by Kayti McGee
“A better one if I hadn’t had to explain it.” A pause, as she looks sadly at her avocado toast and jacks some of my eggs instead. A smile, and her fork begins to hover again. “What if I am a sex fiend? I think about it like… a lot. And then in my spare time I read about it. Which only makes me think about it more.”
“Don’t you dare steal that bite. It’s the cheesiest spot and I’m saving it for last. And I bet everyone thinks about sex the same amount. You aren’t really a fiend. Yet.” She moves her fork, but her eyeballs remain on the coveted bite.
“The same amount? That would mean you think about sex constantly. Like even around me. Before this, I mean. Oops, my fork slipped. I’m doing you a favor; this bite wouldn’t have been so good if you waited.”
“It’s not a favor if I’m not the one tasting it.” I give her a long look, sweeping down and then up her body from her toned legs to the spot where they meet. There’s nothing coy about my insinuation. She shivers a little under my gaze, perked nipples showing through her shirt. “And yes, Marlee, I’ve thought about sex around you before.”
“God, maybe we’re both fiends. Are… are we starting?” Seeing as my best bite is gone, there’s no reason not to.
“We are.” Start slow, I remind myself. For my sake as much as hers. I need to stay in control, not do something stupid or blurt something out I’d regret. I grab a banana from the fruit bowl. First thing is to see where she’s at, like what level. I want to see what she does with it.
I’m hard already.
“When you date a gentleman, he’ll make you come before he ever expects anything else. But a man like Richard Thurgood will only care about your orgasms to boost his own ego—they don’t have to be real.”
“You want me to fake it?” She sounds as shocked as she looks.
“Oh, Marlee. You won’t fake it with me. And I’ll make sure you’re well-taken care of. But he’ll expect porn-star theatrics for the entire seven minutes he’s set aside for getting off. First, I’ll show you what to do for him.”
I toss her the banana. I’m keeping this island between us for now. It’s the only thing that could possibly hide how stiff I am, thinking about what her face is going to look like when I show her exactly why she won’t have to fake it.
“Show me what you do with your lips. With your tongue.”
She hesitates for a moment.
“Should I unpeel it, maybe? Like what do you think is best? Technique-wise, but also should I rinse it off first, or…?” She’s nervous. It’s cute. I want to reassure her, calm her down, but so far I think I’ve played this really cool, so it’s probably best if I just stick to my script.
“Stop stalling,” I tell her. “Think of unpeeling it as part of the tease. He’ll already be hard, most likely. The tip is the most sensitive area, so pay extra attention to it.”
I see her face get serious as she plays with the hard tip of the peel and then runs her hand down the shaft, her grasp widening to take in the girth. I narrow my eyes and my breath quickens. I can almost feel what that hand would be like on me.
She plays with the tip of the peel with two fingers, and gently peels one side down. She smiles at me. “Thank God it’s you I’m doing this with. I’d be so self-conscious jerking off a banana in front of anyone else.”
Yeah, I know I’m her backup plan, there’s no need to remind me.
“Good thing I’m here then. Now use your tongue.” I say. “See if you can loosen the other two sides of the peel just with that.”
She slips her tongue between the banana’s flesh and the peel like she’s been doing this her whole life. I knew she was going to be a good student, but I didn’t know she’d be a natural. I watch her slide down the length of one side. She wraps her lips around the third edge of the peel to loosen it and she lets her upper lip drag down the fruit. The banana really doesn’t know what it’s missing without sentience.
“Now just play your tongue around and get to know it. There’s so much you can do just with the tip. I want to see your lips around it, tonguing around in swirls. You can even take it in and out a few times.”
She keeps eye contact locked with me as her mouth takes in the tip. My cock jumps in response. She has both hands wrapped around the lower half of the fruit and I can imagine the pressure of her small hands on my dick. I watch her tongue massage its way along. She’s experimental, trying new strokes and patterns. She’s really going to be really fucking good at this.
“Nice,” I say, because I feel like I should say something instead of just panting at this. Through a supreme force of will my voice stays firm and even. Like a teacher. My fingers are white-knuckled on the edge of the kitchen island, though.
“Take more in now. Think about when you are singing, how you open your throat when you really need the sound to come out. It’s the same logic.” I watch the banana disappear inside her, my voice getting more ragged as I become deeply envious of a piece of fruit. I need a therapist.
“Go slowly.”
She draws her mouth back up, the flesh reappearing inch by inch. My balls are getting tighter and tighter. One of my hands has closed around my throbbing dick, but I don’t dare move it. I might come anyways, though, watching this show. She moves down, so far down, then up again. Just as she’s at the top, her teeth suddenly close down and she bites the tip right off. The tip is gone.
“Jesus fuck!” My tone is panicked and I guess she notices because she looks a little guilty. “Biting is highly discouraged!”
“It just tastes so good,” she says with her mouth full. “I couldn’t help myself. I was done saving the best part.”
Well then. I move my pelvis away from the counter. Even after that unpleasant surprise, I still need to come. Like right now. There’s not room for another thought in my head until I relieve this pressure. I turn and head towards the shower and call out over my shoulder.
