by Deana Birch
“Hi?”
I loved that he sounded cautious. He took care of Jake too.
“Hey. Is he within earshot?”
“Give me a sec.” Phil came back thirty seconds later. “Please don’t tell me you’re not coming. He’ll blow a fuse.”
“Actually, I’m leaving now; and with any luck, I’ll see you guys before the show. But don’t tell him. I don’t want him to get his hopes up and then get pissed off if I get stuck in traffic. What time are you guys leaving for dinner?”
“The band leaves the hotel at six thirty with the van.”
My eyes flashed to the GPS. “Seems a bit tight. I’ll probably just be getting there as you leave. Don’t wait for me; I’ll have to shower and change when I get in.”
“Okay. I’ll leave everything you need at the front desk, and transportation will be arranged.”
“Great. Thanks. And please, don’t even tell Gina. If I end up being late, it’s the same as before.” I loved Gina, but the girl could talk.
“Copy that,” Phil said. His frank, to-the-point response was probably what made him good at his job.
“You’re a gem. I’ll text you when I’m at the hotel.”
“Sounds good. Be safe.”
With my favorite playlist on, I sang my ass off in my little Fiat as I headed south for the next two hours. I arrived in San Diego with little traffic, and by a quarter to seven, my car was parked and I was in line at reception at the Marriott downtown.
I sent a text to Phil while I waited for the clerk to check my ID and find my information.
Phil: How long do you need?
Me: 30 minutes max.
Phil: You’ll have to show your ID to the driver of the van. The fans are enthusiastic today.
Me: copy that
In the room, I showered and changed within twenty minutes. I wore a sleeveless, beige and floral, silk high-low dress with my plum open-toed heels. My hair was pulled back in a low, loose ponytail, threaded through in a loop to give the illusion of twists, and secured with bobby pins. My makeup was simple—brown mascara, a powder over all, and a light gloss coloring my lips with a hint of rose. I grabbed my pass, key, ID, phone, and a bit of cash, and put them all into my small clutch, along with the gloss.
It was lonely being the sole person in the big, black van, and I found myself getting a little nervous about showing up early as a surprise. I was pretty sure Jake would be happy, but in the final moments before arriving, doubt seeped into my veins. My mouth twitched to the side and I stared down at nothing on the floor. What if I walked into something I wasn’t ready to see? As we passed the front of the House of Blues, San Diego, I saw a crowd was already forming. Doors opened at eight, and fans wanted their spots down front. We pulled around the back, and I thanked the driver and walked to the door which led backstage. After showing my pass to security, I put it back into my purse. Wearing it around my neck would have ruined my dress.
The warm smell of food and the sound of voices led me to a room where the band and crew sat at a long table, enjoying their dinners. Gina stood out, her curly hair long, wild, and down around her shoulders. She wore a multicolored halter dress; a more beautiful gypsy would be hard to find. I caught her eye and lifted my finger to my mouth. She pressed her lips together in a tight smile and stayed seated. Jake was at the other end of the table, facing John. They were in some kind of heated debate, although their mood seemed playful. I strolled down to him, giving small smiles to the crew on my way. Before I made it to the end, John spotted me.
“It doesn’t matter, dude. This conversation is over anyway,” John said.
Jake stared ahead at his bandmate.
John continued, making a loop with his forefingers and pointing them to me. “Because that just walked in.”
Jake turned, his eyes widened, and a full, genuine smile covered his face. I thought he might say something, but instead he stood up, pushed his chair away, and walked over to me. We didn’t break eye contact until he was kissing me on the lips. He held the embrace and brought his hand to my jaw. After I pulled back, he pressed his forehead to mine. The energy between us was kinetic; I wished we weren’t standing in a room full of people.
In my ear he whispered, “You’re stunning. Follow me.”
With my hand in his, he led me out of the backstage area and into the venue. We stopped in front of the ladies’ room, and a devilish grin covered his face. He pulled me into the bathroom and backed me up to the sinks. His lips brushed against mine, but he backed away and eyed me up and down.
