Dream Me Off My Feet (Sex, Love, And Rock & Roll)

by Kisner, Stevie

  Was she easily offended by off-color jokes and comments, raunchy humor, and the occasional nude guitarist running through the dressing room? Not that they’d really change their behavior just because she was there; they wanted an honest report of the goings-on, and if there was to be another bio done, it, too, would have to be truthful. He wondered how much adjusting would have to be done, all around.

  He realized he was thinking of her as a lady, in the truest form of the word. Not as a married woman, and not as the author of those arousing words he’d so enjoyed on nights alone. She spoke, and carried herself, with poise and polish. To talk to her, you’d never even think there was a side to her that thought of men, of sex, in the terms she wrote about. Or maybe, he just hadn’t talked to her enough to really know. He wondered how he could lay eyes on those other forty-odd pages.

  Korina was wondering how much this would change her life, and lifestyle. Obviously, she would be home less, meeting the bills would no longer pose a problem, and she, Mark and Zach would get to see more of the U.S., and the world, than they had ever expected. But fundamentally, it was fulfilling a dream, writing for a living. Even if it wasn’t a position she carried until the band decided to retire (which she hoped would only be when they needed walkers to get up on the stage), it would certainly be one hell of a something on her resume. Photo credits, publishing credits. Wow. She fervently hoped she’d never have to return to developing other people’s photos for a living.

  And, thinking of that, she needed to tell Eric, her boss, she needed a leave of absence. Better to hedge the bet, and not quit outright, until she was certain it would work out. She just might need to return to that job. She wondered how soon they wanted her to begin traveling with them.

  Before she could ask, JT spoke. “Is it possible that I could read the rest of that ‘Promise Kept’ story you’ve done?” He didn’t want to qualify his request with any reasons. He wasn’t sure he could adequately explain.

  Kori was startled from her thoughts. Well, that was certainly random. “Um, I suppose so. I could e-mail it to you once you take me home. Or just give you the printed version I have filed.”

  “No way to get it right now?” He had an overwhelming desire to read it in with her there. He wanted to watch her reaction to his reactions, get a better feel for how she’d behave with the band in their unvarnished state. Besides, he just really wanted to read it. And he knew himself well enough to realize he had become somewhat spoiled. He wanted what he wanted when he wanted it, and was used to getting it most of the time.

  She stared pensively at the computer screen. “I sent it to a couple friends for critique. I think I may not have deleted the pieces from my Sent Items folder. I could log in to my e-mail and check,” she offered, feeling decidedly uncomfortable with the prospect of his reading her smut fiction with her in the same state, let alone the same room.

  She turned the laptop and typed in her home e-mail address, then logged in her password. Sure enough, it was all still saved in the sent files. “Do you want to read it from the screen?” she asked, hoping the answer was no. This was her main mailbox, and contained everything she’d saved; some of it was personal, and some was from friends whose confidence and trust she didn’t want to break by letting him have access to their correspondence.

  “No, I bring a printer with me, too. It’s small and noisy, but at least it’s slow.” She smiled at his sideways joke. “Besides, too much of that LCD screen gives me a headache.” He pulled a small printer from a soft case and plugged it in. The remaining pages were in four parts, and she queued them up to print.

  He snatched up each page as it exited the printer, and began to read.

  Kori sat back, her heart nervously pounding in her chest, watching the emotions pass over his face as he read, and wondered what she had gotten herself into.

  Three

  He squinted at the pages. Gotta get a new ink cartridge for this thing. That, or maybe it’s just a little dry. Whatever, it’s a bit hard to read. He shifted in his seat to keep the light from shining through the paper. Ah, that’s better…

  The Elevator

  Chapter 17.

  You just gotta love the privileges of fame, thought JT. Going in through the back doors, trying to remember the fake name you registered under at the hotel so you can retrieve phone messages, and, of course, my personal favorite, riding in battered freight elevators when you’re alone for safety. When that crazed fan tried to handcuff herself to him in San Francisco, Stuart had issued an edict which he still held them all to: when you’re alone, you use back doors and freight elevators. No exceptions. JT had narrowly escaped that one, thanks to a fast-acting member of the security team.

