Crazy Love

by Madelynne Ellis

  She cuddles me. That, I can handle. Girls enjoy a bit of post-coital intimacy, and it doesn’t cost much to wrap your arms around someone after you’ve fucked them to oblivion. What truly gets me—it razors me from the inside—is when my dick goes limp and slips from her, she’s the one to deal with the wrapper, knot it up and deposit it in the waste. Me, I just fall face first onto the nearest bed, where she joins me a moment later.

  Her fingers trace the lines of the snakes that flow around the other ink on my back. “That was all rather intense,” she remarks, sounding as casual as you please. I wonder if that’s how she actually feels, but I haven’t the strength to lift my head in order to turn and make any sort of eye contact with her. “Anyone would think you were worked up over something.”

  She knows exactly how much frustration I needed to find an outlet for. Everything I’ve ever cared about is on the cusp of going tits up.

  “Ah, don’t go getting rattled again.” She smacks a hand against my arse, then gives it a squeeze. “God, your butt is so adorable. I need to lick it or something.”

  Evidently while my libido has been temporarily sated, Loveday is still buzzing and up for more. I hate to disappoint her, but I have literally no strength left. Not even enough to complain at the way she’s pinching and squeezing my arse and dancing her digits all over me.

  “Do you have an arse fetish?” I ask after several more minutes of this assault. Every time I think she’s done, she seems to return for an extra jab.

  “Nope.”

  “Then what are you playing at?” I make a feeble attempt to turn. It really is a pathetic effort. She stills me instantly by slapping a hand down upon my hip and pushing me deeper into the mattress. “Keep still, I’m writing. I don’t want it smudged.”

  Writing? “Writing what?”

  “Music. I’ve got this beat in my head and, I need to get down before it slips away. You know what it’s like. You think you’ll remember, but if you don’t put it in black and white it goes poof, and all you’re left with is the knowledge that you let go of something awesome.”

  I do strain my neck in order to glimpse what she’s about now. “Would a sheet of paper be better?”

  She’s doodling on my arse in purple ink.

  She considers, pink tongue poking from between her lips, while she holds the Sharpie poised over my flesh. “Nah. Your arse is way more inspiring. Blank paper is just soul-sapping. I’d have to jazz it up before I could get anything written down.”

  “Yes, but writing your masterpiece on my arse might prove more inconvenient in the long term. I mean, what happens when you need to refer to it later, and maybe I’m busy or I’ve showered and washed it off.”

  I expect some kind of revelatory acceptance that she’s made a mistake, but she just flashes me an enormous grin.

  “Oh, that’s not a problem. I’ll remember it. I always do once I’ve jotted it down. And I guess if want to play it safe, I can sit you on a photocopier once I’m done. They’re sure to have one in the hotel office.”

  “You are not photocopying my arse.”

  “Sure?”

  OK, so if she keeps on smiling and tugging at my heartstrings in the way she already is, then I might well commit my bum-print to paper. Dammit, this woman should not have this much power over me. She’s dangerous. Probably the most dangerous woman I’ve ever crossed paths with, and believe me, I’ve known a few thoroughly manipulative bitches. My aunt Trish being one of them.

  “I’m going to get you some paper, OK?”

  “Oh, don’t.” Again she stays me with the press of her hand, and by straddling both of my thighs. “This is your theme tune. It came to me while you were inside me, so this—” She slaps my arse again. “—is absolutely the best place to record it.”

  “My theme?”

  “Yeah. It goes…” She makes some rumbling sounds, and laughs. “Well, kind of like that. I don’t do good guitar impersonations.”

  “K,” I agree, still flattered because I’m not sure I’ve ever inspired a piece of music before. I’ve created plenty, but never moved someone else to write something outside of a jamming session.

  “In any case, it really compliments your other ink. I’m not just throwing notes around willy nilly, you know. I’m making it artistic.”

  I can only imagine, since she won’t let me see, and it’s not all that easy to look at your own arse at the best of times. I decide compliance is the path of least resistance, and it’s really not so bad lying here, feeling dozy and sated, while she prettifies my butt.

