Color Me Crazy

by Carol Pavliska

  Unbelievable.

  “Are you nuts? I do not want you looking at, touching, or biting anyone’s breasts. I mean, how would you feel if I…”

  Julian and Sheik waited while she failed to come up with an adequate comparison. Her face flushed. “Let’s go,” she said, grabbing Julian’s hand. “We need to talk.”

  “After-party, Princess,” barked Sheik. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Oh, God. Her eyes stung. Was she freaking going to cry? This was the last place she wanted to be…backstage at a concert, watching rock stars—one of them her boyfriend—be idiots. She wanted to take Julian home, back to Soundbox, where people were real, the art was what mattered, and nobody bit strangers for publicity.

  But what would happen if she came out and told him? She remembered what he’d looked like on the stage, the sheer magnitude of the magic. She shifted her face away before someone saw a tear escape.

  Too late. Sheik saw it and let out a groan. “What the fuck,” he said to Julian. “I’ll tell Seth you had an emergency. But don’t think I’m going to let you skip one again.”

  Donnie pulled the limo away from the Target Center, and the privacy divider slid up silently.

  “Why so quiet, love?” Julian brought her hand to his lips and delivered a feathery kiss. “Didn’t you enjoy the show?”

  “Sure,” she said. The band had been amazing—the energy insane—and Julian had performed a song just for her. But it had been a lie. Just a show.

  A moment or two of silence passed. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “One guess, genius.”

  “The biting thing?”

  “Wow, you didn’t even need to phone a friend. What else have you been doing on this tour that you think is totally acceptable but absolutely isn’t?”

  “I can’t recall what that girl—or her tits—even looked like. I don’t understand why you’re feeling threatened.”

  “I am not feeling threatened!”

  “Then what is it, baby?” He took her face in his hands. “Look at me. I love you.”

  His voice didn’t waver. He stared at her as if she were the only star in a dark sky. Her heart, frozen with worry, began to thaw.

  “Can I kiss you?” Julian whispered.

  There was nothing in the world she wanted more. He slipped his hand behind her head, and she closed her eyes, falling into him. He kissed her lightly, his lips soft and sweet.

  She needed more. Too many emotions ran through her. She needed one of them to come front and center so she could focus on it. She bit Julian’s bottom lip—some punishment was in order—and he gasped. She took control and invaded his mouth with her tongue. He accepted it eagerly and sucked on it in a rhythmic manner that was delightfully filthy. He broke the kiss.

  “Oh,” he whispered, his eyes still closed. “That was the color of rubies.”

  “What was?”

  “That suction sound, when we kissed. Like this.” He kissed her again. Little kisses over and over.

  “Hear it? It’s like rubies raining down.”

  He put his lips back on hers, then kissed his way down to her neck. She sighed in bliss.

  “Emeralds,” he whispered.

  He ran his tongue along her collarbone, and she moaned softly. “Mmm, amethysts. Do that again, Cleo.” His hand went beneath her shirt, and she had no choice but to do it again.

  She began unbuttoning her blouse, anticipating where he was going to put that delicious mouth next. Predictably, he licked downward, following her fingers as they left each button.

  “Let me,” he said. With one quick yank, all the buttons flew off. “Sorry. It’s been a while, so prepare to be ravished.” He winked, but unbridled passion flashed in his chocolate-brown eyes.

  Cleo squeezed her thighs together and shivered. “Bring it.”

  He palmed her breast and squeezed, then pulled the cup of her bra down, lifting her breast out and covering it with kisses. “I adore you,” he said, before moving to the other breast. He took his time, like she was something sweet to savor.

  The concert, the groupies, the fans…it all washed away so she could be fully present with this man, her real boy who happened to come with a guitar, a limo, and a hit single. He was every thrill she’d ever chased, every fantasy she’d ever dreamed, and yet, all she wanted was the man, stripped of glitter and fame, naked and real before her.

  She found it hard to keep still as he continued his ministrations to her breasts. He kissed, he nibbled, he used that silver stud in all the right ways and the thrill went straight between her legs, a place he wasn’t paying any attention to at all.

