One Night Standards

“Where are we going?” I ask for the third time since the limo rolled out of the church parking lot. “I don’t know if I can handle any more excitement.”

Today has been awful and incredible. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced the depth of lows and the height of the highs I have today.

My emotions are off the chain.

“You can,” he insists, turning to plant a kiss to the crown of my head, which is resting on his shoulder. Lyle grips my knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze. “Trust me?”

My new husband was not too keen on the idea of staying in the suite Trent had booked for tonight, insisting he knew of a better place we could spend our wedding night than some hotel. What it might’ve lacked in luxury, however, The Winchester more than made up for in location, being minutes from my parents’ house.

Lyle’s never been a pretentious guy, despite our privileged upbringing. That’s why I’m convinced it had less to do with the place itself, like he’d made it seem, and everything to do with the person responsible for planning it, which is more than understandable. And really, after what that man did for me today, who am I to deny him anything?

So, recent case of separation anxiety aside, I readily agreed, trying my damnedest to hide my unease.

With every mile marker that whizzes by, the pit in my stomach expands.

“I do.” I smile up at him with all the faith I can muster. “I trust you.”

He bobs his head, taking my hand from my lap and holding it in both of his. “It’s just…despite how this marriage came about, I want to do what little I can to make it ours, you know?”

A highlight reel of the day’s events rapid fires through my mind giving me a wicked case of emotional whiplash.

Despite all the crazy—and there was so much of that—Lyle managed to make our wedding special in its own right. He had me smiling through the tears and swooning over his heartfelt words. That man did everything in his power to ensure I felt loved and cherished. And he did all of this on a day when—let’s face it—I didn’t really deserve it. I made my own bed, and he didn’t have to lie in it with me. Yet here he is.

“And you have,” I assure him, “from that epic proposal to those amazing vows.”

“Meant every word,” he says, brimming with pride.

“Except for the part about my being the most stubborn person you know, right?”

His obnoxious guffaw rattles my chest. “Especially that part.”

I jab a playful elbow into his ribs, and his answering laughter sets my soul on fire.

In this moment, he looks young and carefree, a vision that’s so reminiscent of the boy I grew up with.

I can’t help but pause to stare at him in all his beauty, which somehow seems heightened by the soft glow of the full moon filtering in through the sunroof above our heads.

Lyle Livingston is a stunning man. With a full head of caramel-colored hair that always looks sex mussed, and skin permanently kissed by the sun, no matter the season, he’s a treat to behold, turning heads wherever he goes. Gosh, even as a boy his jawline was pronounced, but now? As a full-grown man? It looks as if it was chiseled from the finest stone, his pert nose sculpted to perfection. And those pillowy lips of his were simply built for kissing. It’s no wonder, next to the front man, he’s the most lusted-after member of The Rhett Taylor Band.

There’s something in his eyes, though, that really gets me going. By most estimations they could be described simply as an unremarkable toffee brown, more almond than oval in shape. A little squinty at times, and his least remarkable feature. But one look from that man and I swear I’m ready to combust on the spot. It’s the way they sear into mine, like he can see past the surface, right down to my soul.

On second thought, maybe it’s not the way his eyes look at all, but the way they look at me…

“You okay?” he asks, drawing me from my stupor with an all-knowing smirk.

“Uh-huh,” I say practically swallowing my tongue. “So good.” My head feels light, and my heart is fluttering impossibly fast. I haven’t felt butterflies like this with anyone but this man. I’d forgotten how enchanting it felt just to be in his orbit.

“Great,” he answers, reaching over my lap for the door handle and popping it open, “Because we’re here.”

“Oh!” Giddy to see where he’s taken me, I fight the urge to squeal as I scramble across the seat, lugging the heavy dress behind. “I didn’t even notice when we stopped,” I say, glancing around at the enormous palms swaying in the breeze. The sound of their fronds rustling, paired with the waves crashing against the shore, is music to my ears. I take a deep inhale, filling my lungs with salt and sea…and happiness.

Maybe he was onto something in skipping that hotel. I had no idea such paradise existed less than an hour from home. Or how much I needed a break from the sadness. A chance to breathe fresh air.

“You were a little preoccupied,” he teases.

“Hey,” I say, swatting him in the chest with the back of a hand when he comes to stand beside me. “There’s no shame in admiring your husband—” I choke up on the word. Because while I’ve always hoped it’d be Lyle standing beside me on that altar, I never imagined I’d be a wife at only twenty-one. “I—is there?”

“Admire away, wife.” He tucks a windblown strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ll never tire of the way you look at me…not ever.”

“And how do I look at you?” I prod.

The corner of his mouth curls up in a sly smirk. “Like I’m still the hottie from next door.”

I slap a hand to my forehead. “I can’t believe I said that in church.”

