by L. B. Dunbar
“That was amazing,” she breathed. I would give her a moment, but I wasn’t done. I was still hard inside her. The water temperature increased my heart rate and blood beat throughout my veins. Scooping her up, I exited the tub with us dripping. Water cascaded off each of us. I didn’t bother with a towel. I entered our room and placed her on the floor amid the rose petal path.
“Arturo?” she questioned, her eyes traveling to the bed.
“Not yet,” I said, realizing it was the first time I spoke. “I only have so much time, but I plan to have you everywhere.” The bed was my final destination. Once there, it would be slow, but the adrenaline in me needed her again instantly. Fast and animalistic, I turned her to her front. I raised her hips as her knees bent. The floor under her was her cushion. Rose petals surrounded her, contrasting bright red drops of blood with alabaster skin. The hunt was on again, and I impaled her instantly. She cried out: a twinge of surprise with the pleasure.
This time would not be slow. I plunged forth, taking her breath.
“Arturo,” she whimpered, “I can’t again.”
“You can,” I commanded. She bucked under me. Her determination to control the situation made her fight back against me. The struggle would only increase the pleasure. She met me thrust for thrust, and within seconds, I was on the edge. Her fingers reached for herself. I couldn’t keep the rhythm if I released my one hand, which was balanced on the base of her lower back. I wanted her satisfied and yet my body refused to move. She was touching herself. The brush of her fingers met the pull of me as I dragged to the edge of her. I rapidly buried deep inside in immediate response. Her fingers worked, her breathing increased. The image of her undid me.
“I’m sorry,” I breathed as I came hard inside her, pushing to the hilt, stilling as I surged into her to bathe her in warmth. Her hand on the rug held fisted petals. She squeezed them tight as her fingers and my pulse finished her. Her back arched like a lazy cat and we both collapsed to the floor.
“Oh my God,” she giggled, forcing me to feel the laughter as I was still deep inside her. “Are you trying to kill me?” she joked.
I kissed her shoulder in response. Pulling out of her, I rolled her under me, and began the slow feast after the kill. I took her lips in celebration. Leisurely, I drank from her, savoring the taste of her tongue, the warmth of her lips, and the flavor of her mouth. My next course would be to lick over the skin of her body, drawing an outline of her salty flesh with my tongue. From neck to toes and back, I traced. My chalk outline complete, I lifted her limp body. She was exhausted; a final serving came with the meal. Dessert.
I worked my way between her legs, after I laid her on the bed. Rich and succulent, it was not something I could pass on despite feeling full. I lapped at her wet center, cut through the sweet flavor, and swirled the taste of her around my tongue. No final course was as decedent as this treat. I lavished her until she released one final time, then I slipped inside for a final lick. My dick wanted one last brush of her honeyed ingredients. One last swirl inside her to make certain I hadn’t missed a drop. I didn’t think she’d go again. That final effort was for me. Three times was my determination. I wanted my seed deep enough inside to not mistake its mark. No risk to miss the target. If something happened, as I feared it would, she would have a part of me with her forever. I would not leave her alone again.
I didn’t think I could move. My body was abused in such a pleasurable way, but it was lazy and I lingered in the warmth of our bed. We finally rested. Wrapped in Arturo’s arms, I instantly slept. When he left for that night’s concert, he awoke me with a kiss. I told him I’d go with him, but the lack of strength in my arms gave out, and I collapsed back onto the pillow. He told me to stay and rest. He’d send a car for me later.
He wanted to be there hours early. I knew he was nervous. Things were happening so fast. He’d hardly returned before he was off again on an adventure. At times, I could see the concern in his eyes. He didn’t want to leave me, but he secretly wanted to go. It was his fate. I was lying if I said I didn’t have my doubts. We were still trying to rebuild our relationship. Despite the sudden renewal of our engagement, we had not set a date. There was no rush. Arturo believed as long as I wore his rings, I belonged with him.
