Cocktales

by The Cocky Collective

  I apply my mouth with more enthusiasm, and then run my thumb through the wetness before plunging it into her ass to the knuckle.

  “Ahhhhhh! Shit!”

  Her scream pierces the quiet. With my thumb working her ass like a job, I reach up to cover her mouth.

  “Whose pussy, Bris?” I demand, my tongue darting into one hole and my thumb fucking the other.

  “Y-yours,” she mumbles under my hand, the word breath-starved and choppy. “It’s your pussy.”

  I plunge my thumb in deeper until my palm touches her ass, and she bucks wildly, her hand gripping the back of my neck and holding me in place while she thrusts against my lips. Once the tremors racking her body die to twitches and her moans settle into tiny whimpers, I carefully lift her, taking her place on the edge of the bed and turning her to spread her thighs over mine. She snuggles into my neck, the scent of her skin and shampoo mingling with the sweet muskiness covering my face and coating her thighs.

  “Holy shit,” she says, her deep-throated chuckle rumbling into the curve of my neck and shoulder. “I can’t think straight. Did you suck my brain out when you were down there?”

  “Focus. I think you mentioned something about taking care of your husband.” It’s my turn to lean back on one elbow. I gesture to the briefs I’m still wearing and the obviously eager erection straining to get out and in.

  “It’s all coming back to me.” She shoots me a mischievous glance from under long, curly lashes.

  “If it ‘comes’ any louder, you’ll wake the neighbors and the kids,” I warn her, my grin smug. “And the way I feel right now, Martin will just have to cry until Daddy’s done.”

  “Ah, speaking of Martin,” she says, her smile and the look in her eyes devolving into something baser.

  My dick gets even harder. She grins. She knows. She leans up and cups her breasts, her thumbs stroking the fat nipples.

  “You can taste. It’s just us, Grip.”

  She caresses her breasts in hypnotic circles, and I’m mesmerized by how the nipples peak and harden. I grip her back, my fingers meeting on her spine, and I pull her breasts to my face. They’re slightly damp when I pull one into my mouth and suck so hard that she draws a sharp breath above me, but I don’t stop. I find a rhythm, my mouth and tongue and teeth cooperating to get what I want. When a few drops of her milk hit my tongue, it drives us both into a frenzy.

  “That is so fucking hot,” she gasps, scrambling to get my briefs down and off before she scoots as close as possible on my lap, the smooth skin of her thighs dragging over the rougher skin of mine.

  She holds my cock in her hand, fisting it tight, pushing up and down, her thumb caressing the head.

  “Don’t play with it, babe,” I say abruptly. “Take it.”

  I need to feel her tight and wet and hot around me. Beyond the horniness—which let the record show, is at an all-time high—I need that connection. The one we’ve forged through years, through pain, through unimagined highs and heart-crushing lows. So much in our lives is changing, but this never does. This scorching slide of her flesh on mine, of her taking me in so tightly, is a sweet chokehold on my cock that makes me hiss. I would know this pussy in the dark. I could be blind and half-dead, and you couldn’t fool me with another woman. Just this one. This fit. This perfect friction. The grooves of our souls fit as tightly as our bodies do.

  Her forehead drops to mine, panting breaths misting my lips while she rides me, her arms hooked behind my neck. The pace grows more frantic as I thrust up aggressively, meeting her pussy halfway. I grab her ass cheeks, spreading them and taking over the rhythm so I can slam her body down onto mine over and over, deliberately. We’re grunting, rutting animals mindlessly taking our pleasure by force. Our guttural sounds bounce off the walls. Bristol’s head tips back and then down, tears sliding over her cheeks and onto her bouncing breasts. I lean forward, lapping at the mixture of her milk and her tears before sucking her nipple hard. Biting her breast hard.

  “Grip!” Bristol comes like a rocket, flattening her hand against my chest for support.

  The sound of her coming undone, the contraction of her body squeezing every ounce of pleasure from me, sends me over the edge. I swallow my shout, having just enough presence of mind not to wake the kids. It doesn’t matter if I own Bristol’s pussy. This woman owns my heart. She’s got my mind, my will, my soul, my emotions—all of it on lock. Happily trapped in the palm of her hand.

