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

by Kisner, Stevie

  An impish grin spread over his face as thoughts of revenge for that incredibly hot green chile resurfaced. “She forgot her camera!” singsonged through his head as he left his suite to see if his bandmates had returned, and if they felt like posing.

  ****

  JT strolled back into his suite an hour later, smiling and humming, the finished roll of film rewound and removed from the camera. He dropped it in the canvas bag he’d packed to take to the soccer field, chuckling to himself. The band had readily posed, and he hoped the shots would all come out. He’d been quaking with laughter every time he snapped the shutter.

  He sat on the couch and, noticing his laptop was still open on the table, turned it to face him, intending to shut it down and close it up. He swiped a finger over the mousepad to stop the screensaver, expecting to find his usual desktop on the screen.

  What he found instead widened his smile into a dimpled grin. Kori’s e-mail was on-screen, still on the ‘sent items’ folder she’d printed from. And she’d never taken it offline. He wrestled with his conscience for only a moment. Curiosity won out, and he nosed around her sent mail folder; it didn’t seem quite so intrusive reading these, as they were her words, her replies, not her incoming mail. He wondered if she’d given his e-mail address to anyone after she’d answered him. Not that it was a big deal, really. He had lots of e-mail addresses, many quickly abandoned when they’d somehow made their way into unwelcome hands.

  He scrolled upward, looking for the reply. There it was, from a little more than a week ago. He clicked on each personal item sent since then, and skimmed over them. Nope, she told a few friends that she would have her photo pass, but no mention was made of how she’d been approved. Well, good. His intuition told him she was trustworthy and he liked being right. Idly, he clicked on the next message without reading the subject line.

  The screen filled with words. Obviously, this was no quick note to a friend. Feeling suddenly too nosy, he glanced at the screen to locate the little box in the corner, intending to simply close the message. His wandering eyes pounced on the names ‘JT’ and ‘Cherie.’ This must be one of the chapters she printed for me tonight. I don’t need to read this here; I have it on paper if (okay, be realistic, more like ‘when’) I want to read it again. Still, his eyes followed a line containing his name (funny, how your own name jumps out at you, no matter where you might see it), unable to look away. He immediately realized this was not a chapter he read this evening. Or, for that matter, ever.

  He dragged his eyes from the interesting line they were reading, and up to the subject line: “A Promise Kept, continued. Chapter 18.” And she sent it to some friends only a few days ago. No, this wasn’t something old he’d forgotten he read, and it was too new to believe she’d forgotten about it, either. Apparently, there was something here she didn’t want him to see.

  Too late. He began reading at the first indented line.

  *

  Cherie squirmed; JT was resting all of his considerable size upon her small frame. He raised on his arms a bit and nestled his face into the curve of her neck. The slight tickle of his breathing made her tremble.

  JT shifted more of his weight to one arm, freeing the other to roam. His fingertips traced delicate lines down her curves to her hip, then back up to draw faint circles on the side of her breast. Goosebumps prickled her skin. JT bit gently into her shoulder. “You don’t play fair,” she gasped, feeling the desire well again, hot and strong.

  “Mmm-hmm,” he groaned, sucking tenderly on the skin captured between his teeth. Cherie raked her nails down his back, then sunk them into the tightly muscled flesh of his backside. JT groaned again, pushing his hips against her. She felt him twitch and swell where they were still joined as one.

  This won’t do, thought JT, our legs are dangling off the side of the bed. He wrapped Cherie in his arms and pulled her closer, then drew his knees up to the edge of the mattress and nudged her thighs further apart. Crushing her to his chest, he leveraged them toward the center of the bed, never slipping from her loving tightness.

  “Much better,” he mumbled into her. “Now we won’t fall.” Except I already have. Fallen hard for someone who was only mine to share and never to keep. He didn’t want to think about Paul, or Julie. Regrets can come along later, and he was certain they would. Right now, all he wanted was to think about this fantastic creature in his arms. To tease her, please her, drive her over the brink again and again. He wasn’t sure which brought him more satisfaction, her pleasure or his own.