I wanted to feel confident that it was true: that I was with him once again, forever. However, a small seed of doubt was inside me. I attempted often to crush it. It was fragile, and I could suppress it at times. Other times, it bloomed into a dark flower with thorns.
I sighed as I slowly untangled myself from the bed and prepared to shower. The concept of being thoroughly fucked had never crossed my mind, but at that point, I was. My legs still shook as I walked across the crushed rose petals. The sound a reminder of what we’d done. The tub had been emptied, but wet petals lined the bottom. I entered the two person shower stall and let the warm water beat against my achy body.
The car arrived as scheduled. I was surprised to find Lila and Fleur inside. Lila looked nervous, but Fleur casually stared out the window. The night’s scene was going to be a madhouse and I didn’t know that I would have brought a child to witness the chaos. I also understood that there wasn’t much Lila did without Fleur. They would be leaving with the boys in the early morning hours.
True to my imagination, the scene outside the stadium was a pack of people. As the car did it’s best to get to the backstage door, people took notice. Fans flocked over to the vehicle. At first they were close enough to bang on a window, startling Fleur who curled into Lila. The crowd parted slowly, and eventually, the passenger door was opened by a large man dressed in black.
“They’ve arrived,” he said into his headset. A hand wrapped around my upper arm as I was ushered to the backstage door. I turned back to confirm Lila was coming, and saw her hovering over Fleur, as another bodyguard helped her through the push of fangirls. The shouts began. The first words I misunderstood.
“How could you do it?”
The second call, I couldn’t miss.
“You fucked his best friend. You whore.”
I stopped to look up at my accuser, but the security urged me forward. There was still more attack to come.
“You don’t deserve him.”
“He doesn’t love you.”
“I hate you.”
If I thought my body was shaking from Arturo’s earlier attention, it was nothing compared to the bruises I felt from his fans’ hatred. The media had done its share to portray me poorly, but Arturo ignored it and encouraged me to do the same. As we’d lived in a bubble the past few weeks, it had been rather easy. Word of our engagement had only hit the Internet within the last few days. The article haunted me.
As we entered through the security door, and the heavy metal slammed shut on the noise outside, I flinched.
“Guinie, are you alright?” Lila asked me, as I stared at her. Those accusations flung at me were in reference to her fiancé. I didn’t deserve her kindness or her friendship. The past flashed before me.
“Don’t…don’t tell Arturo…” I stuttered as my teeth began to chatter. “Don’t mention it to Lansing, either,” I added. I was visibly shaking by that point and Lila was trying to soothe me by rubbing her hands up and down my arms.
“What’s going on here?” Lansing’s voice made both our heads turn.
“Nothing,” we said in unison. Lansing was instantly next to Lila. His arms wrapped around her, but he was staring at me.
“What happened?” he repeated, but I shook my head to signal it was not his concern. I forgot momentarily about Fleur.
“The people said they hate her,” she spoke sweetly. She said it like it was typical conversation. Please pass the salt. People hate her.
He reached for me then stopped. His hand retreated to his side. He still held Lila under one arm.
“You have to tell Arturo,” he warned.
“I can’t tell Arturo,” I pleaded.
“He’d want to know.”
“He can�
�t.” I stared at his blue eyes, willing him to understand. It could not be tonight. Not before the concert. Not after it, either.
“Who can’t what?” came the strong voice of Arturo, cheerful and jesting. The smile on his face light up the dark backstage, and the three of us stared at him. The expression on his face fell as I used muscles I didn’t know I had to force a smile. Instantly, he was in my space, his hand on my face; his prosthetic hand on my waist.
“What happened, Guinie Girl?” His voice was tender. His concern evident. It took great willpower not to cry.
“Nothing. I’m tired,” I attempted to tease. A knowing smile crossed his lips and he kissed me quickly.
“I’m so glad,” he teased back. Wrapping his arm around me, he pulled me forward. I let him lead me, as I didn’t have the strength to move on my own.
