Page 36 of Love Loathe Devotion (Tightrope #3)

The private VIP lounge at the airport is too cold and too bright, all chrome finishes and leather chairs that squeak when you shift in them. It smells faintly of money and filtered air, the kind of sterile quiet that reminds you this isn’t a place for real people—just deals in motion.

I’m tucked in the corner, hat low, hood up, a pair of dark sunglasses resting beside my coffee I haven’t touched. I don’t want caffeine. I want her.

My phone buzzes.

It’s a text from the coordinator with the most recent number of sign-ups for donation, it’s a good number, but until Joey gets his kidney I won’t rest. I’m about to slide my phone away when I spot one from Laney, that must have come through earlier.

I swipe it open without hesitation. One image. Four faces. Hers glowing in the middle, framed by Cherry flipping the bird, Frankie looking like he just won the crown, and Lexi smiling like a whole goddess.

Me + your favorite chaos crew. Miss you. Wish you were here. ??

My whole damn face lights up.

I call her immediately.

She picks up on the second ring, her voice warm and full of sunshine. “Hey, rockstar.”

“Hey, baby,” I breathe, and my heart settles just hearing her voice. “God, I missed your voice.”

“You saw the picture?”

“I’ve already made it my lock screen.”

She laughs, soft and happy, and I close my eyes for a second just to savor the sound.

“Tell me everything,” I say. “Every detail. Did Frankie cause a scene? Did Cherry break any spa rules?”

“Actually, Cherry was a queen,” Laney says, her voice lilting. “Pregnant, snarky, demanding. Exactly as advertised. Lexi’s a literal angel. And Frankie… well, Frankie made a scene without even trying. I think he almost proposed to the facialist.”

I grin and lean back into the chair, phone pressed tighter to my ear. “You sound better. Happier.”

“I am,” she says. “It got me out of my head. I didn’t realize how much I needed it until I was sitting there with them.”

“What was in your head?”

She’s quiet for a second, and then says softly, “I was just missing you. And… scared, I guess. That this is all too good to be true.”

The ache that stirs in my chest is fierce. I grip my thigh, grounding myself. “It’s not too good to be true, Laney,” I murmur. “It’s real. I love you. I’m in this. All the way.”

Her breath catches. “I love you, too.”

God. Every part of me hums. “When the tour’s done,” I say, “I want to go away with you. Just us. No schedule. No cameras. Just… you in my arms and nowhere we have to be, preferably someplace hot so you can walk around in a tiny bikini all day.”

She lets out this soft, content sigh that makes my gut tighten. “That sounds perfect.”

I glance toward the large window overlooking the tarmac. A sleek black jet waits under a cloudless sky, engines quiet, crew pacing in crisp uniforms. The Spanish leg of the tour is next. After that, London. Then the donor event.

“I needed this call,” I tell her. “More than I knew.”

“Me too,” she says. “It’s been a weird few days, but today… it felt like things might be okay.”

They will be, I want to promise her. But I can’t promise what I can’t control. What I can do is give her every damn part of me. “What are you doing with the rest of your day?”

“Not much,” she says. “Might work on some new commands with Merlyn. She almost mastered ‘roll over’ today.”

“Send me a video,” I say immediately. “I miss her. And you. Especially you.”

“I will,” she says gently.

I smile, slow and quiet. “You’d be proud. We’ve had record sign-ups for the kidney screening. Lucas called me this morning—he was almost in tears.”

“That’s incredible,” she says. “Eddie, I’m so proud of you. You’re doing something that matters.”

The warmth that floods my chest makes me sit forward, elbows on my knees, phone pressed tighter to my ear.

“That means everything coming from you.”

Footsteps sound behind me and I turn slightly, spotting Tasha cutting across the lounge like she’s on a runway. Tight black dress. Sky-high heels. A look on her face like she’s about to ruin someone’s day. Probably mine.

I straighten. I need to wrap this up before she slinks close enough for Laney to hear.

“I’ve gotta board soon,” I say, lowering my voice. “But I’ll call you after the show, alright?”

“Okay.”

“And baby…”

“Yeah?”

My voice drops to that place only she brings out of me—rough and low, edged with heat. “Be in bed when I call. Naked. Lights low. I wanna hear you, and I wanna see you. I want you to touch yourself while I talk you through every inch.”

Her breath hitches.

I close my eyes, already hard just picturing her. “Think you can do that for me?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“I’ll be counting the hours.”

