Rock Hard

by Paige North

  I’m inside her, the only place I ever want to be. I could be singing onstage in front of thirty thousand screaming fans, and I’ll still pick being inside Elena as my favorite place in the whole world.

  “I love you,” I tell her slowly, clearly, taking her face making sure she’s looking at me. “You hear me? I love you.” Sliding her up again, I watch her face, loving the way it shifts through the phases of sweet pain and pleasure.

  “I missed you so much,” she says, breaking my heart with a few words. “I thought it was over.”

  “I never left you, Shortcake. Just had to figure myself out.” The more I push into her, the more my hips pin her to the wall, the more I press up against her clit. She rides me in slow circles, as I ream into her, slow, long strokes to make her demand more, working her into a gradual build, pausing every so often to readjust my grip or to suck her tits. “Tell me you’re mine.”

  Holding onto my shoulders, her body is a rhythm against mine, a soft pounding, a deliberate slow tango. “I’m yours. From the moment you first kissed me. I wanted you before my mind even knew what it wanted.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, I’ll let you do anything.”

  Anything. I always wanted to be able to do anything and not be judged for it, be with a woman who understood my dark desires, not be afraid. Someone who’d trust me

  I almost fall over the edge just then but not without another push. I need to see that face twist sharply as she reaches for her own orgasm, and with another thrust against her, she lets go. Waves squeeze through her, gripping me, drawing me in deeper, and it’s amazing how deep I can keep going with Elena, how much more she’ll accept me each time.

  As I let go of my own climax, riding the crest of hers, a single truth overwhelms me. As much as I love to hear her succumb to me, it’s me who’s been in her trance since Day One. It’s me who’s fallen under her magic spell. It’s me who belongs to her.

  Anything she wants, anything she needs, I will move heaven and earth to give her.

  Last session day, and the studio is filled with delicious brunch foods, desserts, and flavored coffees. Bluebird and Rick’s team pulled out all the stops.

  When I tell Rick we have one more acoustic song to record, he looks at me like I sprouted two heads overnight.

  “It’ll be fun, come on,” I say, giving him an easy smile. “You don’t have to love it, but it’s my album, and guess what? You’re going to love it.”

  “Please don’t tell me it’s that love song with Miss Wallace.”

  “It’s that love song with Miss Wallace, but you’re gonna shit your pants, Rick. It’s changed. We went with her direction. Gonna blow your mind. Come on, set us up in Room B.”

  Rick looks like he’d rather have a root canal than produce another song, but I assure him this one won’t have much work on it. It’s going to be organic, a simple recording to post script the album, just two voices working magic, and one guitar tying them together. That’s it.

  Once we’re ready, Elena in her cute leggings and fringy top sits across from me, guitar in her lap, and she waits for the signal. Her hair’s done in loose curls, she’s wearing makeup for the special occasion, and I swear I’ve never seen her so beautiful.

  “We ready?” she asks.

  Watching for the control room signal, I say, “Hit it,” and she begins to play.

  I sway to the slow rhythm, back and forth, just like we made love last night. As we sing together, something amazing happens. It’s not me and her fighting anymore, the push and pull of who can do better, who has more control of this song. No, it’s harmony in its purest form.

  Through the glass, I see Rick straddled in his chair, resting his chin against the backrest, tapping his foot and enjoying the song. This one’s a hit. Don’t ask me how, I can just tell. It’s the least overproduced song on the album, the most raw, most real one. And for that reason, people are going to lose their shit over it.

  What’s even better is that I’m not singing a duet with some female country star who’s in love with or married to someone else. While it’s fun to pretend that for three and a half minutes the woman you’re singing to is your soulmate, in this song, she really is. Every word is for her. About her. Every note is a piece of my soul.

  The song might never hit #1, and I would be okay with that, because this melody, these lyrics…they’re all about us. Our story. We lived it, made it, wrote it ourselves, and there’s nothing better than that.

  Except for maybe the look on Rick’s face when the song is over.

  I reach out and take Elena’s victorious smile and plant a big kiss on it. Half the studio erupts into applause. How so many people had no clue we were a couple is craziness. I only began flirting with her from the very first second I met her.

  “So, how long you guys been working on this secret weapon?” Rick asks. Behind him, Pierce raises his fist in silent victory.

  “We only changed the melody…what, last night?” I ask Elena.

  “Yep, last night.”

  “She changed it, actually,” I say. “Elena did. Admit you love it, Rick.”

  “Alright, I’m done fightin’ with you, boy. The track’s all yours.” Rick clicks off his speaker from inside the soundproof control room, and I pull Elena into a hug.

  “We did it,” I whisper by her ear. “You did it. Knew he was going to love it.”

  As we head back into the hall then lounge full of bagels and OJ and eggs, bacon, and grits, Pierce comes up to us and pats us both on the back with the free hand not holding coffee. “Good work, guys. That sounded amazing. I don’t care what Rick says…” He winks, pointing at Elena. “That was your first number one hit right there.”

  Elena beams, and I swear, she’s like Elena times a hundred. I’ve never seen her so happy, full of pride, and in her element.