We watched the concert from a box that looked down on the stage. Ingrid met me there with Morte. We had the best seats, as we were close enough to see the guys and they were well aware of us. Tristan didn’t want Ireland backstage in her condition. Perkins couldn’t see Hollister offstage, so he preferred her seated where she was. Allora cheered the loudest when Canyon took the stage, but it was Fleur’s excitement that helped break my spell. As the concert took shape, she danced and sang as if she were the performer. A Ladybug headset covered her delicate ears. I relaxed into the beat of The Nights’ rhythm and recognized the lyrics of words written for me. Arturo’s voice washed over me and I calmed. He called to me through those songs and I let him invade me.
As the music stopped, Arturo took his time to introduce the band, making comments about New York, and announcing the birth of Perkins twins. He introduced their newest member, much to the crowd’s approval. Women called out the names of who they loved, and when someone said, ‘I love you, Arturo,’ his response was the typical, ‘I love you, too.’ This resulted in cheers and screams, and the occasional loss of clothing. What I’d never witnessed before was the shouts to dump me. It began as a low chant, a hushed murmur, that at first I wasn’t certain I believed. Could the crowd really be encouraging one another to push Arturo to break things off with me?
Actually, that’s exactly what happened. Whether Arturo chose to ignore it or he was just too caught up in the euphoria of the moment, he cut the chatter off with the start of a song. He didn’t make eye contact with me. Morte had tensed in front of me. My hands were holding his shoulders, making him move to the rhythm of his father’s song, but they’d frozen. He stood rigid under my clenched fingers. I flattened my palms on his delicate skin and apologized. He still stood sentry before me. I didn’t have to see the glare I sensed came from his green eyes.
The eyes of the others crawled over me. My stunned gaze remained forward. It was Lansing Lotte who looked sick and didn’t take his eyes from our box. I assumed he was concerned for Lila. I shook my head, to no one in particular, as a signal to ignore it. I was startled to find him watching me, and he reacted to my sign. His nodded response let me know he was very aware of me. The concern showed on his face, despite our distance.
I suddenly felt ill and excused myself from the box. Finding the restroom in our private section, I sat on the closed toilet, resting my head in my hands. It seemed only minutes before a light rap on the door let me know someone was waiting. I stood to open the door and found Hollister standing on the other side.
“You have to ignore it,” she said immediately.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said brushing past her to wash my hands, even though I hadn’t used the facility. Her gray eyes froze mine in the mirror.
“Do you know how many women wanted to be his first one?” she snarked. I stared at her until I realized she was referencing Perkins. He’d been a virgin until her, and it hadn’t been too much of a secret. His heart was pure. His soul untouched, until he found her.
“They hated me. So many believed they deserved to be his first.” She continued to speak to me in the reflection of the mirror. “They’re always going to dislike us because we stole their hearts: the almighty Nights. We got what they, as fans, think they crave, the attention and love of a rock star. It’s the mystery that intrigues them. The man they can never have. The man they hope to save.” Her voice shook with an eerie sound, making her words sound mysterious, almost spooky.
She laughed bitterly.
“I didn’t need to save Perkins. He saved me,” she said honestly. “Those women think they love him, but they don’t know him. They don’t know Arturo, like you do, either. They love the rock god. You love the man. Flawed and all, we love them.”
She was right. In more ways than one, she was correct. Those women didn’t know Arturo any better than they knew me. They didn’t know what we’d been through. What we’d each done. Who were they to judge when they didn’t understand? None of those thoughts took away the sting of their words. Hollister stood directly behind me. She was taller than me. Her hands came up to my shoulders.
“You have to let it go. All of it. The past cannot be changed. Just focus on the future.”
My Future.
The words rolled through my head. We hadn’t called each other that since his return. While I had the rings to prove he intended to make me his future, I didn’t feel secure in what would happen next for us. The door to the bathroom opened and Ireland peeked inside.