“Pink. If your underwear isn’t pink, my name’s not Jacob Thomas Riley.”
I lifted the sides of my hem, curtsied, and proved him right. His smile wrinkled the skin around his eyes, and we went back to kissing.
Between breaths, I said, “Could we be more obvious? Literally every person back there knows what we’re doing.”
“No.” He slowed, then spun me around to face the mirror as his chest pushed tight against my back. “They think they know. They think you’re on your knees, or I’ve got you bent over the sink, which sounds fantastic.” His mouth moved to my neck. One hand slid down my stomach, and the other rubbed my nipple with its thumb. “But that’s not what we’re gonna do.”
“It’s not?” Our eyes locked in the mirror, and his right hand went from the hem of my dress to my inner thigh, then up and into my panties.
He grinned, satisfied with what he’d found. “No, baby.” His words steamed on my neck. “I’m going to make you come, just like this.”
His fingers flittered in a familiar rhythm. I leaned into him and tilted my neck on his shoulder, giving him even more access to skin.
“Good girl.”
I glanced at him again in the mirror and my chest rose and fell at a faster pace.
“Now close your eyes and tell me what you want me to do to you later, when we’re all alone,” he said.
A little embarrassed, I tried to forget where I was and focus on the pleasure I was receiving.
“I want you inside me,” I said.
“Definitely gonna happen.” His voice was low, coaxing. “But how, Louana? How do you want me?”
“Like the door.”
“Mmmm. What did you like about the door, baby?”
I hesitated, and his fingers moved quicker, encouraging me to let go.
“You can say it. It’s just us.” Jake kissed my neck again.
“I want you to fuck me hard.”
He pressed deeper, moved faster. And as if by allowing my inhibitions to fall away with the words coming out of my mouth, I had a massive orgasm, fully dressed, in the ladies’ room at the House of Blues in San Diego. It was unfair what this man could make my body do.
After I recovered, I spun around and kissed Jake on the cheek.
“I’m so glad I came early.” I smirked.
He followed with sweet little peck on the tip of my nose.
“Me too. Now, what are we going to do with this massive hard on? I can’t go back out there like this.”
“I can help you with that.” I kissed him, and my hands crept toward his big problem.
He stopped me. “As much as I want to say yes to this, I also want you to know it’s not always about me. Sometimes sex is just for you.”
I paused. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Besides, it makes it all the more fun later, when I fuck you very, very hard.”
“Should I be scared?”
“I hope not. Anyway, I play harder sexually frustrated. Now tell me a story to deflate the man in my pants.”
“Well, at the conference we had this great discussion about renegotiating old contracts to current standards.”
“That’s incredibly boring, but now I’m picturing you on a Mexican beach in a bikini. Did you wear your top?”
“Did I wear my top?” I tapped my chin and squinted to the ceiling. “Huh, you know, I honestly don’t remember. When I was by the pool, I’m pretty sure I had one on. But down at the be
ach? Hmmm. Lemme think.” I tilted my head.
“You better be lying, and you’re not helping. Now I’m thinking of you topless.”
I smiled. “All right, all right. Ummm… So how was your mom?”
“Bingo!”
I reapplied my gloss and Jake held the door open for me. I stopped in front of him.
“You know,” I said, “You’re getting remarkably good at guessing the color of my underwear.”
“Jesus,” he said. “I just got this thing under control.” He shifted in his pants, then took my hand and we returned backstage.
Jake left me sitting with Gina as he went to fetch us beers.
“Hey.” She perked up. “I made you a plate.”
“Aww, thanks. You’re a godsend. I’m starving.” I slid the food in front of me and grabbed the plastic utensils at its side.
“Work up an appetite, did we?” she asked.
“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”
Gina stayed with me and we chatted about Phoenix. She said Jake’s parents were adorable, still very much in love and warm and welcoming to everyone. A small twinge of jealousy stung inside me when I realized she had met them and I had not.
“No ex-girlfriends from high school looming around?”