“Practice hard. Next time it’s my cock you wrap those pretty lips around.”
Chapter Seven
Jake
“All clean?” she asks me after the shower.
“Everything but my thoughts,” I tell her honestly. And those will never be clean again. Seriously, even if I hadn’t already been carrying a torch for her, how could I ever look at Marlee again without seeing the banana show dance before my eyes? Minus the finale, she would inspire lust in the most devout priest.
I’m bare-chested, still dripping from the shower where I’d gotten off in about ten seconds to her memory, and I could already go again. Previously my instinct had been to hurry to get dressed but after what I just watched her do, I pause, and hold on to the edge of my towel. We could move onto the next lesson so easily and I feel her eyes tracing my abs, the tattoo on my pecs, clearly thinking the same thing.
Just looking at her heart shaped mouth, her morning bedhead that she still hasn’t combed out… but no. I remind myself I’m taking care of her.
It wouldn’t be very protective of me to lose control now.
In fact, it would make me not all that much different than I imagine Thurgood, caring only for my own pleasure and pushing her too far too fast. There have got to be other lessons besides the purely sexual. Then it hits me. Like I mentioned before the sex thing even came up between us, there’s a lot to living in the public eye she’ll want to get used to.
I sure wish someone had talked me and my brothers through the nuances before they threw us to the wolves as kids.
“I’m going to the soft opening of Arizona Amo’s new restaurant tonight. You should come with me. I forgot about it or I would have asked you sooner. Lots of press and pretty scene-y but it’ll just be hor d’oeuvres and drinks. All the networking and none of the sit-down. It’s a good opportunity to practice some plus-one skills.”
“Like, in front of people?” She makes an exaggerated worry-face. I raise an eyebrow.
“Yes, Marlee. Just like every other time we’ve ever grabbed food out. Only this time, we’re purposely going somewhere w
ith photographers instead of a dive we can be low-key in.” And selfishly, I’m more than a little proud of myself for getting to debut Marlee Reed to the press before that dickhead gets ahold of her.
“I’m not ready! What do I wear? What if they hate me? You’d better take a brother instead.” Her hand-wringing is totally adorable, and totally not going to work. I’m showing her off tonight, end of story.
“Oh, yeah,” I say. I clear my throat and shrug. “Jonas is the world’s best date to things like this. You’re right, I’d better tell him what time I’ll pick him up so that he can update his Tinder profile before ditching me after five minutes when someone swipes right.”
“Okay, okay. God, we really need to find him a girl. Someone nice. I’ll get cleaned up and go through my closet, but I’m warning you right now this might require a shopping trip.” She smirks like she’s getting away with something, but the thought of the things we could do in a dressing room are not at all off-putting to me.
“Jonas doesn’t do ‘nice’!” I yell after her as she heads towards her room.
“Yet!” she calls back.
As I get dressed I hear her in the shower. Every time I hear the water splash a different way I think about where the water is meeting her bare body. I can’t help thinking about the soap on her breasts right now, how she’s probably rubbing her hands across them. I think about the way she looked at me before she put her mouth on that banana and I’m stroking myself again, imagining her hands on my thighs and her mouth swallowing me.
I lied earlier. I am definitely thinking about sex way more often than normal these days, and I’m at real risk of turning into a bona fide fiend.
Unlike Nick and his carefully curated collection of vintage rock tees, I’ve never been much of a clothes horse. I wear what’s comfortable, or better yet, what’s been sent to me for free. Before a big event or a tour I let my manager send someone over to outfit me. Tonight, though, I feel the urge to dress a bit more carefully.
I liked how she looked at my body when I got out of the shower.
So I pick a shirt that draws across the muscles she couldn’t stop staring at, then spend way too long buttoning the cuffs, then rolling up the cuffs, then rolling down the cuffs, before deciding casual is best and rolling them up again. God, how do girls live like this? I’m exhausted already.
I finish pulling on a pair of dark, fitted jeans quickly and quit looking in the mirror. All this staring at myself is the first step on the road to Douchetown, and that road only ends in one place—taking selfies at the gym.
I grab my laptop and set up in the living room, plow through a backlog of emails, confirm recording times and studio musicians, throw all of that sexual energy into my work. By the time I look up again, it’s surprisingly late, I’m starving, and the smell of jasmine green tea announces Marlee’s presence just before she walks in.
“Are you ready?” she asks. Like I could ever have been ready for the sight before me.
Her threat to take me shopping hadn’t materialized, but somehow this dress has. Or… half-materialized, I revise my assessment, as she spins and I see the back. Her smooth golden skin is fully exposed all the way down to her ass. In the magic-hour light streaming in through the windows she looks like an actual angel.
If this is a typical export, I’ll never disparage Missouri again.
Her hair cascades down in waves that look effortless, even though I’m positive she spent an hour on them. I’ve learned a lot by living with a girl, but the fact that a natural look takes twice as long as an overt one was the most shocking.
“Do you like it?” she asks, looking almost shy.
“It’s fine,” I say, and look away. Because it kind of hurts to look at her, so pretty and perfect and so very much not mine. Luckily, that’s when our driver calls, so I get up and grab my wallet and phone, shove them in my pockets.
