by Kendall Grey
“When we get to Denver, we’ll have a couple days off. Shades said he’d get us rooms at his dad’s hotel there,” Jillian says coolly.
“What do I care?” Lizzie replies. A slow-moving cloud of smoke filters through the window.
“If you wanted a break from this box, I could probably find a free bed there for you.” I imagine Jillian sitting with crossed legs, hunched over a little, puffing on her cigarette, dismissing the rude comment with a shrug.
“What if I want to share it with Beth?” The sneer in Lizzie’s voice is almost palpable. What a snotty bitch.
“The offer stands.”
Silence follows. Then more talking, but I can’t make out what Lizzie says. Sounds like she moved away from the window. I lean closer, straining to hear.
“Now, this is low,” Shades whispers beside me. Nearly jumping out of my skin, I cover my mouth to stifle a squeal.
I grab him and usher him toward our bus. “What the hell are you doing, sneaking up on me? I almost lost sphincter control.”
“Why were you eavesdropping?” He jerks a thumb in the opposite direction.
“Because … because I … oh fuck it. You won’t understand.”
He stops. “No, tell me. What won’t I understand?” He inches forward and lowers his voice. “Ever since I broke my dick, you’ve hardly said ten words to me. I’m starting to wonder if our relationship is based solely on what my cock can provide for you in the orgasm department.”
I screw up my face. “What are you talking about? If I recall correctly, we quit communicating when your bastard child and ex-wife showed up. That’s when shit when south between us. Your,” I glance down, “current state was the result of an attempt gone wrong to patch severed lines, babe.”
He squares his broad shoulders and leans over me like a menacing wall. “Well, I’m sorry a mistake I made a year ago—before I even met you—has filled you with so much jealousy. I don’t know how many more times or how many different ways I have to say it, but frankly, I’m getting pretty fucking tired of repeating myself. You’ve stockpiled plenty of ammunition to shoot me down at every fucking turn.
“I’m sorry, Letty. I’m sorry I was married to someone before you. I’m sorry I fathered a child that isn’t yours. I’m sorry my dick is busted and I can’t fuck you proper, since that seems to be your main excuse to avoid me lately. I’m sorry for failing at every fucking thing I’ve ever done to try to make you happy.”
My defensive shields fly up to protect my suddenly bruised heart. I thrust a hand to his sternum and push him. “Whoa, buddy. You’re gettin’ mighty personal. I told you I’m not happy about this situation. I can’t change the way I feel. I can’t make this pain,” I beat my chest with a fist, “go away. You hurt me, Shades. I mean, deep.”
Tears build at the corners of my lids, and I’m glad for the darkness. Maybe fessing up to the pain is the first step toward healing. Because clearly, I’ve been doing everything but healing since this bullshit started, despite my self-assurances that I’m okay. If I’m honest with myself, neither the baby nor the fact that he screwed another chick has anything to do with my jealousy. It’s that he loved someone else enough to marry her. The kid and Eliza’s presence on the tour are collateral damage. Marriage isn’t something I take lightly, which is why I never bothered caring about it before now.
Here’s the part where I need him to pull me close and hold me and stroke my hair and tell me it’ll be all right. Where he reminds me again I’m the spark that ignites his pilot light, the soul behind his music, the warm ache behind his ribs.
He doesn’t.
I rub my arms.
“I love you, pussycat, but you’re making it really hard for me to live with you lately.”
I jerk back, and the wall in my chest clenches tighter around the muscle it guards. He might as well have punched me. “Wow. I guess I know where you stand. From now on, you can have your bunk to yourself. Or share it with Eliza and your,” I almost say stupid, but I bite the word off before it sneaks out, “kid. I don’t care.”
He closes the distance between us and leans down to my face. “Don’t even go there, Letty. You push me away when I need you to try to be understanding and empathetic for once in your selfish life, and you’re gonna lose me. Not to Eliza or Gabrielle but to your own stubborn pride.” His eyes flash in the darkness.
I slap him. Hard. It’s the only reply I’ve got.
Lip curled, he grabs my wrist. “I mean it. I can’t take this jealousy shit anymore. You walk away from me, and we’re done.”