  “You know this little fella is really growing on me.” She licks the lucky scarab beetle I have tattooed on the edge of my arse crack, which instantly puts my brain on high alert. Suddenly, my insides are flapping about like Kermit the frog in distress, because unwittingly she’s just tapped into one of my secret fantasies.

  I wonder…I hope, maybe she’d extend that lick a little to the right, and explore the crevice she’s on the precipice of.

  I don’t know why, but I find the concept of rimming a tremendous turn on. Maybe it’s the taboo nature of it. It isn’t something I’ve experienced first-hand, so it’s possible reality won’t live up to my fantasies, but there’s only one way to find out, and that depends upon finding someone dirty enough to experiment with.

  Crazy to think that having my arse licked is currently at the top of my list of things to do when I’m rich and famous. I’m pretty sure that once Paradise Kiss is a household name, I’ll have a string of volunteers willing to grant my every wish.

  Girl volunteers, I mean. I’ve heard guys are more open to the idea of sticking their tongues in intimate places, but I’m not interested in playing with a cock that isn’t mine, or risking having one shoved where the sun doesn’t shine. I don’t want to be fucked in the arse, just tickled there.

  God, she’s so fucking close.

  Loveday stills above me. “Are you holding your breath?”

  I shake my head, but I am. I so am. Her fingers are splayed across my right cheek. The tips are curled so they lie mere millimetres from my arsehole, and she must have licked and kissed my scarab a dozen times by now.

  “You are. How come?”

  “No reason. I’m not.” The air gushes from my lungs far too fast.

  “It’s cause I licked your bug, isn’t it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Sure about that?”

  She does it again, which instantly makes my toes curl, and causes a “hmm” sound to vibrate in my throat.

  Amused laughter ripples through her body, making her shake, which in turn shakes me. “I’ve just a few notes left to get down. Then you can have a reward. You’ve been a very patient muse.”

  I like the idea that I’m her muse. I like the idea of a reward even more, though I daren’t hope what it might be. Instead, I freeze and let her work, desperately trying to ignore the ticklish strokes of the pen.

  “There, all done.” She snaps the cap back on the Sharpie, which I realise is one of mine she’s taken off the nightstand, and not the one she inked her number onto me with earlier this evening. “So, rewards.” She stretches out over my body, so that her pointy chin hits my shoulder. “Do you want me to lick your arse?”

  Oh Jesus, do I ever!

  Gotta love that she’s so matter of fact, but I’m disturbed by how easily she reads me.

  The tip of her tongue traces the shell of my ear causing shivers to roll right through my body.

  “Well?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of asking. Not on a first date…or a second.” This is technically our second.

  “Yeah, but we’re not on a date. This is a rescue mission, remember: zombie apocalypse, fallen comrades. That means anything goes.”

  I could’ve lived without the reminder of Knox comatose in the bath. Although when she slides the heel of her hand down my spine between our bodies until she reaches my tailbone, and then extends two fingers so that they sit right over the tight furl of muscle that is my
anus, I forget all about him again.

  Maybe she’s an angel sent here to save me. She looks like one with all that fly away golden hair.

  Except, I’m pretty sure angels don’t attempt to seduce you into sinning with them, and arse play is definitely a sin. I’ve read a few holy books.

  “Are you brave enough to admit it’s what you want?” she asks, her breath warm against the side of my head.

  I pray this isn’t a tease, and that if I actually bite, she won’t make grossed out noises and bid me adieu for the night.

  I want her tongue in an intimate place, but I want her continued company more. Two more hours until we have to perform for Graham Callahan, two hours before my world falls apart. I don’t want to face them alone.

  She sighs. “I admitted that I wanted you in my cunt.”

  I have the shivers.

  She says cunt so quietly, I know it’s a strain for her.

  “Do it,” I say. “Lick me there. Rim my arsehole.”

  “You’ve such a potty mouth, Darke.” Her hands land firmly on my arse. Then she drags the globes apart. I hope the ink is dry, or her musical notes are going to be all smudged. I steal a very bated breath. “Good thing I like dirty.”

