by Kay Maree
“Jesus. Don’t cry. Come here.” He motioned for my hand, and when I took it, he pulled me to his body, using the thumb of the other hand to wipe the errant tears from my cheeks. “Let’s go. Clearly we need to talk.”
We did. Still, I was rapidly beginning to wish I’d waited until a more suitable time, than in the middle of an event being thrown by the record label to celebrate the success of the tour. It had been sold out worldwide, and audiences and critics alike were eating it up, which was also translating to song downloads. In short, we’d achieved the seemingly impossible—and made a success of the project we’d all thought was dead in the water from day one. More than that, we’d nailed it. Big time.
The label guys had decided to show their appreciation by flying us from mainland Spain—along with a whole bunch of industry “names”—to celebrate at a club in Ibiza, a few days before the Barcelona gigs which marked the end of the European leg of the tour. It was ironic what a difference a few months made. We’d gone from the thinly veiled ultimatum which had brought us together, and demonstrated that the labels really didn’t care much about either act, to the proverbial red carpet being laid out, and the PR machine going into overdrive to capitalize on our popularity.
If there was one thing that was true of our industry, it was that money talked. Now that Thoroughly Plucked was taking off, we suddenly had a voice with the label. While the label execs couldn’t be happier, for us, the success was bittersweet. While to the outside eye, on stage the three of us were a sizzling hotbed of sexual chemistry, the reality of being on the road with King and Rome wasn’t the all-day orgy I was sure most people imagined it to be.
In fact, off stage, while King and I were growing closer each day, we barely saw Rome, and when we did, he was either drunk, high, hungover, or an unpleasant combination of all three. He was monosyllabic at best, and a belligerent troublemaker at worst. The only time he seemed “happy” was when he had a bottle of vodka in one hand, and a random woman in the other.
“No. I don’t want to spoil your night. I’m going to go back to the room though, I think I’m just exhausted.”
“That’s not how it works. If you’re upset for whatever, reason, my night’s already ruined. I’m not just going to party into the small hours, knowing that the last time I saw you, you were in tears. If something’s wrong, I want to know what. Let’s go, so we can talk about it without yelling.”
God, he was a sweetheart. I really should have waited before saying something, but the thoughts had been circulating in my mind as we danced, and somehow, I just couldn’t hold them in. I’d been doing that for the past few weeks, and it had been eating me up inside. It was totally King’s nature to want to fix whatever it was, so now I’d spoiled his evening, as well as my own.
***
Back at the hotel room, I paced the floor, trying to find the words I needed. King sat on the bed, waiting patiently, his body relaxed, but his face the picture of concern.
“Whatever it is, just tell me, and we can fix it. Together.” Ugh. He was perfect.
I let out a long, low deep breath, and leveled my gaze to his. “It’s… this whole thing—you me, the tour—it’s just getting to me. I don’t think I can handle another few months of this. I don’t even know where we stand.”
What do you mean, where we stand?”
“I mean…” I stared at the floor. I couldn’t handle seeing the look on his face when I said what I was about to. “…I think I’m falling in love with you, and I don’t know if I’m making a giant fool of myself, and whether for you this is just a tour fling— something to pass the time. Sometimes I wonder if the whole thing between us is in my head, and you think I’m a crazy person.”
He was up onto his feet and in front of me before I could blink.
“That’s what this is all about?” He was grinning, and as beautiful as that sight was, I wanted to slap that sexy smile right off his face.
“Yeah, what’s so funny?”
“You are. I wish you’d said something before, if this is all it is.” Now I felt like a stupid kid making a fuss over nothing.
Clearly this wasn’t a serious thing for him. It was a tour fling, just like I’d said. “Yeah, sorry. I’m being silly. Forget I ever said anything. We’re having fun. Let’s enjoy it while it lasts, then at the end of the tour, it can be one of those ‘what goes on tour, stays on tour’ situations.”
“What you talking about? That’s not what I meant at all.” His face was the picture of confusion.
