SailtotheMoon

by Lynne Connolly

  She bent to caress it with her breasts, pushing them together into a cleavage so she could embrace it, if not hide it. She’d need much bigger tits, maybe F cup or more. But he seemed to appreciate what she had. Watching her avidly, he caught his lower lip between his teeth before he managed to speak. “Do you think you could make me come like that? So I could see it splash on the underside of your chin?”

  She hadn’t realized she’d squirmed until he groaned. “Shit, you look so fucking sexy when you do that. Wriggle again, sweetheart.”

  Almost not caring that he’d used an endearment instead of her name, she did as he asked. She teased her clit with his hard shinbone, which she was currently straddling, but she couldn’t speak because by then her mouth was full. Unable to resist the temptation of the most beautiful cock she’d seen in a long time, she tasted it, and found it good. Amazingly good. She found salt, heat and a spice she couldn’t identify, but which seemed more Indian than Chinese, with a touch of Thai. Her favorite foods in one juicy mouthful.

  “Dear fucking God, you do that well.” The expression in his eyes was pure sin.

  She released him with a pop to say, “Don’t kid a kidder, Zazz.”

  “Oh believe me, I’m not. You have a skilled mouth, Laura.”

  Reassured, she went back to work, but he put his hands under her arms and drew her back up. “Fuck me, Laura. Not that I don’t love the way you give me head, but I want your cunt right now.”

  Dirty talk had never turned her on. Until now. Her pussy juiced all over his leg. Without taking his attention away from her, he reached for the drawer in the night table, dipped in and found a condom. Wordlessly, he handed it to her. Equally wordlessly, she opened it and enclosed his cock in the thin latex. Lifting up, using her hands this time, she hovered her pussy—her cunt—over him and brought them into contact. She swirled her opening over his dick to moisten it and to tease herself.

  So good. When he murmured something and took her clit between finger and thumb, massaging it, she gave in and sat on him. She didn’t stop until his balls met her backside and his cock sank inside her as if it had found its natural home. Which, as far as she was concerned, it had.

  She gloried in the opportunity to drive him wild. He deserved it for driving her insane for so long. The reality surpassed anything she could have imagined. He filled her completely, thoroughly and every time she lifted to slam down on him, he stroked her G-spot, driving her to insanity.

  His yells of encouragement and pleasure were uninhibited, and so were hers, wordless but expressive. She shoved her hair back behind her ears—she didn’t want to miss any of this sight. She let the sensations overwhelm her, stroke her into absolute and complete madness. But she didn’t stop. Setting her hands on his chest, she leaned forward and worked harder. She lifted almost off him and paused to tease his cock head with her pussy opening, waiting until he gasped, “Have mercy!” before ramming him back inside her.

  They both cried out and she came, a rocketing orgasm that shocked her to her bones, so she lost sense of time and place. But not whom she was with. Crying his name, she felt his hands clamp around her hips, holding her steady while she lost her senses. Shivers arced through her and she let her head tilt back so she could catch her breath, which she was fast losing. The climax went on and on, and while she heard him murmur encouragement, she couldn’t make out the words. They didn’t matter. The cadence counted.

  At some point he grunted, and his cock, still deep inside her, pulsed. His thighs tensed, his back arched and he yelled.

  He yelled her name.

  Chapter Three

  When he’d fucked a woman, Zazz usually ensured she had a bite to eat and then got home okay. The food got her out of bed, the chat gradually distanced them, and then he could suggest a taxi and make a vague date for the future.

  Already he’d done more with Laura. She felt too good in his arms for him to want to let her go. What she’d said about not communicating with people—he found that hard to believe. Before she’d fallen asleep, they’d chatted idly, and he wanted more. He wanted to talk about songs, the world, the new Bond film. Shit, everything. Just to talk to her. And keep her in bed, because either she was amazingly skilled, or they fit together in a good way. He definitely wanted more of that.

  She slept now, her breath hot against his shoulder, and until a few minutes ago he’d been asleep too, as naturally as if he slept through every night. He always had difficulty getting to sleep, but not tonight. He glanced at the bright numbers on the digital clock, single figures still. He’d slept for four hours straight—a rarity for him.

