by Teagan Kade
Mat’s pants hit the floor and we both turn. He wears no underwear, his cock stiff as an arm between his legs.
His lips travel down my throat, the tip of his tongue gliding along my collarbone.
Arm under my torso, he flips me over so I’m kneeling. He parts my legs with his hand and slides his fingers up my inner thigh until they’re pressed against my dripping mound.
I lean back against him, trapping the length of his cock in the cleft of my ass so the tip bumps wetly against the hard hollow of my back.
He reaches down and slips two curious digits into my slit, my furled labia spreading apart around them.
“God, that feels amazing.” It’s with shock I realize I’ve spoken these words. I hardly ever talk during sex, but Mat is teasing out the sinful side of me. He responds by sliding the pad of his thumb toward my clit, making me shudder.
His thumb presses against the tender button of my clit and I grind against it, mouth hanging loose and open.
His mouth moves to my ear. His hard, masculine body falls over mine like a steel girder, all weight and resolution. “I can’t take it anymore,” he says. “I have to be inside you. I need to feel your pussy around my cock.”
“Do it,” I choke out between moans as he continues to work my clit in slow circles. “Fuck me.”
“Not yet,” he says, a dominant musk creeping into his voice that causes my core to clench with need.
“Please,” I beg.
His free hand skirts around the outline of my ass. “Are you ready to take things to the next level?”
“Anything,” I plead. “Please.”
His cock leaves the cleft of my ass, exposing it to the air. One of his hands comes down hard on one buttock and then the other, the sound sharper than the pain, a resounding thwack as he strikes again, backhanded, forcing me sideways, my knees rolling on the velvet of the chaise.
Holy shit.
This is new. Really new.
I haven’t been spanked since I was a child. The act brings a hot flush of embarrassment and shame, but also a strange excitement even as he brings his hand down again across both cheeks.
“You’re spanking me,” I gasp out.
His fingers delve deeper into my slit. “And you’re loving every fucking second of it.”
So this is Mat the rock star.
He spanks me again and I snap forward. It’s naughty, dirty, but I’m starting to enjoy it, this taboo side of Mat I haven’t experienced until now.
As Mat continues to spank me, my ass blooms with heat with each resounding blow. I’m close, building by the second.
I shift forward and the next blow misses my ass completely to land against the plump of my thigh, stinging even more. I struggle to catch my breath, a slave to his pleasure.
The spanking stops. It’s weird, but I want more.
The fingers inside me draw away.
He leans forward and licks a bead of sweat from my cheek. His hands come down on my bruised ass, sinking us deeper into the chaise.
“You’re a bad boy,” I purr.
“I’m a Barton.”
I know what’s coming.
The blunt head of his cock nudges my pussy lips apart. He pauses there in my heat and slickness, his shaft poised to enter me.
Hands on my ass, Mathew thrusts forward and sinks the first few inches of his cock into my aching hole. I shake as he fills me. The feeling is incredible after the spanking, to finally have the man of my dreams fucking my tight slit. I drive my hips back and succeed in burying his member to the hilt inside me, his greasy fingers on my clit as his prick skewers forward.
My arms are weak. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to stay propped up like this. My mind is a confusion of senses, blinded to reason.
I turn just enough to see Mat pounding into my backside. The vision of his hard body railing into my sex almost makes me come on the spot, but I hold back, tightening my muscles and causing him to bellow to the chandelier above.
With every stroke he succeeds in travelling further inside me, stretching out my hot tunnel and its heated depths.
I can’t hold myself back much longer.
Come, my body begs.
Mathew’s fucking me hard from the behind, balls swinging in turn.
The need for release boils over. My orgasm rushes through me.
My elbow gives way and I collapse forward onto the velvet.
Mat bottoms out inside me, stiffening and grunting through every stroke.
As my orgasm fizzles, my body limp, he drives me hard into the chaise, his cock disappearing between the cheeks of my ass. He moans, hot cum filling me as he collapses half-bent over my back, my pussy crushed against his fingers.
