Uncovering Love: The Wedding

by Kacey Shea

  My fingers work her clit, playing along the sensitive bare skin like the most precious of instruments. My other hand alternates between slapping both of their asses and holding the friend in place while I thrust up and pound into her pussy. It squeezes like a vice and I know I’m hitting just the right spot.

  Blondie begins that scream again, but this time I reach up and shove two fingers into her mouth, holding them there for her to suck—and to shut her the fuck up. My ears fill with moans, slaps, licks, and wet kisses, and it’s a heady combo. So much better.

  Mr. Trent approves.

  The door clicks open, a stream of daylight pouring into an otherwise darkened room. A throat clears behind us but I’m not stopping now. With Thing One and Thing Two so close to falling over the edge of orgasmic bliss and myself not far behind, I can’t chance a glare over the shoulder to tell our cleaning crew to come back later to vacuum. At least, I think it’s cleaning day. God, who cares. The only sucking going down in this room is my mouth on pussy.

  Speaking of life’s delicacies. I suck, groan, and flick my tongue over her clit, and am rewarded with a flood of juices. Her screams aren’t faked or forced this time, they’re every bit full of the orgasm that shakes her entire body.

  “Trenton William Donavan. You put your pants on right this minute.”

  Shit.

  Nothing kills a boner like Mom walking in—fucking shit—and I was so close, too. Blondie turns, meets my mom’s glare, and rushes to wrap her hands modestly over her tits and crotch. Ouch. In her haste she misses and slaps my face.

  The one on my dick is still chasing her release and doesn’t seem to care we have a visitor. Not that I should be surprised. She was the one who gave me her digits with the promise of a threesome.

  “Come on, ladies. Off you go.”

  I slap the ass of the one still hovering over my face and she scrambles off the couch.

  “Trenton, I expected so much more from you.” Mom tsks and shakes her head.

  I reach for my pants to pull up over my hips. “I don’t know why,” I tease over my shoulder. “I’m assuming you interrupted my fun for more than just a scolding.” I shove my semi erect junk inside and zip up my jeans before turning to meet her stare.

  “Bedo’s on his way. Band meeting downstairs in fifteen.” She blows out a breath and shakes her head, taking in the two women who are slowly righting themselves into a state of dress. When she meets my gaze again her eyes are hard, disappointed. But what’s new?

  “Fifteen minutes. That’s enough time . . . Can you come back?” I bat my eyes and hold my hands together in mock prayer. She rolls her eyes because she knows I’m only joking—mostly.

  “Trent, baby,” Blondie sidles up to my right and strokes her nails from my bare chest to the front of my jeans. She wouldn’t know I am joking and thinks she has a shot at getting back at it. My dick kicks painfully against the tight fabric of my pants with the tease.

  “Trenton, so help me God, I will not wait outside while you get a blow job!” My mom scolds, and I almost feel a sliver of guilt. Sometimes I wonder how she puts up with my shenanigans. How she always has. She’s cool, a great mom, and I get my sense of humor from her. Maybe that’s how she survives in a houseful of idiot musicians.

  “Come on, you’re no fun.” I wink and my mother’s hard glare softens as if she’s considering a smile. “What kind of mother dooms her son to a severe case of blue balls?”

  This time she lets loose her patronizing grin with a bark of laughter. “This mother does. Now say good-bye to your friends and get downstairs.” With that she turns and walks out of the room, leaving the door open and calling over her shoulder, “If I have to come back here I’m kicking you out!”

  “Mom?” The blonde one scoffs, shoving her arms through the sleeves of her dress.

  The friend places her hands on her hips, confusion knit across her brow. “Wait, you live with your mom? I thought you were rich. Aren’t you like almost thirty?”

  Twenty-eight, and I don’t look that old. Bitch. It takes all my self-restraint to not roll my eyes this time.

  “All right, you heard Mommy. Playtime is over.” I kiss the lips of each woman, a sweet, sensuous good-bye to ease the push out the door. Plus, I’ve learned it does wonders at keeping future cat fights or blowups from occurring when I run into them later on with a different woman on my arm. Which I most certainly will. It’s just how they work, all of them. These women think they’re different, special, or owners of magical pussy, when in fact they’re all the same. Hungry for money, fame, the lifestyle, and willing to do anything to get there.

