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NINE

“ A t least try to stay hard,” I snicker as I hold on to the tube engulfing Ty’s dick. “The instructions said you have to be rock solid during this part. Come on, babe. If I can do it, you can do it.”

“I can’t . It feels funny! This is stupid.

” Tyler is laughing his ass off, his ridiculous eight-pack clenching as I hold the Clone-a-Willy tube around his dick while he’s planking against the wall.

I’m molding his erection—one hand on the tube, the other on his ass to keep him steady as the mold sets.

It’s day three of our reacquaintance, and we’re back on the bus, headed to the last stop before he flies home. His third show is tomorrow. I fucking nailed the first two—maybe because he was in the audience. Somehow, just knowing he’s there gives me that extra edge every time I step on stage.

We only have this mid-week together, and I’m making damn sure we squeeze every second out of it. That’s why we’re holed up in the bedroom this afternoon instead of hanging out in the living area with the others like we did yesterday.

I’ve got better things to do today.

Like making a silicone copy of my lover’s gorgeous cock.

“Say something hot, quick!” He turns his head, cheek resting on his forearm, holding back a grin and humor dancing in his pretty brown eyes.

“If you’re being good, I’m going to give you a reward after we’re done,” I say immediately, squeezing his ass cheek for emphasis.

If my love wants dirty talk, he’s gonna get it.

“First, we’re going to take a shower to get all this gross stuff off us.

I’m gonna wash every inch of your body, worship every inch of your skin with my tongue…

” I let my voice trail off and heat rushes through my body when I feel his cock twitching in the tube I have on him.

I lean in on him and brush my lips over his neck, barely touching him, but able to feel the goosebumps that spread across his skin.

A fucking whimper escapes his mouth, encouraging me to tell him what I want to do most. “Then I’m putting you on all fours on this bed to eat that delicious ass out—that’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a while.

I’m gonna lick it, suck on you until you’re all slippery, wet and open.

Finally, I’m gonna fill that ass up inch by inch and will drill you through the mattress until I feed you my cum. ”

I don’t know where the hell that came from, but if his groan is anything to go by, it fucking works.

“Oh, Jesus.” His eyes practically melt as he squirms even more. Instead of keeping still so the mold can set, he humps down into the tube. “Yes, to that. All of it. Oh, shit—is it bad if there are precum stains inside the mold?”

I snicker. “So I guess it helped?” I fondle his balls with my free palm, letting my finger graze over his slippery, lubed-up, well-abused rim.

He lets his head hang between his arms on a soft moan. “Fuck yeah.” He’s on his knees on the bed, elbows to the wall above the headboard, legs spread wide—with me beside him. We arranged some towels on the bed, but this stuff is seriously messy.

“Are the two minutes up, yet?” Ty asks, flicking a gaze my way—eyes heavy and heated—as I keep fingering his ass, occasionally dipping the tip inside, edging him on so he stays hard.

Shit, with how much I’ve been drilling into him these past couple of days, he’s all loose and ready.

I’ve asked him multiple times if he’s okay, if he wants to switch again, but besides the incredible dick-down I got in the dressing room, he’s all needy and bottom-y, and I’m all here for it.

I get it. I fucking do . And if he needs me that way right now, then he’s gonna get me that way. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.

“I think so.” I let go of his ass and carefully extricate him from the mold tube, hoping that it worked. I look inside and it seems that it hardened out just fine, just like the other one we used on me. “No cum stains to be seen. Ya did good, baby.” I slap his ass just for the fun of it.

Ty chuckles, smirking at me. “Now go mix the silicone and pour it in. Then we’ll let them harden. And then you’re going to do all those filthy things you just promised.”

Fuck yes. Before I can snark back, there’s a sharp tap tap tap on the door—of fucking course.

Missy’s voice cuts through the wood like a chainsaw, laced with her usual sarcasm. “If you two lovebirds are finally done playing weird science experiments with your genitals, Jodie’s about to get the numbers. Get your asses over here.”

I groan, resting my forehead against Ty’s shoulder as he chuckles softly. “She’s such a buzzkill. They all are.”

“It’s fine,” Ty says, grinning as he shifts to sit back on his knees like me, rotating his arms to release the strain from the planking. “We’ve got the rest of the day and night. No gig tonight, right?”