  “Oh God!”

  What she does then and there, no woman has ever done to me. She licks me, and I love her for it.

  Knox was right. Loveday Trevaskis is dirty. She’s really fucking dirty.

  I’ve found my soul mate.

  She doesn’t stop at one lick either, but flicks her tongue around like she can’t get enough of the taste of me, like she’s on a mission to prove her dominion over me. She’s got it. I’m utterly, utterly hers. She’s blasted me off into the stratosphere and is now wriggling a fingertip into my arse in a way that literally has me dying from excitement.

  My dick is back to being poker hard, and I’m straining upwards towards her touch, when the sound of a key card being rammed into the door lock completely fucks up the moment.

  “Dane, I thought we had a rule about not bringing your groupies back to the room.”

  The intruder is Joel then, and he’s seen the clothing strewn across the carpet. Loveday and I have enough time to roll off the bed and pull the duvet down on top of us before he traverses the little bit of corridor the bathroom is off before he enters the bedroom proper.

  We sit huddled between the two twin beds, both doing our best to shield her modesty. Having left me to handle Knox on my own, Joel doesn’t deserve any sort of treat, and catching a glimpse of Loveday’s hot body is awesome visual candy.

  “I thought you were sharing next door with Knox, and I was bunking with Nate.”

  “Knox is in the bathroom,” I say, which stops Joel in his tracks. His neck swivels round, so he can confirm what my voice has already told him. That it’s not Dane he’s walked in on.

  “Nate? I thought you were working on the song.”

  “Was,” I confirm. “Stuff happened.”

  I’m doing my level best to keep Loveday out of sight, but Joel still sees her. The moment it happens, his eyes narrow thoughtfully, and his lips seal themselves as if he’s holding back a long string of questions. I suppose given what he was demanding of me when we last spoke, he’s probably wondering if finding me in flagrante with her is a good sign or a bad one.

  “You’re fucking a member of Bitch Slap,” he says, his tone uneasily neutral.

  “Has fucked,” Loveday corrects him. “We were contemplating round two.”

  Actually, technically I think she was already fucking me.

  “OK.” Joel stills, weighing up how to take that. I can tell from the V-shaped furrow in the centre of his brow. “Do we need to talk, Nate?”

  I wish that was an actual question that I could give a negative response to, because I know what he’s going to say, and I don’t want to hear it. I know what I’m going to have to tell him too. He’s going to like that even less.

  It’s still going to have to be done. “Bathroom,” I say to Joel, making a thumb signal.

  I give Loveday one last enormous smooch. “You might want to leave, it’s going to get grim round here. Possibly violent.”

  “Maybe I should hang around and protect you.”

  I shake my head. “Best you don’t. I’ll see you at six.”

  I hurry after Joel, not bothering to cover up. I’m just crossing the threshold to the bathroom when the string of F-bombs goes off. Fatoomsh! Fatoomsh! Fatoomsh!

  Loveday’s right behind me, hands strategically positioned across her breasts and pussy. She grabs a hotel bathrobe from the closet and bolts into the corridor leaving only the impression of her lips and her scent behind.

  Joel barrels straight into me. He grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me hard.

  “What the fuck, Nate? What the frickin, fuck! Is he stoned, dead, what? I’m assuming he’s not dead, since you’ve tucked him in, and you were screwing?”

  An irate Joel leering at me at this hour of the morning is not a pleasant experience. It’s no surprise that my balls attempt to hide, and my dick curls up. It bitterly resents—as do I—that Joel’s arrival has scared off its dream date. Fuck the issues with Knox, I want to say, just bring Loveday back.

  I wonder if we’ll still be speaking come six o’clock.

  “Where is she?” Joel asks, noticing her absence.

  “Gone.” Just saying that hollows out a cavern in my chest.

  Exasperated, he raises his hands in the air, which at least means he stops shaking me. “Tell me you asked her. There has to be some kind of silver lining. Tonight can’t actually be the fuck up of the century.”

  “I haven’t asked her.”