  “Julian, please,” she begged.

  “Please what?” he whispered, letting his warm breath brush her nipple.

  Ah, she didn’t know what to say. She knew what she wanted. She knew it distinctly. His hand needed to go lower, up her skirt, and touch her. And she needed him to do it right now, before she combusted on the spot.

  “Touch me,” she said.

  He held a breast in each hand, squeezing her nipples between his thumbs and fingers. And she squeezed her thighs together in agony.

  “I am touching you,” he said.

  “Not there.”

  “Then where?”

  She moved her hips and opened her legs, issuing a subtle invitation to move the action farther south.

  “Julian, please.” She grabbed his hand and put it on her thigh.

  “I’m sorry, love, but we seem to be having a failure to communicate.” He pulled his hand away and went back to her breasts.

  He flicked a nipple with his tongue, then sucked on it. She was so sensitive now, it was hardly bearable.

  “Please?”

  He let her nipple pop out of his mouth and grinned at her, running his hand up her stockings, tickling her inner thigh. Oh, finally! But then he stopped.

  She groaned as he went back to her breast, drawing her nipple deeply into his mouth. The fingers of his right hand continued brushing her inner thigh, but they didn’t go any higher. She was going to die. She sought friction by moving her hips, trying to get his fingers where she wanted them, but it was all to no avail. “Julian,” she snapped.

  “Where do you want me to touch you, baby?” he whispered. His eyes darkened, and his nostrils flared. “Say it.”

  She did not have a limited vocabulary. She had a broad and extensive vocabulary. Several words came to mind, and not a single one seemed appropriate to the occasion. One or two of them, while technically correct, ran the risk of shutting things down completely. And the others…

  She knew what he wanted her to say. His eyes bored into hers, urging her, daring her, begging her to say it. She placed her lips at his ear and whispered the dirtiest word she knew.

  He growled in response, then kissed her hard. He called her his dirty girl, his little slut, and it should have upset her, infuriated her, mortified her, but it didn’t. It turned her on.

  She grabbed his face. “Do it.”

  His fingers went exactly where she needed them to go, inside her panties, inside her, and she exploded.

  Julian raised his eyebrows. “You’re kidding me.”

  She couldn’t breathe enough to answer. The waves and contractions flowed through her body. Julian kept his eyes on hers, watching and feeling, and at just the right moment, he moved his finger while rubbing the magic spot with his thumb.

  “Stop,” she wheezed.

  Julian pouted. “Really? Because you know what will happen if I don’t.”

  She did know. She’d have another orgasm, and this one would be mind-blowing. And probably noisy. “I don’t want Donnie to know what we’re doing back here,” she stage-whispered.

  “He won’t know. We’re soundproofed. Mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  “Come on, now. Lean back, and we’ll go for the double.”

  Sex with Julian was over-the-top—he instinctively knew what to do to give her pleasure—and he could do it for
ever. She leaned back on the seat and smiled, giving permission for him to do whatever he pleased.

  He pulled her panties down over her boots and held them up in triumph before shoving them in his pocket. “My second pair of the tour. Got my first pair from a hot little number I did on the bus.”

  The bus. That had been fun. And noisy. She closed her legs.

  “Donnie is literally a few feet away. We’ll be at the hotel soon. Let’s wait.” She chewed on her thumbnail and held her knees firmly together.

  Julian placed his hands on her knees and raised an eyebrow, then exerted enough force to part her legs. She tried to snap them shut.

  “Are you struggling against me? I like that.”

  She hadn’t known he liked that. The idea of putting up a fight sounded fun. She forced her knees back together and made what she hoped was a struggling type of sound.

  Julian immediately dropped his hands from her knees. “Sorry,” he said. “I was just playing around. We can wait.”

  Cleo sighed and rolled her eyes. “I was playing around, too, you goof.” She winked at him and went limp. “Your turn. Pretend to overpower me.”

  “Oh.” He grinned. “In that case…”

  In a flash, he wrenched her knees apart and held them open. Just to see what would happen, Cleo tried to close them. And they didn’t budge. He was strong. She tried again, adding a petite grunt with her efforts, but he held fast, growling in response.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m looking,” he said. “God, I’ve missed you.”