“Oh. So…”
“So, what I meant is that I feel bad that you’ve been wondering where I stand on what’s going on between us, because I’m really fucking clear that I’m past the falling stage. I’ve fallen. I mean, I’m in love with you. I’ve known for a while now. I guess I just got the sense that you weren’t ready to hear it. I didn’t want to scare you off, so I was hanging back, following your lead. I guess I screwed that up.” The look in his eyes as he spoke just about killed me.
Even without the words, his feelings for me were obvious in his body language, and I felt stupid not to have recognized it before. If that wasn’t the look of a man in love, I didn’t know what the hell was.
“No, you didn’t. You’re right, I wasn’t ready at first, but now I am, one hundred percent. I’m just relieved you feel the same.”
“I do. I’m there one thousand percent. More, even. Now that’s enough talking. There’s a reason they say actions speak louder than words.”
He reached out for me, slipping his hand behind my neck. When his lips met mine it felt like we’d pressed ‘reset’, and were starting again, only this time, it was beyond simple chemistry. The emotion flowing between us ran deep, sending a nervous flutter of anticipation to the pit of my stomach.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
KING
My heart lurched as I pulled our lips apart and looked into Quincy’s eyes, and I silently kicked myself for holding back for as long as I had. The truth was, I was in totally uncharted territory. As much as what I’d told Quincy was true, and I’d been waiting to tell her my feelings, because she seemed a little skittish, or uncertain; there was another part of me that had held back because I’d wanted her to give me some kind of definitive sign that we were headed in the same direction.
Today she had given me that sign, but I now realized that in leaving it so long before making my true feelings known, I’d also risked losing her altogether. It wasn’t a risk I ever wanted to take again.
When I kissed her it felt like a new beginning. The beginning of us. The thought had my dick stiffer than it had ever been. I wanted Quincy so badly, I could almost taste it, and not just physically. I mean, that shit was real—I wanted her like I wanted air to fill my lungs, but now I needed the emotional connection just as much as I craved the physical gratification.
“I can’t believe you questioned whether I was into this, or us. It sounds weird, but I’ve wanted you since you yelled at Rome in the parking lot, and not just because you were, and are, the hottest thing on two legs. You just had this confidence thing going on that I found so fucking sexy. You weren’t about to take any crap from anyone, and I loved that.”
“Ha! You mean I was rude.”
“Yeah, but I guess I love ‘em rude. I had the strongest urge to fuck you right there on that boardroom table.”
“You did not.” She swatted at me playfully.
“Why would I lie? I’m sure I’m not the first guy to want you on sight, and I doubt I’ll be the last. Anyway, enough chat, I have an idea.”
I started walking, so Quincy instinctively began walking backward further into the middle of the room. I directed her toward the marble table in the living area of the suite.
“Not exactly the boardroom table, but I really want to fuck you on it, and over it, anyway.”
She hadn’t taken her gaze from mine the whole time I’d been walking her further into the room, and her eyebrows shot up when s
he registered my words, and the back of her legs connected with the table.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes really.” I pressed my lips hard to hers, demanding entrance to her mouth. She didn’t hesitate, granting me access instantly, while extending her tongue to explore me at the same time. Then it was all on—lips, tongues, teeth and hands roaming everywhere they possibly could. I noted the rash of goosebumps that had spread across her body, and loved knowing that I’d been the one to do that to her.
We made light work of removing our clothes, with little regard for what would survive the onslaught. They were just clothes, and I wanted her way more than I wanted buttons on my shirt. I was too impatient to wait for her to remove her panties, so as soon as she’d taken off her tight black sequined pants, I was back on her, stroking and squeezing her tits, then bending down to lick, suck and bite her nipples, hard.
“Aargh, Jesus.” Her body jolted, and I couldn’t help but smile. I loved the fact that she was so affected by my touch. Call it a power trip, but I took pleasure in knowing I had the ability to make her feel that way.