Being honest with Gina was easy. We were in the same small boat where random women who didn’t know anything about our boyfriends, apart from them being in a band with a hit song on the radio, would do crazy shit to be with them.
“None I could see,” Gina said. “Just a bunch of beer-drinking, pot-smoking former skaters who eventually grew up, from what I could tell.”
We could hear the crowd start to file in and feel their excitement mounting. Jake brought me a beer and joined us at the table. Sam sat down in front of Gina, and John pulled up next to him.
Jake said, seemingly randomly, “You know who I’ve been listening to a lot? The Doors.”
I tried not to laugh. I knew what he meant; it was an inside joke between us about what I had confessed twenty minutes prior in the bathroom.
“Never gets old,” John said.
“I fucking love the Doors, and there’s not even a bass player,” Sam added.
Jake turned to me. “Louana, how do you feel about the Doors?”
He played it straight. He was too good. My lips pressed together to suppress the mounting giggle. I twisted my mouth in various positions and shapes as I avoided making eye contact with Jake.
“No, seriously. I want to know what you think about the Doors.”
Regaining my composure, I took a drink and said, as casually as possible, “I love the Doors, Jake.”
I turned to John with lifted brows, but he was peering at me. He glanced to Jake, then back to me.
“Oh! Jesus Christ, you two,” John said, and left in a huff.
“What?” asked Gina.
“Nothing.” Jake shrugged and fake frowned. “Louana was saying how much she loved the Doors.”
“You’re hilarious.” I rolled my eyes.
“I don’t get it,” Gina said. Her face looked like she was staring at a physics problem.
“I don’t think we’re meant to, babe.” Sam got up and kissed her on top of the head.
⸎
After the show, and with the tour almost over, the band and crew were in the mood to party. Gina and I sat together at the team girlfriend table, where we were ignored by most, as usual. When Gina got up to use the bathroom, Shane found his opportunity to swoop in. I knew it was coming. I had said a quick hello to him before the show, but I’d imagined he wouldn’t stay away forever. My guards were up. I was ready.
“Lovely Louana. You’re looking beautiful,” he said with a smile that I was sure he thought was sweet.
“Aww.” I imagined Archie’s face instead of his. “Thanks. Another great show.”
“Thank you. What did you think about the encore?”
“I prefer Jake on drums.”
“Me too.” Shane searched the surroundings, saw Jake busy with a fan, and turned his chair to look at me. “I know your type, Louana.”
Great. Not only was he going to hit on me, now I was in for a lecture about dating famous people. He should have saved his breath for singing.
“I’m pretty sure you don’t know the first thing about me.” I straightened my dress and pretended to pull off lint near the hem.
A small chuckle left his lips. “That’s where you’re wrong. I see you. Strong woman in control. But all you really want, what you crave, is letting go.”
The confidence I had in him not knowing me faded with every word he spoke. And as mine dimmed, his shined brighter and brighter.
“What Louana likes is to be told what to do, and then to do just that. Like a good little girl.”
My eyes found a blank spot on the table. Unable to focus, even the nothingness blurred. In two short minutes, Shane described my entire relationship with Dimitri and why I had gone back to him so many times.
“Is Jake giving you that? Does he know how you really need it?” he asked.
“Excuse me.” As I rose, my chair scraped against the floor. There was no point in looking back to Shane’s smug face. Everything about my reaction confirmed his suspicions.
When I found Jake, I hooked my arm into his and pleaded with my brain to erase Shane’s words. Jake listened to an older fan relive a moment when he had seen Mötley Crüe. He talked about how crazy Tommy Lee’s playing had been. From the sound of it, I assumed the fan was also a drummer.
“Well, cool, man,” said Jake. “Thanks for coming out. See you next time.”
The fan understood the hint and walked off.
“You okay?” Jake asked with a tilted head.
“Yeah, but I think I’m getting drunk. Maybe we should go,” I lied.
“I know what you mean.” He lifted his empty beer bottle. “Let me go see where I’m at with Phil.”