  He ran his hands from the insides of her knees to the insides of her thighs, bringing his fingers together at her tingling flesh. He teased her there, then opened her legs wider, eliciting a sigh.

  “Pink,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “That little sigh. Hot pink. Like your—”

  “Julian!”

  She tried to sound exasperated but was too turned on to swing it. If Julian kept this up, she would come undone, and everyone within a one-mile radius would know it, mostly soundproofed limo or not.

  He knelt on the floor next to the seat and dropped his head between her legs. She was definitely going to come undone.

  He kissed her sensitive inner thighs, rubbing his lips, nose, and bristly stubble against her skin. He ran his tongue over her exposed cheeks, gave one a kiss and the other a bite. He’d bitten her. But before she could complain, he nibbled elsewhere. She inhaled sharply as his tongue began licking slowly, with definite intention.

  She moaned—loudly—and the sound of her own voice startled her. “Julian, I’m afraid Donnie can hear us.”

  He lifted his head, and she blushed at the sight of his lips glistening in the dim light. “He can’t hear me. I’m being as quiet as a church mouse. You’re being more…indigo, I’d say.”

  He extended his tongue for another soft lick. Cleo’s voice betrayed her again, and she arched her back, opening her legs even wider.

  “That’s a good girl.” He dipped his head and sucked gently on the sweet spot where all of her nerve endings currently hummed. His warm mouth covered her completely, performing a gentle, rhythmic sucking. She tried to be quiet, but another orgasm was building. She moved against him, holding her breath as he broke the suction to explore and tantalize with his tongue, alternating kisses with feathery licks. It was too good.

  “Oh, God,” she gasped. “Julian, I’m going to—”

  Donnie’s voice burst through the small speaker. “We’ve arrived at the hotel.”

  Cleo snapped her legs shut as Julian reached next to her ear and depressed a button. “We’re going to be a few minutes. Just pull into a spot.”

  “Let’s not be a few minutes,” Cleo said urgently. “Let’s go up to your room. He knows what we’re doing.”

  Julian forced her knees back open. “He doesn’t know exactly what we’re doing. And who cares? You said I needed to eat more. That’s all I’m trying to do, love.”

  He grinned like the devil and went right back to work. And Cleo forgot all about Donnie as she exploded in what Julian would probably call magenta.

  It took Cleo a moment to settle back down to earth.

  “You think you’ll be able to walk within the next few minutes?” Julian asked. He seemed obnoxiously impressed with himself.

  Cleo regained some clarity. “Of course I can walk. You give yourself too much credit.” Her legs felt like spaghetti.

  Everyone within sight would stare to see who got out of the stretch limousine. Cleo put her coat on because it was cold outside, but also because Julian had ripped all the buttons off her blouse. She smoothed down her skirt, brushed her hair with her fingers, and generally tried to make herself look presentable. Then she remembered a small detail.

  She held out her hand. “Give me my panties.”

  Julian shrugged just as the door opened. Donnie gazed in. “Can I help you out, Cleo?”

  “Careful with the exit, love,” Julian said with a wink.

  With one hand firmly holding down her skirt, Cleo accepted Donnie’s hand with the other and carefully slid out of the limo. Julian followed, reaching into his pocket for some cash. He pulled out a wad of bills and, unfortunately, Cleo’s purple panties. They fluttered toward the ground with Julian making awkward grabs, as if they weren’t drawing enough attention without a rock star in hot pursuit. He snatched them up just before they hit the ground.

  “Good grief,” Cleo said, as Julian shoved them back into his pocket.

  To his credit, Donnie maintained a pleasant poker face. “It was nice meeting you both. Cleo, I had fun with you tonight.”

  Cleo was about to say she’d enjoyed his company as well, since they were being so civil while she stood there commando, but then, with his tip securely in hand, Donnie added, “But not as much fun as Julian.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Julian startled awake in a combination of panic, pain, and colors. The sound of his own breathing was an explosion of red and black in his head, so he covered his ears. It didn’t help. He shut his eyes, and that didn’t help, either. The red and black merged with the murky brown sludge growing with every rustle of the sheets and thunderous beat of his heart.

