Read Online Sinners On Tour 06 Sinners at the Altar by Olivia Cunning - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Olivia Cunning
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rhythm, one hand tugging at her hair, the other gripping her hip to pull her against him with each thrust. He never imagined the first time he made love to his wife that he’d be fucking her hard and dirty in a supply closet backstage. He’d imagined rose petals floating in a warm bath. Gentle touches. Tender kisses that lasted for hours. But fucking her this way would bring him release quickly, and he needed that tonight. Needed to get his overwhelming desire for her out of his system before he went onstage. He’d treasure her, as she deserved, later that night. For now, he embraced the building urgency in his groin and relished the pleasure rippling through his body. He shouted in triumph as he found release. Bliss flooded every inch of him as his seed pulsed into her body.
He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her upright to hug her back against his chest. His lips brushed her silky hair. “You’re beautiful.”
She chuckled. “It’s too dark in here for you to know that.”
“I know it.”
“Do you think you can make it through your concert now?”
“Not really. No.”
He held her against him, thumbs stroking her bare nipples against the inside of her silk top, until his breath stilled. When he thought he might be able to live without being buried inside her, he slipped free of her body with a regretful wince.
She turned in his arms and drew him close—pressing her soft breasts into his chest.
“I’m going to go clean up.” She kissed his jaw. “And make a hotel reservation.” Kissed his chin. “Pack a suitcase, but no clothes.” Kissed his lips. “I don’t want to see you until after the show,” she said. “And then I want to see nothing but you for the next two days.”
She left him in the dark closet. He was too breathless to follow.
When Brian finally managed to find his way out of the supply closet and to the backstage area, someone thrust a guitar in his hands. He lifted its strap over his head and settled his guitar into place. The crowd was already roaring with excitement. His band looked a bit worse for wear after the events of last night, but they were ready to hit the stage. And he was too consumed by thoughts of his bride to suffer from his normal preconcert nerves. He just wanted to get on the stage, rock the roof off the arena, and return to his wife.
“Finally done boning Myrna?” Trey asked.
Brian grinned. “Not by a long shot. The real honeymoon starts in forty-six minutes.”
Trey stumbled over the bottom step as he headed onstage. Brian wished he would just go to the fucking hospital and get it over with, but he knew why Trey hated hospitals—he’d spent too many hours in them when his father had been a resident. But that didn’t excuse him from seeking medical attention when he needed it.
Brian took him by one arm to help him climb the stairs. “You sure you’re okay, buddy?”
“Like you care.” Trey wrenched his arm out of Brian’s grasp and trotted over to his spot stage right.
Brian shook his head. “Serve him right if it turned out to be something serious,” he grumbled to himself.
Chapter Eight
The opulent lobby of the Venetian couldn’t compete for Myrna’s attention; her husband had it all. He had a smudge of eyeliner under his left eye, which was still horribly bruised. His black T-shirt was damp with sweat. Clumps of hair clung to his neck and face. Yeah... hot. Even though he’d assured her that his concert that night had been the worst Sinners had ever performed, she wished she’d seen him onstage. Nothing turned her on more than watching this man delight fifteen thousand fans with his talented fingers. Except when those talented fingers were delighting her alone.
“Your Prima Suite is on the thirty-fifth floor,” the clerk said and slid a set of keycards across the counter.
“I want to make sure we understand each other,” Brian said to him. “Do not disturb us under any circumstances. I don’t care if the hotel is on
He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her upright to hug her back against his chest. His lips brushed her silky hair. “You’re beautiful.”
She chuckled. “It’s too dark in here for you to know that.”
“I know it.”
“Do you think you can make it through your concert now?”
“Not really. No.”
He held her against him, thumbs stroking her bare nipples against the inside of her silk top, until his breath stilled. When he thought he might be able to live without being buried inside her, he slipped free of her body with a regretful wince.
She turned in his arms and drew him close—pressing her soft breasts into his chest.
“I’m going to go clean up.” She kissed his jaw. “And make a hotel reservation.” Kissed his chin. “Pack a suitcase, but no clothes.” Kissed his lips. “I don’t want to see you until after the show,” she said. “And then I want to see nothing but you for the next two days.”
She left him in the dark closet. He was too breathless to follow.
When Brian finally managed to find his way out of the supply closet and to the backstage area, someone thrust a guitar in his hands. He lifted its strap over his head and settled his guitar into place. The crowd was already roaring with excitement. His band looked a bit worse for wear after the events of last night, but they were ready to hit the stage. And he was too consumed by thoughts of his bride to suffer from his normal preconcert nerves. He just wanted to get on the stage, rock the roof off the arena, and return to his wife.
“Finally done boning Myrna?” Trey asked.
Brian grinned. “Not by a long shot. The real honeymoon starts in forty-six minutes.”
Trey stumbled over the bottom step as he headed onstage. Brian wished he would just go to the fucking hospital and get it over with, but he knew why Trey hated hospitals—he’d spent too many hours in them when his father had been a resident. But that didn’t excuse him from seeking medical attention when he needed it.
Brian took him by one arm to help him climb the stairs. “You sure you’re okay, buddy?”
“Like you care.” Trey wrenched his arm out of Brian’s grasp and trotted over to his spot stage right.
Brian shook his head. “Serve him right if it turned out to be something serious,” he grumbled to himself.
Chapter Eight
The opulent lobby of the Venetian couldn’t compete for Myrna’s attention; her husband had it all. He had a smudge of eyeliner under his left eye, which was still horribly bruised. His black T-shirt was damp with sweat. Clumps of hair clung to his neck and face. Yeah... hot. Even though he’d assured her that his concert that night had been the worst Sinners had ever performed, she wished she’d seen him onstage. Nothing turned her on more than watching this man delight fifteen thousand fans with his talented fingers. Except when those talented fingers were delighting her alone.
“Your Prima Suite is on the thirty-fifth floor,” the clerk said and slid a set of keycards across the counter.
“I want to make sure we understand each other,” Brian said to him. “Do not disturb us under any circumstances. I don’t care if the hotel is on
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