by Desiree Holt, Lisabet Sarai, Lily Harlem, Elizabeth Coldwell, Wendi Zwaduk, Imari Jade
A deafening wall of noise met us as we took our places behind the mic stands. We waited for it to die down, then launched into Guinevere’s Garden. It was hard to hold the harmonies steady when everyone let out a huge cheer of approval, but we managed it…three voices in perfect harmony.
When we’d first started playing the big stadiums, this song would be greeted with a sea of lighters held aloft. Now, thousands of mobile phones were raised, display screens blazing like artificial flames. The depth of emotion behind the gesture remained the same.
By the time Guinevere’s Garden reached its hard-driving climax, I knew all my fears that Jake wouldn’t be accepted by the fans were unfounded. Girls in the front row were begging for him to come close to them, and when he tossed his sweat-sticky T-shirt into the crowd as we took our last bows, they fought each other to claim it as a souvenir.
Stefan hugged me close, dropping a kiss on the top of my head. “They loved us.”
“Fucking right they did!” Paul exclaimed as we left the stage and the house lights rose, signalling to the audience that the show was over. “Now, I think a celebratory drinkie is in order. Don’t forget we’ve got a virgin with us tonight.” When we looked at him quizzically, he clarified the point. “Jake. This was his first time with us, and we’ve got to mark the moment he lost his Sweet Lies cherry.” He wrapped an arm round Jake’s bare shoulders, steering him in the direction of the after-party. “Trust me, Jakey, a tour this size really is like sex. The more you do it, the better it gets…”
* * * *
A couple of weeks into the tour, it seemed Paul’s words were being proved correct. Every night the music was tighter, the light show more smoothly coordinated, the crowd’s reaction more ecstatic. I had a spell during the first encore, as the boys performed their rowdy version of Goin’ Down, when I could join the friends, fans and hangers-on who watched from the wings and simply revel in the show. At first, it felt strange to look stage right and see Jake throwing shapes, hopping on and off Davey’s keyboard riser before jogging over to jam with Stefan, the two men standing back to back and grinning like maniacs with the sheer joy of making good music. That had always been Mark’s place, and I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that one night I’d look up and see him standing there.
Stefan, though, seemed to be enjoying having Jake alongside him. The two had developed an easy camaraderie Stefan had never shared with Mark, even in the days before they became two sides of our very high-profile love triangle.
Some nights, I could swear the chemistry so evident between Stefan and Jake verged on the sexual, before telling myself I must be projecting my own lust for the two of them on to the scene in front of me.
Mark wouldn’t have been so prominent in my thoughts if I hadn’t had a phone call from him shortly before we’d gone on stage that first night in Chicago. “Break a leg, Aimee,” he said. “I hope it goes well for you all, I really do.”
“How are you?” I asked.
“Getting there. I carried round a lot of baggage for a long time, and you can’t let go of it that easily. But Jeannie’s really helping, and I love spending time with the boys. They’re in kindergarten now, you know.”
He sounded a lot brighter than he’d done when we’d last spoken. Knowing things seemed to be working out for him made it easier for me to step back out on stage when the boys had taken their bow and sing Changing, the song I’d written as an overdue apology to Mark for the way I’d treated him.
“When everything around you’s changing,
And you don’t know where you stand,
Just look for me and I will be there,
You know I’ll lend a hand
The way I always planned…”
With Davey’s electric piano the only accompaniment to my voice, I’d always been able to reduce an auditorium to awed silence with the song. Somehow, it was easier to sing now Mark wasn’t standing a few feet from me every night, but I could still summon up the raw emotions that flooded through me when I wrote it.
Except for the night in Cleveland when I looked over to see Jake casually stripping off his shirt at the side of the stage, exposing his rock-hard stomach, and very nearly swallowed my tongue.
Performing only took up a fraction of our time. Much of the rest was spent on the tour bus, travelling from one venue to the next. Johnny, our tour manager, had hired us a big beast of a bus, with a comfortable seating area boasting a state-of-the-art sound system, bunks that each had their own mini TV, a kitchenette and bathroom. Boarding it, Jake had whistled in approval. “Wow, this is bigger than my apartment!”