“Lie on the table. I’m gonna make you see Jesus for real.” I knelt down on the floor, stretching out one hand to gently lower her backward. She didn’t hesitate, arching her back against the cold marble.
I pulled her panties aside, quickly pressing my mouth to her clit, flicking it with my tongue before sucking.
“King…” She pulled her knees up resting her feet on the edge of the table, giving me better access.
“Yeah, baby?” She didn’t respond in words, just tilted her hips upward, pushing harder into my mouth. Like I said before, sometimes actions spoke louder than words.
When I extended my tongue and slipped it inside her, the moan that escaped from her lips, and the way she tightened around me told me I’d answered her unasked question. As I fucked her with my mouth, I grabbed my dick tight, pumping it just hard enough to bring me to the edge, but not enough to tumble over. I wanted to come inside her.
“I’m close, but I want to come with you inside me.” She wasn’t the only one, and she didn’t need to tell me twice. I stood up quickly, and grabbed her knees, slipping my hands behind them to yank her closer to me. One more pull, and I was sliding inside her. I loved the way she was slick with arousal, and clenched around me as I pushed hard into her.
Part of me wanted to take things slowly for our first time as a couple, but that was overpowered by my almost-obsessive craving for her. There was no way I could hold back.
Still gripping her bent knees, I reared back and slammed hard into her, over and over again, as we chased our orgasms like junkies chasing the dragon. And just like a junkie, I knew that one hit wasn’t going to be enough. My need for the high that only she could provide was insatiable.
“I’m…” Her orgasm stole the end of the sentence, and as she shattered around me, I pushed into her deeper and harder, achieving my own release.
When I came, it was as though I was discovering sex for the first time—like the first rush or high of release, but magnified a thousand times. As I emptied inside her, somehow it felt like the slate had been wiped clean—there was no past, nobody and nothing before her. There was only the here and now, and our future together.
CHAPTER THIRTY
ROME
Immediately as I walked into the band room before the first gig in Barcelona, I knew that something was wrong. Or at the least, different. King and Quincy walked in together, which wasn’t at all unusual, but the chemistry between them—between all of us—was.
They didn’t speak, yet a conversation seemed to be going back and forth between them. Then when they looked at me, which they both seemed to be avoiding doing, it was there in their eyes—guilt, regret, pity? I wasn’t exactly sure, but what I did know was that I wanted no part of being around any of it.
I grabbed a bottle of vodka from the rider—normally I waited until after the gig before getting wasted, but desperate times called for desperate measures—and headed out to the loading dock for a smoke. I drank straight from the bottle, which was becoming a habit. By showtime, I’d smoked all my cigarettes, and the bottle was empty.
For the first time since hitting the road on the tour, I was dreading the gig. Until that point, no matter what was or wasn’t going on between the three of us, the stage was neutral territory. We’d get out there in front of thousands of people every night, and light up the room with our musical prowess, and the chemistry between us. We’d make love to each other sonically, and emotionally.
Through our music, we’d express all the pent-up shit we didn’t dare talk about, in the cold light of day, and it was the only time I let myself touch Quincy. The rest of the time, I couldn’t trust myself to look her in the eye, let alone have her sit in my lap on my raging hard-on, or pressed between King and me while she sang a sensual ballad we’d written, called ‘Wanting’. The irony wasn’t wasted on me.
I definitely wouldn’t dream of lowering my mouth to her neck, inhaling the scent that was uniquely hers, kissing my way up to her ear, before whispering whatever was on my mind. “I want you so bad, it hurts.” “There’s a part of you that belongs to me.” “I know you want me.”
Tonight, instead of being the musical equivalent of Switzerland—a safe, neutral space—the stage felt like a battle zone, and the war was being waged against me. But I wasn’t going out like that. Armed with another bottle of vodka, I’d go down fighting if it was the last thing I did.
Ironically, the show that night was the best it had ever been. We played and sang ourselves out of the ballpark. Raw emotion was the perfect fuel for creativity, and the three of us had lots to give. The audience couldn’t get enough—riding the waves of our high highs and low lows with bated breath right along with us.
