by Davis, Rhona
“Stop,” I shout, before he disappears again.
He breaks and slams his back into the brick hallway wall, chugging back beer.
“Why did you just ignore me out there?” I ask him.
He looks sideways at me, his jaw setting.
“It’s just a sound check,” I say. There is an uncomfortable pause. I look down at my feet. “Sorry.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know . . . making you late, wasting your time.” Despondent, I begin to walk away.
“Wait,” he calls out.
I turn to face him.
“Come here.”
I’m a little mad about how rude he was to my friend—his number one member of the crew—but like a moth to a flame, I can’t resist him. I slowly shuffle back over, stopping just a few inches from where he’s stood. My gaze drops to the floor.
Brushing his thumb over my cheek, he uses the tips of his fingers to lift my chin up. Looking deep into his green gaze, my heart trips.
“I’m a grown man,” he says. “I knew what I was doing?”
I pull my head away from his hand and squint at him. “What, shouting at Greg like he’s some piece of shit?”
Jay laughs. “No silly . . . the hotel. Us.” His hand finds the side of my cheek again and I lean into it. “I knew exactly what I was doing in that room.”
“You . . . you don’t regret it?”
“No way. I should apologize, Krissy.”
I sigh. “We’ve talked about this. It’s fine.”
“I’m not talking about the first night we met. I’m talking about my little hissy fit on the stage. I’m just tired. I hate things not being right.”
I scoff. “So the rumors are true.”
He narrows his eyes.
“You are a control freak.”
He closes the space between us, his face now an inch from mine. “Maybe.”
I lurch forward and our lips meet. My eyes close as our mouths tenderly move together—just a little tongue, more gentle and sweet than before. I can feel my center warm and my nipples peak beneath my bra.
A loud cough soon breaks us apart. “Don’t mind me.”
We both look down the dimly lit hallway. Mike, the band’s drummer, has his hands to his hips. He’s grinning.
“Busted,” Jay says with a smile.
Slightly embarrassed, I smooth my hair down and shuffle a few steps away from Jay. “I better let you guys get ready.”
Before I walk off, Jay takes my hand and pulls me back in. “See you after the show, angel.”
I stare into his eyes and excitement floods me.
So the hotel room wasn’t a one off.
“Good luck,” I tell him.
He kisses me gently and smiles. “I have all the luck I need.”
10
Jay
The venue is crowed and kind of scary with it. The place is only supposed to hold around a thousand people, but taking a wild guess I’d say there must be over fifteen hundred here tonight. Fuck knows who’s in charge around here. This shit has lawsuit written all over it.
As the third song of our set draws to a close, I start toward the drum kit and fetch up a small towel and bottle of water from the platform.
The house lights dim as I sip some water and swagger back to the mic stand. For a split second—darkness, save for a few cellphone cameras held aloft in the crowd.
As Scott—our bassist—pulls on a low E, which sounds like the rumble of a fighter jet ready for takeoff, the stage lights hit the audience. Everyone roars and cheers in the spotlight. We can see them, but they can’t see us.
A sea of blotchy red faces smiles up at us, arms reaching out for a touch of something spiritual perhaps. For them this is their church, their temple, and I am their leader.
I love intimate shows like these. They give me a chance to really play with the fans.
The club is awash in darkness again, Scott’s low thrum on the bass now building.
Then, the lights flash back on the crowd.
I stumble back in shock, almost tripping over a rogue wire cable.
That . . . couldn’t have been . . . could it?
Lights go off again, and then—with Mike’s ferocious drums exploding into glorious life—our forth song kicks in like a juggernaut plowing through an antique store.
I’m paralyzed, gazing out at the throng of fans. I try to search for what I thought I saw. But like a ghost, it’s gone—just a subliminal flash.
I’m fucking sure it was her.
The music passes over me like a wave of white noise. Panic shoots through me—like that feeling of fight and flight, when all you can do is stand motionless and wait for the assault.
“Jay,” my guitarist, Tommy, shouts.
The fans jump up and down, manic, wild, and oblivious to my mid-set meltdown.
“Jay,” he shouts again. “What are you doing, man? Sing the goddamn song!”
I turn my head toward him. He scowls at me and jerks his chin to the mic in front of me.
As though I’ve had a bucket of ice cold water chucked over me to wake me up, I grip onto the mic stand and start singing—the verse over the chorus. I glance back at Tommy who curses to himself and recedes backwards, his attention fixed on the notes he’s playing.
Trying to redeem my holy fuck up, I jump down to the small gap between the stage and the fans. They all reach out in hysteria, some leaning right over the steel barriers only to be pushed back by security.
I can’t sing. I’m too busy trying to find that face. Holding the mic out, I let the euphoric crowd fill in.
* * *
I burst into the band’s dressing room. They all look surprised. Scott holds out a beer for me. “Nice of you to join us, dude.”
Tommy laughs. “What’s wrong, Madonna sick of her own room now?”
“Mike,” I say in a low voice. “Can I have a word?”
Mike narrows his eyes at me as he changes his t-shirt.
