by Ava Lore
“Then what are you doing in here?” I demanded.
He spread his hands. “You were crying,” he said simply.
My mouth dropped. “Crying?” I said. “I wasn't crying.”
“Our rooms are very close,” he replied. “The head of your bed meets mine. I thought I heard you weeping...”
The revelation that he had set me up in a room literally next to his freaked me out, but not enough to override his insistence that I had been crying of all things. I'd been dreaming, but I couldn't remember what it had been about. Surely not something so bad it made me cry.
I brought a hand to my face, just to reassure myself, and I was startled when my hand came away wet.
“Oh,” I said after a moment. “I guess I was crying.”
“May I come in?” he asked. His voice was gentle, nothing like the hard-ass business man that I'd first met, nothing like the pushy, sexual rock god who loved to eat pussy and wanted nothing more than to fuck me until I screamed his name. This Kent was... sweet. This must be the caretaker Kent, I realized, the one that's worrying himself into his grave over his baby brother.
“Um,” I said. “Yeah. Sure.”
He walked further into the room, his steps slow and sure. A small easy chair sat in the corner next to the window, and when he reached it the small glow coming from the streetlamps down the street lit his face very softly through the curtains. Sitting down, he stretched out lazily. He wore only a sleeveless undershirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. “Rebecca,” he said.
I swallowed and waited. I loved the sound of my name on his lips. It sounded like something he wanted to eat, a delicate dish he was ordering at a restaurant.
“Rebecca, I'm sorry.”
I blinked. “I'd never expected him to say that. “What do you mean?” I asked him.
The thin line of light falling against his cheek and jaw bent supply, a sign of his teeth clenching. “I mean,” he said, “that I've been taking advantage of you. Sexually.”
A tiny snort escaped me, and he shifted. “What's so funny?”
I shook my head. “Nothing,” I said. “I mean, I guess you could say you've been doing that. But it's not like I'm not a willing participant.”
His sharp intake of breath told me that he hadn't been quite sure, and I realized that while he had been preoccupied with keeping his hands off of me, there had been a fear in the back of his mind that I may have been under duress. I needed a job, after all, and he was in a position of power over me.
“I suppose that is true,” he said after a moment. “It's still inappropriate. I was attracted to you the first moment I saw you. I thought the airplane could scratch the itch, and, if you were the right candidate for the job, then there would be no further trouble...” He cleared his throat. “That's obviously not the case.”
My heart was beating faster and faster, adrenaline spiking in my veins. My core was wet and my breasts suddenly felt heavy, anchors weighing me down. The need to touch myself, to touch him, was almost shocking. I clenched my hands tight. “So?” I said.
He sighed. “So now you're an employee. I decided that I would make you Carter's girlfriend because it solved a number of problems for him, and for me. For him, it would give him someone who could look after him, keep him in line while I try to help him launch his career in film. Keep him in line before he falls off the deep end... And I told the rest of the band you were his real girlfriend because it was the perfect incentive to stay away from you. After all, if everyone thinks it's real... and anyone got wind that I was hung up on my brother's girl... that would be disastrous.”
“Would it?” I asked him. “Would it really? The publicity would be great.”
In the dim light, I saw him shake his head. “No. That's just it. The Lonely Kings are always in the news, always on the blogs. We're wild children. That image isn't bad for rock stars, but Carter... he needs something to challenge him. He's never been challenged by his guitar, or by his songs and writing ability. I thought if I could get him an acting gig he might stabilize. But the sorts of roles he's up for, in teen flicks with vampires and fairies and werewolves and things, he needs to be healthier. More wholesome. No one is going to want to let their teenage girl go to a movie starring Carter Hudson, the Red Carpet Shitter.”
I gasped. “Did he?” I'd seen the piss photos and Kent was right. Carter needed to shape up his image if he wanted to get into the kinds of films that would make him a star.
Kent shook his head. “No,” he said, sounding almost rueful, “but the fact that you just had to ask me that shows how far I have to go to rehabilitate him.”
This was tough and I wasn't quite sure how to put it delicately. “Does... does Carter want to be rehabilitated?” I asked.
He was silent for a long moment. “I don't know,” he said finally. “I know he's having problems. I can't get him to tell me about them, though. And he drinks and parties to make those problems go away, but they keep getting worse and worse and worse...”
Kent trailed off. In the dimness, I could see his whole body tensing up, curling in on itself. It had been a long night, and it was going to be a long day tomorrow. He was tired. Any idiot could see that. He'd been dragging the band into stardom with his own two hands for years now, and he was probably ready to drop.
Weirdly, I felt sorry for him. Not for the riches or the fame or any of that other stuff, but for the poverty of his life away from it. He was a workaholic, and his work included trying to wrangle three unruly children who had the freedom of adults. He was strong. I'd seen his will at work. I'd seen how good he was at not giving a fuck to get a job done. But that sort of thing can take a toll on a man. No wonder he gravitated to me. I didn't know why he thought I was attractive, but attraction is a weird thing. If he got his tension out with sex, then he was probably working his way through a couple of years of backlog.
