by Kayti McGee
“First we’ll grab drinks, and then we’ll take a tour around the room before trying any food. This way we can position ourselves exactly where we want to network. When you’re with Thurgood, he’ll probably follow the typical pattern. Greet the host first, quick hellos to the up-and-comers he wants to be seen with, then the rest of the event he’ll be all clique-d up with the big money, big stars, and big directors.”
She’s only partially listening to me when she nods her head across the room.
“Makes sense. But dude, look. That’s Garner Lee,” she says. “And that’s Francesca Bardi. Holy shit.”
“Language, kid.” I say lightly, elbow her. “You’ve got to think about the image you’re projecting, and potty-mouth isn’t going to work.” She play-punches my arm.
“You didn’t think there was anything wrong with my mouth this morning.”
God, I could flirt like this all night, but I’m trying to behave, so I take it back to the matter at hand.
“You won’t want to sass or punch Thurgood, though. Even if you guys are having a great time. He won’t like the way it looks to his crowd.” Her face sobers. I bet she hadn’t even considered the fact that her personality is completely extraneous to their deal. That it won’t even be wanted.
“Right. Thanks for the tip, Mr. Ryder. Let’s take the same route that he would take, then, might as well have the full dress-rehearsal experience.” Fine by me, because I would far rather be taking the lead on this whole how to work a room thing than spend any more time fighting the bulge in my jeans that won’t stop as long as my eyes are on her in this dress.
“I don’t see Arizona, he’s probably in the kitchen overseeing everything, so we’ll skip the host-first rule. Next are the up-and-comers, but seeing as I don’t really hang out with the acting crowd, we’re going to sub out for some musicians I know over there.”
A passing server stops to offer drinks and a little spiel about them. “These are Cholla’s signature cocktails, made with an aged mezcal, prickly-pear syrup, and topped with our house-made rose-lime soda.”
We each take one, and I can see Marlee’s confidence rocket already, as fate has landed a cup full of pink shit in her hand just when she’s probably needing it the most. I wait until the girl with the tray moves on before continuing.
“This will be a real softball intro. These are mostly people I’ve known for a long time, so they’ll be curious about you and probably nice, even.”
“Probably?” she asks, taking a long, fortifying sip. “It’s not as good as Jonas’s, but still, decent pink shit. What do you mean probably?”
“Oh, Marlee.” My heart breaks a little at how little she still knows about the vicious nature of this town. “We’ll have that talk later. Right now, just follow along, memorize names, and don’t mention being a fan of anything they’ve done unless you have a specific compliment about their performance.”
“What if I hated their performance?” she asks. “We both know I have no poker face.”
“By the end of this little pact with the devil you’ve made, you sure will.” I start walking instead of waiting for her to protest.
We start with my quasi-friends first, mostly aging hipsters with solid alt-rock careers and some early 2000’s pop stars that I grew up touring with. You’d think that gives us a lot in common, but I rarely find a lot to talk about with most of that crowd. I like making music, especially the composition part, but the performance and the fame always seem more important to other people than to me.
“You finally brought a date to something,” my friend Felix says predictably.
“Marlee, this is Felix Shadow, the best guitarist in the industry.” I mean it, too.
“Oh, of course. You did work on Jake’s last album,” she says. “That solo on Forward Motion was kickass. I’ve danced to it like a million times.”
“Oh?” He raises a diamond-pierced eyebrow. “You dance?”
“Professionally,” I tell him, always proud of her accomplishments.
“Ohhhhhhh…” The other brow rises as well. “I see.” Before I can correct the assumption he’s clearly made—why does everyone keep doing that?—Marlee jumps in.
“He plucked me from the obscurity of a club in Kansas City, and he says he’s going to make me a star,” My jaw drops. So does his. “Let me know if you want a private dance later.”
“I mean… okay. I, um, hear nice things about Kansas. Like The Wizard of Oz?” he offers lamely.
