by Kaye, Alexa
I slide my finger along her folds and she smacks her knees together and gives a yelp.
“Never been touched down there?” I ask, flicking my finger as much as I can with my hand pinned against her damp flesh.
“No. Not without my panties.”
“It feels good, doesn’t it? Just wait. It’s going to get better. A lot better.”
“I can’t…”
“You can’t wait, can you?” Shit, if I’d known it would be this fucking good, playing with a virgin, I would’ve done this ages ago. I’ve never felt so desperate for a pussy before. I grit my teeth and I use my free hand to pull her knee, easing her thighs open yet again. She’s shy, fighting me, muscles tense. But her hips rock forward, giving me a better view and angle.
“Damn, look at you. I’ve never seen a prettier pussy.” I run my other hand up her smooth thigh. When I reach the juncture, I press my thumb between her slick folds at her core, testing her channel.
Tight. So damn tight. My dick twinges.
It’s going to feel like a fist wrapped around my rod. A wet, hot fist.
I press deeper, sliding inside. The walls ripple around my invading digit, coating it with her honey. I tease her clit with my other index finger, drawing slow circles around it. Round and round and round.
I’m driving her crazy. And she’s driving me crazy by going crazy. My blood is like liquid fire, pumping to my groin. My balls are so fucking high. When I come, it’s going to be a fucking nuclear meltdown. And she’s going to catch every drop of my cum. But not yet.
My thumb hits the thin membrane of her innocence.
I will be the first to breach that hymen. Me.
Mine. She’s mine.
I pull out my thumb and run its damp tip along her plump lower lip. She stares into my eyes, her little pink tongue slipping out to steal a shy taste of herself. Her eyes widen.
“See? Your honey is sweeter than anything you can buy.” I press my thumb, pushing it into her mouth and she abandons her innocent act, sucking it into her mouth and pulling hard. The sensation goes straight to my dick.
Fuck, I’m going to cum in my pants.
I yank my hand back. “No. You first.” Turning my attention to her clit, I use both hands to part her folds. It’s pink and plump and perfect, just like the rest of her. And it tastes better than my favorite dessert, or drink. I lap at her, unable to resist, to go slow or take my time. It’s as if I were a starving man, tasting food for the first time in months. My finger pumps in and out of her tight cunt, a shallow fucking motion, barely breaching her channel while my tongue licks away every drop of honey that gushes from her.
This pussy is mine. Mine, mine, mine. Mine to eat. Mine to fuck. Mine.
Her hips are rocking in time to my finger fucking. And that channel is clenched so tight my finger is practically being sucked inside. I change to a quick flicking motion and her pussy spasms. I watch, cum burning in my balls, threating to surge up my length as she trembles and quakes and shakes with pleasure. It’s a sight I wish I could capture forever. Legs splayed wide. Pussy soaking wet and open. Nipples hard and sharp points. Pretty skin flushed a deep red.
She is so fuckable. I can’t help it. I yank my belt, unzip my pants and shove them down.
My dick, free at last of its confines, angles up toward my stomach. It’s harder than fucking concrete. I wrap my damp fingers around it and give it one, two long swipes before positioning the scarlet head at her virginal opening.
In one second I’ll be buried deep in her. In…just…one…second.
The tip slides between her outer lips, still puffy from arousal. It finds her tiny opening. Fuck. So tight. I’m shaking all over with the need to ram deep and hard. But I’m hung like a fucking horse. I don’t want to kill her.
I hold it by the root and drag the head up and down along her seam, and she groans. The sound is so damn pretty.
This is it. I’m taking what’s mine. Right now.
The car slams to a stop, sending me sailing sideways.
What the fuck?
Baby rolls off the seat, landing awkwardly on the floor. “What happened?” she asks, face still flushed.
“I don’t know, but I figure we’re about to find out.” I zip myself in then haul her back onto the seat, covering her with my body just as the passenger door swings open.
Jimmy pokes his head inside and I growl.