  Murder City Ravens had a week before they had to turn up at Wembley in London for their first sound check. Would she like to come with him? A week in the Smoke in a luxury hotel sounded good to him, a holiday to remember. He smiled into the dark. He could do with a break, and spending it with Laura sounded even better.

  His whole life revolved around his music. He didn’t have time for anything else. Anyone else. But now he understood how Jace had let someone in, how Donovan had been beguiled into sharing his life and his hotel room with Allie. No life for a woman, but those women had made something for themselves. Maybe Laura could.

  Why the fuck was he thinking this way? One night? Shit, he was only letting her stay in bed because he wasn’t done with her yet. Or that was what he told himself. He firmed his intentions, remembered why he was here. Sure, he liked her, but that was all it could be. He’d give her the email address and set up another one in Gmail, then let the emails accumulate. Answer a few, maybe. Then let the correspondence become irregular before it faded away. He didn’t have time for anything but his music.

  That was his usual modus operandi. He didn’t like to send a woman away unhappy. Good PA, Chick said. She’d tell her friends what a nice guy Zazz was under all the swagger and the gruffness, and the band would get more fans.

  Except he wasn’t a nice guy. He’d never been a nice guy. He was a shit. He shirked his responsibilities, ran from life and avoided any involvement with anything but the band. He talked through his music.

  He breathed deep, enjoying the scent of fresh sex and Laura. Another night in Manchester. He’d ask her to stay with him tomorrow as well. Which she probably would. Manchester made him antsy, reminded him of things, of places, he couldn’t go back to. Ever. He’d prefer to get away, take her to London if she was up for it.

  She stirred and he paused to murmur soothing words to her, but she woke anyway. A shame, he was feeling peaceful, ready to drop off to sleep again. But when he met her sleepy gaze he thought of other possibilities. Okay, so awake was good too.

  “Sleeping beauty,” he murmured before he kissed her. Now was as good a time as any. “Do you fancy coming to London for a few days?”

  Her eyes opened wide then, but he wouldn’t let her speak until he’d kissed her good and thoroughly. “Why?”

  “To hang out. Have a break. Maybe come to the concerts at Wembley.” He kissed her again, breathing in to take more of her essence, sharper now as their arousal rose. “We can stay anywhere you like. Doesn’t have to be the same hotel as everybody else. The Ritz.” He’d been looking forward to five-star luxury. His previous experience of London had been squats and filthy apartments in dodgy areas. It’d be nice to have somebody to share it with. “Hmm?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I like you. Because we could have some fun.”

  He saw her eyes sharpen in focus as she came properly awake. By then his erect cock was nestling between her thighs, ready for another round. He’d have her doggy-style, perhaps. She’d like that, and he fucking loved it.

  “I can’t.” She sat up. “What time is it?” After an appalled glance at the clock, she face-palmed. “I have to go. I work in the morning.”

  “You work on Saturdays?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Put it off.”

  “I can’t. I promised.”

  Jealousy streaked through him, unc
haracteristic and inappropriate, but he never denied an emotion. That blocked him from writing lyrics. The emotion went into his memory bank. “Who to?”

  “An old man. Nobody remembers him, but he used to be famous once. More than that, he’s old, frail and lonely.” She met his gaze, traced a finger down his cheek, tantalizing him with the touch of her fingernail. “God, this is hard.”

  He wriggled to let her know how hard it was. “Sure?”

  “I need a couple of hours, and anyway, his file’s at my house.”

  “File?” An ominous dread crept over him, tightening his stomach. Had he made a mistake? Avoided the wrong Laura? He rolled off her. “What do you do?”

  “I’m a social worker.” She swung out of bed and numbly, he watched her cross the room to the bathroom. “I have to see one of the crew to discuss his father. Well, I don’t have to, because we’re in touch by email, but I wanted to persuade him to see the old man.”

  He heard the shower start, but any inclination to join her had died along with his arousal. Real life had come back to kick him in the gut, as it always did.

