Brandon and I exchange a glance.
Jordan isn’t done yet. “I mean, that’s obviously not really a direction we want to go in. If anything, this new album should be harder, more in-your-face. Not weak shite.”
“Yeah, only we’re thinking maybe it’s time we grow up a little, like our audience is doing,” Jason says, his face taut. “Them seem to love this different direction. It’s just a slight change of course.”
“It’s a total sell-out, that’s what it is.” Jordan is adamant as he looks around the room for support that’s not coming.
“Well fuck, I guess I’m out-voted,” he says. “Okay then, let’s write something. But I’m going to do everything I can to keep it real.” He turns to me and bows, sweeping his arm before him with his head down. “If that’s okay with Her Highness,” he adds.
“For fuck’s sake,” Ian says, taking a step toward Jordan before he’s intercepted by Zilla.
It’s easy to see why Harem wanted to keep Brandon around. Jordan is a petulant, spoiled asshole who’s still living in the past. My guys are grown fucking men and they want their music to reflect that.
This is going to be a long month.
* * *
Although things are dicey for the first hour, the band soon finds a way to work together again, with both Jordan and Brandon offering ideas for the first new song Ian proposes.
As the rest of the guys work out chord changes and the arrangement of the song, Jason paces in an area he staked out near the middle of the great room. He’s usually gazing at the floor, his long hair hanging down around his face and his hands making little gestures. Occasionally, he stops and asks the band to repeat a part, and I can practically see the gears turning in his head as he listens intently. He carries a little notebook so he can jot down words and phrases as they come to him.
Sometimes, he steps outside and paces around the driveway, quietly singing lines he’d just come up with. It’s truly fascinating to watch him work, and I imagine him doing this over the years as he came up with lyrics and melodies for all those hits Harem is famous for.
When the guys take a late lunch break hours later, Jason jokes that had they agreed to record in Los Angeles like Griff originally wanted, they would just be arriving at the studio now at three in the afternoon.
Jordan and I mostly ignore each other during lunch, but that blissful separation ends afterward as I’m taking a short walk around the grounds to get some air. I stop at the koi pond and my mind is instantly calmed as I watch the beautiful gold, black and white fish swimming. My tranquility shatters when I catch a whiff of cigarette smoke and turn to see Jordan approaching.
“Kelsey, my dear,” he says, taking a seat on a stone bench. “Perhaps we should have a little chat. Come sit with me.”
I’m afraid that refusing might somehow lead to more tension in Harem’s songwriting, so I hesitantly sit.
“We didn’t get off to a very good start, did we?” he asks. I remember meeting him at the Madison Square Garden sound check and how there was tension from the start between us.
“No, we didn’t.” What else can I say? I’d rather not even be having this talk.
He takes a long drag on his cigarette. “So tell me what the situation is with you and the boys,” he says, smoke curling sinisterly from his lips. “It’s all a bit confusing on my end.”
“It’s simple, really,” I reply. “We shared a very intense experience while you were away, and formed a unique bond. I love each of them, and they love me. There’s really not much more to it than that.”
Those dark eyes stare back at me. “But surely you’re aware that you’ve changed them. That you’ve altered the chemistry of the band.”
“Maybe as a result of the relationship, but I haven’t done anything intentionally.” I feel defensive, for both me and for them.
“Yeah, but regardless, they’re different now. Harem is different. This band affects the lives of millions of people who have grown to love them, and you’re kind of mucking about with it, aren’t you?”
What the hell?
“You know, Jordan, I resent the implication that I’m causing problems for Harem. On the contrary, I showed up when they were in a tailspin thanks to you, and together we all worked hard to right the ship. And things are going great, with a number one song.”
He snickers. Actually fucking snickers. “Sure, Little Miracle, that piece of fluff. Can’t you see the difference between that and everything that came before?”
He’s right, in that there is a difference in the sound of the song. It’s no longer angsty rock trying to get the attention of teenagers. It’s a grown-up sound with grown-up lyrics. Harem is winning back an audience that had aged out of the demographic they’ve been shooting for since they started.
“It’s a more mature song. None of you are seventeen or eighteen anymore, and neither is your audience.”
“It’s rubbish is what it is. This new mature sound makes me wanna puke.”
I’ve had enough. This man is obviously trying hard to hold onto his past, to not grow out of the most fun, successful time of his life. Only that’s impossible; time moves on for everyone, even teen rock stars.
I stand to go. “Well, I’ll see you inside.”
As I’m walking away, Jordan says, “So are you really fucking all of them? At the same time?”
I stop in my tracks and spin around.
“What I do with Harem is my business, not yours.” I’m trying to sound calm, but inside I’m seething. The nerve of this asshole.
Jordan lifts his hands, palms facing me in a sign of fake-surrender. His cigarette dangling from his lips, he mutters, “Didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers, love.”
Then he takes the cigarette from his mouth, looks me dead in the eye and grins.
“But don’t forget that I’m an original member of the band. It’s only right that I be included in your little orgies.”