Rotten timing! Asshole.
“What the fuck, dude? You expecting us to sit around all night and wait for you to bone your slut?” His eyes slide to the girl, most of her tucked behind me.
“She isn’t a slut.”
“Well, damn. I thought you might share.” He climbs aboard, followed by Angus and D. The girl behind me seems to be curling into a tiny ball. Little fingers claw at my shoulder.
“I should go,” she whispers in my ear.
Go? Go where? There was no way I was letting her go anywhere. Not without me. “Let’s get these assholes back to the hotel, and then we’ll figure out what’s happening next.”
She doesn’t argue.
A handful of sluts board next, as usual. They spread out, one or two to each band member.
The car pulls away from the curb, steering into traffic. The boys help themselves to the content of the car’s minifridge, passing around bottles of champagne. Angus goes right to work, shoving his hand up the skirt (and his tongue down the throat) of the blonde sprawled all over him. I feel my girl shifting, tugging at her clothes, putting herself back together, which is good. Because I don’t want any of these assholes to see an inch of her skin.
To help, I shrug out of my jacket and hand it back to her. “Here. Wear this.”
“Thanks.”
By the time the car is pulling up to the hotel, my dick is semi-soft, and Angus’s blonde is almost naked. Her dress is gone, and she’s only wearing heels and a lace thong. The minute that bastard gets her in his room, she’ll be wearing less than that.
They all pile out, one of the girls almost falling on her ass. They’re all drunker than hell. Loud. Ready to party and fuck and then party some more.
But not me.
I shift, and my angel wriggles out from her hiding spot. “I should go.”
She can’t go anywhere. “Spend the night with me.”
The expression on her face says everything she hasn’t. She won’t stay with me. She’s freaked out.
“I’m not like them,” I tell her, knowing she won’t believe me.
She just smiles and nods. “I’m…sorry. I…this is all a lot.”
“I get it.” Hiding my pain behind what I hope is a convincing smile, I pick up the phone to call the driver. “Where do you live? I’ll take you home.”
She doesn’t answer right away. Why? What’s she afraid of?
“Eastern University. I live in the dorms.”
“Okay.”
“But you can just drop me off at the main entrance.”
Is she crazy? Or that afraid of me that she doesn’t want me to know where she lives? “No. I’m taking you home. It’s too late for you to be walking alone. I promise I won’t try to force myself inside or anything.”
“I’m more worried about you. There are a lot of Taking Back Summer fans at my school.”
Ah, so that was it. She wasn’t afraid of me. At least not so afraid she won’t let me know where she lives.
After calling the driver to tell him where to go I pull her onto my lap. Having her soft bottom on my thighs makes my dick hard again. “I’ll stay in the car.” I cup her chin, turning her face to mine. “Spend the day with me tomorrow.”
“I…”
“Please,” I add. “You probably don’t believe me, but it gets lonely on the road.”
“Lonely until you hit the next town and find a new girl to amuse you,” she says.
“No, it isn’t like that.” I hear myself saying the words, but even to my own ears they sound like bullshit. I shove my fingers through my hair. “You aren’t goin
g to believe me. I get it.”
I understand. But that doesn’t mean I’ll accept it.
She will spend tomorrow with me. She has to.
The car turns down the campus’ main road. Time is running out. What the fuck am I going to do? She’s about to walk away. Forever.
My phone number. I can give her that. Maybe she’ll text me. Or call me. I would pay any price to hear her voice again. I go on a mad search for something to write with. Pen. Pencil. Anything.
No? Fuck!
“What are you looking for?” she asks.
“I want to give you my phone number.”
“You don’t need to write it down. I can just save it on my phone.” She digs in her tiny handbag, which I hadn’t noticed before, pulls out a phone, and pokes the screen. “Okay.”
I rattle off my digits. “Call me tomorrow,” I insist.
She nods.
The car stops in front of a three-story brick building.