  She’s still trembling against me when I pick her up and lay her against the pillows. Now that we fucked the edge off, there is room for other things. Like exhaustion. She’s already half asleep.

  “Love you,” she murmurs, turning onto her side and tucking her pillow between her head and her shoulder.

  I was exhausted, but now I’m wound up, unable to sleep. Mind-blowing sex opens the floodgates. Everything pours into my mind at once. Possible fixes for the song that wasn’t working tonight in the studio. The memory of my kids up the hall, snug and secure in their beds, and almost too beautiful for words. The sounds of Bristol coming, her whispers fueled by pleasure.

  The shadows under her eyes.

  As much as it feels like the planet shakes when we make love . . . that the very foundations of the earth shift, tectonic plates sliding to make a whole new world, it isn’t. Those dark circles under her eyes remind me that the things I was concerned about before we made love still need to be addressed.

  First light filters in through tiny cracks where the drapes aren’t completely drawn tight. I hook a leg over Bristol’s hip and an arm around her waist, possessively anchoring her back to my front.

  Tomorrow.

  I’ll ask about the shadows under her eyes and work and the kids, and the question I asked her once before and have to ask her again.

  Did she mean it when she said she would follow me anywhere?

  Two

  Bristol

  I don’t think my boobs will ever be the same.

  Seriously. Why are they so big? I alternate between fear that they will never return to their original size and dread that they will deflate and hang low and be saggy balloons with nipples. I was still breastfeeding Nina when I found out I was pregnant with Martin. Back-to-back babies meant very little recovery time for the rack.

  And I know for a fact my feet will never return to pre-baby proportions. A half size up, and I can’t wear any of my Louboutins. Also, I am not above re-vagination if things start feeling loose down there. I need a tight-fit fuck. Though given the size of Grip’s cock, I don’t think that will be a problem anytime soon.

  Damn, he fucked me into a coma last night.

  Not complaining. I can attest to the fact that a good slumber fuck is waaaaaaay better than melatonin. With all that I have going on, you’d think sleep would come easily, but mine has been sporadic. No rest for the weary.

  Or the busy.

  I can’t seem to turn my brain off even when my body is ready to tap out. Between feeding Martin in the middle of the night, trying to keep up with the warp speed of Prodigy’s expansion and growth, and keeping Nina’s little adventurous self alive, I’m half-zombie. I’m just really good at covering it. Lots of concealer. Lots of yoga. Lots of juicing.

  What’s LA without juicing?

  I’m doing everything I can to keep all the balls in the air, and I think it’s working. Sure, I’m exhausted and smell faintly bovine most of the time, but the kids are healthy, happy, and spend more time with me than anyone else, which is important to me. My clients are all flourishing, climbing and succeeding. Prodigy is a force. I set up the New York office before Martin was born, but I really wanted to be in LA for the birth, surrounded by my family. Now the New York office needs some TLC, so it may be time to head back. I have to talk with Grip about camping out on the East Coast for a while, and I’m dreading it. I’m thinking, though, if the kids and I stay in New York when he goes on tour in a few weeks, it should be fine.

  I’m feeling especially good today. Frieda, our
nanny, came early because I have a meeting this morning. So she has the kids for a few hours. After Martin’s first feeding, a nice long shower has me relaxed. I’m wearing my favorite knee-length cardigan, and I actually fit into a pair of pre-Martin jeans. The sex last night has my blood singing hallelujah as it flows through my veins. I didn’t realize it has been over a week since we had sex. That’s a long time for Grip.

  Hell, I guess it’s a long time for me, too.

  I tiptoe through our bedroom, trying to be quiet and keep the room dark so Grip can sleep. Between working on the new album, and prepping for the tour, he’s been stretched as thin as I have.

  I walk into our closet to study the shelves of shoes, half of which I’m not sure I can wear anymore. I’m considering a pair of Gucci stilettos when Grip walks in.

