The Love Song of Sawyer Bell (Tour Dates Book 1)

by Avon Gale

  Eventually Vix’s mouth was back between Sawyer’s legs, and all the stimulation had her so close that she knew she would come if Vix kept up the pressure and speed of that wicked, wonderful tongue.

  “Please,” she gasped, sweat dampening her forehead, climbing and climbing and chasing the fall.

  Vix didn’t stop sucking and licking her clit, but she did press two fingers inside of Sawyer, and then, instead of fucking her in and out like before, she crooked them upward. The sensation was strange, but the pressure was perfect, and Sawyer was grinding her cunt into Vix’s mouth, breath held and limbs shaking as the fall finally came and she tumbled over into orgasm. She felt it everywhere—inside her cunt, her clit, tingling in the nerves of her labia. Gasping for breath, she weakly pushed Vix’s head away because the sensitivity was inching toward painful.

  She was barely aware of Vix crawling up to lie next to her, gently stroking her arm, her stomach, her hair. Sawyer’s eyes blinked open, and she looked over at Vix, dazed. “That was amazing.”

  Vix’s mouth was wet, and when she kissed Sawyer, she could taste herself on Vix’s lips.

  “Now take off those shorts and let me have my way with you,” Sawyer said, when she’d finally caught her breath. “The great leader demands it.”

  The intensity of that first orgasm had pretty much taken away any nerves and embarrassment, and Sawyer spent a lot of time touching Vix, kissing her and leaving a few love-bites of her own. Vix was as bossy when she was the one on her back, which Sawyer didn’t mind at all. She taught Sawyer how to do that amazing thing with her fingers, and when Sawyer went down on her, Vix wasn’t shy about instructing her with what she wanted. She liked a lot of pressure, and told Sawyer that while she liked having someone go down on her, she preferred to come by penetration and clitoral stimulation.

  So Sawyer indulged herself by exploring Vix’s cunt with her tongue and her fingers, learning the shape and taste, and rubbed Vix off with the flat of two fingers. “This isn’t too hard?”

  “Do I . . . seem like . . . it’s too hard?” Vix asked. She sprawled on the messy, rumpled bed and dug her heels into the mattress, feet flexing and pointing as Sawyer rubbed her. “It’s great, goddamn it, I guess that’s . . . violinists—”

  “You don’t get into Juilliard playing a violin like this,” Sawyer informed her, grinning as Vix laughed. The noises she was getting out of Vix were as beautiful as music, but Sawyer didn’t say that. Too cheesy, even if it was true. Her arm was getting a little tired, but the way her fingers slid through the slick wetness of Vix’s slit, back and forth, faster and faster . . . she didn’t care. She’d do it all night.

  Vix grabbed Sawyer’s wrist and pushed the palm down, grinding it hard on her cunt, and then she came. She was loud—very loud—and unlike Sawyer, didn’t hold her breath through the whole thing. She moaned with increasing fervor and her whole body trembled and shook, her eyes closed, mouth open, face twisted almost as if she were in pain.

  It was beautiful. Vix was beautiful. Sawyer watched until Vix opened her eyes, and she went to move her hand, but Vix shook her head. “I can do that again really fast after the first one. If you want to get me off with your mouth now, it will totally work.”

  It totally did.

  It was late by the time they got into bed together—under the sheets—dressed in only their panties, cuddling up and watching HGTV. There wasn’t anything sexual about it—well, maybe a little; Sawyer liked the part where they were both topless, and she couldn’t quite stop touching Vix—but it was fun, and it was easy. It’d never been like this with Patrick, which Sawyer finally understood was because it couldn’t have been this way. And not just because Patrick wasn’t a girl. Or because they hadn’t really been friends. It wasn’t really about Patrick at all. It was about Sawyer not being true to herself and what she wanted.

  “I kind of hate the thought of getting back in that van,” Vix said with a yawn. She snuggled up closer to Sawyer. “This was fun. I hope you liked it.”

  “Um, duh. Of course I did.” Sawyer had liked it the second time Vix went down on her, and she’d also liked it when they’d gotten themselves off lying next to each other on the bed. She’d liked watching Vix make herself come a lot. “I feel like I should say thank you, but is that insulting?”

  “Thanking me for great sex is never insulting.” Vix leaned in and kissed her. “I’m really glad you liked it.”