  The band were greeting a crowd of fans in the lobby of their hotel, and he was distracted, talking to a shy, sweet-faced brunette. The wacko was standing to his left, rather close. She already had one of the bracelets fastened around her own wrist, apparently had done it before she entered the hotel. He caught a fast movement out of the corner of his eye and felt something cold on his arm at almost the same moment. Just as suddenly, two of the band’s security men were dragging the nut away. JT noticed the shy fan’s eyes widen in shocked surprise, so he turned to see just what had narrowly been averted. The handcuffs swung, one bracelet open, from her arm. And she was such a tiny girl! Did she really think he wouldn’t put up a fight? From the looks of her, had she successfully attached herself, JT could’ve just dangled her from his wrist like a charm. He turned back to the fan who’d had his attention and smiled a ‘gee-this-happens-all-the-time’ smile. It worked; they resumed their short chat and her friend took a picture of the two of them. Inwardly, he was shaken. Stagefright had never made him nervous, not once, but this little incident had him feeling like he was going to vomit.

  Such was the birth of the freight elevator rule. JT sighed. Such dingy, beat up boxes to ride in. This one, at least, was cleaner than most. Dings in the walls, chipped paint, but not filthy or greasy. And, thankfully, this one had pick-up doors in the parking garage under the hotel; he didn’t have to be let off around back by the smelly dumpsters and the service entrance. The stench of rotting kitchen garbage was enough to make him stay in the hotel in some cities, rather than set off alone to go shopping or nosing around a nearby music store.

  They had arrived in Chicago a day early for the gig the next night, and Paul and Ian were requested to make an appearance at an uptown guitar shop. Paul loved his guitars, even named them, and shopping for new ones and accessories was one of his favorite pastimes. Ian was looking for a new acoustic, so after the informal meet-and-greet, they planned to do some serious browsing. Rafe and Clay were tired and stayed behind to catch a soccer game on the satellite feed in Clay’s room.

  JT was too antsy to stay in. He had set off in search of a new CD or maybe a video; they were nearing the break on this leg of the tour, and he was bored with all he brought along. No one else was available to go with him except Cherie, and he didn’t dare ask her. The memory of that day they shared more than two months ago still seemed so fresh and raw. Maybe because I relive it in my dreams almost every night, he thought. He didn’t trust himself to be alone with her anymore, and had been careful to not find himself in that situation, with that temptation, again.

  The elevator stopped at the Lobby level; the doors slid open. Ever mindful of his personal safety, JT pulled himself from his thoughts and looked up to see who had summoned the car.

  She had her back to the doors, but he would know those long curls, and that sweet ass encased in those tight jeans, from a mile away. He’d memorized the curves so long ago. He was about to find himself alone in a very small room with the one woman who could make him rise with just a sideways glance.

  *

  JT stopped reading for a moment, considering her words. Whoa. How could she know about this stuff? Obviously, some of this was fictionalized, but the groupie in the lobby with the handcuffs did happen, and it was not general knowledge. Neither was t
he bit about taking the service elevator when going about alone. And she was absolutely correct with his thoughts about riding in the cruddy things. It felt as if she’d reached into his mind and plucked out a memory or two. Eerie.

  Her style had changed, he noticed that right away. It was better, somehow. It seemed more character-driven; this newest, unposted part was truly a story, not just written for the sake of creating more sex scenes, as it had seemed before. But that wasn’t the elusive difference.

  He continued reading.

  *

  Cherie stood alone, staring down the long empty hallway, waiting for the elevator. She was getting used to the feeling of ‘sneaking around,’ as she liked to think of it. She had been with Paul long enough to become recognizable, so Stuart imposed the back entrance and freight elevator rules upon her last month.

