by Davis, Rhona
He smiles, almost apologetically. “Thanks. But I know it needs work.”
“Who was that song about?”
He pauses.
“Sorry . . . I mean—” Shit. Why did I have to ask him that?
“It’s all right. I don’t know really. I was just making up a few dumb words.”
“It’s prefect,” I whisper.
“You’re a very beautiful girl.”
“Sorry?”
He laughs and almost leans into me.
I push from the bed. “I better let you get ready—” Before I can run away, an action I only consider out of sheer nerves, he takes me by the wrist and pulls me close. Catching me off guard, and off balance, I almost fall back down to the bed. His fingers coil around my thin wrist and grip me tight. The electricity in his touch sends a shiver rippling down my spine.
His thumb gently massages over my wrist bone, igniting the deepest of my desires. There’s nothing innocent about this. His grip is strong, assertive, and sure.
“I said you’re a very beautiful girl, and a little lost somehow.”
My brows meet.
“I can’t put my finger on it . . . maybe you haven’t yet found what you need in life.”
I snatch my wrist away and stagger a few steps backward. “I don’t know what you mean. I-I have to go. Thanks for the song.” I race toward the door, my nerves now shot to pieces. Just as I grab the handle he darts over and pushes his hand firmly against the door, trapping me inside.
“I’m going to kiss you, Krissy.”
Words snag in my throat. I can’t say no. I can’t say yes. This is all I’ve ever wanted and yet, inexplicably, I’m terrified. My most private fantasies about Jay have been too perfect for too long and I’m scared to shatter them. What if the reality of what I think is about to happen can’t match the high expectations I’ve always imagined? God, I’ve played this scenario in my head so many times . . . and here I am, here we are, for real. No juvenile make believe.
Up close.
Personal.
In the flesh.
His eyes search mine—searching for that one sign of weakness I have, that white flag of surrender. I’m sure he’s seen that same vulnerability in thousands of girl’s eyes. Am I just going to be another love-sick girl, clinging to the hope that I could be the one while he claims me and then throws me away?
His lips touch mine. A kiss so slow and tender . . . fuck . . .
His beard tickles me at first but soon feels nice against my skin. I’ve never kissed a man with a beard before. Soon, the gentleness he’s blessed with becomes firm and more assertive. I lose myself as our tongues begin to dance with each other. Whiskey, mouth wash, smoke—a weird combination that should taste strange but is actually addictive.
Not wanting to wake from this dream, I show him how keen I am for him by wrapping my arms over his broad shoulders and squeezing the muscles of his back. Every firm bump of his body feels like carved rock. He is so damn fit. You can tell that just by looking at him, feeling him only confirms it.
I kiss him with a hungry urgency now, as my hands enjoy the terrain of his magnificent physique. His mouth moves perfectly in time with mine; following, then leading and following again.
Crushed against me—his arms braced either side of my head on the door so that he doesn’t hurt me—I feel his arousal press through his jeans and snuggle against my belly.
I’m wearing a yellow knee length summer dress. The flimsy material, and my panties and bra, are hardly enough to create a barrier between us. I bet he could rip my clothes off so fast if he wanted to.
Grabbing a fistful of my hair he pulls my head back and starts kissing my exposed neck, from my jaw line all the way down to my collar bone. I moan, feeling my pussy heat with excitement.
Moving my arms away from his back, I glide my hands down the tight gap between us and find his chest. His pecks bulge and flex like an athlete working out at a gym. Only the thin cotton t-shirt he wears stops me from feeling the full, naked hardness of his muscles.
Without warning, he pulls me away from the door and steps back with me in his arms.
Before I know it, I’m flung to the bed like some battered old toy. I squeal as my back hits the soft mattress, my limbs flailing before dropping.
Standing tall above me, he unzips his pants and loosens his belt. I wriggle away, using the duvet to hide from him. The toes of my bare feet curl with anticipation as I stare at the obvious tent in his pants.