  Sawyer wondered if they’d do it again, and how to ask that. “I did. And not only the part where I got off. Like . . . you’re right. It was fun.” She made a face. “I wish I could play my violin and have it say with music what I’m butchering with words right now.”

  Vix’s eyes gleamed.

  Sawyer sighed. “If you want the notebook, you get up and get it.”

  Vix laughed and bit her lightly on the shoulder. “I know what you mean, though. Sometimes sex . . . People think it can’t be fun. Like, it always has to be so serious.”

  The chords of some dark, ominous music played in the reaches of Sawyer’s mind, though she was too tired and satisfied to figure out why she was hearing it. “I know. Who knew cult jokes and making fun of boys and their oral sex techniques would be so enjoyable?”

  “Honestly?” Vix laughed and reached for the remote. “Do you want to watch any more? I’m tired. Introducing you to the joys of girl sex was a lot of work.”

  “Oh, be quiet.” Sawyer shook her head and scooted down on the bed, pulling the covers up. “They’ll pick the house they can’t afford because the paint color didn’t offend that lady’s dog or whatever their problem was.”

  “I can’t imagine having my own apartment, much less an entire house.” Vix switched off the remote, then snuggled right up to Sawyer. “Night, Sawyer. Which, there’s literally no good nickname for that. Saw? Soy?”

  “My mom said that’s why she gave me the name. She didn’t like nicknames.” She rolled onto her side, Vix pressed up behind her, spooning her though Vix was smaller. It made perfect sense somehow, and Sawyer liked how Vix’s breasts felt against her naked back. She was definitely not going to tell Vix that her father had always called her See-Saw, because how utterly unsexy was that?

  “You called me Victoria, earlier,” said Vix.

  “I know. I like it. Did you mind?” Sawyer turned her head, but it was too dark to see Vix in the room.

  “I minded when Brad called me that, but you? Nope.”

  “There we go. If I don’t have a nickname, then you won’t have one, either.” Sawyer closed her eyes and found Vix’s hand in the dark.

  The show in St. Louis was at Blueberry Hill, and Vix always liked playing there. They were the headliners, and their opening band, Lead Fox, were laid-back guys who looked like hipsters (didn’t they all, nowadays), and who drank PBR in the greenroom and offered to share both their beer and some snacks from their van. Vix and Sawyer watched their set from a table to the side of the stage. They both had a PBR, courtesy of Lead Fox, and Vix was distracted at the sight of Sawyer drinking it. And how good Sawyer smelled. And the fact she could feel Sawyer’s arm pressed against hers.

  Ugh. It was one thing to sleep with Sawyer. It was another thing to, like, have a crush on her or something. Vix should not do that.

  “I like them,” said Sawyer, leaning in closer. Her hair fell in a soft curtain that also, goddamn it, smelled delightful. She was tapping her fingers on her PBR tallboy along with the song. “He’s got a good voice. The singer.”

  Vix nodded. “Yeah, he does.” She pushed her hair off her face and took a drink from her tallboy. They were playing in the basement of Blueberry Hill, and while it was nice and cool, Vix felt like she was going to be sweaty forever thanks to the summer heat and the van. She looked over, feeling Sawyer’s eyes on her. Sawyer gave her a small smile, intimate and a little shy. Vix had the strongest urge to lean over and kiss her, but she didn’t. They hadn’t talked about anything, since they’d forgotten to set an alarm and woken up to Jeff and Conn
or banging on the door and pretending to be roosters. Not the best morning-after environment, but also not unexpected. Her bandmates were assholes.

  They had a show in Kansas City and then, they’d be on their way to Colorado. That meant if Sawyer was into having sex with her, they could do it again once they got to the hotel in Denver. She hoped Sawyer was. It’d been fun, and if she’d been worried about things being awkward, it had faded when Sawyer came out of the gas station with a bottle of water and a Coke Zero, arranging herself in the back next to Vix like she’d done every day of the tour thus far. If they maybe looked at each other and giggled a few times, no one needed to know why.

  They both watched the stage, but Vix dropped a hand and laid it gently on Sawyer’s knee. She was wearing one of her cute, short summer dresses and the boots again. Her skin was warm beneath Vix’s fingers. Vix leaned in close. “So, you had fun, right?”

