Page 44 of The Prodigal Son

When I reach the backstage area, I recognize a few faces from the last time.

“I’m here to see Theo,” I say to a guard, and he gives me a skeptical look as if I should be detained for even daring to say that sentence out loud.

“He’s on the bus,” a woman calls. Turning toward the sound of her voice, I recognize the bassist Lola. She waves a hand. “Follow me.”

Leaving the security guard behind, I rush after her. But the moment I catch up, I see the hard, skeptical expression on her face and realize she’s not going to give me what I want that easily.

Instead, she leads me toward a doorway that’s secluded from others. Before pushing it open, she turns to me.

“Theo is my best friend,” she says flatly. “And he might seem like he can brush off anything, but he’s been hurt before.”

“I know, and I don’t want to hurt him,” I say with severity. “I want to protect him.”

“Before you can protect him, you need to know him.”

“I’d like to,” I plead.

“He doesn’t let most people in, you know. So if you get that privilege, I hope you don’t abuse it.”

“Never.” She stares at me for a moment, and I start to grow antsy. “Can I please see him now?”

“Be gentle with him,” she says with sorrow in her eyes. “He really likes you.”

“Thank you for looking out for him,” I reply. “But I promise I like him a lot too, and I don’t want to let anyone hurt him.”

“Good.”

With that, she turns and presses the door open that leads to the back lot. I spot his tour bus behind the other rigs that must have transported their gear and set. After a few feet, Lola stops, letting me finish the walk alone.

I practically sprint. The door to the bus is unlocked as I pull it open and climb the stairs in a rush.

Theo stands from the couch and faces me from the other end. There’s a brief moment of hesitation as we each take in the sight of the other. I know deep down that he is as anxious to see me as I am to see him.

“Hey,” he mumbles.

“Hey.”

Then, we both move at the same time, rushing to close the distance. I grab him by the back of the head first and haul him toward me. His facial hair scratches my lips as I kiss him hungrily, and I savor the burn.

It’s only been five days since I kissed him last, but it’s as if I’ve been starving for his touch my entire life. His mouth moves so perfectly with mine; it’s like we were made for each other. Our tongues glide as we explore each other’s mouths. He clings to my arms, leaning his weight on me as I devour him.

After a moment of kissing, I take a step forward and he lets me press him against the small counter. Without breaking the seal of his mouth, my hands roam down the black fabric of his shirt and over his hips.

Theo’s body is slender but muscular. I’m dying to see the definition of each of his abs and that deliciousVline that leads down below his pants.

“How long do we have?” I hum against his lips.

“An hour, I think,” he replies raspily.

I tug up his shirt to get my fingers on his skin, and the moment I trail my touch across his waist, he sucks in a breath through his teeth. My mouth moves to his neck as I kiss and nibble on his sensitive skin. I treasure every little rigid muscle under my fingers as I explore him, but it’s not enough.

Meanwhile, he’s doing the same to me. He’s tugging up on the back of my polo to run his hands along my back.

I can’t get close enough to him. That fear I once had of burning out is gone because I don’t see a world in which I would tire of kissing Theo. I want more.Needmore.

Cascading my hands down his ass to the backs of his thighs, I bend my knees enough to get a grasp and hoist Theo up in the air. He clenches his legs around me to hold himself up before I deposit him on the counter. It’s much smaller than a real kitchen counter and the upper cabinets get in the way, but at least it lets me feel his legs wrapped around me.

I pull up his shirt again, and this time, I lean down and kiss my way up from his navel to his pecs. He hisses and buries a hand in my hair.

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