I end the call before Tasha gets close enough to speak, shoving the phone into my hoodie pocket and standing to meet her glare with disinterest.

I don’t care about her. Or her games. Or her presence on this tour.

Because the only thing I want right now… is back home.

Waiting for me. Naked. Mine.

And no one is taking that away from me.

I stand just as Tasha closes the distance, her heels clicking like gunfire on the marble floor. Her eyes narrow, taking in my expression—still warm from hearing Laney’s voice—and twisting it into something she thinks belongs to her.

“Who were you talking to?” she asks, all saccharine sugar laced with poison.

I level her with a look. “Fuck off, Tasha. It’s none of your business.”

Her mouth opens, stunned. Like I’ve slapped her. “Wow. Really? That’s how you’re talking to me now?”

“Yeah. Because I’ve asked you repeatedly to stay out of my shit.”

Her jaw clenches, but she keeps going, like she’s not even listening. Like I didn’t just tell her to leave me the hell alone.

“I know what this is,” she says, stepping closer. Too close. “You’re just fighting it. Trying to punish me. But that night—”

I hold up a hand, voice low and shaking with the effort not to raise it. “Don’t.”

She doesn’t stop. “—that night we spent together? That meant something. You know it did. You felt it, Eddie.”

My blood turns cold. I stare at her like she’s lost her damn mind. “That night was over a year ago. I was drunk. It was a mistake. The only thing I feel about that night is regret.”

She flinches. Good. Maybe now she’ll hear it. “You think this is me trying to punish you?” I laugh once, humorless. “I’m trying to forget it happened.”

Her lip trembles—but it’s fury, not pain. “You’ll regret saying that.”

“No,” I snap. “I regret meeting you.”

She recoils like she didn’t expect that kind of venom.

Like I haven’t told her a hundred different ways to stay away from me.

She wraps her arms around herself like that’ll hold her together.

“I’ve done everything for you,” she whispers, eyes wild.

“I defended you when everyone said you were arrogant and difficult and—”

“You’re difficult,” I growl. “You make everything toxic. You twist shit into whatever fantasy you’ve got spinning in your head and expect me to play along.”

She opens her mouth.

“No,” I cut her off. “We’re not doing this again. You’re not my publicist. You’re not my friend. You’re not anything to me.”

“I’m going to talk to Reggie—”

“Go ahead. Tell him I said I want you reassigned. Or better—gone.”

Her face hardens, nostrils flaring. “You’re throwing everything away for her. Some small-town nothing with a dog and a sad smile.”

My fists clench; she saw me showing a few of the sound techs a picture of Laney with Merlyn. “Say her name,” I grind out. “I dare you.”

She glares, lips pressed together, then spins on her heel and stalks off like she’s the one who’s been wronged.

But I’m already done with it. Done with her.

I sink back into my seat, head pounding, and pull my hoodie down over my face.

Because the only thing I want to hear right now is Laney’s voice again.

And the only thing I feel for Tasha Monroe… is disgust.

The hotel room is modern and cold, all marble and sleek lines, too sterile for how wired I am. My body still buzzes from the stage, sweat-dried skin tight under my hoodie, ears ringing from the crowd.

But it’s not the crowd I’m thinking about.

It’s her.

I toss my hoodie onto a chair, kick off my boots, and head straight into the shower. Fast. Just enough to rinse the grime and tension off my body, steam loosening the knots in my shoulders while my mind races ahead to one thing.

Laney.

By the time I’m out, towel slung low on my hips, I’m already hard.

One thought of her and my body answers like it’s been waiting all damn day.

I dry off fast, tug on a pair of boxers, and slide into bed. The sheets are too crisp. Too white. Not like ours. Not like home.

I grab my phone. Tap FaceTime.

My chest pounds as it rings once. Twice.

Then—she answers.

She’s in our bed. Propped up on pillows, hair messy from sleep, lips parted, skin flushed with warmth and the kind of soft light that always makes her look like a dream.

And all she’s wearing is the sheet pulled up to her chest.

My entire body reacts like I’ve been hit with a freight train of need.

“Holy fuck,” I breathe, voice low, already wrecked just from looking at her. “You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

She smiles, all slow and coy, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

“I thought you’d be too tired after the show.”

“Tired?” I shake my head, shifting the phone slightly as I sink back against the pillows. “I’ve been hard since I heard your voice earlier.”

Her eyes drop to where the sheet is clearly tented. Her smile turns wicked.

“Did you miss me that much?”

“Missed you so bad I can’t think straight,” I murmur, my voice already going rough, hungry.