“Fine,” I eke out between clenched teeth. “We’re done, asshole.” I shove his hand off my arm and stomp up the steps, leaving a trail of steam in my wake.
I rush toward my bunk, tumble into the bedicle, and throw the curtain shut. Trembling from top to bottom, I hug my pillow tight and bleed tears all over it.
Birthday Eve
The next two days pass without so much as a word to Shades. I spend all my free time in my bunk, staring at the ceiling, trying to get lost in Zeppelin and Hendrix. Not even my favorite bands can pull me out of this funk. I refuse to apologize for my feelings. I won’t admit defeat or guilt to Shades or anyone else.
Fuck him. Fuck them all.
We play back-to-back gigs in Oklahoma City and Wichita, and then we’re off to Denver. After the show there, we regroup on the couches in front of the bus. Jillian conducts her usual debrief, but she seems distant. Distracted. Once she goes through the few action items on her list, she debarks and heads—I assume—for the Banging Betties’ bus. I shake my head after her, thoroughly disgusted. With everything.
Eve stands and casually braces her hands above her on the bulkhead. “Are we still on for tomorrow night?”
Everyone knows exactly what she’s talking about. Birthday Club. So, Eve wants to start the festivities a little early? I sneak a glance at Shades. I’m definitely down with that.
All attention fixes on Shades, who’s staring at something on the floor. The ensuing silence must catch his attention. He sits up and opens his hands. “Oh, yeah. I can get us into the rooms tonight if you want. Whatever.”
Eve smiles wickedly. “Yes. I want.”
She scares me a little. A former stripper/prostitute who’s woman enough to wrangle Rax and keep his wanton desires and needs on a short rope deserves respect. She definitely has mine.
Shades nods. “You got it.” He clenches his jaw and then gives Freddie directions to the Denver Armstrong Suites. Off we go.
Shades’s dad is a rich son of a bitch. His hotels have provided the band with plenty of great shagging opportunities in the past, and tonight and tomorrow will be no exception.
I glance out the window. Banging Betties’ bus follows us. I hope to hell Shades didn’t get them free rooms too, though I’m pretty sure he did. He’s awfully magnanimous where Eliza is concerned, though it’s no longer my concern.
Shades secures the accommodations and returns to the bus with keys. We all grab our gear and trudge down the stairs. We gather in the cold outside the main doors. Freddie has his own room, and so does Jillian. There’s no mention of Banging Betties, though they parked beside us. Shades waits for Jillian to debark and passes her a key. A few words are exchanged, and he rejoins us. I cast a final look toward the pink bus as we wander inside. Silence and stillness reign supreme. Fuck them.
The elevator spits out the Killer Buzz Float band members and Eve just outside the top floor penthouse suite, which is nothing short of immaculate. Two thousand square feet of plush carpet, rich fixtures, four bedrooms, four baths, a kitchen, fully stocked bar, and a wraparound balcony with stunning views of the Rocky Mountains. It’s fucking aces. Mr. Armstrong Sr. never disappoints. If I ever meet the old man, I’ll be sure to tell him, though it seems a pretty distant possibility at this point.
Once the beds are claimed—Shades and I snag separate rooms—and we’re all showered, Eve calls us to the living room where we plant our asses on the black leather sectional and wait
eagerly for her instructions.
Eve shakes out her shiny jet hair and stands before us like a Russian goddess. “I want everyone to get comfortable with each other before tomorrow. We’re going to sleep on the floor in here tonight. Together.” Her eyes sparkle. “Naked.”
The room gives off a collective exhale as asses readjust in seats and tension thickens. She unhooks the first few buttons of her nightshirt, hands moving downward at a lazy tempo. My attention gets a massive hard-on.
She begins pacing, slowly undoing the rest of those buttons with strong, experienced fingers. Saliva floods my mouth. Naked. In a pile on the floor with her. And Rax. And Toombs. And Jinx.
And Shades.
Forget about him.
“Tonight’s for looking. Smelling. Touching, if you want. Get to know each other’s bodies. But most importantly, flip off the little switch in your head that fills you with inhibitions and worry and doubt and let the reptilian part of your brain—the one that controls your most basic, primal functions—take over. Your mantra for the next twenty-four hours is this: If it feels good, do it.”