“It was, without question, my favorite part of the ceremony,” he says, the picture of seriousness as he takes a moment to stare off into the distance, deep in thought. “It was nice…”

“What was?” I rasp, accepting his offered hand.

“Being seen as anything more than famous.”

“Well,” I tease, snuggling close to ward off a chill while he leads me up the lighted stone walkway toward a colossal beachfront mansion. “Don’t you worry, hotshot. I’ll make sure the fame doesn’t go to your big head.”

“How do you know it hasn’t already? We haven’t exactly spent much time together over the last couple of years.” His tone is playful, but my answer is anything but. His actions today were not those of a guy with an overinflated ego. In fact, they were the complete opposite.

“You just sacrificed your own freedom to save me from myself.” I gulp, trying not to become overly emotional again. Since we got the bad news, I’ve been living on the edge… and not the exciting variety. I’m one push away from a complete mental breakdown. “You kept a promise made between children. One you easily could have let slide. All so I could have my daddy walk me down the aisle before he passes. If that’s not selfless, Lyle Livingston, I don’t know what is.”

Never one easily accepting of praise, he’s quick to put a nefarious spin on the situation, but the gravel in his tone is all the assurance I need to know my words didn’t fall on deaf ears.

“Or, maybe I took advantage of a shitty situation to get what I’ve always wanted.” He punches a code into the door then knocks his hip into it to push it open, before quirking a brow my way. “Have you thought of that possibility, Jailbait?”

“And what you’ve always wanted…” I ask, batting my fake lashes fast enough to take flight. “Would that be li’l ol’ me?”

He shakes his head to himself, biting back a smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Always was when it came to you.” I brush against his chest deliberately as I slip past him into the foyer, admiring the double winding staircases to both my left and right.

He flips a switch near the door, bathing the room in a soft white light. The place is immaculate and expensively decorated, even by my standards. White and gray marble tile as far as the eye can see gives way to what appears to be the living room. I arrive at this assessment based on the white leather couches and stone fireplace now clearly in view.

“Whose place is this?”

“All of ours,” he says. The clang of his keys dropping into the shell-shaped bowl on the console table echoes through the open space. “Belongs to the band.”

“Impressive…” I say, trailing a finger along the curled end of the banister.

“So, you, uhh…want me to give you a quick tour?” Tall, tan, and sexy combs a hand through his hair while looking up at me from beneath his hooded lashes.

I shake my head, mustering the courage to saunter over to where he’s standing and flatten my palms to his hard chest. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Lyle sucks his lower lip into his mouth, scraping it through his teeth, his expression positively feral as he stares down at me like a mountain lion poised and ready to pounce. “What do you want to do, then?”

My body is a livewire, set to burst into flames at any moment. I no longer possess the required restraint to hold back, so I don’t even try. “You.”

Lyle wheezes at my shameless reply, but instead of capitalizing on the offer, his face becomes twisted with indecision. “Come here.”

Dejected, I trail behind him to the worn leather armchair in the corner, wondering what he could possibly be thinking so hard about.

He bends at the waist, dropping into the chair with a groan before hauling me into his lap.

“We don’t have to do this tonight.” With a tender caress, he brushes the hair from my face. “Let’s take things slow…get reacquainted. I’m not expecting anything.”

He curls a finger beneath my chin and strokes his thumb back and forth over my lower lip. “A lot has happened in a very short time, and I don’t want you to think you’re under any obligation to have sex with me just because we suddenly find ourselves married.” His soft smile is meant to soothe, but it feels like salt to my wounded heart. “We have our whole lives ahead of us.”

I realize he’s trying to be noble, and tomorrow might even appreciate the gesture. But right now, there is nothing I want more than to be ravished by this man. What feels like a lifetime of pent-up sexual energy has me at my breaking point.

“We’ve been denying ourselves for years.” The fear of rejection seeps into my voice despite my best effort to hide it. “I want you,” I say with heat stinging the backs of my eyes, “so much it hurts.”

Lyle’s Adam’s apple bobs. His gaze grows dark, and his brow puckers with regret.

“Don’t cry.”

Desperate lips mold to mine, his tongue seeking and soothing. With measured strokes, he slips in and out, quieting my fears with each loving caress of his tongue against my own. “I want you too,” he huffs, the warmth of his breath only stoking the flames raging inside me, “more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“Then have me.” The air I’m holding burns in my lungs as I watch and wait for his reaction.

Lyle stares at me, wordlessly, his eyes blazing with hunger to rival my own. I don’t understand why he’s fighting this. Why he seems hellbent on delaying the inevitable. But I know desire when I see it, and I am not above doing whatever it takes to tip him over the edge. To send him careening down the same bottomless well of want I’ve fallen into. Need is not a strong enough word for what I’m feeling. Even desperation falls short.