“Oh for fuck’s sake. Missouri. Missouri. Why do people always do that? Also, I’m not really a stripper. We met when I choreographed one of his music videos. But thank you for being nice anyways.” She looks pointedly at me, but I’m not sure she’s really made her point at all.
“A firecracker! I like her,” Felix says. Marlee smiles and leans against me. I let my hands come around to her waist and feel the back of her thighs press against the front of mine. I let my fingers play with the narrow curve of her hip. The fabric between us is so thin. It’s hard for me to stay present in conversation but it turns out I don’t need to. She and Felix and a few other people are off and running. She seems to know everything and what she doesn’t know she actually asks about.
Unlike almost everyone I’ve met here who seems afraid to admit they don’t know something.
All I want to know right now is under this dress.
But it turns out Marlee Reed is a natural at casual networking. Before we part ways in search of sustenance, Felix points out another musician that Marlee should meet.
“She is the next big thing, I swear to you. And she’s got this killer concept for a string of videos for the concept album she’s mastering right now. I know for a fact she’s looking for a lead who can dance. Tell her I sent you and here’s my card.”
We part ways and Felix gives me that dude, I approve nod and I play the part. Only half-acting, of course. She’s not my new girl, but I do care that she impressed them all so effortlessly. And I do feel as possessive over her as I do of my beloved custom Gretsch guitar.
We pass a tray of chile-adorned banana and both die laughing, much to the confusion of the poor server, who just keeps repeating, “it’s very popular.” Instead, Marlee collects us a few street tacos filled with hibiscus flowers and I grab us each a little dish of grilled octopus tentacles that we dip in molé sauce to eat. A corner table opens up, and we agree that the food is fucking delicious but that we’ll need approximately twenty-eight more tiny plates to fill up.
I’m looking out at the room trying to spot the next person Marlee should meet when she puts a hand on my arm. She has rescued a strawberry from the latest round of spiked agua-fresca pink drinks and I watch her mouth take it in, the pink inside of her bottom lip rolling out as she worked back and forth on the fruit’s red flesh, keeping eye contact with me through each deliberate pulse of her mouth. She removes it and shows it to me, no marks, no bruises before letting the whole thing disappear behind her lips.
“Hey, guess what?” she says. “Not only am I improving, I’m also not wearing underwear.”
I immediately drop my tentacle.
We say quick goodbyes, tell people I have to record in the morning. Maybe I should feel bad for cutting her evening short, but she’s already got a meeting set up for next week about that video shoot and there’s no possible way I can spend another moment watching her ass in that dress knowing what I now know.
The limo door is hardly shut before I’m unbuttoning my pants, and she is running her hands up my leg, ready to free my eager dick from the fabric of my jeans. I don’t know if I’ve ever been as focused on anything like I am on her hands tearing down my zipper.
Whether I’m a sex fiend or not remains undetermined, but I can honestly say I’ve never wanted anyone like this.
Chapter Eight
Marlee
Jake hit the button for the glass to go up between us and the driver, and I was off to the goddamn races, if by races you mean blowjobs. I feel clumsy, but it d
oesn’t seem to be bothering him one bit.
I’m so ready for this. After thinking about it all day and then having all the nerve-wracking and thrilling adrenaline from my first real public appearance running through me, it’s kind of a wonder I didn’t just crawl under one of those hand-carved tables at Cholla and go for it right there.
I had imagined the details of his body this morning when he was in a towel and I’d stared at the sculpted muscles of his abdomen and the trail of hair that traveled down from the taut skin below his belly button, the swell of the veins. But nothing could have prepared me for the sight when I finally get his boxers and jeans down, his erection intimidatingly large.
Like every single smutty book I’ve ever read, and yet somehow all those descriptive words fail to encompass what it’s like to have an actual real life cock in front of me.
The limo makes a gentle turn, reminding me where we are but who the fuck cares if it’s the backseat of a limo or a Ford Taurus or a city bus? It just reminds me that everyone else did this for the first time back in high school when I was immersed in the normal kind of extracurriculars.