  For a second, a shred of sadness seeps into my being, wishing things were different. Wishing there was more. Stupid.

  Probably just my blue balls disappointed at the lack of release.

  I have no clue what’s so damn important that Bedo called an emergency meeting and Mom had to drag me away from my daytime extracurriculars, but now I’m pissed I didn’t get to finish. Gathered in the basement with Sean and Austin, I’m nursing a killer case of blue balls while our manager barks into his cell like he has all the time in the world.

  We rented this property for the band to live in once our second album went double platinum. The four story hillside home in the Hollywood Hills is our oasis away from the Arizona desert we called home our entire lives. For so many years we struggled, touring out of a cheap rental van, before everything started to fall into place. Pieces of a puzzle we took years to build, all of a sudden just fit. Hard work, love of the music we created, and a fraction of luck landed us here in this place.

  And I fucking love it.

  It’s big enough we have all the privacy we desire and then some, and after converting the basement into a musician’s dreamland, we never have to leave or even get dressed to practice. Notably convenient after a long night of partying or fucking, which I often enjoy.

  We’re leaving for our next tour, a three-month trek across the country, in only another week so my guess is Bedo’s here to go through last minute logistics. We’ve been practicing and planning all spring and we’d be one hundred percent ready if it weren’t for the slight problem of finding a permanent drummer. Okay, it’s a big problem. We can’t seem to keep one for the long haul, and it’s a cloud of gloom hanging over the band. We decided to let one of our roadies stand in for now, but I know Bedo’s not thrilled with the decision. And sure, it’d be nice to fill the spot, but I’m in no rush to make a rash decision and end up with someone who doesn’t jive with our band. I don’t know about Sean and Austin, but I’m anxious to get on the road again. Even if it is with our roadie filling in on drums.

  Bedo pulls a chair over and flips it backward before straddling the seat in his red polyester pants. He slides the gold rimmed shades from his eyes and pockets them in the front of his T-shirt. “Here’s the deal. I’m not gonna beat around the bush. We’ve got a problem, or an opportunity—depends on how you see it. The label wants a woman on board to amp up the sex appeal for all genders and sexual orientations.” He pauses to pop his knuckles. “They want a woman drummer.”

  “No fucking way.” Sean shakes his head.

  I second that. “Dude. Bedo. No chicks. And not days before we tour.”

  “Trent’s right, man. We’ve always been a foursome of bros,” Austin pipes in.

  A chuckle leaves my lips before I smack Austin on the shoulder. “Speak for yourself, Austin. I’m not into fucking guys.”

  His mouth opens to respond but Bedo cuts us off before we derail into a flurry of insults and comebacks. “Look, I’m just relaying the message. You guys gotta give me something. You love women as much as half your fan base. A woman drummer wouldn’t be so bad. I have a few lined up for you to interview.” It’s then he reaches down and pulls out three folders from his briefcase. Tosses one at each of us.

  “Why can’t we have James back?” Sean grumbles and I have to agree with him. James was awesome.

  “He was only subbing for the Ju
stin Hill tour. He’s got his own band. You knew he was temporary.” Bedo points to my hands and the folder I still haven’t opened.

  Austin flips through his folder and his eyes widen appreciatively at what’s inside. “Yeah, but he was fucking good. Dude, we’re like doomed with drummers. Ever since Derek’s hand got smashed by that psycho, we’ve been cursed.”

  I meet Bedo’s stare, the folder still clenched unopen in my hands. “James was a sub. Derek checked out when he decided he’d rather settle down with his girl Carly and play daddy. We knew this day was coming. What I don’t understand is why you’re on board to invite a woman? And a week before we start the new tour? That’s not enough time to get anyone up to speed.”

  Bedo rubs his palms down his face and blows out a deep breath. “I’ll go to bat for you on the drummer issue, but you gotta give me something, T. Your sponsors want a woman on this next tour.”