When he’s spent, he lifts my backside and withdraws.
My buttocks are still bruised from when he spanked them, my sex hollow. Tendrils of pleasure continue to pull at my senses.
My pussy aches.
My temples thump.
I lean back and spread my legs, taking in as much air as I can. If there was one moment that calls for profanity, it’s now.
I pull him down to me, look deep into his smoky eyes, smiling.
I exhale. “Rock and fucking roll.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MATHEW
It’s midday when I start to rouse. As my eyes open there’s a moment of panic when I see the naked body next to me. As a rule, I don’t let anyone stay the night, but I relax once I realize it is Sel.
She sleeps with her lips parted. I let my finger dance down her side, across the smooth, caramel wall of her breast. I let two fingers tip-toe their way down to her buttocks, the sheet preventing further progress. But I don’t want to wake her.
Not yet.
I head downstairs and find what I can to slap together some sort of breakfast. I don’t bother with clothes. There’s no need. Sel’s seen it all now. Besides, there’s nothing I like more than easy access, and that is what she told me last night—‘You’ve got a free pass, baby. Access all areas.’
I think she might be a latent Anastasia Steele after all. I thought the spanking might be taking it a step too far, but her response was beyond my wildest expectation. The White House might not have a red room, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be kinky when the time calls for it. Sel doesn’t have a clue about the kind of shit I’ve gotten up to between the sheets.
But she will.
In time.
Twenty minutes later I see her coming down the staircase, bedsheet wrapped around herself like some kind of sexy toga party costume. I could pull it off and have my way with her right there on the stairs. It’s probably the only part of the house we haven’t christened yet.
She sniffs at the air. “Am I in heaven?”
I turn back to the stove, toss the mushrooms and add a pinch of sage I picked from the garden-cum-jungle. “Barton de la Resturante.”
She takes a seat up at the breakfast bar. “I hope you’re cooking’s better than your Spanish.”
“I hope you’re hungry.”
I shift pans around on the stove. I worked the back of a kitchen in Morocco for two weeks, picking up a bit from the chefs.
I put down a chopping board and place the hot pan on top. “Shakshuka.”
Sel looks puzzled. “Shak-what?”
“Baked eggs, a middle eastern breakfast with a twist I picked up from the locals. I sprinkle a light layer of cheese over the top.”
She closes her eyes and breathes in. “Yes, I am in heaven.”
She takes a fork-full and places it inside her mouth. “Wow, this is amazing. You are amazing.”
I lean against the bench. “I know.”
“And humble, apparently. But where did you learn to cook like this? The Mat I remember had trouble reheating pizza.”
I lift my shoulders. “It’s amazing what you pick up on the road. It teaches you a lot about yourself.”
She digs in again, the sheet slipping and the glossy pink of a nipple exposed. “And
what did ‘the road’ teach you, oh wisest of men?”
“Besides cooking?” I count them off on my fingers. “Respect. Discipline. Focus.”
“Sure you didn’t join the Army?”
I laugh. “At times I felt like I was in the Army. There was this muddy cluster-fuck of a road in Kamchatka, we—” I cut the story short. It’s one of those ‘you had to be there’ kind of things. “You remember Chance Adams?”
Sel nods, swallowing. “Your friend from high school? Isn’t he a big football star now?”
“Quarterback for the Wildcats, actually. He did a tour. Afghanistan, I think. He puts on a brave face, but it messed him up, you know?”
“What happened to him?” asks Sel, eyes full of concern. God, I love her for it, her empathy. She yawns when I yawn. ‘Sympathetic yawning,’ they call it, which is just as well, because people who don’t are sociopaths.
“He found a girl,” I continue. “She straightened him out.”
Sel places the fork down. “Is that what you think I’m going to do? Straighten you out?”
I look down at my dick. It’s like a fucking flagpole after staring at her. “You can try.”