“Make me yours, husband,” I all but beg. “In more than just name.”

Denial sits on the tip of his tongue, threatening to annihilate my already fragile feelings. “I have no control when it comes to you, Li’l Bit.” With a defeated grunt, he rises to his feet, taking me with him.

“On the contrary,” I challenge, tightening my arms around his neck when he shifts my body so that he’s holding me bridal style. As he starts up the seemingly endless steps, I press a kiss to his neck and whisper, “I think you’ve exhibited far too much…for way too long.”

With a loud groan, he comes to a stop, kicking open the door to what I must assume is his bedroom. “Soon, we’ll have a house of our own, and I’ll carry you over the threshold like a proper married couple,” he says, apology marring his handsome face. “For now, this room’ll have to do.”

“A tent would do, as long as I’m with you.”

“Fuck,” he groans before ceremoniously sweeping us through the doorway. “You say the hottest things.”

“I mean it.” I bring a hand to rest on his cheek, and my heart takes off at a canter. “I don’t need any of this fame and fortune.”

He eases me to my feet, keeping my body pressed against his. “You really mean that,” he says, gnawing on his lower lip as he gazes at me intently.

“I loved you back when you had a bird chest and knobby knees,” I tease, slipping my hands under his jacket. I scoop them over his broad shoulders and watch as the gray blazer hits the floor with a thud. “With acne and body odor.” I fake a shudder. “Of course, I mean it.”

“Body odor?” he scoffs, beginning the arduous task of plucking bobby pins from my hair. “You must be remembering one of your other crushes.”

“I said what I said,” I sass, loosening his rose-colored tie while glancing around at the impressive room. A huge four poster bed looms in the center beneath a gorgeous crystal chandelier. It’s unmade—the sheets rumpled and in complete disarray. “You live here,” I deduce when my eyes reach the mound of dirty clothes piled in the far corner.

“When we’re in town…”

“And the rest of the band? Do they live here too?” I didn’t see any obvious signs of life when we walked in, but it is late, and one can never be too careful. I need to know how quiet I have to be.

“At first,” he nods, raking his hands through my hair to loosen the curls and feel for any missed hair pins. “We all used to. Then one by one, they went off and got married.” He chuckles to himself as if realizing he’s just committed the same offense. “It’s just me and Aiden most of the time these days. The others treat it like more of a vacation home.” He takes his time, untangling a straggler, careful not to pull. “We’re stationed in Nashville for the next few months, recording. So, it’s just you and me.”

“Well,” I say, trembling beneath his innocent touch. My throat grows thick with mounting desire. “You have a beautiful home.” I gaze at the wall of windows directly across from us overlooking the Pacific. “Can’t wait to see that view when the sun comes up.”

“We have a beautiful home,” my new husband amends. “And you’ll love it,” he promises. “It’s breathtaking.”

“Right,” I say with a terse smile, a little uncomfortable with his willingness to declare joint ownership of his vast possessions so soon. I realize he’s the one who proposed, but I can’t help feeling like I’ve somehow suckered him into this marriage.

“How long do you think it’ll take for this”—I motion between the two of us—“to stop feeling like a dream?”

He shrugs, spinning me around so we’re both facing the night sky and my back rests on his chest. His hands land on my shoulders, where he slowly and meticulously begins to knead out the tension. “I think if we give ourselves a little time and grace, we’ll fall into it naturally. And before long we won’t even remember what life was like before there was a Lyle and Sammi Livingston.”

“Sammi Livingston,” I muse, smiling back at him over my shoulder. “If only you knew how many times I scrawled that very name across the back covers of my high school notebooks.” The memory brings a smile to my face and a warm gooey feeling to my chest.

“Oh, yeah?” he says, bringing his lips to rest at the curve of my neck where it meets my shoulder.

“Mmhmm,” I moan, squirming while he peppers kisses along my nape. “Lyle…”

“Mmm?” he murmurs without stopping his ministrations.

Sweet baby Jesus, I pray heaven is even half as wonderful as this. I couldn’t dream up a better way to spend eternity.

“H—help me out of this dress,” I stammer, suddenly feverish and desperate to be free of the heavy garment.

He trails the knuckles of one hand along my spine before giving the tie to the corseted back a firm tug. A soft chuckle sounds from deep in his throat. “Why do you still feel like forbidden fruit?” he asks as his deft fingers slip between the ribbon and the skin at the small of my back. The sound of the satin as it’s ripped through the corded loops is surprisingly sensual. Thick digits, roughened from years of plucking at his bass, offer the most delicious friction.

There’s nothing soft or delicate in his touch. Lyle Livingston is all man. And by some stroke of luck, all mine.

