Page 20 of Tyler (Bummerset Shore University #2)

If it’s up to me, we never will. Hell, I’ll die happy knowing it’s in his arms—the ones wrapped around my neck now, his fingers swirling in the hair that peeks from beneath the cap as I bite and lick into his mouth.

He tugs at it and we finally break apart with a loud suction sound, before he chuckles against my lips, eyes bright and burning.

“Did you like it?” he asks, his lips brushing mine.

“The kiss?” I shrug one shoulder. “I mean, you’ve done better—but it’ll pass.”

He smirks and gives me a half-hearted push against my chest, leaving both hands resting on my pecs over my now clammy shirt. “I meant the show , dumbass. How was it?”

His grin is so wide it’s fucking contagious and the corners of my mouth pull involuntarily, matching it.

“It was perfect,” I say, pulling him a bit closer to me. “You were perfect.”

His smile presses against mine. “Really? You liked it?”

“Of course I did. Especially when you sang “Breached”. It felt like you sang it for me.”

“That’s because I did,” he whispers. “That’s your song.”

I want to reply, but am cut off by a deafening roar from the crowd. I flinch and look over my shoulder, noticing Mick’s band members walk onto the stage.

Mick, though? He’s still standing on this side of the wings, gazing our way, brow furrowed, probably missing his cue according to the hushed crew members that wave to him while there’s an increase in chatter in my earpiece.

I don’t need to hear what he’s thinking; the contempt is practically pouring off him.

The corner of my mouth pulls in a smirk. I’m not a vindictive person. I don’t have a lot of malice in me, but fuck him—for all the shit he spewed just minutes ago. When it comes to my man, famous or not, he can just fuck right off.

I can’t hear the snort or indignant huff he lets out—his mic has been cut off from the crew’s channel—but I see it clear as day. Asshat .

As he finally turns around and stomps to his spot on the stage, the crowd going berserk the moment he appears, Jace elbows me.

“What was that all about?” He has to raise his voice to be heard over the roar of the stadium.

I let out a sigh. “Nothing much.” I take my earpiece out when Jodie points to it and she thrusts a fresh shirt in Jace’s arms before she takes the piece and scurries away.

“Didn’t look like nothing to me,” Jace says after he threw the shirt on, leaning in so I can hear him better. “Did he say something obnoxious to you? He tends to do that.”

I press my lips together for a moment and shake my head. “Not to me directly, but, you know.” I gesture to where Jodie disappeared with the gear. “I think he forgot the whole damn crew could hear him when he started spewing shit over the channel.”

Jace, honest to God, snorts. “Trust me, he didn’t. He just really doesn’t give a damn. What did he say?”

I hesitate. I don’t want to sound like a jealous boyfriend— which I’m not —but I also don’t want to hide anything. Before I can speak, he rubs my waist, his fingers warm and reassuring, and steps in even closer.

“He said something vile about me. Am I right?”

I nod. I open my mouth to explain, but that’s when the entire stadium lights up and Six of Hearts launches into the first song of their set.

I’m gobsmacked. I freeze, turn around to the band, eyes wide, hand tightening on Jace’s where it rests on my stomach. My jaw drops at the sound coming from the stage.

I mean… I really, really , dislike the guy, but fucking fuck me, it’s still Six of Hearts.

It’s still one of the greatest motherfucking bands from our generation.

Growing up, me and my brothers were batshit obsessed with them—blasting their albums nonstop, bouncing on the couches while roaring along at the top of our lungs—much to my Mom’s dismay.

And now? I can’t fucking believe I’m here. Backstage. Watching them live. In our teenage years, we tried to go to a concert a couple of times, but work at the diner or our busy football schedules always collided with the tour dates.

Involuntarily—because he really is an ass—I start murmuring along with the songs, tapping my feet to the rhythm. It doesn’t take long before I really get into it, singing louder, adrenaline pumping and dancing along.

My Jace dutifully follows my lead, even though he must be exhausted from the set he just performed, stuck to my back and swinging his hips to mine, his head on my shoulder, mumbling along with the lyrics, not butchering up the songs like I do.

I don’t even know how much time passes before he gently starts to tug on my shirt.

Still in a daze, I turn my head slowly toward my boyfriend, a grin plastered across my face. He’s grinning too—spark alive in his expressive gray eyes, love practically pouring out of him. I missed that look so damn much it just fucking hurts .