This is it. She’s leaving. Fuck, I am falling apart already.
She shifts her weight but I grab her by the waist.
“Kiss me first,” I demand.
She presses her lips to mine and just like that I am okay again. Everything is right.
I tangle my fingers in her hair, curling them into fists to hold her in place and the kiss goes from a sweet, shy goodbye to a lust-filled hello. She wriggles and writhes on my lap, her sweet ass rubbing on my rock hard cock. Her hands explore my chest and stomach before coming to rest on my shoulders.
Now this is more like it.
Then she gives a little push. And in a blink the kiss is over.
She rocks off my lap and climbs out of the car.
I watch her disappear into the building.
Gone. My angel is gone.
Chapter 3
Tessa
Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Oh. My. God!
I’m dreaming. That’s what it is. I’m asleep. Dreaming about my favorite singer, from my favorite band. It has to be a dream.
Things like this don’t happen in real life. Rock stars don’t fall in insta-lust with girls at concerts and screw them in limos.
Okay, maybe those things do happen. All the time, probably.
But not to this girl. Never to this girl.
For one, I don’t go to concerts. Ever. I’m poor. Like, former-foster-kid-going-to-school-on-scholarship poor. I don’t have money to buy concert tickets. But I won tonight’s ticket from a radio station. I was able to identify the mystery song, by Taking Back Summer, of course, after only hearing two notes. I know every song of theirs by heart. The notes live inside my body.
Inside my dorm, I race up the stairs and dash into my room. My clothes are practically falling off my body. Thank God I’m still wearing Cole Zaden’s jacket.
Cole Zaden.
I kissed Cole Zaden.
I have Cole Zaden’s phone number!
He wants me to call him.
Cole freaking Zaden.
But I don’t know if I should.
I can’t tell anyone what happened after the concert.
Or can I?
Will anyone believe me? I know I wouldn’t if some random girl at school had claimed she’d made out with him in a limo.
My roommate, Ashley, takes one look at my disheveled appearance and asks, “What happened, Tessa? Were you attacked?”
“No, I’m fine.” I’m grinning like a total goon. But I can’t help myself. Cole Zaden wants to see me tomorrow.
Of course, he wants to see me because he wants sex. He’s a rock star. That’s all they ever want, right?
We’d almost done it in the car. We’d gotten so close. And I had been ready. I would have let it happen. But then the car had stopped and his other band guys had piled in with their drunk groupies and that was the end of that.
In a way I’m grateful. It gives me time to think things through.
Do I want to be another notch on Cole Zaden’s bedpost? Just another nameless girl he screws?
Or do I want my first time to be with someone who actually cares for me?
Then again, the guys at school are horny assholes. Who’s to say any of them would care about me? They say whatever they have to, to get in a girl’s pants. I know that. So if I’m going to let some guy who isn’t my husband, punch my v-card, would it be so bad if it was a guy like Cole? A guy who doesn’t have to lie to get sex? Who doesn’t pretend it’s anything more than what it is? Who is older and more experienced (a thousand times more experienced) and totally upfront about what he wants?
At least he’ll probably be patient. And last longer than two seconds.
I don’t know what to do.
I shrug out of his coat and hook a hanger inside it. I’ll give it back tomorrow. Maybe. If I see him. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll keep it.
Before I hang it in my closet, I hold it to my nose. I smell him. His scent, a blend of really expensive cologne and man and sweat. Then I head to the bathroom to take a shower.
Somehow I have to sleep tonight. If I do (a big if) I know who I’ll be dreaming about: Cole Zaden.
My rock star fantasy guy.
But I have a feeling I won’t be dreaming. I’ll be lying awake, trying to decide whether I’ll let a man who is old enough to almost be my father, (and who has probably had more partners than I will in my lifetime, and who will probably forget me the second we’re through with the deed) punch my v-card.
You’d think it would be an easy decision, but it’s not.
Maybe I will tell Ashley. I need some help deciding.