This is a plan I can get down with. Feeling Shades’s gaze on me, I resist the urge to rub my hands together.
Eve’s shirt hangs open. She unclasps her bra—I love how theatrical this bitch is, wearing a bra under her pajamas—from the front and maneuvers the delicate pink fabric up and down, teasing us with hints of flesh but no money shot. Damn, she’s good. She licks her hand, palm to fingertips, and rouses a perfect rose-colored bud with gentle squeezes. Then she cups her tits for our inspection. Mine’s not the only tongue wagging.
“We all agreed to do this,” she reminds us. “Everyone’s okay with it. We all know the rules.”
Right. I got ’em memorized:
1.No drugs or alcohol allowed (so everyone’s of sound mind when the insanity commences).
2.The girls are on birth control (so we don’t have any more unexpected surprises. Right, Shades? GRRR …).
3.Sex remains between the six of us only (we’ve all tested negative for STDs, so YAY for free-for-all fucking!).
4.No acts are hidden (so everyone knows what everyone else is getting up to. Full disclosure and all.).
5.All ass play requires a condom—except between couples—and fresh condoms are used when switching partners or going ass to pussy. (This is a sensible precaution to avoid nasty infections, but it takes a little of the fun out of it. When Shades and I—)
Nope. Nope. Not going there.
Jinx’s foot taps wildly on the carpet, her knee bounces, and her breaths rush. Toombs lays a hand on her thigh and lifts a questioning brow. She shakes her head and refocuses on Eve. He slips his fingers between hers and squeezes gently.
Eve continues. “Everything that happens here is safe and stays between us and only us. If at any point over the next twenty-four hours, you decide you want out or need a break, excuse yourself and take whatever time you need. But remember, your partner agreed to this too. No jealousy allowed. This is pure, unfiltered pleasure. Expose yourself to the elements around you, channel them, and let go. Predator. Prey. Live in the moment. Any questions?”
Not a damn one from me.
Jinx and Toombs exchange wary glances, but neither says anything. Rax wears the snarkiest smirk I’ve ever seen on him. The bas-relief of a fat, juicy sausage fills the expanse of denim to the right of his fly as he leans into the cushions. Ah, I remember his cock well. I glance at Toombs. Can’t wait to clamp my mouth on his dick. Or to feel his beads pounding my pussy and giving my clit what for.
Shades be damned.
Eve shrugs out of her top, tosses the bra at Rax, and shimmies out of her pajama bottoms. No underwear beneath. Completely bald and perfect pink lips part demurely at the crux of her legs. “Okay. Everyone strip.”
“Hell, yeah!” I stand without a trace of the hesitation everyone else seems to be encumbered by and lift my T-shirt over my head. I don’t have Eve’s mad stripper skills, but I do have a pretty decent body and I ain’t afraid to let it all hang out. I’ve been waiting for this night a long damn time.
Here’s the thing about Birthday Club. You get your deepest desires, in a guilt-free, safe environment. Someone else orchestrates the scene, so technically, you’re just doing what they tell you to. No guarantees you’ll get off, but no judgments if you do.
When we first conceived the idea a few months ago, it started off as a joke. A silly pissing contest where we sat around on the bus couches, too much tequila in our bellies, laughing about who we’d like to do in the band and how. It was nothing more than a wild, untethered fantasy.
But as the discussion snowballed, everyone came clean. We each became more and more honest about our desires. Pretty soon, we looked at each other, half-shrugging, half-serious, and said, “What the hell? Why not give it a try?”
We agreed certain, thoroughly disgusting things (like shit play—shiver) were off the table. The Birthday Bitch orchestrates the activities, and you have to do as he or she instructs or else you sit out for the rest of the person’s birthday.
Everyone established his or her specific hard limits up front. Rax won’t take it up the ass, for example. Eve wants no active participation in any sex acts, but she loves watching, and she’s fine with Rax doing as he pleases. Not sure what that’s about, considering people used to pay to have sex with her, but to each her own.
Me? I have no limits. Neither does Shades.
Not that he matters.
Part of our pact is when midnight rolls around, and the birthday ends, we pretend nothing ever happened. Nobody speaks of Birthday Club or acts on any lingering desires until the next birthday. Hell of a way to whet an appetite for fucking, huh?
