worker and, with Sam’s help, a lawyer who specialized in custody cases. Up until she’d spilled her secret to him, he’d assumed they’d been unlucky. That the baby was as much of a shock to her as it was to him. He was willing to man up, do the right thing, and buy them a f*cking house on the Bridal Path, the multimillion-dollar community in the north end of the city, if that’s what she’d wanted. Now, he was convinced Amanda didn’t deserve a dime.
Everything he gave them was going to go in Petal’s name. If he bought them a house, it was going to be in his and Petal’s name. He’d pay for all her needs directly. Amanda would get a minimal allowance for herself. His daughter would want for nothing, but the conniving bitch who’d set them both up wouldn’t get anything of her own.
Then there was the photograph from the airport of him kissing Pixie like their lives depended on it. Some cheap-shot blogger had bought it from a fan. Pixie had taken it like a trooper, but they’d not had a chance to discuss it properly. Building a long-distance relationship was proving harder than he imagined. Nothing ever seemed to align for them. Between her shifts and his crazy schedule, they were limited to snatched conversations and text messages. It had crossed his mind that his pursuit of her was selfish, but the idea of stopping sucked.
At some point, he was going to have to tell her about Petal, but it was still too raw and new. And Pixie deserved the courtesy of having that conversation face-to-face, where he could hold her hand, pull her close, and reassure her that it didn’t change the way he was beginning to feel about her.
He flicked the shower off and grabbed a towel. After vigorously drying off, he left the bathroom naked. It was one of the main reasons he wanted to get his own place, to have the freedom to not wear clothes if he didn’t have to. Sure, the guys had few inhibitions around each other. Living in such close quarters, whether it was in the group home, on a tour bus, or in their homes in L.A. and Toronto, there wasn’t much they hadn’t seen of each other. Dred wanted a place of his own, to explore who he was as an individual, rather than a permanent part of a collective. And he wanted to be able to have sex anywhere he wanted, whenever he wanted it.
When Pixie had told him she was a virgin, he’d almost choked. His tastes ran a little darker than average. He loved sex. Used it to take the edge off life. Used it to get inspired. He liked both ends of the spectrum, sexy and sweet versus dark and dirty. Right now he needed dark. Rough. Something to work out the tension the shower hadn’t lifted.
Two in the afternoon. It would only be, what, eight, in Miami. He prayed Pixie was on the later shift.
He grabbed his phone and video-called her.
“Hey,” she croaked, patting the bedding down around her, her head resting on the pillow.
“Hey, gorgeous. Move that sheet, I want to see what you are wearing.” He prayed for naked, but knowing Pixie, she wouldn’t be.
When she did as he said, he smiled. She wore a thin purple tank. He could see her nipple straining against the fabric. Who gave a f*ck about breast size with nipples as responsive as that? On her bottom, she wore lose pants in purple and white polka dot.
Nothing about the outfit was sexy, yet he wished he were there with her all the same.
“Boring,” she said.
“Beautiful,” he replied. “I wanna play, Pix. Can we?”
“Is this a booty call?” she asked, her eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Oh, gorgeous. I want much more than your booty. I was thinking about our time together in Toronto while I was rehearsing today.”
He reached his free hand around his cock. Pulled slow and tight, out of sight of the video.
“Me too. What were you thinking about?”
He wanted desperately to be himself with her. To not try to hide the sexual part of himself. “If I answer that honestly, Snowflake, I might freak you out.”
Pixie smiled and looked up at him through those perfect eyelashes. “Try me. Rule three. I won’t break.”
Dred ignored the nervous flip of excitement. “Well, I was standing there thinking about how my fingers smelled after I got you off. And how they would have tasted if you’d let me slide them deep inside you. Scissoring them as I pulled them in and out of you. I want that. Don’t you?”