  “Why the fuck not?” he yells before I get a chance to answer any of his questions about Knox. Then again, maybe they don’t need answering, given Joel’s already figured out what Knox’s condition means for the band.

  “We have a bass-player, Joel. I’m not sacking him. We went over this earlier.”

  “We have a bass-player,” he mutters wearily. “You mean the stupid bugger’s actually still alive. ‘Scuse me if I think that’s a pity.” He pulls at his curls. “Bastard hasn’t even the decency to croak.”

  I know…or rather hope, that Joel’s venom is just talk, and that he doesn’t actually wish Knox ill. It used to be they were good mates until Knox started lighting up at every opportunity. Joel gets prickly over regular smoking.

  “He spewed everywhere and needed a wash down, which is why he’s in the bath, but he’ll be fine,” I explain. “Loveday helped me get him out of sight before one of Graham Callahan’s people accidently clapped eyes on him.”

  “She just happened along and played the Good Samaritan.”

  “Hm.” He doesn’t need to know the details.

  “And what, you decided to fuck her as a thank you?”

  “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

  “She’s a member of fucking Bitch Slap. If you aren’t trying to poach her, you stay the fucking hell away from her, Nate. She’s the enemy. One of the shits that’s going to steal our thunder, because dick brain in the bath here screwed up again.” He gesticulates wildly with his hands as if he’s not sure what to do with them. Eventually, they form into fists and he drags them down to his sides.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of him being functional in time to see Callahan?”

  “Probably not. Maybe if we were performing at six in the evening.”

  “Fucking shitbag!” Joel kicks the bathroom door, causing it to bounce back and forth on its hinges and make a screech-thud sound. It’s a wonder it doesn’t come loose from its moorings altogether.

  “Cool it,” I warn him. None of us can afford to pay damages for broken hotel property.

  “Cool it! Dammit, Nate, why the fuck is he still part of this band? And don’t you dare say you promised his mum. You did not fucking promise his mum. Watching out for him, isn’t the same as taping his arse to a bass guitar and hoping he’ll make
sweet music. We can’t keep dealing with his screw ups.”

  “It’s one screw up.”

  “Of epic proportions. If he’s not with it…If we don’t play, that’s it. You realise that, don’t you. We have one shot with Graham Callahan. Just one.” He draws his fingers across his eyes to squeeze the bridge of his nose. “Why didn’t you come and find me when you realised he was like this?”

  “Couldn’t exactly leave him, could I?”

  “But you could have phoned, left a message. I’d have read a message.”

  “Guess the one I sent saying, ‘I require your fucking assistance pronto,’ wasn’t explicit enough? Or didn’t you read that one?”

  Joel turns away sheepishly for a couple of seconds. “If you’d put Knox is fucked, I’d have come.”

  “Yeah, in your pants because you’re just looking for an excuse to get rid of him.”

  “Damn right,” he shoots back at me. “You know why, Nate?” He shoves me into the brightly lit bathroom, and then tears back the shower curtain, tugging the rail right off the wall in the process. “This is why. This.” He points at Knox, who is currently a not too dissimilar shade of off-white to the toilet bowl. “He’s fuck all use to anyone. The only function he serves is to hold us all back. So I say fuck him.” He kicks the bath panel. “He’s about to cost us all our tickets to the big leagues. We had this. This tour was a cert, now because of him we’re going nowhere.”

  I let Joel rant. There’s no sense in interrupting him. It’s not like I can refute what he’s saying.

  “One of us ought to have kept a proper eye on him,” I say when he finally quietens a little.

  Joel just shakes his head. “A babysitter isn’t the answer. The guy needs a brain transplant and some functioning balls.” He jabs Knox in the shoulder. “Wake up, dick brain.” The poke garners no response, prompting him to make the second jab a lot harder. “I said get up. Get the fuck up, Knox, you fucking wanker.” He tries to manhandle him out of the tub, by hooking his hands under Knox’s arms.

  “Joel, stop it. Just stop it.” A damp, naked Knox splattered all over the floor isn’t going to improve the current situation.