Tomorrow will be our inaugural run. We agreed to give it a one-year trial. After everyone’s worn the crown for a day, we’ll decide if it’s a tradition we want to continue.
The most important thing is, we’re strictly sexually exclusive among the six of us. I may be getting prudish in my old age, but I kinda like the idea of keeping sex in our little family, so to speak. If anyone breaks the trust by dipping their wick outside the group, they’re out. We don’t fuck around—literally or figuratively—when it comes to people’s health.
I study my bandmates in turn. We’re good-looking motherfuckers. I know from experience with some of them and observations of the others that we each have certain erotic talents all can benefit from.
Sex is sex. Love is love. And this poor, fuck-deprived nympho would happily have her pussy pounded by any configuration of the rock gods and goddesses before me.
“You heard the birthday girl,” I say. “Get your fucking clothes off!” I release The Girls from the double occupancy tomb of the gem-encrusted bra Shades bought me (Eve isn’t the only theatrical bitch in this bunch) and toss the expensive thing to the floor. I challenge Jinx to follow my lead with a neck jerk, indicating the discarded lingerie.
Her shoulders rise and fall with a sigh, and she tugs her shirt over her head. Toombs smiles, hunger nestled patiently behind his eyes, and loses his shirt too. Eve folds her tall frame into Rax’s lap, pale calves dangling off the side of the armchair, and puts him in a deep lip lock while fumbling with his zipper.
I turn accusingly to Shades, who hasn’t moved.
“Guess I’m sitting this one out,” he mumbles, glancing at his crotch.
Poor, dick-broken Shades. Hope he enjoys watching.
Without another word, he stands and heads toward his bedroom. The door closes behind him.
A pang of guilt hits me right between the ribs. I ignore it. We all agreed to the terms. He certainly doesn’t have to participate.
Though I kinda wish he’d have stayed in the living room where he could at least see what’s going on. We might be broken up, but … It doesn’t feel right without him here.
I survey the smooching couples. Looks like I’m the odd one out, which isn’t so far from the usual. I drag pillows from the couch to the floor and
toss a couple blankets over the carpet. “Let’s go to bed,” I say with a wistful glance toward Shades’s shut door.
Love Fountains, Pearl Clutching, and Snake Venom
The next morning, I wake up uncharacteristically warm. Something heavy presses against my thigh, a human paperweight crushes my chest, and my pussy’s wetter than usual, which says a lot.
I blink a few times to clear the sleep-blur from my vision and start to get up, but my arm is trapped at my side. I smack my lips in an attempt to gather a little spit for rehydrating my very dry mouth. Must’ve slept with it hanging open again. Shades says I—
Shades. He’s not here.
Damn it.
I bend a knee, and fingers that aren’t mine slip out of my twat. That explains the glut down there. A blond head pins my tits to either side of my torso. A tattooed arm crosses an intersection of crashed bodies—how many, I’m not sure. Near as I can tell, Jinx is sprawled over my chest, Toombs is curled behind her on the right, Rax is the owner of the errant, pussy-kissed fingers on my left and probably the source of the heaviness on that thigh, and Eve—I lift the thin sheet and take a peek under as best I can—yep, Eve lies on Rax’s other side, white fingers curled loosely around his cock.
“Well, aren’t we a big happy family,” I mutter, glancing toward Shades’s still-closed door.
Last night wasn’t what you probably think. Not much happened. But what did happen was a nice warm-up for what could happen today.
There was touching. God, yes. But only touching. Except for Eve, who asked us to leave her be and focus on each other. Whatever. More of everyone else for me.
I’ve been with Rax before, so there were no surprises lurking under his clothes when he took them off, though memories of our one past rendezvous with Shades and promises of our near future bloomed and spiced the air, giving my nose just the right grindstone to hump.
But the sex toy I most want to take for a spin (which has now been bumped to the top of my wish list) is Toombs. When he stripped last night, revealing a smattering of angry purple bruises on his chest, my insides crumbled. I imagined Jinx going to town on him with her drumsticks, beating the ever-loving shit out of him while he smiled up at her with the look I’ve seen him give her in private.