I surveyed the room and noticed Gina attached to Sam at the hip. There were too many pretty girls in San Diego for her liking. John was on the couch; he had one of those pretty girls in his lap while he talked to three others. Shane stood next to a perfectly groomed and divine young black man. The rest of the crowd were random people, the crew sprinkled among them.
Jake came back with two bottles of water and the all clear to head back to the hotel. As was becoming our ritual, Sam and Gina joined us in the van. They were having a small spat about a particular fan who, in Gina’s opinion, had gone too far. Jake and I sat behind them, holding hands.
Barely audibly and with a drowsy tempo, Jake hummed the first few bars of “Moonlight Drive” from the Doors. I grinned. His playfulness was exactly what I needed.
Gina swung around to us and said, “What is it with you two and the Doors?!”
“It’s Louana’s favorite band,” Jake answered.
“Seriously?” Gina cocked her head.
“No,” I said.
“No?” Jake questioned.
“You guys are my favorite band.”
“Oh my God, you two are so fucking cheesy,” Sam said as he side-eyed us.
Gina wondered what we were going to do the next day and frowned when I said I was going to keep Jake all to myself. We parted ways with promises to meet for dinner before the next show.
When we got to the room, Jake walked directly over to the bed, turned on the lights, and sat down.
“Uhhh?” I pointed back and forth between myself and the door.
“Oh, don’t worry; or maybe you should.” He winked. “That’s definitely happening. I just need proof of your tan lines.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious. Take your clothes off.”
“Jake, the needle has moved from cute to funny to ridiculous, and it’s steadily approaching overbearing.”
He whimpered and rubbed his stubbly cheeks. “I’m sorry. I know it’s irrational. I know it’s even a bit controlling. But I can’t help it. I can’t stand the idea of ano
ther man seeing you the way I get to.”
“You’re ridiculous. I wasn’t going to show my breasts to my boss or business associates.”
“Then prove it.” He shrugged and shot me a hopeful smile.
“Do you know why I do it?” I sauntered over to him.
“Because tan lines make you shee-something I can’t say in French.”
“Chier.” I corrected. “Yes. But there’s more.”
His dark eyes looked up to me.
“When I was eighteen and in France, my grandmother and I were at a beach. She flung her top off and looked over at me to do the same. When I hesitated, she said, ‘You’re a beautiful work of art, meant to be admired. Never be ashamed of your body.’”
“You sunbathe topless as an ode to your grandmother?” He raised an eyebrow, but I knew I’d diffused his annoyance.
“No. Because it’s not always easy to love your body. It’s just a reminder for me.”
“And everybody else.”
“You’re annoying.” My nostrils flared.
“No, I’m selfish. I’m the guy who wants his own private gallery of your boobs.”
I unzipped my dress, shimmied out of the straps, and let it fall to the floor. “These boobs?” My finger toggled in front of my bra.
“The very ones.” He grinned, and I sank a knee down between his legs so my breasts were at his eye level.
“If I show you what you want, are you going to give me what I want?” I pushed him to his back and reached around for the hook of my bra, but waited.
“You show me some tan lines on your fine tits and I will give you much, much more than your front door, baby.”
My teeth tugged at my bottom lip. “Promise?”
“Only if you promise to tell me to stop if it’s too much,” he said.
I let go of the clasp and my pink lace bra fell to his stomach. “Tada! Tan lines.”
His eyes glistened as they danced from my chest and then back up to meet my own eyes.
“Brace yourself, baby. This could be a bumpy ride.”
About ten minutes into it, when he pulled my ponytail back hard, I almost stopped him. But when I realized I was more shocked than hurt, I let him continue. The words I spoke surprised me, and, at the same time, seemed natural in the context of what we were doing. He never degraded me, called me a bitch, or made me feel bad for what was happening. But it was intense, and it was dark at times. Kinky seemed too light of a word to describe it. I had never been pushed so far beyond my boundaries, and I was sure I had never been as turned on.