“Get used to it, mate,” Davey had said, “because you’re going to be seeing a lot of it.”
We all managed to find ways of killing time on the bus. Paul and Davey played video games for hours upon end, taking each other on at Call of Duty or Pro Evolution Soccer. I’d often walk back from making myself a snack in the kitchenette to see Paul’s shaven head leaning close to Davey’s blond one, both of them grumbling and cursing as their thumbs flickered over their games consoles and another computer-generated soldier expired in a hail of bullets. Jake was very quickly persuaded to join in, proving to be just as competitive and excitable as they were.
Stefan found it harder than I did to ignore the constant noise they made. He would lie on his bunk reading, having loaded up the e-reader I’d bought him for his last birthday with an extensive selection of crime and horror novels. Gradually, he was working his way through everything Stephen King had ever written, though I often told him if he really wanted to frighten himself silly, he should simply go into the tour bus bathroom after Paul had paid it a visit.
I liked to work on my embroidery. I took my frame and silks everywhere, always finding a quiet spot among the mayhem to sit and stitch. Currently, I was sewing a pattern of forget-me-nots on to a white linen tablecloth for Martine, after I’d caught her admiring something very similar in an interior design magazine.
When my eyes ached from squinting at my stitch-work, I retired to my own bunk, losing myself in fantasies that always began with Jake shrugging off his shirt to stand bare-chested in front of me. Unable to resist the come-on in his grey-green eyes, I would slither down his body, dropping to my knees so I could undo the fly of his jeans. His hard cock reared up, waiting for me to wrap my lips around it and begin to suck.
As the fantasy developed, it changed from a simple, highly-charged encounter between Jake and me into one where Stefan took an increasingly major role. Now my husband was the one who unleashed his cock and demanded to be orally serviced, and Jake joined me at his feet, the two of us taking it in turns to lick and suck Stefan’s thick, imposing shaft and nuzzle at his heavy, low-hanging balls.
I had no idea where this new scenario came from. Until now, my ménage fantasies had always seen me at the heart of the action, with two men lavishing all their attention on me. So why did it turn me on to think of sharing Stefan with another man, both of us doing everything in our power to make him come? The confines of the tour bus weren’t exactly the right place to cuddle up to Stefan and tell him, “Darling, I’m making myself really horny thinking about Jake sucking your cock,” so I kept my naughty thoughts to myself until such time came as I could sit down and discuss them with him at length.
At least, that was the plan. Everything changed when we reached New York.
Due to play three nights at Madison Square Garden, we were booked into a hotel overlooking Central Park, a little bit of welcome luxury after the best part of a week sleeping on the bus. Our schedule meant we could take time out to explore the city if we wished. It was easy enough to dress down and hide behind dark glasses, and even if someone did recognise us, it would only be at the cost of signing a few autographs and earning a two-line mention on one of the celebrity-spotting blogs.
Until I woke in the morning with a migraine. In my teens and twenties, I’d suffered from blinding headaches every couple of months, but over the years their frequency had gradually dimin
ished. This was nowhere as bad as some of the attacks I’d had, but I knew there was no way I could leave the hotel until the profound headache and waves of nausea subsided. From past experience, I knew the symptoms would clear if I could manage a couple of hours sleep, leaving only a residue that would fade over the next day.
Having swallowed a couple of strong migraine relief tablets with a glass of water, I pulled down my eye mask and retreated back under the covers. Stefan, naturally concerned about my well-being, offered to stay with me rather than go out with the boys, but I waved him away. It was a fine September morning, ideal for pounding the pavements of Manhattan rather than keeping an eye on me while I slept.
“Have a good time,” I told him. “Bring me back something nice.” Then I pulled the covers over my head and let the painkillers do their stuff.
When I awoke, it was early afternoon. Long rays of sunshine slanted through the gap in the partly-drawn curtains. The pain in my head had faded to be replaced by a gnawing hunger. There was a room service menu on the nightstand. I reached for it, deciding that a bowl of chicken soup would be the perfect pick-me-up.