  She didn’t linger in the shower and came out in ten minutes, fully dressed. Still looked gorgeous, but he couldn’t take her now. “So who is this crew member?” He knew the answer before she told him.

  She smiled. “James Asaro. You know him?”

  “You could say that.” Watching her reaction carefully, he said, “You already know who he is, don’t you?”

  “No. Chick was going to introduce me. He said he had to find James first and then talk to him. His father has the same name, did you know? But he prefers Jimmy. Perhaps you know him, he was a musician. Jimmy A, they called him in his day. His son’s been busy, but I think he’s also avoiding his father. He sent me an email to say he wouldn’t see him, but I wanted to give it one last chance. Mr. Asaro wants to see him, and he’s getting frailer every day.”

  With every cheerful sentence, Zazz’s heart sank. “He’s good at that, isn’t he?”

  She watched him, frowning, but said nothing.

  “Jimmy’s been dying for thirty years. As long as I’ve known him. Why didn’t you just ask me, Laura?” That last revealed far too much. He didn’t want to give her anything. Panic twisted his stomach. He’d almost agreed to meet his dad, in the company of the middle-aged social worker he’d expected Laura to be. One more reason he didn’t recognize her. But as soon as they’d arrived at the hotel in the center of town, passing the familiar landmarks of the huge Town Hall and Piccadilly Gardens, he’d decided not to go through with it. He wouldn’t meet the social worker caring for his father, he wouldn’t give her the opportunity of reintroducing father and son. He was done with that. He could write to her when he was safely in London, tell her he’d been ill or something. She’d carry on thinking of Zazz and James Asaro as two separate people. The imperative command ran through his brain, throbbing like a heartbeat. Don’t go back, don’t go back.

  She must have worked it out, decided to get her jollies before she broke the bad news over his head. Jesus fucking Christ, how was he supposed to think straight now? His head whirled, his stomach churned. He had to get her out of here.

  He got out of bed, shamelessly naked. “I thought that other Laura was you, the one I was dodging at the arena.” Such a fucking idiot. How could he have let her take him in like this? “I thought I’d seen it all, had it all. Women who want to fuck me because I’m Zazz. People who want to fuck any member of the band, didn’t matter which, and I do mean ‘people’. I’ve had them all, men, women, in any combination you care to name, and none of them fooled me for a minute. They offered, I took. Why not, when I worked hard to get here? What do I have to lose?” He snapped his fingers under her nose. “Then you come along, and like that, I’m gone. I’m a fucking twat. Still, you did me a favor, brought me down a bit. I needed it, arrogant fuck that I am.” He stalked to the door and flung it open. “Get out. I’ll have a car arranged for you. But get out of my sight.”

  She stood her ground, but her face was white, her eyes large in her face. “You’re James Asano?”

  “Oh very good.” He applauded. “James, Zazz, haven’t you lived in Manchester long enough?” He sneered. “Oh that’s right, you’re a posh girl. Where did you grow up? Chorltonville, West Didsbury, maybe? Not Moss Side, not Hulme, where roaches ran over your face in the night and your father screamed in his delusions and all your friends were Gazz, Bazz or Zazz. I’m not going back. The name’s all I kept.”

  He could see when realization slammed into her, as it had to him a few moments ago. “He’s old. He’s a lifelong addict, and he’s not likely to come off methadone,” she said. “He wants to see you one last time. He’s your father.”

  He slammed the door so hard it vibrated on its hinges. “You know what? He’s not my father, not really. He was at a gig in San Francisco and I got dumped on him after a wild party. The woman said I was his, but he never had tests done. I was another of his hallucinations, that’s all. When he came home to Manchester it was as easy to take me as leave me and fill out all the forms. I pay his rent and for his nurse, and that’s it.”

  Her hands clenched into fists. “He brought you up.”

  He gave a derisory laugh. “Dragged me up, more like. I ran away at sixteen to get away from him and fucking Hulme and fucking Manchester. This place gives me hives. As soon as that concert’s finished tomorrow night, I’m away, gone. I’ll never come back. Get it? Now fuck off.”

  He opened the door again. After a moment staring at his face, she took a step to the door. “I could bring him here.”