Tommy pushes from his stool and slowly walks over to me. “Wanna tell us what the fuck happened tonight?”
“Don’t bust my balls.”
He scoffs.
Mike walks over from the back of the room and places a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Leave it out. We all screw up sometimes.”
Tommy backs off, cursing under his breath between sips of beer.
Mike grins at me. “He’ll be okay in a bit. What do you want to talk about?”
I lean closer. “I saw her.”
“Who?” He frowns. “Krissy?”
“Suzie.”
“Get the fuck outta here.”
“I mean it. Didn’t you see her . . . in the crowd?”
“No, man.” He places a hand on my arm. “All you need is some rest, bud.”
I start to talk but then stop myself. Perhaps it’s just paranoia?
I hear the sound of Monica and Krissy coming down the hallway. They’re laughing and joking around. I’m in no mood.
“Hi boys,” Monica says when she gets to the foot of the dressing room door.
The whole band greets her with the same wolf whistles and vague sexual innuendos as always. Christ, if I were Greg I’d take huge exception to men addressing my girl like that.
My girl.
Krissy presses close to me, hooking her arm around my waist. “That was such a cool gig.”
I stare down at her.
She smiles. “So much better than the bigger concerts.” She reaches up toward me on tip toes. I think she wants to kiss me.
I shrug her off. “You’re drunk.”
Her brows pinch. “So what? That’s rock and roll.” A hiccup pushes from her lips.
Monica snorts, surveying her friend wrapped around me like a needy cobra.
I pull away from Krissy and head off to my private dressing room.
* * *
An hour later I’m knocking on Monica and Krissy’s hotel door. I feel shitty.
Monica opens up, just an inch. She doesn�
�t look at me.
“Is Krissy—?”
“Tell him to go away.” I hear Krissy call.
Monica forces her gaze to mine. She gives me the same look a dog owner would to their pooch if it just defecated on the rug.
I push my head through the gap in the door. “Krissy, I’m sorry.”
“Jay,” Monica grumbles, trying to push me back.
Krissy’s sat in the same clothes she wore to the gig—baggy band tee, ripped Levis, battered old converses, hair tied up in a wayward bun. Her arms and legs are crossed on the bed and she pouts, staring at the TV—which isn’t on—and pretending I don’t exist. She looks funny, like a sulky ass kid . . . adorable and pathetic.
I whisper to Monica. “Don’t you want to get rid of her so you can have the room all to yourself with Greg?”
She frowns at me. “I can go to Greg’s room anytime I want. He doesn’t need to come here. You booked him one, remember?”
Krissy springs to her feet. Pushing Monica aside, she flings the door wide open. “What do you want?”
Man, she really is pissed.
I lean against the doorframe. “I didn’t mean to be a cold motherfucker before.”
“Well you were . . . and that’s what counts.” She looks at Monica for confirmation. Monica just shrugs and starts over to the dressing table.
“I know I was.” I take her hand. She flinches at first but doesn’t completely pull away. “Come to my room.”
The rage in her pretty face softens. Her cute little button nose, once scrunched up and flaring, relaxes.
“You‘ll have a lot of making up to do,” Monica tells me with a slight laugh.
I stare into Krissy’s perfect baby blues. “Sounds good.”
“I need a shower first,” Krissy says, swaying on the spot.
“Have one at mine.”
Her cheeks warm. “No.”
“No?”
“No. I stink.”
“But—”
Push. Slam. Door: right in my face.
Can’t help but laugh. I deserved that.
Walking to my room, thoughts of some serious make up time run riot inside my head.
Fuck the paranoia of earlier. To hell if I’m going to let a mistake from my past screw up what me and Krissy have.
That mistake is history.
And that’s all that matters.
11
Krissy
“Stop it,” I bark.
“Stay still.” He carries on playing with my ass, his fingers lightly caressing the rim.
I burst out laughing and thrash my legs around. “That tickles.”
“Just relax.”
“I said no!”
Slap.
He actually slapped me on the cheek of my ass, hard.
I can’t believe he did that.
Turning around sharply, I claw onto his biceps and play fight with him.
We’re both completely naked, with me pinned beneath him on the bed—best ever place to be. Way past any normal time to be up, the booze has gone straight to my head. I’m past caring if I make a fool of myself. I’m enjoying time with Jay too much, and I want it to last all night long.
Lunging for my breasts, in an act of rebellion for not getting his own way, he takes in one of my pert nipples with his warm mouth. Wrapping my legs firmly around his sculpted torso, I lie completely flat on the bed and push my hips close to his groin.
“Ouch!” I cry.
He looks at me with a mischievous grin smeared across his lips. “Sorry.”
I punch his thigh. “You bit me on purpose, you shit.”
“Show me that ass again, baby.”
“I’ve already told you . . . no way.”
“You don’t do doggy style?”
I screw my brow. “Weren’t you trying to—?”
“What?” he cuts in.
“You know . . .”
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t. Aw, come on, knock off the shy bullcrap. Trying to do what?”
The sound of footsteps comes to a stop outside our door. A small slither of light from the bottom lip of the door is slightly obscured by a shadow. Jay yanks away the pillow from behind my head and launches it at the door. “A little fucking privacy please,” he shouts.