“Of course, Miz Caine.” The concierge who took my call couldn’t have sounded more solicitous. “We’ll have that straight up to you.”
I wandered into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Once I’ve eaten, I decided, seeing the row of premium bathing products arranged on the side of the tub, I’ll take a nice, long bath. I had plenty of time. We didn’t need to leave the hotel till five to get down to the venue for our sound check. When Stefan returned, I knew he’d be delighted to see I was almost back to my old self.
Hearing a sharp rap at the door, I called out, “Come in!”
Expecting a waiter to respond, I was stunned to see Jake bring the tray bearing my meal into the room.
“Hey, Jake, what are you doing here?”
He flashed me a soft smile, placing the tray down on a low, glass-topped coffee table. “I was just on the way back to my room, and I bumped into the waiter outside. I figured if he was bringing food you must be feeling okay, so I thought I’d check and see how you were. Don’t worry, I tipped him. Gave him a little extra for letting me into the room, in fact.”
I patted the bedcovers, encouraging him to sit down at the side of me. “Are the others with you?”
“No, they were gonna go up the Empire State Building, then maybe grab a beer, but I thought I’d come back and put my head down for a spell. I really want to be sharp for when we go on stage.”
Remembering Jake’s story about his childhood dream of playing Madison Square Garden, I said, “Tonight’s really important to you, isn’t it?”
“This is the pinnacle, Aimee. Going out there in front of all those people screaming for us, thinking about everyone who’s played there before, that’s when I’m gonna feel like I’ve made it.”
I lifted the lid of the soup tureen. A rich, savoury aroma wafted out, causing my stomach to growl in anticipation. Aware of Jake’s eyes on me as I took a spoonful of soup and lifted it to my lips, I asked, “Have you eaten?”
“Yeah, we found this great little deli just off Times Square that does the best pastrami on rye. You would have loved it.”
The soup was every bit as tasty as it smelt, and I’d almost cleared the bowl before Jake spoke again.
“Aimee… Can I confess something to you?”
It was a strange question, but I reckoned I was prepared for anything Jake had to throw at me. We didn’t have the wildest reputation as touring rock stars—indeed, we’d once been described in a magazine article as less likely to trash a hotel room than to tidy it up before we checked out—but we’d been around. If Jake had got up to something with a groupie, I wouldn’t be shocked. Jealous, possibly, but he didn’t need to know that.
“What is it?”
“Okay, this is a little hard for me.” He twisted the edge of the plum satin comforter, as if debating whether to continue. “You know I said I’ve been a fan of the band since I was a kid? Well, it still feels kind of weird that every night I get up on stage alongside you all. I look around and I think, ‘Wow! That’s Aimee Caine at the side of me. And Paul Grover on the drums. This can’t be real…’ And I want to pinch myself. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up back in my shitty rented apartment in Camden, with damp crawling up the walls, wondering where the next gig and the next paycheque are coming from.”
“Well, you seem to be coping with it all just fine. And the fans love you—especially the girls.”
Jake blushed a little at that. “Yeah, that’s kinda fun, seeing them all screaming and lifting their tops to flash their boobs at you and knowing you could have any of them, if you wanted. But…” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want any of them. Aimee, please don’t get freaked out by what I’m about to tell you, but when I was eighteen, I had a poster of you on the wall of my college dorm room. It was one of the publicity shots you did for the Low Tide album.”
Even before he spoke, I knew exactly the shot he was referring to. I’d never marketed myself as any kind of sex symbol, not wanting to steal the focus from the rest of the band. However, we’d done that particular photographic shoot in the grounds of an English stately home. It had been a long day in high summer and a generous amount of champagne had been provided to help get us through it. Not only had Stefan and I managed to sneak away when we broke for lunch to enjoy a quickie fuck in the long grass, when I’d returned, glowing and satisfied, I’d been persuaded to pose for the raunchiest photo of my career.