Chapter 4
Cole
Back in our hotel suite it’s an outright orgy. Guys with girls. Girls with girls. Cocks and pussies. Mouths and hands. Tits everywhere. Tequila. Coke. Weed. The smoke is thick. A couple of groupies greet me as I enter, paw at me. One grabs my dick through my pants and purrs. Yeah, I’m still semi-hard from that kiss. I can’t help it. Even thinking about my angel makes me hard.
“Baby,” the groupie says as she shimmies down my body, her eyes focused on mine. “Let me make you feel good.”
Maybe, just maybe, I could get my rocks off if I fucked her. But then again, I think my angel has ruined me forever. I feel nothing as the eager bitch tugs on my zipper. Nothing but annoyance.
I catch her hands. “No.”
The girl’s over-plumped lips purse. “But baby, I swallow.”
I step aside, leaving her kneeling on the floor. I’m so done with this shit. The sloppy-drunk girls. The noise. The mess. The puking. I weave between writhing bodies in various states of undress, heading to my room. I open the door to discover somebody--rather somebodies, plural—fucking in my bed. My bed.
Fuck.
I charge out of the suite and fume the entire ride down to the lobby. There’d better be an open room. I just want to be alone. For one night. No beds thumping. No girls squealing and giggling. No puking. Alone.
I stomp up to the counter and request a room. Great news. They have one. An hour later, I’ve showered and am jacking off to pay-per-view porn. And of course I dream about my angel all night long.
The next morning, I’m determined to see her. I send one of the roadies over to her place with a gift. A pair of backstage passes to tonight’s show and some handbag I was told (by his girlfriend) any girl would be thrilled to own. I know nothing about handbags. Seems to me to be a pretty lame gift. But if she’s right, I’m hoping I’ll see my angel backstage tonight, ready to let me know how grateful she is for the gift.
Next, I gave my manager a homework assignment. Find out all he can about my angel and of course her age. I can’t risk being caught with an underage teenager pretending to be older than she is. But that’s not the real reason why I want him to look her up; I want to know who she is, how to find her again. I want to know everything there is to know about her.
By six o’clock, I’m on edge. I can’t eat. I can’t drink. I can’t even think. I don’t just want to know if she’ll be there. I need to know.
Correction: I need her there. Period.
Tessa. Her name is Tessa Marie Compton. Twenty years old. Student. Just like she told me. The rest I’ll find out on my own. Starting tonight.
I send the car to pick her up as I get ready for tonight’s performance. For the first time in years I’m looking forward to performing. To the screaming fans. And the lights. And the energy pulsing through my body. It’s a rush, but only when I have her there with me.
She has to be there.
By seven, I’m an anxious mess. I see myself acting crazy. But I can’t stop it. I’ve known my angel for one day. Twenty-something hours. And I am already obsessed with her. If she isn’t in the car when I go down, I don’t know what I’ll do.
The driver isn’t answering his phone, and I’m pissed.
At eight I head down to the lobby and outside. The sun is hanging low, the rays painting the fluffy clouds in the distance in brilliant pinks and purples. I open the car door and peer inside.
And breathe at last.
Tessa smiles. Damn, that smile is brighter than the sun.
I climb in and take a seat next to her. I have only a minute before the rest of the band comes down. I grab her hand.
“This is my friend, Ashley,” she tells me, waving to the girl I hadn’t even noticed.
“Hi,” Ashley says, wearing a typical fan girl grin.
“Hello, Ashley,” I greet before turning my full attention back to my angel. “You came.”
“How could I refuse? You gave me backstage passes. And a Louis Vuitton.” She pats the bag hanging from her shoulder.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s the nicest thing I’ve ever owned.”
“Good. Get used to being spoiled. You deserve the best.”
She blushes. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know,” I tell her, lifting her hand to my lips. I kiss each little fingertip.
“For the record, I want you to know I’m not here because I want things,” she tells me.
“For the record, I don’t care if you are. I just want you here.”