I tried to imagine what we looked like to those observing us from the outside. Quincy, happy, but nervous and on edge—trying to navigate the thin, invisible lines drawn between the three of us. King, edgy and uptight—his love for Quincy coated in a fine dust of anger—throwing his barely contained rage my way. And me—a mess, however you fucking looked at it—every aspect of my life was a train wreck except the music. Thank fuck for the music. If it wasn’t for that, there would be nothing. I would be nothing.
At the end of the show, as Quincy slid into my lap, like she had done countless times before, the pity in her eyes as she looked at me nearly killed me. It was like she’d cracked open my rib cage, pulled out my still-beating heart, then stamped all over it with her red-soled stilettos.
I needed her to stop looking at me that way. I grabbed her mic, and addressed the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I’d like to make an announcement before we end the show.”
Quincy’s face was the perfect picture of shock and confusion, while King clearly would have taken great pleasure in breaking every bone in my body. I carried on regardless. He could eat a whole football team’s worth of dicks.
“Love is beautiful. Well, I guess it is for some people. I don’t believe in it myself, at least not for me, but for those who do partake, I know it’s a special thing. Even better when it’s two gorgeous people I respect and admire, and who deserve all the happiness. So I’d like you all to raise your glasses,” I grabbed my bottle from down by my feet, “—or your phones, in a toast to King and Quincy. To love’s young fucking dream.“ I was poised ready to duck to avoid King’s flying fists. He was as close to losing his shit as I’d ever seen him. “Let’s wish them all the health, wealth, and wisdom they deserve. Peace. Out.”
***
I woke up to the alarm on my phone beeping incessantly, at what seemed like one thousand decibels, as the sound ricocheted around my tender skull like stray bullets in a drive-by. I reached for it frantically, wanting both to shut off the noise, and to make sure I wasn’t late for yet another lobby call.
In my fragile state, with what I was sure was gearing up to be the hangover to en
d all hangovers, I couldn’t face dealing with the wraths of James and King. Especially not with King berating me like I was his fucking kid, if we missed yet another departure time because of me. Worse still, there was no way I wanted to face Quincy’s silent, but obvious, condemnation of the way I lived my life.
I tried to grapple around, reaching for the damned handset so that I could shut off the noise, and start the day without feeling like someone was trying to remove my brain through my nostril. Weirdly, I didn’t manage to move more than a quarter of an inch, or so. My arms felt like lead.
“Hey Rome, what is it? Don’t try to move, just stay still. We’ll get a nurse to come help you.”
A nurse. What the fuck was going on? Why was Quincy in my room? I attempted to open my eyes, but didn’t make it beyond a tiny crack before I was blinded by the light of one thousand torches, and had to screw them shut again. I tried to lift my arm to shield my face, but I didn’t seem to be in full control of my own fucking limbs.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
QUINCY
My heart thudded against my chest so loudly, I was sure everyone in the room could hear it. To me it was almost deafening. But not as deafening as the scream of terror that had escaped from me when Rome collapsed on stage. It was obvious right away that he hadn’t just passed out, although, given the amount of vodka he seemed to have consumed, I wouldn’t have been surprised.
I was more shocked that he’d been upright and functional, as he’d been drinking excessively—even by his own dubious standards—for hours on end. It was even more of a mystery how he’d not only managed to function, but he’d played his ass off during the gig. Musically, it had been his finest hour. Ironic, really. When all else was going to shit, the music was pure gold.
He was exceptionally talented and could play many world-class musicians under the table on any day of the week—he and King both could—but he’d outdone himself with an exceedingly passionate and virtuosic performance. It was truly jaw-dropping. I remembered thinking that putting up with his erratic moods and asshole behavior was worth it when we were rewarded with legendary performances like that one. It was raw, honest, and heartbreakingly poignant. It would have gone into the music history books, even before the dramatic medical emergency. More so after.