“I’ve dreamed of this for so long,” I pant, finding it increasingly difficult to remain upright with the way my knees are wobbling. I’m teetering on the brink, and he hasn’t even finished undressing me yet.

Lyle brings his lips to my ear, nibbling gently on the diamond stud. “Do you think of me when you touch yourself?” he asks, ripping the ribbon free of the last eyelets with a forceful tug and tossing it to the floor.

Gone is the anxious teenaged boy who once treated me with kid gloves; in his place stands a dirty talking, assertive lover. A man who’s blatantly aware of his own appeal.

“When I touch myself,” I admit with a nod, burning from the inside out, “and every time anyone else has touched me.”

Lyle spins me back around to face him. Our eyes lock, drawn together like twin flames. “Me too,” he says. “Fuck, Li’l Bit…you’re all I see. All I’ve ever seen.” On that note he grips the thin straps at my shoulders in either hand, sending the dress cascading to the floor where it settles in a puddle at my feet.

He brings a hand to his mouth and bites down on his bent knuckle while scouring over my near-nude body. “And my imagination was sorely lacking. You. Are. Exquisite.”

Clad in no more than a strapless lace bra and matching panties, I’ve never felt more beautiful than I do in this moment. My confidence soars to new heights, fueled by the hunger in his gaze.

Feeling bold, I reach to my back and flick the clasp to my bra, baring my breasts. My nipples harden instantly beneath his wide-eyed stare.

Thank you, pregnancy, for the free boob job.

“Sammi…” he rasps. “Can I…I need to…”

I’ve never seen him so flustered. It’s endearing and hot as hell.

“Touch me, Lyle.” My voice is a hoarse whisper. “And for the record, you need not ask permission. If my standing here naked didn’t make it clear enough, please know…you have an open invitation.”

He lurches forward, cupping each of my tits in his hands. With a slowness that’s damn near excruciating, he rolls my pert nipples beneath the pads of his thumbs.

I lean into his touch, the sensation so intense that I’m fighting the urge to come. I’ve never experienced anything like this. Never felt such extreme pleasure from my nipples alone.

“Lyle,” I mewl, my pussy throbbing, aching for attention.

“You’re perfect.” His expression is almost pained. “So goddamned perfect.” With that his mouth crashes against mine.

Releasing my right breast, he trails his hand up my chest and around to the nape of my neck, where his grip tightens. With purpose he stalks toward the bed, his lips never parting from mine.

Lust drunk, I fumble with the buttons on his dress shirt for a minute before losing any semblance of patience and ripping it open. The sound of the little buttons bouncing across to the floor sends a burst of adrenaline coursing through me.

“Take this off,” I order when the shirt gets stuck where it’s still secured at his wrists.

The urge to weep is immediate when he removes his hands from my body in order to accomplish the task.

“Better?” He lifts an inquisitive brow while eye-fucking me from a foot away.

Licking my lips, I take a moment to return the favor, savoring the impressive view he’s displaying before me.

The planes of his smooth chest are highlighted by the dim light filtering in from the wall of windows. I’ve seen this man shirtless more times than I can count, but not from this close in many years. The version in my head wasn’t quite so defined. He’s grown up—filled out in all the right places. Broad shoulders give way to long, lean muscle. The desire to trace the dips and ridges of his abs with my tongue has me salivating. And the light dusting of hair that disappears beneath the unbuttoned slacks that are barely hanging on at his waist is a sinful treat I’m dying to explore.

“Incredible,” I rasp. It wouldn’t surprise me to find drool dripping from my chin with how hard I’m staring.

“Glad to meet your approval, Mrs. Livingston.”

“As if there was ever any d—” A glimpse of black ink on his right pec seizes my attention. “What’s it say?” I take a step toward him to trace my fingers over the tattoo. No matter how hard I squint, I can’t decipher the letters in the darkened room.

“It’s a date,” he rasps. “July, 1, 2017.”

“The day you got signed with the band,” I say, remembering it all too well. One doesn’t forget heartbreak of that magnitude—no matter how hard she might try. The same fateful date he proudly displays inked over his heart is forever scarred upon mine.

He clears his throat, bringing his hand to rest over my own where it’s still pressed to his chest. “It represents the date we shared our first kiss.” A wobbly smile tugs at his lips. “And the day I promised to come back for you.”

His admission momentarily steals my breath. Here I was thinking he’d moved on from whatever we shared back then, reconciling myself to a mediocre life with someone else—someone who couldn’t hold a candle to the forest fire Lyle’s always lit within me—when all this time he’s had a permanent reminder tattooed on his chest. “And beneath it?” I ask, still trying to make out the script.

He takes my left hand into his, and whispers, “To be continued…” while fingering the diamond he gave me just this morning to fulfill that prophecy.