  “Morning,” I say over my shoulder with a smile. “I hope I didn’t wake you.

  “Nah.” He sits on the tufted ottoman in the middle of the closet, running a hand over the back of his neck. “I wanted to talk before the day gets away from us.”

  “Talk?” My hand freezes over three pairs of red pumps. I turn to face him, temporarily distracted by the stacks of muscles flexing in his stomach and rippling under the taut skin of his chest. A thin, silky trail of hair bisects his abs and arrows down to the drawstring of his sleep pants. I can see the morning wood-ish outline of his dick. My mouth waters. When was the last time I gave Grip head? I can’t remember.

  Oh, God, I can’t remember.

  “Bris?”

  “Huh?” I jerk my eyes from his crotch to find one thick brow quirked over amused dark eyes.

  “You know you can get it,” Grip drawls, leaning forward to grasp my wrist and pull me down to his lap. He cups my jaw with one big hand and takes my mouth as a willing hostage. Our tongues twist, and I taste toothpaste and his natural addictive flavor. His hands wander beneath my tank top, and he finds my nipple, squeezing gently.

  “Baby, I have to go,” I mutter against his lips and then move to stand.

  “No.” He spans my waist and firmly pulls me back down. “We need to talk.”

  “We can.” I drop a kiss onto his lips and get up, grabbing the Gucci heels and wiggling one foot in. “Later. Gotta go.”

  “Where are you going?” He frowns. “I thought you weren’t in the office until this afternoon.”

  “Yeah, I had to flip my schedule for this meeting. A producer for that big new period piece wants to cast Kai.”

  “Is there nudity?” A grin lights his handsome face. “Because you know Rhys is not about that life.”

  “There is a little nekkid.” I lean one hand against the wall and balance to put on the other shoe. “And Rhyson will have to grow the fuck up and get over it.”

  “What’s that mean?” His grin drops.

  “It means this is a great opportunity for Kai, one she wants to take. She shouldn’t let his outdated caveman hang-ups stop her.”

  “Last I checked,” Grip says, “that isn’t how they run their marriage.”

  “You’re right. I’m sure he’ll manage to convince her it isn’t right for them and she’ll turn it down.” I roll my eyes and walk back toward our bedroom. “I hope not. That’s why I’m going to this meeting. To salvage any of the offer we can and see what compromises can be made.”

  “Maybe we have some compromises of our own to make,” Grip says softly from behind me.

  I stop and turn, one hand on my hip and head cocked to the side.

  “Now what’s that mean?” I demand.

  He sketches a quick frown and shakes his head.

  “We can talk about it tonight,” he says. “I don’t want to make you late.”

  “Is everything . . .” I search for the right word. “Okay?”

  Are we okay?

  We’ve known each other more than fifteen years, and half that time we weren’t even close to okay. I was scared to risk loving him for a long time. I never want to be not okay with him again. We had amazing sex last night, but I know with our schedules, we haven’t been nearly as close as we’re used to.

  “It’s fine, Bris. I just . . .” He licks his lips and blows out a quick breath before meeting my eyes. “I miss you.”

  My heart slams to a stop. I know this man like I know my own skin. Something’s not right. I take a few steps back inside the closet until I’m standing in front of him. I step between his legs, forcing the muscled thighs to widen and bracket me. I slip one hand behind his neck and the other cups his jaw, tilting his head up until our gazes lock.

  “Tell me,” I whisper, searching his eyes for the answer he hasn’t offered yet.

  “I thought you had a meeting.” His hands slide up my thighs and he squeezes my ass.

  “Five minutes. I can give you five minutes.”

  He nods but gently pushes me away before standing and heading toward our bedroom.

  “We need more than that,” he says. “I’ll wait.”

  “No. Tell me.” I’m nipping at his heels, and grab his elbow, turning him back to face me. “Baby, what is it?”

  “It’s what I said.” He reaches up and spears his fingers into the hair brushing my shoulders. “I miss you.”

  “But I’m right—”

  “Don’t say you’re right here,” he interrupts sharply. “You know that isn’t what I mean, Bris.”