“I’m gonna make you cum so hard,” he tells me like a sweet warning. His face is a mask of concertation, studying every line and curve of my body. My dress rides up my thighs, giving him a good show of my bare legs. I’m not normally a body confident girl, but the way his gaze drinks me in makes me feel so damn sexy and naughty. I can feel my core heat more, as he pulls down his pants and releases his cock.
I gasp aloud. He is so big and erect that it kind of intimates me. And I am doing this to him? I’d never have thought that little old me would be desirable to this ‘rock god’. This is like some fucked up film—a hot fantasy I had every night with my vibrator, now come to pass.
Perhaps this isn’t real. Perhaps the sight of Jay Tyler jerking at the base his thick cock, a few inches from me, is just some high school wet dream I’ve yet to wake up from.
“Take that dress off,” he commands, stalking the bed.
I shake my head in defiance.
“Take it off or I’ll rip it off,” he warns.
Giggling, I kick out at him as he paws at my legs.
Stalling, he straightens up. “Are you gonna be difficult?”
“Maybe.”
Gripping the bottom of his t-shirt with both hands, he whips it clean over his head and tosses it to the floor.
My throat constricts.
Every line and edge of his body is an image of perfect symmetry. His six-pack abs are ripped and cut to perfection. The sexy ‘V’ of his hips points down to his beautiful, angry cock.
I waste no more time, eagerly pulling my dress over my head. Just a hint of shyness remains, so I cover up my breasts and cross my legs.
He chuckles. “Hey, that’s not fair. I’m stark naked here. Come on you, take it all off.”
My breathing hitches.
He smirks, shakes his head, and lunges for me—tearing my panties down past my knees.
I scream in both excitement and amused horror. A cool air drifts over my exposed sex and I grab a pillow to mask my most intimate area.
He chucks the panties to the floor and fights me for the pillow. When I inevitably lose our playful tug of war, he sinks down on the bed and looks at me like he’s found gold.
Slowly, with a tender look burning deep in his eyes, he lowers back to my mouth. Kissing me with his original gentleness, he threads his fingers through my hair. “Don’t be scared, gorgeous,” he whispers. “I can’t help myself.”
Ditto.
As our mouths lock, he grazes my navel with his fingertips and travels to the arch of my hips. I murmur with pleasure and fear. I’ve never been good with heights and being here with him I feel like I’m on the precipice of some great drop, about to freefall into oblivion.
With one hand buried between my thighs, he begins to softly massage my moist entry. I moan. His thumb smooths over my fold, catching my swelling clit and rubbing. I stretch out and turn my head into the pillow. My entire body is on fire as he circles my flesh with firm pressure.
“So fucking sexy,” he whispers in a deep voice.
I squeeze my eyes shut as he inserts a finger deep inside my weeping slit. Soon he picks up the pace, finger fucking me as he rubs at my clit more frantically.
Stars build in the center of my belly, a wave of wanton pleasure that threatens a tsunami of release. As he digs deep inside me, the walls of my pussy crush his fingers.
Moving down, he positions his head between my legs. For just the briefest of moments, a sense of trepidation returns. “Jay, what are you—?”
> There’s no point in questioning him. I’m already starting to fall from that scary height.
His tongue gently licks at my slickness. A sugary, hot sweetness flows through me. The blood that pumps through my veins is on fire now, burning every nerve ending. His tongue drags over my clit and flicks around the fold: sucking gently, and softly nibbling, and stabbing in and out of me in broken, angelic rhythms.
This is affirmation. All those lonely nights in my bedroom, staring up at his poster and wishing he could jump right out for me . . . and now he’s here, come to save me. This isn’t those old lonely rehearsals in my head anymore. This is the real deal. The real thing.
I grab his hair, dragging my nails over his scalp as he expertly eats from my flower. My juices paint his lips and I can hear him murmur as he relishes at my sweetness.
When he comes up for air, he positions himself over me and reaches into a nightstand draw.