I am ready. I am eager. I am going to try real hard not to fuck this up.
I go to swallow his dick, but remember my lessons before I do anything too egregious. I have enough sense to wrap my lips around the tip. Like the strawberry, not the banana. I run my tongue along the ridge, sampling the last vestiges of his body wash along with something even more manly, and I can’t wait to taste all of it.
I wait for him to give me instructions, but his eyes are closed tight and his hands are tangling wildly in my hair. Apparently I’m doing okay so far, then. I slide my mouth farther down his shaft . I go even slower as I draw my mouth back up. This morning his voice got so ragged watching me go slow that I knew he must like that. I want him to touch my breasts but he can’t reach them from there, so I rub my nipples against the leather of the seat.
It’s not nearly as good as his fingers, but it’s enough to make me give a little moan. At that, he leaps in my mouth. Well, well, it looks like I’m picking up new tricks left and right today. I bring my focus back to the tip and spend time sucking on it like I mean it.
Every time I moan, so does he. His hand rests firmly on the back of my head, but he doesn’t apply pressure. I’m grateful for that. Some of the things I’ve read, man, I’m not ready for. But I know he wants his whole cock engulfed so I let him pop out of my mouth long enough to slide some of the moisture down his length with my hand.
Working in tandem, my fingers and my tongue do better work than either one separately, it turns out. The gentle pressure on the back of my head turns to caresses as his hands move through my hair.
“You are so beautiful. Your mouth. Holy shit. You’re incredible.” There’s that gruff tone I was waiting for.
He is getting harder and thicker, though it seems impossible. He pulls my hair and wow, I really like that. I start to move faster, to encourage him, but without losing any of the focus of my tongue or my lips.
Just a few months ago the thought of giving my first BJ was completely mortifying, but the way Jake is watching me right now, his mouth open, his hands pushing me and pulling me like I’m part of him with no last-minute advice makes me feel confident and excited. Maybe I can do this after all.
This sex fiend life is better than I dreamed.
I recognize the feel of the turn off the freeway and know that our time is limited. I want to swallow for him, want to know what it’s like to taste it, to feel him explode. I squeeze my hand around his shaft and stroke as I suck. His moans are getting faster and I increase my focus, stay steady on my pressure, feel the pulse deep inside him.
“Oh my god,” he says, pulling my hair again, and that inspires me to snake one hand around his lower back and pull him to me, feel the tip press against the back of my throat, my muscles contracting to swallow and he groans like he’s getting lost in my body.
And then pushes me off.
“I’m so close,” he says. “But we’re here and I want the driver to get to go home.” He pulls me up, my face close to his, and kisses me, delving deeper, his tongue touching all the places his cock just was. I’m so glad we did this after the restaurant and not before because there is certain to be a wet spot on my fancy dress. He bites my lip and I shudder.
“You are my best student,” he says. Is it weird to feel jealous that maybe that isn’t a joke and that he’s sex-life-coached girls before? Probably, but that doesn’t stop me. “I can’t wait to get you inside.”
I can’t help but giggle in anticipation. Not that I make a regular practice out of pot brownies, but it’s the best way I have to describe this body high, the way my head feels like it could float off my body at every sensation, the sound of his zipper, his belt pulling closed, the wind on my skin. He walks in front of me and I follow him, admiring the way his pants fit just-so over his firm ass.
When we cross the threshold to the house I’m ready to drop to my knees and finish where we left off. I feel like I won’t be able to sleep again until I’m tasting him in my mouth but he catches me, his arms circling around my back and presses me up against the wall.
My breath catches and if it was hard to look in his eyes before our lessons started, now it’s twice as hard to look away.
I’ve never been this worked up by someone, thanks for nothing Johnathan, to want them this badly. I groan as I feel his cock pressing against my thigh. Now that I know what it looks like, what it feels like, I could easily see it becoming an addiction.
My head tilts back and I feel his strong lips against my neck, his hot breath, his tongue circling on my skin. His hands slide up from around my back, over my ribs, as my breasts come loose from the low cut of my dress and fill his hands. I feel dizzy as he rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
A thousand times better than the leather seats.