I burst into uncontrolled hysterics as the footsteps scurry away.
Jay glances back at me and huffs. “Damn voyeurs.”
“Voyeurs?”
“Perverts. Weirdos.” He looks over at the door. “Can’t really blame them . . . I’d stop too if I just heard the sexy way you shouted out.”
“Jay—” My words cut off. I’m totally sidetracked as he abruptly cups at my sex and massages my clit. I moan in sheer satisfaction. I’m lost again, drunk but very much in the moment, as he scoops his fingers inside and masturbates me roughly.
Barely opening an eye, I see him rip at the edge of a condom packet with his teeth. He’s good at that.
I begin to fight him off.
His shoulders slack. “What’s wrong now?”
“I want to taste you.” I chew on my bottom lip, enjoying the look on his face as the penny drops. “It’s only fair, you’ve tasted me.”
I giggle, wondering if I’ll regret my brashness when I sober up.
Hooking my hands around his neck, I pull him down and straddle him. For such a strong guy it’s surprising how easily I can push him around. I’m sure he just let me, though. If he wanted to he could hold me firmly in place and do anything he desired. And I’d let him. But right now I’m hungry. I want to take charge.
With my head hovering over his stomach, I trace my inquisitive tongue over the bumpy surface of his lean abs. He tastes of aftershave and soap. Pretty soon my tongue gets closer to its goal.
He sounds his approval, as I clamp my fingers around his strained erection. Pulling on his hot shaft, I start to skim my lips across the head of his huge cock. Flicking my tongue across his helmet I can taste pre-cum. It’s salty and bitter. All I can think of is how nice body chocolate would taste on him. We should so get some from a sex shop at the next city. I like his taste, but smeared chocolate over his gorgeous dick? That would be yummy times a million.
I brace my mouth over his swollen dick and slowly draw my lips over his hardness.
I suck slowly at first, just to get use to his thickness hitting my palette. He murmurs and fidgets. I draw down further, soon pushing as much of him into my mouth as I can. His head hits the back of my throat and I gag slightly—it’s just a reflex, not that I don’t like it. I strain my eyes toward him as I pull back and forth on his length, my tongue and lips massaging and sucking on his delicious coarseness. I can feel my pussy tighten just imagining how good he will feel stretching me out.
“That’s so good, baby,” he whispers. “Fuck.”
I suck harder and soon get the hang of his cock inside my mouth. Occasionally I pull off him to draw my tongue over his shaft, from top to bottom and back again. When I take him in again, I start to play with his balls. I can feel them tremble. I better retreat before he wastes his load. I want him to fuck me. He’ll need all his strength.
Jumping off him, I dive face down onto the bed and wiggle my ass. It’s a direct invitation and I don’t have to ask twice. He positions himself behind me and pulls on the condom. Just as he spreads my legs apart, I peer over my shoulder and shoot him a warning glare. “Not in my butt.”
“Why?”
“Cuz it’ll hurt!”
He sniggers.
“Really,” I add, meaning it.
He presses my head down to the bed and pushes his manhood to my entry.
I stretch my arms out in front of me and grip tight to the sheets, more than ready for paradise part two.
Forcing himself past the soft lips of my pussy, he quickly gets to work—rutting in and out of me as he plays with my peachy ass. I curse with pleasure as he pumps in and out. It’s raw and fast.
Picking up speed, I reach down for my sex and help him along by playin
g with my clit. This is drunken sex, rough and very playful.
Every beautiful inch of him is buried deep inside. I’m so wet for him, so horny and willing. The walls of my pussy crush against his tight and rigid cock.
He swears and I can feel him shake, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my ass.
I swear, too, and scream, jiggling my ass and rubbing frantically at my beating clit. It doesn’t take long before an earth shattering orgasm explodes from my core. I climax hard on his dick and bite down on the sheets of the mattress—crying, laughing, convulsing—like a desperate junkie going through cold turkey.
Filling the condom, he rolls off me and collapses to my side in a sweaty heap. I turn my head to him. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“Hey,” he says through short breaths. “An asshole that gets what he wants.”
I tut and try my best to control the inevitable rush that follows such a magnificent release. It’s like torture and a part of me hates letting him see how crazy he drives me. As if his ego needed another boost.
“I never knew you were so wild,” he says.
“Then you don’t really know me.”
He stares at me.
“What?” I ask. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to say something weird.”
He shifts up on the bed and props his head on his hand, supporting his full weight on his elbow. “Weird?”
“I don’t know . . . you’re making me nervous again.”
“I was just thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“Very funny.”
I fake a smile. “Thanks.”
“You said I don’t know you. And you’re right. It’s been all of five minutes really.”
I narrow my eyes. Play nice, Krissy.
“Oh, a good five minutes,” he adds.
I narrow my eyes more.
“A fucking excellent five minutes,” he further adds. “But I’d like to get to know you more . . . much more.”
I push up. Suddenly a wave of sobriety hits me. “What are you saying?”
“Come away with me.”