“We’ve been sent an escort to go downstairs. The show’s almost over, and I think they want us there before it finishes to avoid any crowd control issues.” Her words implied more than she said. We were secluded where we were, with limited access straight to the basement and the dressing rooms of the band. It was a precaution in result of what happened.
I nodded in agreement and Ireland gave me a weak smile. Hollister and I followed her into the hall to find Allora, Lila, and Fleur surrounded by five men. We each had our own guard to escort us below.
The second the last string was strummed, the last beat was played, and a final ‘we love you, good night’ was called out, the guys were in the private dressing room where we waited. It was large enough for a party of twenty plus people, and there were several others present awaiting the arrival of The Nights. The door opened first with Lansing’s determined strut straight for Lila. He crushed her lips the instant he was before her. His hands slipped into her honey blonde hair, and he held her against him while he kissed her passionately in front of everyone. Fleur giggled and Lansing pulled back. The words, ‘I love you,’ hung between him and Lila as he bent to pick up Fleur and hugged her tight to him.
I turned to see Hollister had made her way to Perkins. They stood in a locked embrace. His face buried in her neck. Her hands covered his shorn hair. Allora must have escaped the room to find Canyon, who entered with her crushed to his chest like I’d seen him hold her at the Emerald Isle. Tristan and Ireland were making out in a corner. In another second, I thought the room might get a visual display of Tristan’s intentions toward his wife, but Arturo entered. A hush fell as he stood in the doorway, scanning the room for someone. Me. When our eyes connected, he strolled toward me. Casually, he walked as if nothing had happened. He didn’t have a care in the world. Then his lips were on mine.
He was claiming me. I knew these kisses. For the witnesses in the room, Arturo King was making a statement. I belonged to him. He didn’t care what others said. Our lips collided and tongues sparred until he pulled back breathless. His forehead touched mine. “Fuck them,” he muttered, his breath mixing with mine. I shook my head against his, but the tears were building again.
“I’m going home,” I heard Lansing say to my right. Arturo and I turned together to find Fleur’s arms wrapped around Lansing’s neck and his arm around Lila.
“You’re not going anywhere,” came the voice of Kaye Sirs near the door. “You have some obligations to fulfill, like a room full of fans that have tickets for the afterparty.” Kaye stood with his hands on his hips, like a superhero; only slowly I was beginning to think he was a villain.
“I want
to take Hollister home,” Perkins spoke over his wife’s head. She had two little babies that needed her, and I loved that Perkins wanted to go home to help her.
“You’re not going either,” Kaye demanded. “Kiss your wives or take them with you, but you five are going in the other room.”
“One hour,” Perkins glared at Kaye. As soft as Perkins was, he could look menacing when he wanted to. He held his wife’s hand and she followed him into the hall.
“I can really hate you, sometimes,” Tristan muttered as he passed Kaye, Ireland wrapped around his arm while they left the room. Canyon and Allora followed quietly. I felt momentarily sorry that Canyon was getting mixed into our mayhem.
“I’m not taking Fleur in there,” Lansing demanded. Kaye leveled him with a glare.
“She can come with us,” Ingrid offered from the corner. She stood with her hands on Morte’s shoulders, both pawns in the game, as well. Fleur wrapped her arms tighter around Lansing, but he muttered something to her before tugging her arms off him. Setting her on the ground, she reached for Lila. The look in Lansing’s eyes told Lila he couldn’t go without her.
I spoke without thinking.
“Fleur, come to me.” Lila looked at me with concern and relief. She stood from where she bent before Fleur and released her hand. Fleur raced for me. Lansing dragged Lila gently forward, while Lila stared behind him at Fleur. It broke my heart to see she questioned her decision.
Arturo and I remained. I knew his thoughts. He had been aware on stage, after all. He couldn’t take me in there. I also knew he’d drag me in to make a statement. I didn’t have the energy to face a firing squad. The night had been rough enough.
“Go,” I whispered.
“Not without you,” he turned to me. His dark eyes showed his panic. We’d had to part before in a hasty rush.