  “Sex?” I ask, a frown knitting my brows. “Is this because we went a week without having sex?”

  “That’s just a symptom.” He caresses my cheekbone with his thumb. “This is not what I signed up for, babe, and I’m not gonna tolerate it.”

  “Not tolerating what?”

  “Half measures. Glimpses of you. Snatches of time. Weekly fucks. That is not who we are, and I won’t settle for it.”

  “It’s a season,” I say gently. “Everyone has kids and a job and commitments that pull them in different directions for certain seasons.”

  “We don’t have to. I love our kids. I’d give my left nut and my whole life for them. You know that, but they aren’t the reason I married you.”

  “But, Grip—”

  “And I love my career. Love performing and doing all the things I get to do, the things you help make happen for me, but I don’t want those things more than I want you.”

  “I get that, but—”

  “If we aren’t first, nothing else feels right, and I want to adjust things before they ever feel wrong.”

  “Agreed.” I finally get a word in. “After the tour—”

  “No, before the tour,” he cuts in softly. “On the tour.”

  I tip my head back to study the implacable lines of his face.

  “What do you mean on the tour?” I ask. “I was thinking I would work from New York while you’re away. So what do you mean on the tour?”

  His beautifully sculpted mouth tightens and turns down at the corners.

  “I want you and the kids to come on tour with me.”

  My eyes widen and a frown pulls my eyebrows low.

  “Babe, there’s so much going on. I can’t possibly drop everything to trot off after you around the world.”

  “I’m not asking you to drop everything,” he says, his voice taut with irritation. “And I sure as hell would never ask you to trot, but you have to admit we’ve been seeing less of each other.”

  “I’ve got shit to do, Grip.”

  “So do I, Bris, but none of it is more important than this.” He presses my hand to his heart, which thuds the rhythm of his love and devotion against my palm. “More important than us.”

  “Of course not.” I step closer, resting my forehead against his chin. “Of course not, but we have responsibilities. We can’t just—”

  His thumb lifts my chin so we’re staring at each other.

  “We can do whatever the fuck we want to do,” he says decisively.

  He dips his head and seals his lips over mine, invading my mouth with powerful strokes of his tongue until my knees go weak and my bones melt. B
y the time he’s done, only his wide hands holding my hips and my fingers clinging to his shoulders keep me standing.

  He bends to leave kisses on my neck. I tilt my head back so he can lick me, bite me, whatever he sees fit to do. His lips brush my ear with feather-soft words.

  “I pulled out of the campus tour,” he whispers, sending a shockwave over me.

  I jerk back, peering up into his face. He and Dr. Hammond, his former professor, have continued the Contagious campus tours, raising awareness and money for community jail funds and legal representation for the wrongly accused. It’s vital work that I know gives Grip a sense of purpose like nothing else does.

  “No.” I shake my head. “It’s important. You have to do it.”

  “It is important,” he agrees. “And I will do it. Later.”

  “This is just a season, Grip.”

  “Exactly. For this season, I can’t do the tours. Not and grind in the studio for this record and prepare for this tour and be the father I need to be.” His dark eyes caress my face. “Be the husband I need to be, which of everything, is my most important role. We only get this life together, Bris, and I don’t accept that there’s a season where you and I aren’t as close as we can possibly be. There can be a season where I’m less active in the issues that I care about. There can be a season where I don’t record as much or where I don’t tour. But there will not be a season where we miss each other.”

  A dark chuckle vibrates from his chest to mine before he adds, “Or only have sex once a week.”

  I swallow, emotion scalding my throat. There are so many things I’d have to adjust to take our family on tour with Grip. So many responsibilities I’d have to delegate. So many opportunities I might miss.

  “Just think about it.” Grip drops a kiss onto my lips and swats my butt lightly. “Don’t be late. Go get Kai that movie.”

  I’d forgotten all about the meeting.

  “Okay, yeah.” I step back, slanting a glance up at him. “Tell me we’re okay, Grip. I can’t—”

  I look down at the floor and shake my head, unable to wrap my mind or heart around us being on the outs.