*
Seth stops by and selects a bottle of Maker’s Mark off the shelf, pouring himself a finger. “How’s it going, kid?”
I pour myself a water. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m fast learning the best way to quit drinking is to work at a bar.”
He takes a seat. “Oh, how’s that?”
“Because you’re too damn busy to pour yourself one. Dad should have given it a go.”
Thanks to our little reappearance on the Delaney Show and the press following, I don’t need to work at Bellhopper, but I decide to anyhow. It helps take my mind off things, off this whole drama with Mom, Rick…
Seth laughs. “Business has been good, very good, and yes, you and your girl are largely to thank.” He raises his glass. “So to you, kid, for keeping this place afloat.”
We clink glasses.
A gaggle of girls are watching from the corner of the room.
Seth raises his eyebrows at them. “Of course, it helps you’re the resident eye candy.” He takes hold of his gut. “Fuck knows my days of drowning in pussy are over.”
He stands and claps me on the shoulder. “I’d tell you to take a fiver and fuck one of them silly, but it seems you’re pretty tight with your lady friend.”
I smile at the thought of Sel. “I am.”
“No, thanks.”
Seth walks away, calling behind himself, “Suit yourself, superstar”.
Sure, the girls are cute, but they’re nothing compared to Sel—cheap knock-offs like the fake Fender Dad was gifted after selling out the Silverdome. It ended up in the fireplace.
I take my break anyhow. I go to message Sel, but my cell screen’s clogged with missed calls and texts from various radio stations, magazines, and press offices. It’s never-ending, our little bout of late-night magic caused quite a stir in the industry. A familiar buzz lifts me—it’s momentum, and we’re going to ride it all the way home.
*
Sel bends down to retrieve a box off the floor of my bedroom. “What’s this?”
She’s wearing a negligée, the two round peaches of her ass begging to be held, touched… more. I look down between my legs. Yep. Ready for round two.
I sit up and help her lift the box onto the bed, conscious of the way her bare nipples tent the thin gauze out. “Another box of Dad’s old notes I found.”
She picks a handful of paper and starts to leaf through it. “Holy shit.” She drops them and selects more. “How much of this stuff is there?”
I nod. “Yep, I thought the first box was full of gold, but this one’s even better, lyrics and chords for songs Dad never got around to recording. For such a loose guy he was actually pretty meticulous as far as these notes go.” I reach over and tap the page she’s reading. “See? Each one is dated, marked. He’s even got little symbols for the producer when it came around to mastering. He’d thought of it all.”
Sel’s eyes shift as she reads. “Wow, this stuff is really good, Mat, poetic. Can we use it?”
I lie back, making no attempt to cover myself. “I’m working my way through it, picking out the best of it, but hell yes we can use it.”
“Is anything ready to go?” Sel questions.
“Yeah, I’ve got a couple of songs almost complete from this box, maybe even enough for an album if we combine them with the stuff from the first box and really knuckled down, add some originals.”
She lets the papers fall and jumps over me, hooking her arms around my neck. The space between her legs is hot where my cock rests. A simple shift back, up, and I could fill her right now, slide right into the wet warmth I’ve come to know so well.
“I’ve got a good feeling about this, Mat.”
She lifts herself, reaching down between us and taking my cock by the root. “How about we celebrate?
I stretch up to kiss her. “You read my mind.”
*
The afternoon is drawing to a close. Shadows grow longer around the White House, sunlight growing increasingly absent. Sel heads off to the store for some last-minute shopping. I spend the time calling Andrew, trying to work out what to do about Mom. He managed to get a copy of the contract, but it will be a while before he can go through it fully. Still, it’s progress, and I’ll take a win any way I can get it right now.
The sweet taste of victory is short-lived. I get a call from Dominic the moment I hang up.
“Turn on the TV,” he says. “Channel Five”.
