The Rider List: An Erotic Romance

by Charles, J. T.

  Back at home, I do some laundry. I think about taking a short nap but worry that it’ll just make me groggy for work tonight.

  Stacy calls and I tell her about Wyatt showing up at work last night. She’s pissed, calls him a stalker, and says that she and Trent are going to come watch fireworks with me from the clubhouse deck rather than go to a cookout that one of Trent’s friends is having.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I say.

  “I know I don’t have to. I want to. You know he’s going to show up.”

  I laugh. “I can handle it, Stacy. Thanks, though.”

  “Okay, then, but you call me if that fucker shows up.”

  “I’ll send up the bat signal.”

  She laughs and says she has to get going. “Either way, I’m calling you later, so answer.”

  Mom gets home and says she’s going to try to get a couple of hours of sleep before going to work.

  “Sorry about throwing us all off,” I say. “We just had a little mix-up at work and had to change my schedule a bit.”

  “No worries. Sophie will stay with Kendall again tonight. Just be prepared, though.”

  “For what?”

  Mom’s voice trails off as she goes up the stairs. “Payback. You’ll have Sophie and Kendall here the next few nights.”

  Later, I do a Google search for Tuesday’s Fault.

  The first result is their official website. I click through it, scanning articles about their previous albums, looking at pictures of them in concert, others taken during recording sessions, more of them in different cities, several of them boarding their tour bus and a private jet.

  Clicking on the message board, I see the first topic is about Evan. People are speculating about whether he’s left the band. Some offer theories about his sudden and mysterious departure.

  A few argue that if he doesn’t come back, it will be the end of Tuesday’s Fault, and one person says it should be the end because Evan started the band and he writes almost every song anyway.

  Another discussion thread is nothing but girls posting their favorite pictures of the band members. There’s an entire sub-thread about Evan. They’ve posted pictures of him they’ve found on the Internet, and there are lots of semi-blurry photos that appear to have been taken by the people in this thread.

  There are numerous pictures of Evan with his shirt off, and most of the girls agree that he’s the hottest one in the band.

  There’s a discussion among many girls that goes like this:

  Why doesn’t he have a girlfriend?

  Because he can have any girl he wants.

  And he probably does! I’d be one of them if he’d let me!

  Skanks.

  Who’s a skank?

  Not you. I just bet he’s like most musicians. He fucks skanks.

  Get off here, TROLL.

  I heard Evan has never had a girlfriend.

  Who has the picture of him where he’s all sweaty and you can see that bulge?

  LOL. I have it somewhere. I’ll look and post it.

  He’s way hotter than that guy who filled in for him.

  He’s hotter than all of them!

  I’d fuck him.

  I’d let him do anything he wants.

  It goes on like that for a few pages. I just skim through, growing more bored with each post. I wonder how old these girls are. And I wonder what they’d think if they knew the real Evan and what he’s like in the bedroom. Reading it from that perspective just makes it funny.

  It also makes me think of how people view celebrities. They don’t know Evan at all—only what they’ve learned from the media, combined with rumors they’ve heard, and topped off with their own assumptions.

  I guess maybe that’s why they find it so easy to say things like that publicly about him. I wonder if he ever reads them and if so, what does he think? That makes me instantly think just how much worse it must be for female celebrities getting comments from male fans. God, the objectification must be brutal by a factor of a million.

  . . . . .

  I watch the fireworks from the clubhouse deck, alone.

  Evan texted me earlier and said he was going downtown to the Battery to watch fireworks and see a band he’d never seen before. When I got his first message—asking me how my evening was going—I thought he might be getting in touch to see if he could see me tonight.

  The disappointment was heavy when I found out that wasn’t the purpose of his texts. After telling me his plans, he told me he’d like to see me tomorrow, which led me to believe he would be out late.

  I settled in for a long night alone, hoping Wyatt wouldn’t show up.

  After the fireworks end and the crowd disperses, the beach quiets down, the band packs up, and the mosquitoes are starting to get bad. So I go back inside. And do nothing. I turn on the TV and find nothing of interest, probably because it’s not what I want to be doing. It’s just boring enough for me to drift off into a light sleep.

  Knocking on the glass wakes me up. The clock says 10:23 p.m. I get up and walk down the hall, barely peeking around the corner so I can see the entranceway.

  My fear is that it’s Wyatt again.

  But it’s Evan.

  My heart trips as I move quickly to the door. I unlock it and swing it open.

  “Hi,” he says, “I’m sorry to bother you at this hour but I’m all out of fresh towels and light bulbs.”

  I fight back a smile. “We’re all out. You’ll have to come back in the morning.”

  He laughs and steps inside. “I’m not waiting that long for you.”

  “I thought you were out for the night,” I say, following him into the open area of the clubhouse.

  “Stayed in.” He’s looking around the place. Looking at the walls, looking up at the ceiling.

  When I reach him, he turns and I can see something in his eyes. It’s that burning, glaring look he gets when we’re having sex.

  “Surprised?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Good.”