  At first she argued that it was silly; after all, she wasn’t lusted after by swarms of fans. Stuart patiently explained that, while on tour, anything that worried one of the band had to be eliminated whenever possible, and her safety was of utmost concern to Paul. She acquiesced, as she didn’t want to hinder their performances in any way.

  The hall was empty, but noise from the busy kitchen around the bend echoed loudly enough that she didn’t hear the elevator doors slide open. Unlike those intended for the guests of the hotel, the freight lift didn’t chime to announce its arrival.

  “Getting on, luv?” The voice was a soft rumble, but still unexpected. She gave a startled jump. She knew that voice, and if it came from the freight elevator, that only meant one thing. He was alone.

  Alone with JT. In a tiny, enclosed, private area, no less. She’d managed to avoid being alone with him since he told her, in no uncertain terms, he loved her. Still wanted her. If that didn’t complicate things enough, she knew even then that she returned those feelings. Cherie felt her heart begin to race.

  What to do? she wondered, her back still facing the elevator. I can’t exactly say I’ll wait for the next car. This is the only one. If I don’t get on, he’ll wonder why. Or maybe he’ll know. That could be even worse. She took a deep breath and turned around.

  She’d intended to smile brightly, noncommittally; the smile froze on her face when she looked at his eyes. They blazed with longing.

  “Getting on, luv?” he repeated. “I promise, I won’t bite.” Unless you want me to.

  “I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect anyone to be on the elevator. You gave me a start.” Cherie stepped to the wall opposite JT and leaned back, eyes trained on the scuffed tile. JT reached out to the button for the top floor, his gaze never leaving her form.

  Just don’t look at him again, she told herself, and you’ll get through this. Look, and you’re lost.

  “Hellooo.” Again, that soft rumble. She ignored him, keeping her eyes locked on the floor.

  “Cherie.” This time, the voice was quieter, but closer. She shook her head slowly.

  “Cherie.” The toes of his canvas tennis shoes came into her view. “Please, luv, look at me.” She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and shook her head no. Just don’t come any closer, she pleaded silently. Her rapid heartbeat roared in her ears.

  God help me, but I want her, JT thought. I never stopped wanting her. Need to touch her, taste her lips. He felt a stirring in his groin at being so near. So close, but still too far away, out of his reach. He took another step forward, willing her to look up at him.

  “Don’t ignore me, love. Please.” His tone was pleading, his voice just a shade above a husky whisper. She could feel the heat radiating from his body. Cherie wanted to throw her arms around him with reckless abandon, pull him close, feel his hard, strong body against hers. Please don’t do this, JT, she inwardly begged. We made a decision, you and I, and now you tempt me so to break it.

  JT stood only inches away now. He reached down and pulled her hands from her pockets; Cherie made no move to resist him. With her eyes still trained downward, she couldn’t help but notice the bulge in his jeans. She drew in a sharp breath as she realized that he was aroused from simply being near her. She tried to look away, but he filled her vision. No matter where she looked. His legs, his stomach, his chest. The arms she ached to feel wrapped around her. His gorgeous face with those eyes she could drown in.

  Don’t look into his eyes, she warned herself, or he’ll see your desire rivals his own. She looked instead at their hands, watched him run his thumbs lightly over the backs of hers. The touch sent a jolt of electricity to her core and shook loose the memory she’d tried to bury so deep. The memory of his hands on her bare skin, touching her, teasing her, fulfilling her.

  “Look at me, ma Cherie.” When she shook her head no again, he raised their hands, pinning both of her smaller ones to the wall above her with just one of his. He caressed her cheek with the hand he kept free, trailing down to run a finger lightly along the curve of her jaw. “Your skin is like silk,” he murmured.

  Gently, he raised her chin, forcing her to face him. Seemingly against her will, she looked up. And was captivated by the raw desire she saw in his eyes. She felt herself flush with heat. “JT, I—” she began softly.

  He placed a finger over her lips. “Shhh. Just let me look at you. I promise, nothing more. I’ve missed you looking at me with those warm golden eyes.” He had shifted closer somehow; his hard strength pressed lightly against her from her chest to her knees. Cherie whimpered when he leaned closer still, flattening her into the wall.