  Oh no she wouldn’t. “Don’t you fucking dare. I won’t see him. Want to see him turned away? I don’t know him, don’t want ’im.” Aware in his agitation that his native accent was pushing through, he let it. What did it matter? She knew his secrets. “I’ll carry on paying the money into his account, but don’t come back, don’t ask to see me. Thanks for the fuck, it was grand.”

  Putting up her chin, she marched through the door. He’d never see her again. He’d tell Chick to keep her away. Fuck, how could he have let her get under his skin? Of course she knew who he was, and she’d fucked him to soften him up.

  His mouth twisted in derision. Another three or four bed partners and she’d be gone. He’d find one to bring back here so he could fuck her in this bed, although the thought sent waves of disgust through him. Put enough distance between them, and he’d forget her. It had worked so far. He’d run far and fast from his father after the last time. He’d come back from the pub to find his dad had OD’d, and realized he couldn’t carry on like this. Couldn’t live like this.

  He might carry the old man’s name, but only by default. And anyway, Zazz was enough for most things. Only his tax form and his passport had his real name, and although one or two people might comment, most had forgotten his father.

  Ten minutes later he was in the shower, heat sending steam billowing around him in an effort to scald the memories away.

  She’d done it, got right through to the part of him he kept locked rigidly away, a part of his life he never wanted to revisit. But she’d forced it on him. He found it easier when they’d started talking about other subjects in their emails. That explained why he thought he’d known her so well, that she was more than someone to fuck. He did. He knew everything except her age, how sexy she was, and he’d fucking learned that now too.

  And still he fought the tears that the memories of his childhood brought back to him. From a baby to a child, crying in the night for the father who’d gone out to score, or who got lost noodling useless riffs at some pub, or his precious Band on the Wall, or some other fucking place. Then an adolescent boy, begging for attention. He’d received it, sometimes, and others, his dad had totally ignored him. Sometimes he’d had more attention from the whores who’d helped them spend the dosh in the good times. It didn’t help to know most of it was the drugs and drink. Without them, on those rare occasions he’d tried to kick the ha
bit, his father had turned into a real parent. Or what passed for one in a deprived area like Hulme.

  As Zazz, he surrounded himself with friends, salted away a fortune, created all the safeguards he wanted, and it still wasn’t enough. Would never be enough.

  He turned off the shower and swiped a towel over his eyes. Her scent assaulted him. He must have picked up one she’d used earlier. Swift as a knife slicing through clean air, anger rose to replace despair. Anger had always been his friend.

  Dropping that towel in favor of another, he dried himself roughly and went back into the bedroom to find a pencil and paper. If he couldn’t sleep, he’d work.

  Chick knocked at six. He knew it was Chick, because nobody else would be up in the middle of the night. Six a.m. was the middle of the night to most musicians.

  Chick closed the door, and without asking, crossed the room to the coffeemaker, making himself busy filling that, and the kettle. He switched both on. “Tea or coffee?”

  Zazz grimaced. “Make it coffee. I didn’t get much sleep. I could do with the extra caffeine.”

  The big man didn’t speak again until he’d set two steaming mugs of fragrant coffee on the small table that lay between the two chairs the room offered. He sat in the vacant one after brushing away the pile of crumpled paper Zazz had thrown there. “You don’t usually make them cry.”

  He looked up from his pad, his fingers tightening over the pencil. “She cried?”

  “Oh yeah. I gave her a drink before I got a car to take her home. It wasn’t the sex that made her cry, was it?”

  He shrugged. “You know me. Casanova, that’s my middle name.”

  “No it’s not. It’s Matthew.”

  Few people knew his real name, and all of them—except two—were in this hotel tonight. Chick had recognized the name, forcing Zazz to reluctantly tell him the truth, but Chick had helped him a huge amount, concealing his identity and confusing the increasingly insistent media. Because the other reason, the one Zazz never let himself believe—the kind of media attention the band was getting right now was brutal. Too much for his father to put up with. And if they found out he was the son of the legendary Jimmy A—despite what Laura had said, a lot of people remembered him—they’d swarm.