  And when he takes my hand and leads me down the hallway, I know Evan has come to the office to fulfill the fantasy I told him about. It wasn’t specific to this place, but this is where I work now so this is where it’s going to happen.

  I don’t know where it started or why, but for the last several years I’ve had a fantasy of having sex in a dangerous place. Maybe out in public somewhere, anywhere we might get caught. But usually my thoughts involve the workplace.

  When I told Evan about it earlier this afternoon, he seemed to be equally as eager about it. He told me he’d had the same fantasy but had never lived it out. What he didn’t tell me is that tonight would be the night for both of us, and this would be the place.

  He walks us to the room with the pool table. There are stools lined up along the walls. The entire back wall of the room is windows that provide a view of the swimming pool and tennis courts.

  He flips a switch on the wall and the hanging light just over the pool table turns on.

  “You can’t be serious,” I say.

  He looks at me. “I am. Very.”

  “Evan, I—”

  “Trust me,” he says, interrupting me. “This is going to be good.”

  I know it’s going to be good, but I’m not quite prepared for this—having sex in the office, in a room like this, with windows like those….

  But I don’t have time to back out. I don’t even have time to utter another word of doubt or protest to him.

  Evan moves to me swiftly, lifting me up and setting me down on the pool table.

  He grins. “I’ve thought about this all day.”

  He runs his hands up my thighs, his fingertips slipping just under the hem of my shorts, then moving down to my inner thighs. Any thought I had about putting a stop to this vanishes and I’m suddenly at his mercy. I don’t care what bad thing could happen. I just want this to happen.

  He’s unbuttoning my shorts as his lips touch mine, barely grazing across them. He tea
ses my mouth with the tip of his tongue.

  Evan looks down as he works my shorts down my hips and I rise up a little to help. My eyes flash over to the window. I see our reflection, but I can also see outside a little. I see no one. It’s just late enough that we might avoid passersby.

  My heart is beating hard, rapidly, my blood like wildfire coursing through my veins. We’ve barely started and this is already more thrilling than I ever imagined. Part of that is the fantasy itself, but it’s also due to Evan’s desire to fulfill my fantasy with me.

  He kisses me as his fingers play with me. The sensation of him touching my clit reverberates up through my body to my nipples, as if connected by a taut string and he’s playing it.

  “I want to hear you come before I fuck you,” he says, one finger slipping inside me and I respond with a sharp gasp.

  His tongue sweeps through my mouth and I can’t resist closing my lips around it, sucking on it.

  The physical pleasure is magnified a million times over by the thoughts running through my head: I’m in my workplace, pants off, legs spread, and the hottest and most intense guy I’ve ever known is fingering me and telling me he wants to hear me come.

  He slips another finger in, working me deeper and harder, the heel of his hand against my clit. I shake as heat streaks through my body.

  My arms are wrapped around his neck and I bury my face into his chest as I start to lose control. I feel like I could fall right off this table, but he’s holding me tight. My thighs tighten as the pleasure rises and I cry out, “I’m gonna come….I’m coming.”

  “That’s it, Audrey,” he says, his voice low and hoarse. “Come for me.”

  It’s only when I start to calm down that the thought of getting caught comes back to me.

  I lean back a little. Evan is looking at me, wide-eyed and wild, like he has to have me. That’s when he pulls my shirt from the bottom and I raise my arms so he can slide it off. I watch as he lifts his hand to his mouth, licking his finger, then saying, “I thought I might never taste you again,” while his other hand goes around my back and swiftly unhooks my bra.

  And here I am, completely naked in the clubhouse. The light above me shines down, no doubt making me visible to anyone who might walk past the window.

  Evan doesn’t get naked. He doesn’t even take his shirt off. He just unzips his pants, and I watch as he works his rock hard, thick cock through the fly.

  This is how he’s going to do it: me naked, with just enough of him exposed to fuck me.

  “Touch me,” he says.

  I reach down and feel him. Big. Stiff like steel sheathed in soft velvet. Warm. And wet at the end.

  His lips are on mine again, ferociously kissing me, sucking on my bottom lip, biting gently on it. I give him my tongue and he sucks it like I sucked his just moments ago.

  “It’s in my pocket,” he says, barely breaking away from my mouth long enough to say it.

  I start to go for his left pocket, and he says, “Other one,” so I slide two fingers into the other pocket and pull out the condom. I lift it, and he says, “Take it out and put it on me.”

  This is a first for me. I fumble with the foil packet a little before just tearing it open, looking down as I place it on the head of his cock. I roll it down a little, feeling myself getting worked up all over again as I do this—preparing him to enter me.

  His cock pulsates in my hand, like it does before he’s about to come. I look up at him, surprised.

  “Too fucking hot,” he says. “This is gonna be quick.”

  And I don’t care. I came. This is so thrilling, better than I imagined. Way outside anything I had pictured the times I fantasized about it.

  Holding him, I guide him toward me, and I decide to tease him a little by rubbing the head along my clit. I watch his face, slack-jawed, tongue running along his lower lips, eyelids fluttering, his eyes seeming to roll back in his head. I love seeing him like this. Like an animal in need. In need of being inside me.