Up pops Dirk Whittington, a shock jock turned TV presenter with his pearly whites and shirt done up three buttons too short. What kind of idiot decided it was a good idea to give him air time remains a mystery, but he does know how to pull an audience.
Still, it’s not Dirk I’m worried about. It’s fucking Rick in the chair next to him. Alice is by his side dolled up in far too much make-up and a dress so short I can practically see what she had for lunch. I get a strange feeling in my gut. “What’s going on, Dom?”
“Just watch.”
“I believe you have a statement you want to share, about Selena Torres?” Dirk asks Rick.
The crowd grows quiet, the wrangler probably standing stage right hushing them down.
Rick smiles at Alice before swinging back to Dirk. “Yes, Dirk. I’ve waited long enough, tried to do the right thing, but it’s time to set the record straight. Selena Torres isn’t all she’s claiming to be.”
Gasps of shock from the audience.
My gut twists.
“And what’s that?” smiles Dirk, looking into the camera. “One of the hottest pieces of ass in LA, am I right?”
The predominantly male crowd cheers. I can see the distaste hanging off Alice, suffocating her, but Rick manages to get things back on track.
“It seems,” he continues. “That she somehow stole Alice’s song Better Days from the studio and has subsequently been bandying it around as her own work.
“Her and the son of rocker Mason Barton, Mat Barton, correct?” adds Dirk.
Rick nods. “That’s right.”
Dirk leans back. “Whoa. That’s a heavy allegation you’re throwing out, Rick.”
“It’s true,” Alice chimes in, crossing her legs. On cue, a stage hand brings forward a document, handing it over to Dirk, who holds it up to the camera. It zooms in.”
“As you can see, Dirk,” continues Rick. “What you’re holding there is the song, complete, and the rights to it, which were signed to Alice and myself well before Selena and Mat Barton started slinging it around town. Frankly, it’s disgusting, and I’m going to make sure they’re held accountable.”
What the fuck?
I stiffen, wanting to put my fist through the TV, but I watch on, rubber-necking this car crash like the millions of others tuned in right now.
Dirk fucking loves it, the drama, the gossip, the dirt—the grimier, the be
tter, and anything Sel is going viral now. She’s going to lose it when she finds out what these two lowlifes are up to.
The segment wraps up and Dirk swivels to another camera. “We’ll be right back, folks with a special performance of Better Days by its rightful owner, Alice Garcia. For all the latest on the Selena Torres scandal, head to www.dirkwhittington.com. Bring your flame suit, because it’s going to get hot in there tonight!”
The show goes to an ad break. I switch it off, unable to stand listening to our song, Dad’s song, butchered by Alice.
“Mat?” It’s Dom. I’m still holding the cell to my ear.
“I’m here. What the fuck’s going on, Dom? Are those rights for real?”
“I don’t know, but the most likely scenario is that the rights are falsified, back-dated.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I’m pacing now, just the way Dad used to whenever he was dealing with the label heavies. “It’s our song, Sel’s song.”
“It may be, but I don’t know if we can put up a fight here. Rick’s aligned with a major label now. We’re talking suits come to life, lawyers so cut-throat I wouldn’t wish them on anyone. We’d be buried before we started.”
“Why can’t we go on a show, tell our side of the story?”
“It wouldn’t look good, turning it into a tit-for-tat like that. All it would do is stir up the piranhas.”
“He cannot get away with this. That song is everything. We were going to play it at Magma for fuck’s sake.”
“And I’m trying to make it happen, but we have to be patient here, careful.”
“I’m sick of being patient.”
I hang up, squeezing the cell tight, wishing it would break in my hand.
I sit and think, trying to get some clarity.
You’ve gotta tell Sel.
She can’t find out from some bum on the street. No, it has to come from me.
She picks up on the first ring, but when I tell her the news she shifts from joy to outright anger. “They did what?”
“They had the so-called rights there.”
A huff from Sel. “He probably had the rights falsified to mess with us, called in a few favors and reach-arounds to make it happen.”