So I Married a Rockstar

Chapter Twenty-One

Ch.21: Showering with a Rockstar

I woke to a heavy weight on my chest, and looked down to see a muscled, tattooed arm draped over me.

Memories of last night rushed back, and a tingle rolled through my body. I felt languid and almost drunk, the blissful satisfaction of a woman who's been thoroughly and amazingly fucked.

I couldn't wait to do it again.

I rolled over, careful not to dislodge Jude's arm, and not just because I didn't want to wake him. There was something about the weight of it that I liked. It wasn't possessive exactly, but it made me feel more like his wife than I'd ever done.

Jude didn't stir.

His shaggy curls were sprawled across the pillow, wild around his sleeping face, and I couldn't help another little tingle, remembering how hard I'd clutched his hair last night, as he brought me to the best orgasm I'd ever had.

There was something almost vulnerable about him like this. All the rockstar swagger was stripped away, and that panty-dropping smile was nowhere to be seen, leaving only a young guy that the whole world recognised but few people actually knew.

Jude's eyes flickered open, heavy-lidded with sleep.

"Hi," I whispered.

He made a sleepy, contented noise, and pulled me closer, so my head was tucked under his chin. His body was warm and hard against me, and I closed my eyes, feeling strangely emotional.

All this time I'd known that I was legally Jude's wife, but it had never felt as real as it did right now.

As clichéed as it sounded, I really did feel like I could have stayed here forever.

Unfortunately, Jude's phone had other ideas.

It started buzzing from wherever we'd thrown his jeans last night, and I thought Jude was going to ignore it. His eyes stayed firmly closed, and his breathing didn't change.

But the phone kept buzzing, like a relentless, angry wasp, until Jude groaned and kicked off the covers. The mattress dipped as he climbed out of bed, and I sat up in time to see him fish his phone out of his jeans' pocket.

"What?" he snapped.

I heard a male voice on the other end, but I couldn't make out who it was or what he was saying. While Jude was occupied, I slid out of bed and checked the time on my own phone. It was a little past eight a.m., and much as I'd love to stay in bed with Jude all day, I had to get ready for work. I headed for the bathroom.

For some reason I didn't want to go back to my own bedroom and my own shower, even though that's where all my clothes and toiletries were. I wanted to use Jude's shower, in Jude's bathroom.

It was almost exactly the same as mine, I discovered, tiled in sandstone, with a walk-in shower behind a large pane of glass, copper fixtures, and a deep stone basin. Fluffy towels were neatly folded and stacked in alcoves in the wall, and I wondered if Jude did his own cleaning or if it was something Annie handled.

In a way, the former was strange to imagine – Jude Scott of rock superstardom, the heartbreaker in skin-tight leather pants, who gyrated against microphones stands like he was fucking the air, the man with enough money to buy anything he wanted, but still doing the same mundane tasks as everyone else on the planet.

I'd sometimes rolled my eyes at people who acted as if celebrities were a different species, but maybe I'd bought into that line of thinking too, just a bit.

I turned the shower dial and hot water poured out. Stepping under it, I closed my eyes and gave a happy little sigh – the water pressure in the loft was better than any other shower I'd ever used.