  The teasing is over as he pushes against me and I’d be hopeless to stop him even if I wanted to, which I don’t, because I’m practically begging him to do it. He’s going so slowly, easing himself in. Then, with a hard thrust, one he seems to do on instinct and pure lust, he pushes all the way into me with one long stroke.

  I fall back on the pool table. Evan is moving his hips fast and hard, looking down, watching himself slide in and out of me. “So fucking good.” His words come out with an exhale.

  I’m looking up at him, then up at the light, again thinking what this would look like to someone walking past the big window. Somehow, I simultaneously don’t care if someone sees us, and I’m mortified by the thought of it. Those two conflicting notions clash and heighten the excitement of what we’re doing.

  I reach over my head to grab the other edge of the pool table, securing myself in place as Evan says, “If someone sees us, I won’t stop. I can’t.”

  “Good,” I say.

  He puts one hand flat on my stomach, looks at it and then slides it up my body. His large hand cups my right breast as his forefinger makes little circles around my nipple. Then he takes it between his finger and thumb like he’s done before, lightly pinching and pulling and it makes me want to come again.

  I can feel it, the sensation rising.

  Evan is almost there, too.

  “Audrey,” he says, drawing my name out.

  I don’t know where this comes from but I blurt out, “Come on me.”

  He pulls out, yanking the condom off from the bottom, and strokes himself. He comes in long, full, back-arching thrusts, as I watch it landing on my stomach, my chest, some of it hitting my chin. I’m amazed by the range of his orgasm.

  He lets go of himself and leans over me, both hands on the table propping him up. He looks at me for a couple of seconds, then says, “I’ve never come as hard as I do with you.”

  He kisses me, then looks down at my chest. “We need to get you cleaned up. Stay here.” He leaves the room, around the corner to the hallway. He’s only gone for a minute, two tops, but as I lie there naked, with his come on me, under this light, the fear of being seen returns.

  Evan is back quickly with a warm, wet towel. He cleans me thoroughly. I notice his eyes dart to my left side.

  “Shit,” he says. “There’s some on the table.”

  My head drops back and I laugh. “I don’t care. I really, really don’t care.”

  And it’s true. I don’t. At least not right now, as I lie here feeling like I’m high on pleasure.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Evan

  I get up the next morning feeling rejuvenated, a lot of energy and a strong positive vibe that today will be a good writing day. I down a glass of water, go for a quick run, come back and cook breakfast—two egg whites, two slices of toast, and a bowl of fruit on the side.

  I had hoped Audrey would come by but she texts me and says she’s going home to get some things done and she’ll be by later in the afternoon, after work. She’s had to pick up the day shift in order to get the work schedule back on track.

  She texts: Do you need anything?

  Me: No. Actually, yes. I need you to come by here and spend the day in my bed.

  Audrey: Ha. That’s why I texted and asked instead of dropping by.

  Me: Because you wouldn’t be able to leave?

  Audrey: Exactly.

  Me: After work then?

  Audrey: See you after 5.

  When I was walking back to my bungalow from the clubhouse/office, my mind raced with short bursts of memories of what we’d just done.

  The look on Audrey’s face when she first saw me. How that look changed when she realized why I was there, and that I had come to fulfill that fantasy of hers. I’d contemplated it all day and had come to the conclusion that it needed to happen that night—not only because the opportunity was there and might not happen again, but because I couldn’t stop thinking about how she would be when living out that fantasy.
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  There was excitement and worry in her eyes and in her voice. That made it all the more exciting. I had recalled seeing the pool table room when I’d first arrived here at the resort, and knew it would be a good place.

  What I hadn’t counted on was just how wildly horny the whole thing would make me. Getting her bottomless and feeling how quickly she got wet under my touch, then getting her completely naked, vulnerable, letting herself go because she trusted me with it…I thought I might come the second she touched me.

  I couldn’t get enough of the way she squirmed and moaned and let out those hot little high-pitched yelps as I made her come with my hand.

  Then, the way her tits bounced as I fucked her furiously, unable to slow myself down. I had a need to fuck her hard and fast—the way that type of office sex fantasy should be, anyway.

  It was an hour later before I was anywhere close to being ready to sleep. I jerked off again after replaying it all in my mind. I had toyed with the idea of going back to the office to find her, but didn’t give in to the temptation.

  There’s still plenty of time for more of this, and I have no problem coming up with ways to surprise her again.

  . . . . .

  After washing the dish and fork I used for breakfast, I open Twitter on my phone to find, once again, more than the usual number of tweets sent to me. They’re all from fans, saying how glad they are that I’m back with the band.

  What is this? Must be an Internet rumor. One after another, the tweets are almost all the same.

  Awesome news!

  Yes! Thank you!

  Can’t wait to see you guys again. I’ll be there!

  I’m almost squinting because my brow is furrowed as I wonder what these people are talking about. And then I see it as I scroll through the tweets faster.

  A headline: Crawford Returns to Tuesday’s Fault for Benefit Show