Page 42 of Last Chorus (A Perfect Song Duet #2)
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
wilder
T he following morning, after arguably the best night’s sleep of my life, my own moan transports me from an X-rated dream into an X-rated reality.
“Fuucck.”
Evangeline’s mouth pops off my cock. She swirls her tongue around my piercing before giving me a wicked smile. Her hands, slick with saliva, keep pumping me at a torturously slow pace.
“Good morning,” she says huskily. “Is this okay? You said I could practice while you were asleep.”
“Yes. Absolutely. Zero complaints.”
She smirks, teasing me with barely there swipes of her tongue. I sink my hands into her sleep-tousled hair, my hips straining off the bed.
“Put me back in your mouth, brat. ”
Her naked chest flushes, eyelids falling to half-mast. With a small moan, she lowers her head and—shocking the fuck out of me—spits on my dick. The visual makes me jerk in her hands and leak pre-cum right onto her tongue. She hums happily as she laps it up, then takes me into her mouth again.
My fingers tighten in her hair as she returns to a rhythm guaranteed to destroy me. I’m already on the edge, and it takes mere seconds for me to lose it. My fingers and toes tingle, pressure gathering.
“You want my cum, baby?” She whimpers and nods. “Relax your throat. Yessss. Fuck , just like that . Swallow every drop.”
I groan mindlessly, my climax all the more intense as I keep my eyes open to watch her struggle to swallow it all. She finally rears back, panting, red-cheeked, and glowing with accomplishment.
Fucking immaculate.
She squeaks in surprise as I grab her under the arms and flip us. I drop between her legs, throwing her heels over my shoulders.
“My turn.”
A few hours and orgasms later, we greet Lily, Rye, and Emma at the front door. It takes less than ten minutes for the women to disappear outside, chatting animatedly about weddings and some famous coordinator who agreed to meet with them next week.
I have a feeling we won’t see them for a while; if they end up in the studio, I doubt they’ll return before dinner.
“Who’s my favorite small human?” I ask the giggling toddler standing on my thighs.
“Me, Whyder! Me!”
I gasp and glare at Rye, who’s slouched on the opposite couch scrolling on his phone.
“How dare you teach her how to pronounce my name.”
He rolls his eyes, not bothering with a reply. Emma throws her bowl of tiny kid crackers onto the cushion next to us, then squirms off my lap and starts hunting the scattered snacks with her mouth.
“Just like her dad,” I note, shifting so I can catch her when she invariably loses balance and tumbles toward the coffee table.
Rye chuckles. “Want to be my best man?”
My head whips toward him at the same time my arm flies out to stop Emma from rolling off the couch. She course corrects, dismissing the crackers in favor of using my arm as a railing to drag herself onto my hunched back.
“Are you serious?” I finally ask.
Rye looks up from his phone with a speculative frown. “You do know you’re my best friend, right?”
I grin, then let out a grunt as Emma’s feet slam into my kidneys. “Hell yes, I’ll be your best man.” I pause. “Did Evangeline tell you I asked her to move in and she said yes?”
His brows lift in dry amusement. “She did. So did my mom, who heard it from Rose, who heard it from Sophie. At this point, we can assume at least a hundred people know.”
“Seriously?” I groan. “Damn, I wanted to surprise my parents.”
Rye shakes his head in disbelief. “How have you not learned this lesson? The second Lily finished telling me we were getting married here, I texted my mom, beating Sophie’s text by five minutes. Just wait until you have a kid. My mom knew Emma had taken her first steps before I did.”
My sympathetic grimace becomes one of pain as Emma yanks my hair. I gently peel her fingers away and swing her around to tickle her. She cackles, swatting at my hands, then abruptly dives off my lap to fish for more crackers .
“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” asks Rye.
My eyes on Emma, I murmur, “Not as nervous as I was. Shelley told me this morning that only two publications have yet to confirm that they’re pulling their articles.”
“That’s amazing, man. You must be so relieved.”
Emma loses interest in the crackers again. Before she can launch onto my back, I hand her a sensory toy with a bunch of colorful domes to pop. She thumps down beside me and starts jabbing the toy like it’s personally offended her.
“I don’t think it’s fully hit me yet. It’s been an intense weekend. A lot of emotional extremes.”
Rye nods in understanding, then asks hesitantly, “How’s Eva handling everything? Not gonna lie, Lily and I were prepared to unplug the TV and hide her phone, but she seems… fine.”
“I’ve been distracting her since we woke up. We only put clothes on ten minutes before you got here.”
He makes a face. “Bleh.”
My chuckle tapers into a sigh. “She’s going to find out all the details soon enough. I wanted her to have a few hours of peace.”
“Understandable. The news is awful.”
I nod, having skimmed some of it while Evangeline was showering this morning. A lot of what I read wasn’t surprising, but there was a summary of a joint LAPD and FBI press conference that I could barely stomach.
In a twisted coincidence, Clay was already on law enforcement radar in a big way, the added evidence from Seattle merely accelerating his arrest. The bulk of the charges are for white-collar crimes: fraud, tax evasion, money laundering, witness tampering, and the like.
As with Conrad, Clay is taking others down with him, among them a well-known music producer, a local politician, a judge, and two other lawyers.
But there are other charges against Clay, ones for far more egregious crimes: multiple counts of sexual assault of a minor and production and distribution of child pornography.
That , I know, is what will fuck Evangeline up the most, not to mention Kendra.
Clay’s victim was sixteen when he targeted and coerced her with promises of fame.
He also recorded her without her knowing, then threatened to release the videos if she ever told anyone about him.
Not only was the footage found on his home computer, there was evidence of it being sent to multiple people.
Now twenty and famous, the victim allowed herself to be named in connection to the case, which is why the story is breaking nationally.
Poppy Cole, Grammy-winning pop star, has vowed to use her platform to spread awareness to her young fanbase about how to recognize and defend against predators.
“I hope he gets prison justice,” Rye murmurs.
I nod somberly. “Same.”
Emma squirms, huffs in annoyance, and promptly chucks the sensory toy across the room. Rye and I share a knowing smile.
Facing Emma, I widen my eyes. “Who wants to go for a walk and collect flowers for their mommy and Aunt Eva before lunch?”
“Me!” she screeches, jumping up and down. I catch her as she nosedives off the couch.