  Cherie was surprised, and thrilled. Didn’t men usually need some time to recuperate? “JT?” she said quietly.

  He was lost in the silky softness of her neck. “Hmmm?”

  “I’m not complaining, but don’t you usually have to, um, wait a bit before, well, before…” She wasn’t sure how to say what she wanted to ask.

  He stopped kissing her throat and raised himself onto his elbows. His hair fell around her face as he looked down into her eyes solemnly. “Not with you. I’ll go around half-hard simply because you walked through the room. My pants get too tight whenever I think about you. Christ, Cherie, if I so much as catch a stale whiff of your perfume, I get hard as stone.” He brushed his lips over hers. “You’ve no idea how many times I’ve had to give myself relief because of you.”

  “You mean you had to…” her voice trailed off. JT traced the space between her lips ever so lightly with the tip of his tongue, then pulled gently at her lower lip with both of his.

  “Masturbate? Whack off? Yeah,” he admitted, closing his eyes. “Sometimes I just couldn’t relax again. I’d been near you too long.” He sighed. “Mornings are worst of all. I dream about you all night, Cherie. And wake up devastated when I find myself alone in the bed.”

  *

  Huh, JT thought, nothing really different here. Well, nothing disturbing, anyway. The scene on the page was enticing and erotic, most definitely different. But not worth hiding. He chuckled softly at the thought of his fictional persona pleasuring himself. At least I haven’t had to resort to that. Well, not much. If I keep reading this, though, the idea might not be too far-fetched. In an effort to avoid doing that, he scrolled further down to read only the last line before the scene break.

  *

  It was in each other’s arms, lying naked atop the messy bedclothes, that Paul found them.

  *

  Ah-ha. This might be why she kept it to herself. There could be something ugly, or even violent, coming up, between her versions of Paul and JT. Maybe she didn’t want him to read non-flattering things about himself, or about Paul. He read on, wondering why she would be embarrassed by a description of a fight after detailing sex so exquisitely. After all, this was fiction. Mostly.

  *

  All day, thoughts of what to do about JT, how to end his self-imposed exile when he wasn’t on the stage, ran through his mind, round and round like a mouse on a wheel. He only half-listened to the enthusiastic fans, the thrilled music-store staff, and to Ian.

  Used to be, Paul thought, JT, Cherie and I would spend at least part of a day off together. Sometimes we’d go out somewhere; usually, though, we’d stay in, watching movies, talking, and eating junk food.

  Until that one day the three of them spent exploring each other. Paul still did not regret it. Hell, he’d spent a month trying to create it. Trying to get them all in the same room together, feeling out Cherie’s attitudes about sex and all it can encompass. He could tell there were times JT wondered just what he was up to; he’d raised a brow at certain statements or particularly loaded questions…

  *

  Nope, just more emotional outpouring. He skipped to the last paragraphs.

  *

  The suite was dark and dim when Paul entered. Just my luck, she’s still out somewhere. He immediately vetoed any notion of going out to find her. She could be anywhere, from the bar downstairs (which was certain to contain at least Ian and Rafe, and he didn’t want to get talked into drinking with them;
he had other ideas for his evening) to one of the nearby shops.

  Instead, he decided to get comfortable in this temporary home and wait for her to return. For Paul, getting comfortable meant stripping down to only his jeans. He simultaneously kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head. Being a rather neat person (it saved hunting for belongings when it was time to pack up and leave), he grabbed his shoes, intending to put them in the bedroom with the discarded shirt.

  Two steps into the dim bedroom told him something was not right. The bed, which was neatly made earlier that day, appeared to have a large mass of blankets lumped in the center. He took a step closer and heard soft breathing. Cherie wasn’t out, after all; she was here, asleep.

  Paul tiptoed closer, intending to snuggle up next to her. Then, in the dimness, he noticed the other shape on the mattress. “Who the fuck—” he said under his breath, anger flaring. The figure stirred, revealing more of his face in the semi-darkness.