I take a step towards him, trying to come up with the vicious response the situation requires. Before I can get there, he cranks up the ugliness even more.
“And that sweet little body I saw when you were dancing starkers on the table last night was definitely made for fucking.”
Before I know what I’m doing, I slap him hard across the face. He catches my wrist and holds it tightly.
“Well, well,” he says, “this is promising. You already know how I like it.”
As I jerk my wrist free, I realize that, like me, Jordan has to be unsure of his place in all this. He’s probably terrified that Harem will be moving on without him and is clinging on against all hope. And I can use that to hurt him.
I take in a deep breath through my nose.
“Can you smell that, Jordan?”
He regards me suspiciously. “The roses?”
“No, the gloom and desperation. Their stench follows you like a cloud.”
“Fuck you, you cunt!” he fires back.
I turn and walk away. Over my shoulder I say, “I only fuck current members of Harem.”
8
I’m still boiling mad by the following day, but I have to continue to keep it bottled up inside. Griff has made it clear that Harem has no choice but to keep Jordan here because of legal concerns, so me bringing up his shitty behavior would only put my guys in a tight spot. They’re having enough trouble getting through all of this with him around as it is.
But if Jordan Maris thinks he has any chance at having sex with me, he’s dead wrong.
I spend half the day yesterday trying not to even look in his direction, and when everyone gathered for drinks after a late dinner, I told them I had a headache and went off to bed by myself. And of course I tossed and turned most of the night.
Despite all the drama surrounding Jordan, the guys managed to get the bones of a damned good song out of yesterday’s sessions, and this morning Jason is showing everyone the melody and lyrics he’s written. I’m blown away by how he and Ian write their songs, creating something of lasti
ng value out of absolutely nothing but brain power. I thought these guys were sexy before, but find them even hotter now.
Griff shows up halfway through and the boys eagerly show him what they’ve got. He listens, nodding his head in time, then breaks into a smile.
“I like it. Great start.”
Jordan pipes up. “You don’t think it sounds a bit soft? Not rock enough?”
There are eye-daggers everywhere, all trained at Jordan.
“You have an entire album’s worth of songs to write,” Griff says. “They won’t all be rockers. And hopefully, they’ll be a far sight better than ones on your last two albums, because nobody liked those except your most die-hard fans.”
Jordan sighs audibly.
“Carry on, then,” Griff says. “I’ll be driving out every day to check on your progress, so no slacking or partying. There’s a lot of work to be done before you get vacation.”
I then surprise him by asking, “Griff, can I have a word outside?”
When we’re alone on the driveway, I immediately tell him about my tense interaction with Jordan the previous day, leaving out his comments about my table dance. “I haven’t said anything to the band yet.”
“Jordan is an arse. He’s always been an arse. But you just have to ignore that kind of talk, my dear. That’s how rock stars are. They tend not to be gentlemen.” He laughs at his own little private joke.
“The other five aren’t, though,” I protest. “They’re respectful. They are gentlemen.”
And they love me, though I don’t say that.
“You just haven’t seen that side of them yet. Let me assure you, it’s absolutely there. I’ve seen it first-hand many times over the years.”
That’s impossible for me to believe. Maybe at one time, back when they were rich, famous kids and all full of themselves.
Not anymore, though. They’re different now.
Aren’t they?
* * *
The guys close out the day’s first session by finally recording something, even if it’s just a “demo” version of this first song. The sheer talent and experience of the producer, the engineer, and the band members themselves, results in a recording that sounds pretty damned good to my ear.
I already fucking love this song.
They’ll listen to the demo recording while they work out the vocal harmonies and the exact arrangement of the music. Only when all those details are finalized can they actually begin the painstaking process of playing take after take, both as a unit and individually, until they have everything the producer and engineer need to build the finished product that will go on the new album.
Gone are the days when a band sets up in the studio and plays a handful of songs live in a day or two to be turned into an album. It’s a much more complicated process nowadays than I ever would have imagined.
Ian sidestepped the issue of whether Jordan or Brandon would play keyboards on the song by writing parts for each of them, Brandon on piano and Jordan on synthesizers. Neither seemed thrilled at the solution, but at least they weren’t upset.
I, on the other hand, am still upset about what had occurred in the labyrinth yesterday. As everyone filters out of the great room—some to the kitchen to eat, others up to their rooms—I step outside for some fresh air. This time I won’t be going to the labyrinth, though.
I haven’t gotten a hundred feet when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I spin around, fearing the worst.
But it’s Ian. “Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says when he sees my expression. “I just noticed you don’t seem yourself today. Is something wrong?”
I tell him I’m just stressed because of Jordan’s presence.
“Aren’t we all?” he replies. Then a mischievous smile curls his lips. “Hey, come with me. I have something to show you. It’s a secret.”
My stress about Jordan and Griff starts to melt away as Ian leads me to the guest house, which is at the very end of the long driveway, next to the four-car garage. We don’t go inside, though. Instead, he takes me to the side, where there’s a single door with no sidewalk leading to it. It almost looks like an afterthought.