  “How’s it you don’t have a booking agent yet?” Pierce asks Elena.

  “I don’t know, sir. I just…haven’t gotten in front of the right people, I guess.”

  “Ah, the ol’ paradox. Need agents to get the bigger gigs and bigger gigs to get the agents.” Pierce nods and looks around, hiding a little smile with his coffee mug. “Well, I reckon we need to fix that, don’t we, Jayce?”

  “I reckon we do, sir.” I smile. “I would’ve done it ages ago, but she wouldn’t let me. Full of integrity, she is.” I elbow Elena when Pierce glances away and marvel at her reaction. Looking at me, she raises her eyebrows, as if silently questioning the validity of Pierce’s comment. I nod at her. Pierce is a man of his word.

  “You have an EPK or one-sheet, Wallace?” he asks.

  “I can have one to you by tonight, sir.”

  “Good, let me know if you need someone to create graphics for you. I’ll call Jill tomorrow and let her know what we’ve found.”

  “And what’s that, sir?” Elena asks.

  “Talent.”

  .

  22

  Elena

  I actually did have an electronic press kit for Pierce that day. I couldn’t believe it when Pierce Tennant asked me for one. By “Jill,” he meant Jill Sommersby, Jayce’s booking agent, and within days, I was signed onto the agency. Two months after that, they signed me on a recording label, and everything’s skyrocketed after that.

  I’ve recorded my first single, which released perfectly timed just a week after Jayce’s new album, Nashville Days, Whiskey Nights. I’ve met incredibly talented people in the business, many of whom have assured me that I belong here, that they started out the same way. I even made up with Zoe who now comes to watch me record sometimes so she can grab a few pointers.

  Now, riding down the highway in the Stingray with the windows open, the November winds chill my bones. In a good way. Not only is Jayce’s career hotter than ever after his new album, but people are starting to know who I am. Am I ready for it? It’s a little scary, but hell yeah.

  Sure, the articles mostly began as, “Jayce Owens Dates Backup Singer, Breaks Hearts,�
� but then they turned into, “Jayce Owens and Country Singer Elena Wallace Perform ‘This Home Misses You’ at CMAs.” Just this morning, I read another one on TMZ: “Elena Wallace Working on Debut Album.”

  Living at Jayce’s house has gone fine, too, but we agreed it had some bad mojo. Between our fight that night, his loneliness living there, his mother’s struggle to come out of co-dependency, we all need a new start somewhere else. So we’re looking for a new place to live in the suburbs. Wayyy suburbs. For the first time in my life, this pretend-country girl from New Hampshire might actually become one with ranch, horses, cows, and all. The one we just looked at was perfect in every way.

  I’m so excited and happier than I’ve ever been.

  And then, because Life wants you to know it gets better and better, our song begins playing on the radio.

  “Oh, yeah, baby, turn it up!” I tell Jayce when I hear the first notes of “Home Misses You,” our acoustic last-minute addition.

  Jayce cranks up the volume. There’s something surreal about you and your boyfriend singing along to a song sung by…well, you and your boyfriend. Even more surreal when that song is about the stormy days of your relationship, when neither of us believed it could happen, when both of us had issues we stupidly believed were too overpowering for our love.

  “Love conquers all” isn’t just a phrase—it’s the truth. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for this man. He’s come around and become who I need him to be, and I like to think I’ve done the same for him. And we still collaborate, which is awesome.

  Tonight, we begin work on my new album. Though Rick produced my hit single, “What’s the Point?” which dropped last week and so far, has been getting rave reviews, for producing the new album, he introduced us to Gayle Jennings who did another female solo star, Bree Halloway’s album.

  Simple reason—we’re going for a more feminine sound than with Jayce’s, so I was happy for the recommendation. I know she’ll do a great job. She really gets me and what I’m trying to do—crossover country with a vintage Natalie Merchant coolness. I can’t wait to see what she comes up with.

  When the song is over, we hightail it and smile into the wind all the way to Jayce’s mom’s house. That’s one place that gives me fuzzy memories. Will always remember the first night in the treehouse and how it changed the way I thought about sex. Even though getting it on outdoors used to be Jayce’s thing, I’d be lying if I said he didn’t turn me on to something new. Now, it’s me who asks him to take me somewhere exciting and dark. What if someone’s watching?

  Then they’ll get a hell of a show, I laugh to myself.

  The celebration for Ethan’s birthday at Mama’s house is one of the best nights I’ve had in Nashville in a while. No, they’re technically not my family, but after hearing stories of his childhood growing up, it warmed my heart to see them all connecting and having fun. This family has been through rough times. Seeing them happy and recovering from pain brings tears to my eyes. Even Ethan has been playing gigs again, making his way toward recording. I’m proud of him for doing things his way, without relying on Jayce’s help. Same way I did. Before you know it, we’ll have another Owens onstage, ripping up the charts and making the ladies swoon.

  “I think we should all put our glasses together for a toast,” Jayce says, turning his beer in my direction. “The lovely Miss Wallace, who has catapulted into stardom as of late,” he announces in an über formal tone, “received yet another review this morning from Rolling Stone Magazine calling her new single, ‘…a breath of fresh air.’ Congratulations, Shortcake, and here’s to an amazing year ahead!”