  This is why I like Bedo. He’s fair. I know we aren’t in a place to call every shot, but he goes the distance when it’s something important. And as much as I’m all for equal rights, we’re three attractive guys with roaring sex drives. I can tell without glancing at the profiles in these folders that we’d bring on a hotter than fuck drummer, because sex sells. It’s a good reason we’re so damn marketable. Bringing a gorgeous woman into the band would breed nothing but trouble. Trouble we don’t need. “What about the opener? Get some pretty little thing to open and that gets them what they want but we don’t have to play with her.”

  “Speak for yourself. If she’s hot, I’ll play.” Austin’s lips pull into his shit eating smirk. I slap my folder against him and push off the couch.

  Bedo’s lost in his phone again, completely ignoring us, so I walk off some of my nervous energy by pacing the room. Sean and Austin admire the rack of one of the suggested drummers. Bedo’s laser focus remains on his smartphone. He’ll speak when he’s ready, but not before that.

  “Dude . . . her rack needs its own zip code. My vote’s being swayed by tits.” Austin’s wide gaze snaps to mine but I cut him off.

  “No way. We’re Three Ugly Guys! The name only works when there’s guys. Preferable four of us, because I’m sure as shit not the ugly one.”

  “Shit.” Austin scratches his head, his eyes trained back on the folder, “But . . .”

  Sean leans over and nods solemnly, “Trent, man. You need to see this one. Maybe we should consider her? Having her on tour wouldn’t be torture.”

  “Yes!” Bedo shouts and for a moment I think he agrees with Sean and Austin until he looks up from his rapid fire messaging thumbs. “Opening act, it is! Brilliant, T. We’ll stick with Iz on the drums. He’ll be happy to have the star treatment. That work for everyone?”

  Iz, one of our roadies and a long-time musician, knows how to play drums just fine. He’s actually pretty fucking talented. We’re not sure exactly how old he is, though. There’s a real possibility he played on the first Van Halen tour. His talents include knowing all our songs and playing exactly how we want him to, which are a great asset to the band. His other talent, his tendency to smoke anything you stick in front of his weathered lips, is not so great. Cigs, marijuana, crack—he’ll do it all. Yet none of us can tell him to stop for the same reason we can’t ask him his age. He’s a grown man, and our elder. Besides, his extracurricular activities aren’t a problem. He plays “Stairway to Heaven” better than John Bonham. As long as the drugs don’t interfere with his playing we pretend to look the other way.

  “Iz is cool until we find someone permanent,” Sean answers and Austin and I nod our agreement.

  “What about bringing him on for the long haul?” Bedo asks and I consider his question. I’m sure we could, but something holds me back. Maybe it’s my fear of commitment, or the fact Iz is so much older than the rest of the band. I don’t know, but I’m not comfortable putting a metaphorical ring on it. I’m sure Bedo would love to be done with it already. Maybe after this tour, if we still jive after months on the road together, we can bring him on permanently.

  “Let’s see how this tour goes,” I suggest and Austin and Sean nod. They feel the same as me. We all like Iz, but he’s not family. Not in the same way the three of us are. Maybe we are eternally cursed when it comes to a drummer.

  “Fair enough. For now. But the label wants a longtime fix. Fans, promotion, marketing, it all works better when we have four familiar faces. Let’s get through the next three months and re-evaluate. You guys better be ready. This won’t be like any of the other gigs. This is the big time. You’re front and center. That’s more of everything. Press. Responsibilities. Fans.”

  “Women.” Austin grins.

  “Yeah, that too. So, don’t be a dumbass. Think with your brain, not your dick.”

  “I can’t promise that, but we’re ready, Bedo. This is everything we’ve worked for,” I say.

  “Damn straight.” Austin nods.

  “I know you are.” Bedo’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “So don’t fuck it up for everyone else.” He stands and points at each of us. “That’s my advice to all of you. Now. When do you want to meet your opening act?”

  “You booked one already?” Austin’s brows twist with surprise.