I dropped the sheet.
Immediately Kent stiffened in his seat. “We shouldn't...” he said.
I shook my head. “We don't have to touch to have a nice time,” I told him. “The more the merrier, right?”
I saw his eyes glitter in the light of the streetlamp. “Maybe.”
My hands trembled. I'd never been so audacious before, but Kent got under my skin. Slowly I peeled the sheets away from my naked body and heard his sharp intake of breath in the stillness. Licking my lips, I parted my legs and let my shaking hands wander down my body, over my belly, through the soft thatch of pubic hair on my mound, and down in between my pussy lips.
I was wet, slick and hot, like a jungle. Kent's breath picked up as I slowly dragged moisture over my hard little clit, my other hand wandering up to play with one nipple. I gave it a pinch and I squeaked, my hips twisting and jerking at the sensation, and then I began to play with my pussy in earnest.
“Christ,” Kent muttered, and from the corner of my eye I saw him move. I turned to see him reaching into the slit at the front of his pj bottoms, and in the dark of the room he pulled out his enormous cock.
God, he was huge. I knew it from our airplane encounter, but now I could fully appreciate it, standing tall and proud and heavy in the soft light streaming in through the window. I spread my pussy with my fingers and began to give my clit the quick, tight circles I knew would bring me to climax in a few minutes.
Kent's long-fingered hand began to stroke his cock.
Make that less than a minute.
Our breathing began to match up, pulsing in time with our frantic ministrations. My core tightened as I watched Kent stroke his shaft, and his glittering eyes raked over my naked body. I twisted and turned, my feet finding the mattress and pushing up into my hand. I bit my lip, tiny moans escaping from my throat as I fondled my breasts.
“Jesus, Rebecca,” Kent said. “Jesus, Jesus...”
I forced myself to turn and watch him as his hips started thrusting into his fist. Beneath the thin white cotton of his undershirt his perfectly sculpted abs contracted and relaxed as he fell into the rhy
thm of pleasure. Gleaming beads of precum escaped his cock, making the soft head gleam in the dimness as he swirled his palm over the glans. I wondered if it tasted as good as it looked—dark and sweet and thick.
The sad thought—that this might be the last time we could do something like this together—flashed in and out of my mind like lightning. It was weird. I didn't know Kent. It was all hormones and stress and desperation between us, a way to relieve pressure, but I couldn't help but think that there could have been something more there. At the very least, the sex would have been molten hot. I wanted it badly. So, so badly.
But I couldn't. He was right. We had jobs to do, we were now boss and employee, and now he sat across the room, a thousand miles away, stroking his cock and watching me play with my cunt, feeling each other only in our imaginations.
How big would he be in me? Would he touch all the secret parts, the sweet, soft places that ached for him? Would he be quick, or take his time? Would his hips twist, would he grind against my clit, would the bulbous head of his cock pull and plunge in completely, or would he move in tight, quick thrusts? Would he, could he, what would his body feel like, all whip-cord muscles and rough, calloused fingers, teeth and tongue and hard and thick and oh—
My orgasm came suddenly, swiftly, wrapping around me like a vise, and I arched hard into my hand. My palm flattened against my pussy of its own accord, rubbing and sliding, almost frictionless with the slick juices of my core, and the tiny, strangled sound that escaped my throat reached across the room and jerked Kent over the edge with me.
“Shit—!” It came out as a hiss, a hard, sharp thing, cutting through me like a knife, and I turned my head just in time to see white spurts of cum leap out of his cock. They flew through the air, up across his granite-hard abdomen, spattering over the wifebeater he wore, and his head was thrown back with release. The column of his throat bulged with his Adam's apple, and the low moan he made reverberated through the entire room, quivering and dancing over my skin.
The pleasure receded, leaving me exhausted and limp upon the bed. In his armchair, Kent sagged, clearly just as spent, but as our breathing slowed down our mutual knowledge that this was now over crept in, crowding out the aftershocks. I didn't know what to say. Thanks for the laughs?
Finally he stood up, readjusting his clothing until he was mostly-presentable. I sat up and reached down the bed, pulling the covers around me. I wanted him to kiss me for some reason, but he didn't. He just stared at me for a long moment, his face unreadable in the dark.
“Good night, Rebecca,” he said at last. “I'll see you in the morning. Get some sleep, it's going to be a fight.”
I swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Good night.”
He left.
I didn't sleep at all.
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About the Author
Ava Lore was raised by okapis and lives to corrupt the innocent. When she's not writing
erotic romance, she spends her time thinking about writing erotic romance and drinking enough iced coffee to kill a musk ox.
You can email Ava Lore at [email protected], follow her on twitter (@authoravalore) or visit her at authoravalore.com. She yearns for your approval and always loves to hear from fans.
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