“The guest house was built in the late 1880s,” he says, unlocking the door. “It’s the most recent addition to the property.” He pulls the knob and the door swings open. “And this is the best part of it.”
Inside is a staircase leading down. A single low-watt bulb illuminates enough so that we don’t trip on the stairs. We descend into a darkened hallway, and I cling to Ian because I have no idea where I am.
“Ready for this?” he asks.
“Okay,” I respond meekly.
He flips a light switch and I’m instantly transported into a wonderland.
It’s an underground grotto!
Stone surrounds us—walls, ceiling, floor. The lighting is subdued, and the bluish hue casts a surreal glow on everything.
“Just wait,” he says, taking my hand and leading me down the hall. A few seconds later it empties into a room, more or less round with a domed ceiling. In the middle of it all is what looks like a hot tub made of stone, with steam coming off the water. I look at Ian, my jaw on the floor.
The floor is mad of stone tiles, and the walls and ceiling are rock with mosaic patterns made of glass pieces, forming stripes that haphazardly morph from small to large and back. All the illumination comes from lights hidden behind rocks positioned around the room in a seemingly random manner, making it look like the walls are glowing. Everything is still tinted blue and looks very dreamy.
“This is incredible,” I say.
“Bradford, turn the lights to white,” Ian says.
I hear a voice say, “Turning the lights to white,” and the room gradually comes alive as the colors in the mosaic stripes is revealed. The room is even more beautiful this way.
I turn and look at him quizzically.
“Virtual butler,” he explains. “Everything’s been upgraded to wireless.”
“He’s not real?”
“No. It’s just us here.”
I start to say something, but he intercepts me and pulls me in for a passionate kiss. I press myself to him, his hard chest against my breasts. My god, I love kissing this man. Of all my guys, Ian might be the best kisser.
Breaking the kiss, he turns me facing the other way and puts his arms around my shoulders. Pressing against my ass I feel a distinctly hard cock.
“I think I know a way to relax you,” he whispers, his hands already unbuttoning my shirt.
I think he’s right.
Within seconds he’s got me topless, his hands cupping my breasts and his fingers gently squeezing my stiff nipples.
I turn to face him, my hand finding the hard bulge in his jeans. This scene couldn’t be more perfect.
Well, it’s almost perfect.
“Bradford,” I say, “dim the lights to fifty percent.”
“Dimming the lights to fifty percent.”
The lights slowly dim. Much better.
“Bradford, turn the lights red.”
“Changing the light color to red.”
That does the trick. Ian and I are cast in a sexy red glow as he unzips my pants, then kneels and tugs them down, along with my panties. I slip out of them, leaving my sandals behind, and am completely naked. It’s a little cool in the grotto and my skin flushes with goosebumps.
“Let’s get you into that water,” he says, lifting me up with his strong arms and slowly lowering me into the deliciously hot water.
I step around until I find a seat, then watch intently as Ian strips his own clothes off. By the time he’s down to his underwear, I can see how aroused he is even in this dim light.
“Mmmm, you’re so hard,” I say.
He peels off that final layer and his cock springs gloriously free, pointing almost straight upward as he gathers our clothes and tosses them next to a stack of towels on a small bench.
“I’ve been this way most of the last two days, since our kiss
in the wine cellar.”
“You have?”
I watch the muscles in his shoulders flex as he lowers his body into the water.
“And after watching you dance, I came by your room later to find you. Only you weren’t there.”
He pulls me to him in the middle of the pool, his arms wrapping around my slippery body.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I say softly. “So I went to Brandon’s room.”
“You dirty girl,” he whispers. “What did you do there?”
I love dirty talk, and Ian does it so well.
“I had sex with him and Jason. I needed to come.”
“Two at once? Tell me about it.”
His fingers are tracing up my thighs.
“I made Jason watch while I climbed on top of Brandon and fucked him.”
A finger grazes my slit and I feel myself becoming more and more aroused.
“Jason just watched?”
“Yes.” He slides his finger along my pussy, from front to back, barely touching my lips. “He was naked.”
“Was he hard?”
“Very.”
“What happened next?”
“After I fucked Brandon, I lay on my back and let Jason fuck me really hard.”
That finger presses further in, hovering just outside my opening.
“Was Brandon watching that?” he whispers.
“No, he was—” I moan as his finger slides slowly into me —“he was watching me suck his cock.”
“So you had them both at the same time?”
“I did.”
He’s slipping that finger in and out of me, his thumb gently rubbing my clit.
“Such a very, very dirty girl. Did you come?”
“We all did. They both came inside me.”
“That’s fucking hot,” Ian whispers, more urgently. “Was it good?”
“So good. I needed it.”
“Do you need it now?”
“Please.”
Suddenly he forces me back against the seat and pushes that hard cock into me, my pussy opening to take him in as he fills me completely. We’re both so ridiculously worked up by the dirty talk that we are quickly fucking hard. With his thumb still circling my clit, it doesn’t take long before I’m on the verge of orgasm. I try to hold off, but can’t help but grow closer with every stroke of that rock-hard cock.
Saving Her Harem Page 6