  As I stand there, watching the Owens brothers all toasting their beers and whiskies at me, smiling, handsome faces abound, I’m reminded that anything can happen. Anything at all. Life was so different a year ago. November last year, I was moving into the apartment with Zoe, hoping for a chance to sing anywhere, happy to be working at Hammerhill’s. Yeah, I was struggling, but I was working my dream. Last thing I ever imagined was that I’d fall in love with Jayce Owens, the hottest country star on the planet, and that his family would take me in the way they have. Or that my own career would go so well.

  But that’s how life is.

  As the song says, “What’s the point in planning?” You just never know what life’s going to throw your way. In fact, if my life were a rollercoaster ride, we’d be at the part where you get right to the top of the giant hill, put your arms up, and prepare to feel your stomach rise into your throat. The part where you laugh your head off.

  And so I clink my glass with theirs and smile. “Thanks, everyone.”

  23

  Jayce

  The buzz of the crowd gets me every time—thirty thousand folks.

  Hearing them wait for you to come onstage and take them on a musical journey through the night is like nothing else. They love you, they know all your lyrics, they’ve bought every record, and they even pay your mortgage. I’d do anything for the fans, so when they call your name, you just know you have to deliver.

  Tonight I have no doubt that they’ll love what they came to hear.

  But first, where’s my woman?

  I find Elena standing next to the water cooler, downing paper cup after paper cup of pure, filtered springhill water. Ringing her by the waist, I pull her in for a hug and then nuzzle her neck

  “Jayce!” she giggles.

  “Come on, no one’s looking.”

  More nervous giggles fill our private space, but I know the truth—it’s an act.

  A lot can happen in a year. From recording contracts to new albums to going on tour. Even her sexual appetite has taken a turn for the naughtier, not that I’m complaining. If I took her behind the curtain right over there, minutes before the start of the show, I know Elena would happily throw caution to the wind, toss her arms around my neck, and drink me in.

  Exhibit A—she tugs me by the hand, dragging me to the very spot I was thinking of. She can read my mind, has gotten really good at it, actually. We share so many of the same thoughts sometimes, it’s scary.

  “Alright, cowboy,” she teases, closing the black curtain behind us. On the other side of the massive scaffolding, the stadium vibrates with anticipated stomping. “You roped me in. Now what?”

  The atmosphere amps our excitement. Elena’s kiss is on fire. If I turn her around and pull down them tight jeans, I could fuck her hard and her screams would blend in with the raucous cries of the crowd. No one would ever know. I’m debating whether or not to start, ‘cause once I get going, there’s no stopping, when we hear it—“Jayce! Elena!”

  Pierce, looking for us. “Where are those two?”

  “Damn.” I kiss her again, hard and deep. “Just a little something to think about, then,” I say. “For after the show.”

  “Save it for me then.” She kisses me back so deeply, so fucking hot, she leaves a ringing in my ears. Elena tucks out from behind the curtain and calls out, “We’re here, Pierce!”

  “Oh, thank God.” Pierce stops running, out of breath, and presses a hand to his chest. “Where y’all go right before every show, I don’t know, and I don’t wanna know.”

  “It’s all good, man.” I clap him on the back and strut my way to the side stage.

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer begins, the cue to hurry up and get ready. Taking Elena by the hand, we run to the wings and wait behind the heavy drapery. “You know tonight’s guest as the CMA’s Best New Artist…” He goes on, doing his obligatory listing of awards and accolades.

  I crack my knuckles, jump up and down, and get ready. Behind us, Pierce and Rick talk about the celebrities in the crowd who’ve come to watch. It’s the first night of the tour, so it needs to be tight, electric. It needs to bring everyone to the edge of their seats, up in the air, dancing. In a word, it needs to sizzle, like thick steak over fiery hot coals.

  Taking Elena behind the neck, I twist her face up to me and give her one last kiss before the show starts
. I love this woman. She’s everything I ever needed. “Ready? Get out there and break a leg, Shortcake.”

  The announcer finishes his job of boosting the crowd’s energy. “…please welcome to the stage…ELENA WALLACE!”

  She grabs her guitar, bites her lip nervously, and I pat her bottom to send her off. It’s her first solo concert for her album, Far from Home, and I couldn’t be more proud of her as I am right now. She’s glowing, my strawberry blonde shortcake, in her jeans, pretty pink top, and shiny guitar.

  “How y’all doin’ tonight, Atlanta!” She raises her arms in victory, and the crowd goes wild. “Are y’all ready to have a great time?”

  A real great time. So great, in fact, she has no idea what’s coming. Everyone’s in on it—the musicians, Jill, Pierce, Rick, Mama, my brothers—even her family waiting in the front row. Before she gets the show started, I have one thing to ask—a question to make her first show the most memorable ever.

  “You ready to do this?” Pierce’s hand rests on my shoulder.

  “Never been readier.” Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the small velvety box containing my promise to love and cherish. Taking a deep breath, I follow her out onto the stage to wild applause and sparkling flashes.

  THE END

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  Aubrey