“You’re sitting on a tree stump,” Jake continued. “Your legs are bare and you’re wearing this clingy blue top. You’ve got one hand tangled in your hair, and the other one’s pulling the top down between your legs, because it’s so obvious that’s all you’ve got on.”
That wasn’t the case. I’d actually been wearing a tiny pair of bikini-cut panties, but I had been concerned they’d show in the legs-apart pose I was encouraged to adopt. The result was ruder than actually revealing my underwear would have been.
“Yeah, I remember it well.” Now I was the one blushing. I took a sip from my glass of iced water to cool myself down.
“God, you just looked so hot. Whenever my roommate was out, I used to lie on my bed, looking at that poster and dreaming of you. I used to imagine you were in the room, dressed just like in that shot, and that you’d pull the top up over your head. You’d sit there, naked, with your legs wide apart, letting me see everything, then you’d slide a hand down between your legs and start stroking yourself…”
He broke off, realising how quiet I’d gone.
“Oh, now I’ve gone and embarrassed you, haven’t I? I’m so sorry. Sometimes my big mouth just runs away with me.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” I told him. Quite the opposite. Listening to Jake’s fantasy had got me all hot and bothered. The idea of him, naked and playing with his cock as he dreamed of me, was a powerful turn-on. I couldn’t help thinking how exciting it would be to bare myself for him, just as he’d described. It would be so easy, too. All I wore was my silk dressing gown, loosely belted around my waist. “If anything, I’m flattered. What I want to know is whether you still have those fantasies these days.”
A wildness seemed to infect my blood, brought on by being so close to this gorgeous, sexy man. All the promises I’d made to myself to resist temptation when Jake was around melted away. It didn’t matter that he was twelve years younger than me, or that I had a husband I loved so very much. This moment was about Jake and me, and a rising passion neither of us seemed able to deny.
I let my hand fall on his firm, denim-clad thigh, feeling the heat of his body even through the thick fabric. Another inch and I would be touching the solid bar of his cock. He didn’t even try to pull away.
“Yes, I do,” he said, his voice barely rising above a murmur. “I dreamed of fucking you every night when I was eighteen, and I still dream about it now. But I know it’s never going to happen. I look at how ha
ppy you and Stefan are, and what a great couple you make. I wouldn’t want to do anything to break you up.”
“Don’t worry, you wouldn’t be.”
Our faces were only inches apart, and now Jake grew bolder, realising I was giving him permission to act on all his fantasies. He ran his fingers through my dark brown curls, cupping the back of my head and pulling me even closer to him. Eyes half-closed, I surrendered to his kiss, feeling the smoothness of unfamiliar lips against my own. Almost forgetting to breathe, I let Jake explore my mouth with his tongue. I wanted to ask him if this was anything like he’d imagined, but I was enjoying the kiss too much to even attempt to speak.
Jake’s hand slipped into my robe, to close round the fullness of my breast. I wriggled against the covers, feeling my pussy grow wet. That was the moment when we heard the unmistakable click of the key card in the door, and Stefan calling my name.
Chapter Four
Jake and I sprang apart. By the time Stefan stepped into the room, my robe was firmly in place once more, and Jake was busying himself with my meal tray. If I looked a little flustered, Stefan didn’t appear to notice. He seemed more pleased to see that I was well enough to have rediscovered my appetite.
“I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” I said, as he came over to the bed and planted a kiss on my cheek.
“Well, I thought I should come and see how my lovely wife was doing. Oh, and I wanted to give you this…”
From the folds of his long black overcoat, Stefan produced a snow globe with a tiny but exquisitely detailed model of the Empire State Building at its heart. When I shook it, scraps of glitter whirled about it like a miniature snowstorm.
“It’s beautiful, darling. Thank you.” Over the years, I’d collected dozens of snow globes as we’d travelled around the world, displaying my favourites in a cabinet at home. They weren’t quite as precious to me as the Grammy awards on the shelf above them, but it was so thoughtful of Stefan to track down one from New York, a city missing from my collection until now.