  “Sure did. I’m the best goddamn manager you could ever ask for. That’s why you pay me the big bucks.”

  “Who is it?” Sean leans forward on his elbows, his hands clasped together.

  “You’ll find out when you meet her.” Bedo goes back to his phone. “Tomorrow. Four o’clock. Right after practice. That work?”

  “Here?” I ask.

  “Yeah. That a problem?”

  “Works for me,” I say but for once a little nervousness about our impending headline tour works its way into my belly. I’m not quite sure why, other than I want everything to be great. Perfect. And we’ve worked so hard that our opener better not suck. “She better be good, Bedo.”

  He stops, a smile plays at his lips, and he slides those gold rimmed shades over his eyes before he nods. “She’s good, T. Oh, don’t you worry. She’s fucking good. See you tomorrow.”

  “Is it just me, or does it feel like we just got played?” Sean says the minute Bedo’s up the stairs and out of earshot.

  “Not just you.” I chuckle and run my fingers through my hair, pushing it away from where it always falls into my eyes. “So, what’s on tap for today?”

  “I think the keg’s empty, man.” Austin frowns.

  Sean rolls his eyes and walks toward the stairs. “I’m hitting the gym and calling it an early night.”

  “You’re no fun off tour!” Austin launches one of the tiny couch pillows at his retreating form and nails him right in the head. We both fucking laugh.

  Sean stops to pick up the pillow and throw it back. “You guys are assholes.”

  “Fucking hilarious.” I fist bump Austin and Sean tries to leave again. “Come on, don’t be a pussy and leave.”

  Sean doesn’t turn back or acknowledge the comment when his feet hit the spiral staircase.

  “Come on, Sean. Come out with us tonight!” Austin shouts.

  “I’d rather not.”

  “What’s your problem, man?” Austin calls out before meeting my smirk. “He’s probably just pissed you’re having threesomes in the theater room again.”

  “I can’t help it, the two for ones love me. Sean just needs to get laid.”

  “I get plenty of pussy!” Sean shouts from the top of the stairs.

  “Oh, yeah, who?” I call up.

  “Well, I’m about to have dinner with your mom!” he calls down. Now I’m the one wearing the scowl while Austin and Sean laugh at my expense.

  “Take it back, Willis!” I shout but I’m already taking the stairs two at a time. “You know that’s fucked up!”

  Austin’s laughter follows from close behind, and when I reach the top of the steps to find Sean gloating, I tackle him to the ground. He’s shorter than me; stronger too, but I’m fueled by the need to defend my
mother’s honor. I try to pin him to the floor, but every time I’m close he hits me in the ribs and gets the upper hand.

  “Take. It. Back,” I grind out as we roll around in the hallway.

  “What? We all love your mom,” he taunts and throws me off. My body slams into the wall and the two paintings hanging above fall to the ground beside us. I charge him again.

  “Boys! Boys! That’s enough!” My mom’s stern tone suspends our wrestling match. “What in the ever loving hell has gotten into you boys? So help me, I’ll send you both to your rooms.”

  “He started it!” I point at Sean.

  Sean puffs and shakes his head, “No way! I was just walking up the stairs. He tackled me!”

  “Enough. Apologize.” She glares, hands on hips, and I can’t help but mumble a sorry. Sean does the same. “There. Now go wash up for dinner and try to act like grown-ass men! It was bad enough when you were teenagers. I’m too old for this shit.”

  “Sorry, Mom.” I say but she just pinches her lips and shakes her head before walking back into the kitchen. She’s the only person outside of the band who lives here year round. Even though she’s my mom, she’s kinda the band’s mom, too. With her being single, and me an only child, we’ve always lived together. She’s right, though; we act like big kids sometimes.

  “That was fucking funny. You went from fight club to momma’s boy the minute she yelled at you.” Austin slaps Sean on the back before reaching a hand down to help me off the ground.

  “I was defending her honor,” I say. But remembering the scuffle, I can’t help but give in to a grin as we walk toward the succulent smells wafting from the kitchen.

  “’Your mom’ jokes never get old. Don’t take it personal, T,” Austin says.