The penthouse doors clicked shut, sealing out the fading echoes of Wayne's party and the cold, metallic tension of the mezzanine. Inside the master suite, the only sound was the low, rhythmic hum of the ocean breeze hitting the floor-to-ceiling glass. The room was bathed in a deep, moody indigo light, reflecting the churning Atlantic below.
Aubrey felt the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, a sharp, electric hum that made his fingertips itch. He watched Robyn as she walked toward the window. She had shed the "Queen" persona in the hallway; now, she looked raw and exposed. She stood with her back to him, her shoulders trembling slightly as she stared out at the dark horizon.
He crashed his lips onto hers. This wasn't the "studio" kiss. This was a collision of teeth and tongue, tasting of the dark rum she'd been drinking and the raw iron of the cut on his lip. He moved his hands down, gripping her thighs and pulling her closer until there wasn't a millimeter of air between them.
Robyn let out a low, guttural growl, her hands scrambling at his belt. She shoved his jeans down, her fingers frantic and hot. When she finally freed him, she didn't hesitate. She dropped to her knees on the floor in front of the dresser.
Aubrey looked down, his hands finding her hair, guiding her. She looked up at him through her lashes, her eyes defiant even now, before she took him into her mouth. The sensation was overwhelming—the heat, the rhythmic pull, the way her tongue swirled around the head of his cock with a practiced, wicked precision. He groaned, his head falling back, his fingers tightening in her hair as she picked up the pace, her throat working with a hunger that matched the intensity of the night.
He pulled her up before he could finish, needing to feel the rest of her.
When he lowered his head, his lips moving down the line of her stomach, he heard her let out a low, guttural moan that was more melodic than any hook they'd recorded in the booth.
He flipped her around, pressing her chest-first against the cool glass of the floor-to-ceiling window. The whole of Miami was spread out below them, but she was looking at her own reflection as Aubrey entered her from behind.
The first thrust was deep and unapologetic. Robyn let out a sharp, high-pitched gasp that fogged the glass. Aubrey gripped her hips, his thumbs digging into her hip bones, setting a pace that was frantic and fierce. Every time he hit her, the glass rattled in its frame. He reached around, his hand finding the wet heat of her pussy, his fingers working her clit in time with his thrusts.
"Aubrey... oh god, Aubrey," she moaned, her forehead pressed against the window.
He didn't stop. He turned her around, laying her flat on the silk sheets of the king-sized bed. He spread her legs wide, lifting them onto his shoulders so he could see everything. He lowered his head, his tongue finding her, tasting the salt and the sweetness of her. He ate her with a singular focus, his tongue flicking over her clit while his fingers pushed deep inside her, stretching her. Robyn arched her back, her fingers clenching the sheets until they tore, her breath coming in jagged, desperate sobs until she climaxed, her body shaking under him.
But he wasn't done. He pulled her up, making her sit on top of him. She took him back inside her, her eyes locked onto his. She began to move, her hips grinding in a slow, torturous circle that made Aubrey's vision blur. She was in control now, her hands on his chest, her nails scratching red lines down his skin.
"You're mine, Toronto," she whispered, her voice a ragged edge. "Don't you ever forget who owns this."
She accelerated, her movements becoming a blur of friction and heat. Aubrey met her stroke for stroke, his hands moving to her breasts, kneading them as they reached the peak together. He felt the explosion build in his gut, and when he finally came, it was a violent, total release that left him empty.
They collapsed into the pillows, the only sound the frantic heaving of their lungs. Aubrey's skin was slick with sweat, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked at Robyn. Her hair was a mess, her lipstick was smeared, and she looked more beautiful than she ever had on a stage.
He pulled her into his chest, the indigo light of the room finally fading into the grey of dawn. The "private" game had been played to its limit. The sun didn't just rise over Miami that morning; it felt like it exploded. The grey light turned into a blinding gold that flooded the penthouse, reflecting off the tangled silk sheets where Aubrey and Robyn lay.