My fingers clutch at my chest, rubbing over my heart.

He notices it, gently lays his hand over mine and squeezes, pressing his forehead to mine before an inaudible sigh leaves his lips. He presses a swift kiss to my lips before tilting his head toward the hallway that leads back to the dressing rooms.

The hand that covered mine slips down to lace our fingers, and he tugs me along. We walk past the first few dressing rooms—those reserved for the individual members of Six of Hearts—and then he pushes me inside the small room Encore is using, the one they’re all sharing.

They’re still the opening act, so that’ll have to do. But my brows lift when I notice the space is a lot cleaner than before. All the makeup and clothes that were strewn around earlier, right before the show, are mostly gone.

Not everything, but the most of it, yeah.

Before I can take it in—or ask Jace where the hell all his stuff went so fast—he pushes me against the door and thrusts his tongue in my mouth. A groan escapes me, and my hands immediately find his jeans-covered ass.

“Jacie,” I murmur between kisses as Jace’s fingers dive in without hesitation, popping open the button on my pants. “You have to get back on stage in a bit, right? They want you to do the encore with Mick again?”

“Fuck him.” He bites my bottom lip and licks the tender spot before finding my gaze. “We have a couple of minutes to spare.” He trails a path of kisses along my cheek and neck before continuing. “Plus, you looked mighty fine dancing to their music like that, rubbing that sexy ass against me.”

A low chuckle escapes my throat, quickly followed by a groan as he starts to suck on my earlobe—his fingers now firmly on his prize as they wrap around my dick.

“You liked that, yeah? Me dancing?”

Dancing isn't really my forte. Usually, at parties or gatherings, I’m the guy in the corner, talking with my friends, goofing off while everyone else parties it up. I like it like that—on the sidelines.

But ever since Jace popped up in my life, he’s been pulling me out of that comfort zone. Making me dance. Making me have fun. And I have to say, I’m not not liking it.

I like how he moves on the dance floor.

I like how his features brighten whenever I join him.

I especially like how he loves to rub himself all over me when I do. Just like he’s doing now.

His hand is still beneath the waistband of my boxers, firmly tugging in tandem with the thrusts of his tongue in my mouth. His other hand has thrown my cap off—as always—and is now holding on to my hair, which I’ve maybe let grow out a bit these past months.

I mean, it’s not like I was too depressed to go to the hairdresser or anything… Okay, maybe I was. I can’t even count how many times my mom tried to cut it and I shooed her away.

But with the way Jace has been holding on to it these last two days, how he keeps snatching my cap off so he can run his fingers through the curly ends around my ears... I guess he likes it.

A groan escapes me as he gives a particularly hard tug on said hair, and I grin against his mouth when he starts to shove my boxers down past my ass cheeks.

“Jacie, as much as I’d love to have you back there again, I don’t think I can right now.

” He did rail me hard—and often—since I arrived yesterday.

Not that I hate it, I fucking love it, but he was right; it was a bit more than merely uncomfortable when we were jogging this morning and as much as it disappoints me… my poor butt needs a break.

“Hmm,” he murmurs against my mouth, flicking open the button of his own jeans. “I was kinda hoping we’d do it the other way around?”

He lets go of my hair and shoves his pants down, letting his erection spring free like it’s waving at me in a happy greeting.

I repress a snicker. Right back at ya buddy.

My gaze finds Jace’s again, and the corner of my mouth pulls up. “You sure you’re able to switch?”

I know he sees the humor in my gaze—and hears it in my voice—since he rolls his eyes and lets out another snort.

Yeah, he’s been kinda all over me ever since I stepped back into his proximity.

Not that I mind, not at all actually. I know we both like it either way.

It’s not like I really prefer one way or the other.

The only thing I do know is that I for fuck sure love it when I’m taking him—but when it’s the other way around, when he’s over me, inside me, when I can feel him fucking everywhere and never want him to leave? Yeah, I’m kinda obsessed with that .

Not that I’m not happy when I’m fucking my boyfriend—fuck no, I really, really dig that too.

I dig everything with Jace. Fuck, he could be asexual for all I care.

Just being in his proximity is enough for me.

Being around him. Being near him. It’s not the sex that makes Jace Jace for me, what makes him right for me. It’s everything else. Everything he is.

But sure, he dicks me down real good as well, so that’s definitely a big-ass perk.