  “Duh.” Sawyer looked like she did when she came off stage, eyes bright, skin flushed. “You too, right?”

  “Right.” Vix’s stomach was fluttering with something that she might have thought were preshow nerves, if she ever got those. “Does that mean you’d want to do it again, or . . .?” Vix wasn’t sure why she let that trail off. What other response was there but “or no”?

  Sawyer tipped her head down, hiding her face and sipping from her beer. But she dropped a hand and took Vix’s in her own, squeezing it. “Oh yeah,” she murmured, and then slid Vix’s hand up her thigh.

  Vix blinked in surprise. “You’re naughty,” she whispered in delight. She glanced around to make sure they were mostly unnoticed, and let her fingers drift higher. “And you’re a tease.”

  “Oh yeah?” Sawyer’s knees parted and her legs fell open. There was no way anyone could see beneath the table, not with the stage in the way. “Who’s teasing? I think it’s you.”

  Vix inched her fingers up the smooth skin of Sawyer’s thigh, wondering if she should do what she was half an inch away from doing. Giving their surroundings one more quick survey, she went ahead and pressed her fingers against Sawyer’s cunt through her panties. The fabric was damp. She raised her eyebrows.

  “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” said Sawyer in a low voice. She was gripping her PBR tallboy in one hand, eyes very wide.

  Vix had no idea if she could get Sawyer off there at the table, but what the hell. As the band segued into their next song, she pressed her hand against Sawyer and started rubbing with her thumb.

  Sawyer jumped and nearly knocked over her beer. She and Vix exchanged a look and a muted laugh, and then Vix kept at it as they ostensibly watched the band. Sawyer squirmed a bit, her legs closing to keep Vix’s hand where it was. The little sounds she made were hot, as was the way she bit her lip and pushed against Vix’s hand.

  “Who knew you were so kinky?” Vix murmured, and giggled at Sawyer’s eye roll. She slid her hand beneath Sawyer’s panties, fingers gliding over slick skin. That she was so wet was giving Vix a complex and making her feel awesome. She wasn’t sure if the rhythm and pressure was right to get Sawyer off, but she was enjoying trying, and she thought Sawyer was too.

  The band thanked the audience, and Vix was paying careful attention to Sawyer—the way she shivered, the press of her thighs and the trembling of her muscles. Sawyer hadn’t been very loud, but she held her breath when she came, Vix remembered that. “Oh my God, if I get you off right now I’m going to think I’m the most amazing person at sex, ever.”

  It might have happened—despite the fact her hand was getting a cramp from the awkward angle—but Lead Fox decided to play a cover of “Desperado.” When the familiar music started, Vix paused. “I don’t think I want to be awesome at sex anymore.”

  “Yeah, no,” said Sawyer. Her face was covered in a sheen of sweat, body still tense and trembling next to Vix. She must have been close. That was almost as hot as getting her off, damn. “They couldn’t have picked a sexier Eagles song?”

  “Is there a sexier Eagles song?” Vix asked, gently easing her fingers out of Sawyer’s panties. She raised them to her mouth and sucked on them, winking over at Sawyer.

  “I can’t decide if that’s sexy or silly,” said Sawyer. “But I think it was sexy. It was the wink that made it silly.”

  Vix grinned and picked up her beer. “We’ll finish that later, and you can decide if it’s still silly.”

  “It will be, if you wink at me,” said Sawyer.

  They sang along with the band about coming to your senses, and Vix put her hand back on Sawyer’s knee. She kept it there for the rest of the song.

  That night on stage, Vix found herself naturally drifting closer to Sawyer while she sang. The crowd was upbeat and fun, the talking was at a minimum, and the band sounded great. It was hard to watch Sawyer play that violin and not think about how she’d writhed on the bed for Vix. How she’d almost come at the table. Goddamn Eagles. Yet another reason to hate Don Henley besides his misogynist lyrics.

  “Ugh.” Sawyer winced as she shook out her dress. “This one is probably hopeless.”

  Vix watched her from the bed, freshly showered and pajama-clad, and shook her head. “I like that dress too. It makes your tits look great.”

  “I don’t understand why you’d make spraying your own fans with beer a thing,” Sawyer said, for the fifteenth time. She glanced down at her chest, then at Vix. “Do I have dresses that make them look bad?”