Biting on my lower lip, I follow his gaze. He pulls out a silver foil package and rips it open with his teeth.
Conversation and banter is at a crawl now. There’s a time for words and a time for action, and I’m all out of things to say.
Swiftly, he sheaths his giant cock and positions the head of his erection to my naturally lubricated slit.
I take his hands and inhale sharply, holding my breath in anticipation. Studying me, his eyes follow mine. “You sure?”
I nod. Fuck, I’ve never been so sure of anything of my life.
That freefall again, from that great height—I’m tumbling now and I couldn’t care less.
Driving his hips forward, his cock pushes past my guard as he drives his hips. I scream, but it’s not loud. It’s more like a hallow expulsion of air as he plows deep inside me before dragging out and plunging in again.
My hands hook around his neck and I pull him in, my breasts crushing against his wide chest.
He fucks me harder now, deeper.
I cry and wail with unbridled pleasure.
“Yes . . . Jay, like that.”
He grunts and snarls, nuzzling into my neck as he fucks me faster and faster and faster. His hand finds my clit again. The action of both his thick cock and his expert touch has me fast approaching the bottom of that fall.
I scream, this time the air finding a clear channel. The noise I make ricochets off the thin walls.
I come hard on his cock. My body trembles and convulses. My hips buck and my limbs thrash round, as a heavy orgasm defies every voluntary motion I could ever make.
He follows suit, roaring and straining back. One last thrust for good measure.
I can feel his come expand inside me. The balloon of the condom still inside, swelling as his load streams out.
Every fiber of my flesh tingles as aftershocks pulsate through me like shooting stars through a dark night sky.
Tears run down my cheeks—tears of release, of happiness. A drug, a hit that could never be beat.
Rolling off me, he tries to catch his breath. Through matted sweaty hair, I turn my head to him. He’s sprawled out on the top sheet like some injured animal; a hand on his chest, the other cradling his weeping cock.
I shake . . .
And I don’t stop for some time.
* * *
After he’s cleaned up in the bathroom, he comes back and slides into bed. My skin feels warm and fuzzy. I’m speechless as I watch him get comfortable—post-sex nerves, thinking about what he could be thinking.
Expecting him to kick me out, I’m shocked when he simply scoops me into his arms and pulls me close. I rest my head on his chest. He gently kisses my brow, making me feel like his special princess.
We haven’t said a word to each other since we both came. No need to. This thing between us is something best left unspoken.
My eyelids feel heavy. When I muster enough courage to look at his face again I see he’s fast asleep. I’ve never seen that look on his face before. Peaceful. Content.
I don’t want the fairytale to end. Not yet. Just an hour snoozing with my price charming.
We have time.
9
Krissy
My phone blares out, abruptly waking me. I almost knock over a lampshade on the nightstand as I turn to my left to reach for it. One missed call from Monica, quickly followed by a text before my eyes can readjust from sleep:
Where are you guys?
Shit.
I look down at Jay. He’s fast asleep.
My heart beats in that familiar hyped rhythm every time I see him, only now it’s magnified by the realization of what’s just happened.
Jay Tyler.
His kiss . . .
His touch . . .
The masterful climax he gave me . . .
The warmth of his naked, Adonis-like body snuggled against mine.
This is all so surreal. I can’t help thinking this must be one of those dreams within a dream type of thing. Quite literally I have to pinch myself to make sure it’s not. Squeezing an inch of skin between my thumb and forefinger, I yelp. Yep, this is real all right.
Jay’s body is turned away from me. His head is nestled into a plump pillow and his breathing is calm and regular. As I hover over him to take a closer inspection, I see a slight smile ride across his lips—just a hint of contentment perhaps?
I could stay here—in this hotel, in this bed—with him forever.
I text Monica back:
We’re on our way.
I sigh and switch my phone off. I could do without her calling back and giving me an interrogation. My head is clouded enough from the craziness of the last few hours.