  This couldn’t be happening. Not now. He cracked open an eye to peek at the clock. It was four o’clock in the morning. Fuck.

  Maybe it would subside. He counted to twenty and took a deep breath, scooting closer to Cleo and her magic citrus elixir. But he was too far gone. No trace of oranges or tangerines. Only one thing could help him now. Luckily, Cleo was a sound sleeper.

  Bile rose in his throat, and every bone in his body hurt. Julian’s head pounded, his skin burned, and his teeth chattered. Silently, he slid out of the bed onto the floor, where he felt safer, and crawled to the bathroom. Nothing came up when he tried to vomit, and he ended up hanging over the toilet bowl, drooling in the dark.

  He reached up and removed the lid from the tank, careful to not wake Cleo. It sounded like a machine gun going off an inch from his face, and he almost dropped it. The plastic baggie he’d taped to the edge of the tank was still there. Relief poured through him, setting off a new wave of shivers. The anticipation was both euphoric and excruciating.

  The trembling wouldn’t stop, and his fingers could barely hold on to the baggie. There was no way he could do what he needed without help, so he crawled back to the bed and clumsily patted down the nightstand for his phone. It hit the floor with a soft thud. Picking it up, he forced himself to stand. He needed to get to where Cleo wouldn’t hear him call Sheik.

  Minutes later, there was a soft knock on the door. Julian opened it. Sheik’s hulking figure blocked out the light from the hallway.

  “I told you, you stupid fuck.”

  “Shut up, Sheik,” Julian whispered. “Just help me.”

  “Where’s your woman?”

  “Asleep in the other room. Stop shouting.”

  “I’m barely whispering, you idiot.”

 
; Maybe so, but it split Julian’s head in two. “Can we go to your room?”

  Sheik sighed. “Put some damn pants on first.”

  Luckily, his were within arm’s reach on the back of a chair. He managed to get them on by himself—no way he could ask Sheik for help—and they quietly headed for Sheik’s room. Once inside, Julian thrust the baggie into Sheik’s hands.

  “What’s this?”

  Julian didn’t answer. It was fucking obvious what it was: a tiny balloon of heroin, a syringe, and a spoon, which wasn’t a spoon at all, but the bottom of a soda can.

  “Fuck. You’ve graduated to needles. You been doing this shit alone?”

  Again, no sense in answering. He wished he was doing it alone now, but the synesthesia episode made it too hard. He could barely see. He couldn’t even grip the syringe…

  “You’re lucky you’re not dead. What happened to the post-concert snort? That didn’t last long, did it? I told you, motherfucker. I told you this would happen.”

  “Must be awesome being right all the time,” Julian mumbled. He could hear Sheik’s voice—like a fucking avalanche—but couldn’t see him because of the brown sludge. He could barely stand. But he’d take the shit Sheik was dishing if it meant he’d get some relief.

  Sheik shoved Julian, and he fell onto the bed in a crash of sound and color. He rolled onto his side and listened. Episodes meant hypersensitive hearing: Sheik pouring water into the spoon, dropping in the tar, striking the lighter. In his mind, Julian watched the tar dissolve. Then he shivered in anticipation as the cotton went in, sensing when Sheik poked the needle into it and pulled out the plunger, filling the syringe with the poison. He heard Sheik’s deep, rattling breath—black and bubbly like liquid heroin—as he turned to Julian.

  “Okay, Princess. Let’s get this over with.”

  “No bump,” Julian whispered.

  “Damn,” Sheik said. “Straight into the vein, huh? What am I gonna tie off with?”

  Julian didn’t care. He lay with his eyes squeezed shut, wishing Sheik would hurry the fuck up.

  Something went around his arm. It was tugged tight, and Julian squeezed to make a fist, to get the vein bulging. Sheik’s big hand grabbed his arm roughly, and Julian heard him gasp. “How the hell have I missed these tracks? How often are you hitting it, man?”