“A gentleman would let you come first, remember?” he whispers in my ear. His other hand smooths up my leg, higher to where I’m so wet and swollen I can’t even remember my own name. His fingers part the lips of my pussy and he exhales as his finger strokes at my opening. I’m suddenly aware of how ready I am for him. My thighs tremble at his touch, not from nervousness this time, but from the sparks of pleasure extending down my legs.
“Besides, you deserve a reward for all your hard work.”
Yes, yes I do. And the pressure of his fingers is exactly the one I want.
I start to shake more and I press my body against him to hold myself up. I run my hand along the bulge in his pants, heavier and harder than before.
“I want to finish my second lesson still,” I say. Just so’s he doesn’t think I’m going to become a bad sport or anything. He draws his hand away from my nipple and presses his finger against my lips. I take it into my mouth like his dick, drawing him in all the way and allowing my mouth to be pliable as he slides a second, then a third finger between my lips which I suck eagerly, looking into his eyes. He smiles.
“Oh don’t worry,” he says. “I’m going to let you finish. And you’re going to swallow every drop I give you. This is your incentive.” I gasp as he draws his hand out of my mouth and presses it back to my breast, the shock of air-conditioning on newly wet sensitive skin a delightful surprise. His mouth is hot on my neck as he strums his fingertips over the bundle of nerves crying out for him.
“You’re so ready for me.” He starts to roll my clit between his thumb and forefinger. Slowly at first, and then quick and light. My legs shake so badly I legit might fall over as he increases his pressure before slowing down again, dipping lower.
He knows how to touch me and I don’t know why I didn’t come up with this idea sooner, maybe without a contract involved, that I should really have started banging my roommate immediately upon move-in.
Warmth is spreading up from my pelvis and I’m consumed with the sensation of wanting more and I’ve never felt anything like this connection between us. My cries are ge
tting more urgent. He brings his knuckles back up to my clit and starts massaging me in slow circles and then faster, the pressure increasing and I lean my whole weight into his hand. It feels like he is suspending me here, that the only gravity that exists is this spot where he joins me.
“This is so good,” he breathes into my neck. “Do you know how insane your body is? How insane you are?” I can’t respond because I’m overwhelmed by what’s happening, but yes, I am fully aware that I am insane. Because again, we could have been doing this for weeks.
I feel the tension climbing out of my core, spreading through my hips as I close in on the prize he’s offering me.
As if on cue, he matches the hand massaging my breast with the rhythm of his hand between my legs. I open my mouth when I feel the pulse ripple through my whole body and I’m singing out and riding his hand, moving in rhythm with him. He gasps against me for a moment, the sound of my voice still echoing outside of my body and I feel the warmth and tenderness of his body as he holds me.
“Welp,” I say. “Is there even a point to telling you that’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me? Cause, like, obviously it is.”
“Oh, Marlee,” he says for the second time tonight. “The best is truly yet to come.” His kisses cut off my snicker because he said come and I just did. But I am not finished here, so it’s off to the races once again.
I can still feel little aftershocks of my orgasm as I drop down to my knees and allow myself the luxury of teasing him with a very, very slow unzipping. I let my lips play on the downy hair of his lower abdomen as his cock waits eagerly for my attention. I’m not even thinking of the lesson anymore, I feel like I can make this my own dance now as I swirl my tongue along the head, breathe on it the way he breathed hot on my neck.
When I finally let my lips circle around it, I slide him all the way into my mouth, as deep as I took it in the limo.
“Marlee. Fuck. That. That…”
I remember what he said in the lesson, to open my throat like I’m singing, and I do and I feel my gag reflex trigger and then disappear as he disappears into the back of my throat, gets even harder and fills the width of my mouth. I run my hands up the back of his thighs to his ass and press him to me and I feel the strength of his thrust and this feels like all my best moments of dancing, all my best moments of singing when I’m open and right there.