Aubrey was the first to wake, his body feeling heavy and used in the best way possible. His back was mapped with the faint red marks of her nails, and his jaw ached from the fight with Chris, but as he looked down at Robyn—sleeping soundly with her head on his chest—the "Big Boy" confidence was no longer a mask. It was his reality.
He reached for his BlackBerry on the nightstand. It was glowing white-hot with notifications. He scrolled past the missed calls from his mom and the texts from the label. He went straight to the charts.
#1. Worldwide. The "Miami Meltdown" hadn't just hit the top; it had shattered the streaming records for a debut. He let out a long, silent exhale, a grin spreading across his face. He was no longer "the guy from the show." He was the biggest artist on the planet.
A muffled, rhythmic thumping on the penthouse doors broke the silence. Aubrey carefully untangled himself from Robyn, pulling on his boxers and a discarded robe. He walked to the door, checking the security feed.
It was Wayne and Jas. Wayne was wearing the same camouflage jacket but with a fresh pair of sunglasses, holding a bottle of expensive champagne and a stack of printed data sheets.
Aubrey cracked the door open. "Keep it down, man. She's still out."
Wayne didn't listen. He shoved the door open, swaggering in with Jas right behind him. "Out? Man, she better be out! After the show y'all put on last night, the whole floor probably needs a nap!"
"Yo, Aubrey!" Jas beamed, holding up his phone. "Look at the numbers, man. New York is shut down. Toronto is having a parade. You did it. You really did it."
They retreated to the massive marble island in the kitchen, away from the bedroom. Wayne popped the champagne cork with a loud thwack, pouring three glasses.
"Alright, alright," Wayne rasped, leaning his elbows on the counter, his eyes gleaming behind the shades. "Forget the charts for a second. We saw you go down to that mezzanine. We saw the 'Lover Boy' turn into a pitbull. Give us the jist, Drizzy. How'd it feel to put hands on the ghost?"
Aubrey took a long sip of the champagne, the bubbles sharp and cold. He leaned back, a smug, satisfied look on his face. "It felt like overdue business, Tunechi. He thought he was coming into a library. I reminded him it's a stadium now."
"Man, Jas told me you hit him with a hook that sounded like a car door slamming!" Wayne cackled, slapping the marble. "I told you that Houston stank would serve you well! And what about after? Did the Queen give you the royal treatment for saving the kingdom?"
Jas leaned in, grinning. "Yeah, Aubrey, the room was quiet for about five minutes after we came back up, then the bass from the speakers couldn't even drown out what was happening in that bedroom. You were working harder than you were in the studio!"
Aubrey laughed, shaking his head. "Look, I'm a professional. I just made sure the chemistry we caught on the track was... authenticated."
"Authenticated!" Wayne roared, nearly spilling his drink. "Hear this man! He's using big words for 'I blew her back out'! I love it! That's my artist!"
"In all seriousness," Jas said, his tone shifting slightly as he checked a message. "The paps are saying Chris left the city at 4:00 AM. He's gone, Aubrey. For now. You won the first round. Publicly and privately."
"He's a ghost," Aubrey said, his voice turning cold for a second. "And I don't believe in ghosts anymore."
Just then, the bedroom door opened. Robyn stood there, draped in a fresh white robe, her hair a wild, beautiful mess. She looked at the three men in her kitchen, her eyes landing on Aubrey with a look of possessive warmth that made Jas and Wayne go quiet for a heartbeat.
"You three are making enough noise to wake the dead," she said, her voice a low, morning rasp.
Wayne raised his glass to her. "Only celebrating the King and Queen, Robyn. #1 in every country with a radio. How you feeling?"
Robyn walked over to Aubrey, sliding her arm around his waist and leaning her head against his shoulder. She didn't look at the charts Jas was holding. She looked at the cut on Aubrey's lip and smiled.
"I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be," she said.
Get dressed big boy
,Wayne said as he walked away with Jas leaving the two couples by themselves.
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