Resigned to the fact we have to make tracks, I place my palms gently upon on Jay’s muscular shoulders and try to rouse him from sleep. “Jay.”
Slowly turning his head toward me, eyes still closed, his faint smile now stretches into a full blown one. “Morning . . .”
“Jay,” I whisper. “We’re late for sound check.”
He half opens one eye and reaches for me. “Fuck sound check.” Before I can reason with him, he pulls me down. His hard, taut body feels sensational against my curves. I feel a second wave of excitement build in the pit of my belly, as he presses his groin to mine.
I heat, desperate for him to consume me again . . . own me . . .
No. One of us has to be sensible.
Somehow, I manage to find the willpower to pull away from his warm embrace and roll out of bed. Using a pillow to shield as much of my body as I can, I scoop up my clothes, which lie in a sorry heap on the floor, and run to the bathroom to quickly freshen up.
“I’ve seen it all before,” he calls out, chuckling. “No need to be shy, baby.”
Baby?
I can’t believe Jay Tyler—rock star and sex god—just called me baby!
* * *
“Oh my god,” Monica enthuses. “You guys actually—?”
I nod, chewing the inside of my mouth just thinking about it.
“Holy shit!” she shouts, her eyes widening.
I grab the cuff of her shirt and pull her in close to stop her drawing attention to us. She swats my hand away. “Uh-uh. I want to hear every sordid detail . . . you bad girl!”
A goofy smile explodes across my face. “Well, we—”
“FUCK! THIS!”
We both snap our heads toward the direction of the stage. Jay paces up and down the length of it, looking like a rabid animal.
Monica frowns. “What’s up with him?”
It’s soon clear that Jay’s outburst was directed at Greg. Jay squares up to Greg behind the drum kit. “This sounds like shit. What the fuck are you doing?”
The rest of the band hangs back, looking on at their temperamental front man giving Greg a bucket load of grief.
Monica and I are standing in the shadows at the back of the empty venue. Doors don’t open for another hour. The reason sound check is even more important tonight is due the size of the place—it’s a small club. Seeing that the band are more used to arenas and amp
hitheaters, getting their instruments to sound just right seems to be proving an issue. Tonight’s show is part of an intimate leg of their tour, a way to connect with fans on a more personal level.
As Jay continues to rant at poor Greg, who’s supposed to be off today—bet he wished he would have stayed away now—Monica folds her arms tight across her chest. “Jesus. What’s up his ass?”
I shake my head. I’m in disbelief myself. This isn’t a side I’ve seen of Jay before and it’s all the more confusing considering how sweet he was at the hotel.
Practically growing up with his music, I’ve heard rumors online that he was always a bit of a control freak. I never pegged him as a diva, though. I always thought it was just that slightly unhinged ‘artist’ thing. The way he’s acting now, though, has me well and truly perplexed. He stalks and stomps across the stage like some petulant kid.
Monica glares at me. “I know Greg’s on the payroll but there’s no need for Jay to be such a prick. Have a word with your boyfriend before I lose my shit.”
My face heats. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Then your fuck buddy.” She rolls her eyes.
“It’s not my fault, Monica.”
“Whatever.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Tell him you won’t sleep with him again until he picks up his dummy.” She pushes me along, urging me on.
I take a deep breath and start toward the stage. As I approach, Jay jumps down from the four-foot high stage rise and runs past me without acknowledging me. He storms off to the dressing rooms, shoulders jammed to his neck.
Glancing back at Monica, I shrug.
“Hey, Krissy,” Greg calls down to me.
I look up at him. He’s messing around with an Marshall amp stack.
“Are you okay?”
He smirks. “It’s cool. He’s always like that. He’ll calm down soon.”
I look at the rest of the band who don’t seem too phased. They’ve seen it all before, I guess.
Me?
I don’t like it. Rock god and awesome fuck aside, I need to confront him.
I follow him backstage. Before I enter his dressing room he charges back out, clutching onto a bottle of beer and blowing out breath.