  “No such dress exists.” Vix grinned at her. “And no, you don’t.”

  “I mean, it’s not only the smell.” Sawyer made a face at the dress, stained with the remnants of the beer that Tamarin Rodeo had blessed their fans with at the show in Kansas City the night before. “This stain! What is wrong with them?”

  “I don’t know.” Vix shook her head. She’d been in the audience watching the show with Sawyer, but hadn’t realized that the beer in the lead singer’s hand was going to be shaken and sprayed at the crowd—or that the crowd would do the same with their own beers, aiming at the stage. Most of it had ended up on the floor. Vix was glad they’d already played their set, and she doubted the venue manager would be very happy with the band’s antics. “They had some rowdy fans, though. Hometown band and all.”

  “I liked them up until that baptism by Budweiser.” Sawyer gestured to the close-fit, snug tee she was wearing, bearing the Tamarin Rodeo logo. “That was nice of the lead singer to give us these shirts.”

  Vix raised her eyebrows. “He gave you one that’s, like, a size too small so you’d put it on and he could stare at your tits.”

  “You were just talking about them,” Sawyer said. She was wearing the ridiculously tight black shirt with a pair of blue paisley panties, her shower-damp hair braided.

  “I didn’t say it was a problem he wanted to look at them,” Vix pointed out. “I’m simply pointing out that he was doing it.” She yawned and reached for her Coke Zero, scowling at the miniscule amount left. “Goddamn it. This is my last one.”

  “You are so addicted.” Sawyer smiled fondly. “Aw, look how cute you are when you glare— Hey!” She ducked the now-empty bottle that Vix lobbed over at her. “I’ve had enough of getting sprayed by things out of bottles, thanks.”

  “I think they were mostly cans.” Vix’s own clothes hadn’t been as saturated as Sawyer’s.

  Sawyer tossed the stained garment toward the table and came over to sit by Vix. “I’ll try washing it the next time we’re at a truck stop to shower.” She laughed. “There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.”

  “You’re not going to know what to do when you get back to school and are spoiled with showers you don’t have to pay for with quarters.” Vix noticed Sawyer’s expression, how it grew tight at the mention of Juilliard. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Sawyer sat across from her, drinking from her ever-present bottle of water. “I’m not . . . you know. Not sure what to do about school.”

  “You want to talk about it?” Vix scooted closer.

&nb
sp; Sawyer was quiet for a minute, staring down at her hands. “You know what? I don’t. School is going to be there when the tour ends, and I can think about it then.”

  That sounded like classic avoidance to Vix, but who was she to tell anyone not to do that?

  “Right now,” Sawyer continued, “I’d rather have sex with you.” She gave Vix a considering look. “Does that not sound hot? I feel like saying ‘I’d rather fuck you’ is promising something I can’t deliver.”

  “Plastics make it possible,” Vix joked. She reached out and gave Sawyer a little push. “Don’t worry, say it however you want. I get the point. Wait, don’t ever call it ‘making love,’ because, ew.”

  “What? You don’t want me to make looove to you?” Sawyer cooed, pouncing on Vix.

  “Only if you sing the Eagles while you do it,” said Vix, settling on her back. She reached up and traced her fingers over Sawyer’s thick braid. “Tomorrow you’ll take this out and your hair will look perfect.”

  “Tomorrow, yours will look a mess, like you slept in the van.” Sawyer’s smile was wicked. She leaned down and kissed Vix, enthusiastic, without a hint of shyness. She tasted minty, like toothpaste. Vix wondered if she tasted like Coke Zero. Probably.

  “Make it look a mess, like I had sex with a hot girl.” Vix leaned up as Sawyer tugged on her tank top.

  Sawyer tossed it away but paused. “Is that a different kind of messy than having sex with a hot guy?”

  “Sawyer, my hair only really looks the one kind of messy. So no.” She arched her back as Sawyer kissed a path to her breasts, sucking gently on her nipple—and then not so gently. “Mm.” Vix ran her hands down Sawyer’s back, tugging at her shirt. “I can’t decide if I want you to take this off, or if I want you to get me off wearing it. It might give me a better opinion of Tamarin Rodeo.” She pretended to think about it as Sawyer kissed down her stomach. “On second thought, I vote for taking it off. Fuck Tamarin Rodeo.”