Page 3 of To the Moon and Back

“I know, but it’s so hot.”

“Not as hot as you,” he whispered.

I smiled and cupped his ass, just for good measure, so everyone around knew he was mine. Nial was too, but they could figure that out later. Both men were mine, that’s the way it was between us. It had happened a couple of years ago when we’d created Sliders. Each guy had fancied me and I hadn’t been able to choose. The obvious solution was sharing—sharing for them. I didn’t share, no way. I’d staked my claim and guarded it fiercely.

“Hey, you two,” Nial called. “Incoming.”

We broke apart and each caught a can of Stella heading our way. I popped the ring pull and drank deeply. I’d been waiting for this weekend for so long. I had a pile of bands on my must-see-or-forever-regret list, and a few that I’d heard of and was curious to find out more. Different styles from around the UK and further afield fascinated me and I always learnt something that could be applied to Sliders’ music.

“We’ll get set up then go and explore,” Nial said before licking beer froth from his top lip.

“Yeah, we need to get our bearings.” Rich looked around, his eyes sparkling with the excitement I was sure shone from mine. “So we don’t waste a minute, day or night.”

Nial caught my gaze and winked.

A rush of heat that had nothing to do with the sun zipped through my veins.

‘Rich and I have plans.’

His words came back to me, and much as I was dying to see the bands and hear the music, I was also looking forward to pulling down that tent zipper and discovering what delights my men had in store for me.

Chapter Two

I snuggled up against Nial as Rich strummed on his guitar. It was gone midnight but we still had a small group sitting around our campfire. I’d soon discovered that was always the way when Rich started knocking out tunes. People were like moths to a lamp, congregating around rhythm and melody as if magnetically drawn.

“One more,” he said, glancing my way. “Any requests?”

“Know any George Ezra?” A girl with a floppy red hat sitting to my left asked.

“Yeah, I do.” Rich fiddled with the chord tension, then ran his fingers over the strings.

I sighed, utter contentment washing over me. Rich played great hard-hitting rock songs as well as equally delicious and gentle acoustic ballads. I could never decide what I liked the best and had come to the conclusion it depended on my mood.

“You getting tired?” Nial murmured against my ear.

“A bit.”

“Don’t fall asleep yet, will you. I know how you get when Rich starts on the mushy emotional stuff.”

I giggled. “I won’t. I believe you have plans.”

“Too right we have.” He kissed the top of my head and held me closer, as if using his arms to block out the slight chill creeping into the night air.

Rich was singing. “Give me a minute to hold my girl…”

More than content to listen to Rich, I closed my eyes and watched the dancing light on my eyelids put there by the flames of the fire. The air was bursting with the scent of sausages, onions and bug repellent, and a few wafts of weed swirled lazily on the breeze.

Eventually Rich came to the end of his song. There were a few complaints, and a couple of begging pleas for more, but he was adamant, he was tired, and there were still two more nights he could play.

“If only they’d pay to see us on stage,” Nial said, releasing me and dampening down the fire. It was the only way to send our new festival friends back to their tents.

“Wouldn’t that be a dream come true,” I said, standing. “I’m going to the showers to do my teeth and that, back in a bit.”

“Sure, be careful.” Rich glanced at the sprawl of tents. “And don’t get lost.”

“I’ll try not to.” I ran my hand over his thick blond hair.

“Try hard.”

---