we’re on the Fierro countdown. The end is almost here!
Genre: New Adult / rock star romance
Trope: | rock star | accidental marriage | bossy kisses and fiery glares |
Release: Oct 22 #HubbyRockstar
To protect his reputation from further falling into the gutter, I do what I can over the next thirty minutes while he drives us home.
I get off a call with his legal team as he leads me into the hallway of my building, his hand comfortably on the back of my neck.
“Do you know how fucking formidable you sound when you get into boss mode? Fuck, Raene. I don’t know how I didn’t drive us into the fucking river.”
Slack jawed, I giggle at his praise.
I have more to say to him, but it waits until I unlock the door.
Stopping him from advancing to the kitchen where I know he’ll pull things from the fridge. He likes to cook when he feels unsettled. I grab the front of his shirt, making sure the hottest eyes I’ve ever seen are trained on me. He lets his head drop a little, waiting.
“You can’t keep losing your temper, baby.”
He grunts. That’s cavemen speak for I can if I fucking want to.
“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen before you’re bankrupt.”
He snorts. “Unlikely.”
“Every time you feel your temper rising, you’re going to have sex with me.”
I didn’t think it possible to shock the unflappable rock god. Both eyebrows shoot up into his dark hair and then drop back down until they brood over his eyes. He walks me backward until I hit the hallway wall.
He’s already thinking about it, the dirty dog. My tactic is working, at least.
“You’re gonna offer me your pussy to calm me down?” He crowds me, dropping his head another inch until his nose almost grazes mine. Sniffing at me like an animal does right before it mounts its mate.
“Well, you are an angry little bear who doesn’t know when to shut his big mouth, so I have to do something.”
He growls low and I smile up at him, running my hands slowly up his chest as it expands under my touch. It’s amazing how he eases for me.
Am I the rock star whisperer?
“Nothing little about me, baby.”
“I know that doesn’t wound your ego, it’s too enormous.”
Tommy smirks. There his confidence is, bold as ever and preening.
“You pushed a photographer to the ground.”
“He was fucking crowding you, Raene. And he’s a dick with a camera, that doesn’t make him a photographer, he’s a bottom feeder.”
“Yes, and it was very gallant of you, though, I wish you had tried a different tactic.” As it stands, I can only hope no photos leak to the popular blogs.
“Like what, cut off his fucking fingers and shove them up his ass? Yeah, I thought about it.”
My breath becomes rapid, not altogether afraid of his soft-spoken answer. Though I would be lying if I said I’m not worried.
It’s there, in the background of my mind, hearing how he’ll do anything to protect me from prying eyes.
In these moments, he is a true Bianchi.
You can take the man from the crime family, but he’s never truly free of them.