I let my hand travel under the sheet, past my boxers, and fist my cock, stroking my heated flesh to ease my ache for her.

“You in our bed? Looking like that? I’d give anything to be there right now.

Anything.” I release my cock not wanting to come too fast, wanting to savor this moment.

She shifts slightly, letting the sheet slip a little lower. Bare skin. Just enough curve of her breast to make me groan.

“I waited for your call,” she says softly. “Like you asked.”

“Fuck.” My hand tightens under the screen. “You naked under there?”

She nods slowly. “Just me and your pillow.”

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper. “Pull it down for me. Let me see what’s mine.”

Her gaze locks on mine, and then—slowly, torturously—she lowers the sheet.

And I lose it.

Every breath feels like fire in my lungs.

I ache for her. Physically. Viscerally. My cock is straining, leaking in my boxers, my whole body tensed like I’m about to go to war for her. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” I rasp, throat dry. “God, Laney… You have no idea what you do to me.”

She bites her lip, her nipples pebbling in the cool air, her chest rising and falling a little faster now.

“Touch yourself for me,” I say, voice dropping into something darker. Possessive. “Nice and slow. Let me watch.”

She moves one hand down, her breath catching, and I nearly come undone just watching her.

Because it’s not just lust.

It’s need.

It’s knowing no one else gets to see her like this. That she’s mine.

And I intend to show her exactly what that means.

She lets the sheet fall, slow and deliberate, baring herself to me completely.

And I swear the world stops spinning.

The breath I pull in feels like it sticks in my throat. My muscles coil, tight and electric. My hand grips the phone, the other clenching the sheet at my side like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

Laney—my Laney—is naked in our bed, looking at me like she aches in all the places I do. Her hair’s a mess, her lips parted, her skin glowing in that low amber bedside light, and all I want to do is crawl through the screen and touch her, kiss her, worship her.

“You’re perfect,” I murmur, voice thick, jaw clenched. “So goddamn perfect, baby.”

Her voice is soft, but heavy with need. “You too.”

I let the phone rest against my pillow, angled just right so I can still see her, every curve, every flicker of emotion crossing her face. My hand drifts low, over the ridges of my abs, down to where I’m already hard beneath the sheet.

She watches me, eyes hungry.

I press my hand to myself over my boxers, just enough friction to make me groan. “You do this to me,” I whisper. “You just have to look at me like that and I lose my mind.”

Laney’s hand traces up her side, slow and teasing, fingers circling the peak of her breast. Her breath hitches. I feel it in my bones.

“You’ve got me,” she says, voice tremulous and sweet and full of so much want, it undoes me. “Even from all the way over there.”

“I want to touch you so bad,” I murmur. “Kiss down your body. Make you come on my mouth, slow and deep.”

She whimpers, and I see her shift, thighs parting just slightly beneath the sheet.

I slide my hand into my boxers, grip firm and hot against my skin, and thrust upward slightly, biting back a moan.

“You touching yourself?” I ask, my voice wrecked.

She nods, breath catching, eyes hazy with lust and love.

I stroke myself slowly, keeping my eyes on her, watching her body writhe with each gentle movement of her hand, her hips shifting under the sheet.

“I want to be there,” I growl. “I want your legs around my waist, your nails in my back. I want to make love to you until neither of us remembers what it feels like to be apart.”

She gasps my name, her head tipping back on the pillow, her lips parting in pleasure.

My hand tightens. I match her rhythm, every breath, every soft sound she makes sending me higher.

Her voice wobbles, high and tight, desperate. “I’m close…”

“Come for me, baby,” I rasp. “Let me see you. Give it to me.”

She arches, her body trembling, her mouth falling open as she lets go, eyes fluttering shut as her pleasure washes over her in waves.

I don’t last another second.

Watching her—so undone, so mine—pulls the orgasm from me hard and fast. My body jerks, heat flooding through me in a crashing release, my breath ragged as I ride it out, her name on my lips like a prayer.

We lie there, both breathing like we just ran through a storm.

I blink up at the ceiling, trying to steady my pulse, then glance at the phone again. She’s watching me. Flushed. Glowing.

“You okay?” I ask softly.

She nods, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “Better than okay.”

I chuckle, voice low and hoarse. “Same.”

For a while, we don’t speak. We just look. Like we can’t bear to hang up. Like this little window between us is the only thing holding the world in place.

“I love you,” I say again, needing her to hear it now, after this.

She whispers it back, and it fills the space between us like something holy.