I open the door for her and look away as she curves her body into the back of the limo because I know her ass will be too available and I won’t be able to stop myself from pressing against her. When I get in I keep my body close to the door. I need as much space between us as possible because even from here I can feel her, can smell her perfume and every time she crosses and uncrosses her legs I’m not certain I’ll be able to keep myself from touching her.
But that doesn’t keep her from touching me.
I feel her fingers on my collar and try not to shiver when they graze my neck. I wonder if she likes the limo. It’s not the kind of car I normally would have chosen for an event like this, but I want to impress her. Something about how unimpressed she is by the glitter and pomp of Hollywood makes me want to work extra hard to show her that she deserves every bit of it.
“This is a good color on you,” she says. I’ll probably wear baby blue for the rest of my life now. She glances down at her body and if I were her I would be looking at my body all day too. “Is this dress too much, do you think? It’s been sitting in my closet because there never seems to be an appropriate time to wear it and that could still be true.”
“Nah,” I say. All eyes are going to be on her, and I’ll be the lucky man on her arm. I can’t wait. “It’s totally fine. All the sex fiends are wearing backless dresses these days.”
She smiles that big midwestern beam of sunshine at me and I feel gratified. Totally fine was a real fucking understatement. If I let myself really show her how good I think she looks, that dress won’t be on her anymore. I spend the ride humming a new song I’m working on, following the chords through my feelings. Maybe she’s nervous because she just looks out the window the whole time. Still, there’s something intimate about having this time together where we don’t have to say anything at all.
You know. Like friends do.
When we pull up to the restaurant there’s a decently-sized cluster of paparazzi and official press waiting. For a moment it looks like she’s about to open her own door and I put my hand to her knee to stop her. The contact is electric and even though my instinct is telling me to pull my hand away, I need to act the part here, so I keep it cupped firm on her warm skin.
“He’ll open the door on my side. I’ll step out and then reach a hand in to help you out.” And then, because I’m worried that I should have spent the ride telling her more about how these red carpets work, I add, “Just channel your inner Mona Lisa when the hubbub starts. They’ll yell questions but we’ll just smile, okay?”
“Oh, I wasn’t about to ramble all my weird shit at them. I’ll be silent as the grave.” Frankly, that would be a first and she knows it, but it is completely overwhelming when you step into a storm of flashbulbs and shouts, all wanting to know the most personal things and all at the same time.
My driver opens the door and I step out, put on my blank face again. I pause for a quick pose before reaching my hand in to pull Marlee out. The sound of the flashes popping off is a sound I usually despise but this time it’s adding to the feeling of anticipation because I’m going to see her in that outfit through the world’s eyes. She swings her mile-long legs out first before anyone can see her face. It’s pure Old Hollywood professionalism, and I offer a proud smile as she takes my hand and stands. She presses her body against me and smiles at the cameras just like I said.
I wrap my arm around her waist and shake my head at the, “Who is she?” “New girl, Jake?” and “Can we expect to hear some songs about her on the new record?”
Of course they will, but I’m not about to say it in front of her.
“Put your hand on my chest,” I whisper towards her and she does for a moment. We step into the line, glued together like this and I bring my lips down to her ear again.
“This will change, but for now, you’re just a curiosity. This will happen with Thurgood too. In a minute they’ll wave you off for solo shots of me, just ignore anyone who tries to talk you up and get your story.”
“Jake,” a photographer calls, right on cue. “Can we get a picture of you over here?”
I walk
her over with me and then position her just off to the side.
I step a bit forward and slip my hands in my pockets, give them the pose they’re looking for.
Then I motion her towards me and we take a few shots like the ones near the limo and I hold her against me once again. It feels so good, the curve of her hip and the press of her thigh. She doesn’t seem to mind this proximity. Maybe I can do it more often, in quieter places. Like at home.
“Give me the scoop, Jake, you know we’ll find out soon. Who’s your girlfriend?” Marlee’s eyes go wide but she’s professional and keeps smiling, even laughs a little, but I feel the tension in her body. I give the guy a wink even as tension is building in me that I can’t actually call her that.
“Will Richard be mad, do you think?” she murmurs.
“He’ll love that you’re already getting some attention. Men like him don’t care about much but how it makes them look. And if there are rumors that you’ve left me for him, he’ll think it makes his dick sound bigger.”
“I can’t wait to see how big yours gets in my mouth,” she whispers back, but new arrivals are walking up so I just place a hand on the small of her back, keep walking, and exercise every last ounce of self-control not to show her right here on the last stretch of the carpet. She moves away from me as we enter Cholla, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
It takes a moment for our eyes to adjust in the dim restaurant from the daylight outside. It’s a space as absolutely gorgeous as she is, and if she remains unimpressed I’ll eat my socks. The pine boards under our feet and massive live cacti scattered around recall the desert, but instead of endless blue sky, there are mirrors everywhere. Cocktail tables topped with small succulents replace dining tables and it’s easy, thanks to the reflections, to glance around and decide who to talk to first without looking like you are hoping to schmooze.
It’s clever, but also helpful. I’m not about to leave Marlee to the mercy of some of the coyotes I see around the room.