“No gig tonight,” I confirm with a smile, leaning forward for a quick peck—one that instantly morphs in a full-blown French kiss because the little shithead reels me in by the back of my head as soon as our lips make contact, groaning into my mouth.

“Hmm,” he murmurs against me as soon as his sticky dick brushes against mine. “Think we got time for a quickie?”

I snort, tilt my head back, and tap my knuckles against his peck. “Dude. We tried quickies. We’re not very good at them. If we go down that path, we’ll be stuck here for the next couple of hours.”

His eyes grow soft, shining with so much adoration that my heart skips a fucking step. “True, but I don’t mind. Think Missy would?”

The banging starts up again. “Yes, she would mind. She’s gonna get pissed and wants to know how our fucking album is doing!

I can hear you, dipshits! Christ, can’t you let each other breathe for fuck’s sake?

Ya need oxygen, ya know? It’s kind of necessary for your survival!

If you guys are not out in five, I’m gonna get Jodie. ”

“Guess that answers that question,” I say with a snicker, pulling away from him and setting the pink tube next to the purple one on the dresser, loving how they look side by side, before grabbing the kit to mix the silicone shit.

We fill the molds up, clean up as quickly as we can—sticky hands, half-hard dick, a whole towel sacrificed in the name of love—and throw on a pair of sweatpants each.

I swipe Ty’s hoodie off the floor, still warm from where he discarded it earlier, and tug it over my head, breathing in his comforting scent to calm my resurrecting nerves, which he so effectively muted these last couple of hours.

Today’s the day.

The album dropped at midnight. We had some celebratory drinks at a bar near the venue before hauling our asses back to the bus, and now we’re just… waiting. Watching. Hoping like hell the numbers hit like we want them to. All of us tried to keep busy until this exact moment.

The band’s already gathered in the main area, which is basically a glorified lounge with too few seats, way too many stray pillows, and every gaming console Asher could plug in without short-circuiting the bus’s electrical system.

Missy, Ava, and Asher have claimed the couch—Asher in the corner, the girls beside him with their knees tucked under them.

Each of them holds a flute of champagne, matching grins on their excited faces.

But it’s the wide, nervous eyes that get to me, triggering my own jitters like a switch flipped inside my chest.

“There you two are,” Ava says, curling her red-painted lips in a smirk. “Ah, the proud parents return. How’s your silicone spawn? Did you name it yet? I vote for Sir Stays-Hard-a-Lot.”

I eye Missy when my friends start laughing. “You had to tell them?”

She shrugs. “What? Don’t you think we can hear all the giggles and laughter and—god forbid—groaning from here? These doors are flimsy.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to understand that,” Asher says with a low chuckle. “I didn’t know it was this bad and want to offer my sincere apologies.”

Missy snorts while Ava gives him a smack against his shoulder, shakes her head, and points at the tiny coffee table. “Grab a flute, get down there, and wait till the mighty label puts us out of our damn misery.”

Ty curls up on the floor in front of them, on a haphazard mountain of fluffy pillows, and tugs me down to settle between his legs. His arms loop loosely around me as he hides his face in my neck, still chuckling about Ava’s bad joke. Idiots.

I reach forward to grab the two flutes, hand one to Ty, and settle in. Pinkies from our free hands curl together on his thigh, my shoulder pressed into his, our friends babbling on. Now and then, he shifts to press a kiss into my neck or brush one against my cheek without saying a word.

Behind us, the chatter is easy and chaotic. Missy’s sharp voice cutting through as she argues with Ava about the ethics of naming your vibrator after a real person, while Asher mutters something about needing noise-canceling headphones to mute this conversation.

I barely register half of it, too focused on the quiet comfort of Ty’s touch, on the feel of his breath against my skin, on the weight of this moment.

Jodie’s sitting cross-legged next to the coffee table with her laptop open, hooked up to the flat screen, refreshing her inbox like a woman possessed, her bun barely holding her curls together.

Her face is pinched in concentration, muttering under her breath as if sheer willpower can make the results appear faster.

She’s been at it all damn morning, more nervous than the rest of us, locked in on the daily tracking data.

They’re not the official rankings—we won’t get those until the full week’s over—but the real-time numbers don’t lie.

Streams, sales, downloads, preorders... It’s enough to make some pretty damn reliable projections.

It’s not set in stone. Not yet. But these charts show where we’re headed, and right now? We’re just waiting for the label to send the official projection of what’s coming.