  JT flickered his gaze down to her slightly parted lips, ran his finger lightly over their fullness. When he looked up to her eyes again, there was no mistaking the longing he saw there. He could feel her breathing becoming more rapid, watched her cheeks flush with color. She touched the tip of her tongue to her lower lip as his finger traced their moist sweetness again; it brushed his fingertip and threatened to shred his control. He pressed her harder against the wall, trying to quell the throbbing in his groin. The pressure only made it worse. He lowered his face closer, and felt her hot breath feather across his lips. He groaned. Sweet Christ, how he wanted this woman.

  Cherie let her eyes fall to half-closed. She swallowed heavily around the lump in her throat. How could he make her feel this way from simply the pressure of his body against hers, from a touch on the lips? When his finger softly lined her lips again, her tongue was there to meet it and pull it inside.

  Cherie closed her eyes as she ran her tongue around the tip, imagining that it was his hardness in her mouth instead. She drew her tongue up the full length of his finger and was rewarded with a husky, “Oh, lord,” as his forehead dropped to rest against hers.

  JT released a shuddering breath. “Cherie, I only… oh, fuck it all.” He withdrew his finger as his mouth descended over hers. No feather-light brushes, no teasing preamble. He plunged his tongue between her lips, desperate in his need to taste her. She responded just as intensely, moaning deep in her throat as she slaked a need that had been building for so long.

  One hand still held hers above her head; the other snaked around behind her and down, to press her hips against his aching shaft. He ground himself into her and groaned as he deepened the kiss, wanting to be inside of her in any way he could. Her tongue revealed her longing as it twined with his, running over his teeth and inside his wanting mouth. His breath was coming hard and fast on her cheek as their tongues wrapped and danced around each other.

  JT pulled back with frustrated reluctance. He knew they would be reaching the top floor soon, and he didn’t want to embarrass Cherie by having the doors open for a waiting chambermaid while they were locked in this embrace.

  She always looks so beautiful, he thought, but even more so when her cheeks are flushed with heat and her lips swollen from kisses. He wanted to take her, right then and there.

  Cherie opened her eyes to find him gazing down at her with burning fire. “Cherie, do you want me?” he asked in a rough whisper. “Do you desire me?” He had to be certain, before anything more happened, t
hat it was a decision she made herself and not one he forced upon her.

  She lost herself in the bottomless depths of his eyes for a long moment before answering. A breathless ‘yes’ was all she said. JT teased her lips with a soft brush of his mouth, pausing to gently tug her lower lip with his teeth, running the tip of his tongue along its bruised length. She shivered and tried to free her hands, wanting to wrap her arms around him, to caress his muscled back. He was unwilling to let her go, so Cherie pressed herself harder against him, instead. “Paul will be gone for hours. Come to my room with me,” she murmured against his mouth. “Please.”

  He didn’t need a second invitation. As if on cue, the elevator doors slid open. JT finally released Cherie’s hands and stepped back, allowing her to exit the elevator first. Walking in tight jeans with a concrete erection was difficult, but he managed to follow her down the hall to her door.

  *

  Kori noted the intense look on his face, the sharpness in his eyes as he devoured the pages. She squirmed and fidgeted in discomfort. What was he thinking? Did he like it? hate it? JT was grabbing up the paper almost as fast as it left the printer. And not saying a word.

  The overwhelming quiet was just beginning to fray her nerves when JT laughed out loud. Was that good or bad? She’d put in a few pieces which made her chuckle when she wrote them. Please let it be something that was supposed to be funny. Frantically, she checked the page currently printing. If he was reading the page immediately prior to this one—she peeked, and he was—it did have a line about a harem which made her giggle when she wrote it. Nervous is not a good way to start off a business relationship. Neither was letting your new employer read your smut-fiction. She willed herself to relax, but found it next-to-impossible when the smut-fiction in question was being read by one of the lead characters in it. She toyed with the tab on her soda can until it broke off and fell in.