Everywhere: Book 3 of the Nowhere Trilogy

36. Birthday Cake

Put your name on it - Rihanna

11:57 PM, Monday, January 31, 2022

Maybe it's the wind blowing across Lake Erie that he hears or one of those gentle sighs Chele makes in her sleep. Regardless, the first thing he notices is the cold. That freezing, shivering cold that comes with the wind. It makes no sense, of course, since he's safely tucked inside the house they've rented.

After the previous kerfluffle in North Carolina with the hotel staff, Harry instructed Jeffrey to rent small houses in the cities where Harry has a short layover. Fans might look for him in large, expensive hotels, but no one would think to look for him in this small inconspicuous home. He had even started renting non-luxury cars to blend in with the crowd.

The scent of his favorite candle wafts through the house. Chele knows the routine, lighting it before she even scopes out the bedroom. Had she blown it out tonight? He can't remember, having been in a fog of exhaustion after the two shows in Toronto. It's been a whirlwind tour so far, and this short time off couldn't have been planned any better. With a scratchy throat and sleep deprivation, Harry needs the rest.

When his body quivers from the cold, and his nostrils catch another sniff of the tubereuse, he throws the covers aside, deciding to risk freezing to death in order to turn up the heat and ensure the house isn't going to burn down around them. Quietly tiptoeing to the living room, he confirms that the wick has been extinguished before silently and stealthily slipping across the floor to the thermostat. Blast. High enough to cook a roast. Why is he so bloody cold?

Wrapping his arms around his body, he wonders if perhaps he should check his temperature. Is he running a fever? Becoming truly ill? Cause that would be really bad. He doesn't have the time or energy to be sick. Gazing at the wintry wind blowing the trees in the rental house's front yard, he stands silently.

"Hey," a soft whispered voice drifts his direction just before her hand touches his back, causing him to jump. "Why are you awake?"

"Too cold to sleep," he mumbles.

"Ah," Chele comments. "I see. Well, maybe I can warm you up, Birthday Boy."

With a glimpse of the clock, Harry's eyes widen. It's after midnight. He's 28 years old now. Yikes. So close to thirty. Shoving the thoughts aside, he wraps his arm around his girl, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She warms him up just fine. Too much actually. Just the sound of her voice, and the thought of tucking his cock someplace cozy, has made his erection begin to grow. Closing his eyes, he rubs a hand over his weary face. What would it hurt to let go of his agreement and fuck her on his birthday? 'Twould be the best present ever.

Allowing Chele to lead him back to bed, he watches her bum sway side to side in her flannel jammies. Shit. This isn't helping. Think of puppies and kittens. Anything other than how she moans when she comes. In the bedroom, she releases his hand as she wanders to his duffel bag. Pulling out his Japan hoodie from first tour, she thrusts it at him.

"You know I can't sleep in that, baby," he protests.

Chele appears to not even listen to him as she separates it at the hem as if dressing a young child. Standing on the very tip of her toes, she places the neck hole over his head. When she pulls the fabric over his shoulders, he shivers involuntarily at her touch. Or maybe the warmth from the hoodie has an effect. There's no way to discriminate between the two feelings. What he knows with absolute certainty is that all of the blood has flowed to his erect penis. Her fingers scrape his sides as she pulls the piece of clothing down to his waist.