  “Oh, shit,” Paul mumbled, recognizing at last the nude form in whose arms Cherie lay sleeping.

  Not wanting to disturb them, and uncertain what to do, Paul silently backed from the room and closed the door. He felt betrayed, and angry. Possessive, even. Of both of them. Cherie was HIS lover, dammit. How dare they—Paul tramped down on that thought, hard. He’d started it, almost forced the situation on them. Why should he be surprised by the repercussions?

  Hurt as he was, Paul had to admit part of him wanted to crawl into that bed with them, wake them both with gentle caresses, wander over Cherie’s skin with hungry lips.

  Instead, Paul wrenched his feet into his still-tied shoes, then pulled his shirt on again. He needed time to think. He patted his pockets, felt his keycard was still there, then left the suite.

  *

  Still not finding the confrontation he’d been expecting, JT skimmed to the last line before the next scene break, thinking he’d just read backwards if this scene contained what he was looking for. It didn’t, but intrigued, he read a bit further.

  *

  “The door. We left it open. It’s closed, now. Paul’s been here.”

  ****

  Fuck the freight elevator, Paul thought. I’m not sneaking around this hotel just to go out the front entrance, anyway. He wanted a quiet place to sit and think. And have a drink or three. The hotel bar was crowded and noisy, and he wanted to be alone.

  He remembered passing a small, rundown-looking pub during the taxi ride back. It was just around the corner. Small and rundown usually meant quiet, full of regulars who’d leave a new guy alone. He was pleasantly surprised to find only the storefront was old and ugly. Inside was all bright brass and glass. Clean, new tables and booths. But still quiet. He was one of only five patrons in the entire place. He headed to a back booth, then slid inside, facing the wall…

  *

  Her versions of Phil and JT weren’t even near each other, so he skipped to the next scene, wondering what she thought he shouldn’t see.

  *

  Paul rode the main elevator upstairs, taking no notice of the other passengers. The alcohol still hummed pleasantly through his brain. Thoughts of what he wanted to do to both of them danced in his mind. He wanted to be harsh, showing them his hurt. And he wanted to be tender and soft, losing his pain in sweet sighs and gentle caresses.

  ****

  “Stop it, JT! Damn!” Cherie twisted her shoulder toward her ear, blocking his attempted kiss. He quickly advanced on her other shoulder.

  She jammed her elbows at his chest; one connected with his side. “Ooof! Okay, I get the message.” But he kept his hands on her shoulders anyway.

  “Please?” she said, shrugging deeply. JT dropped his hands to his sides.

  Cherie turned to face JT. “I think I should go look for him.”

  “Just you, alone? But what if he’s angry?” JT bent to retrieve his socks. “I think I should go with you.”

  “He won’t make a scene in public, you know that. If he’s mad, we’ll come back here and the three of us will have it out. You stay here. That way, if he comes back while I’m gone, I hope you can convince him to stay put until I return. Then the three of us can have it out, or sort it out, or whatever it out, depending.” Cherie sat on the edge of the bed to tie her shoes.

  “That sounds reasonable, I guess. But still…”

  “Don’t worry, JT. He won’t hurt me, even if he’s furious. And I don’t think he is. I think we’ve hurt him. Deeply.” She stood, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “I won’t leave the hotel. If I don’t find him, I’ll come back up right away, and we can decide what to do from there.”

  He nodded. She was thinking clearly, and she was right. He followed her to the sitting room, and flopped into a chair to wait.

  Cherie slipped her card-key into her back pocket, then walked out without another word.

  She turned left, heading for the service elevator. It was only one floor below, and arrived within seconds of her push to the call button.

  As the service elevator doors closed, the bright brass plates of the guest elevator slid open. Paul stepped off, heading for his own door.

  ****

  JT was pouring a splash of scotch over ice, and his back was to the door when he heard the soft snick of the knob unlocking. “Forget something, love?” he asked.

  “Yeah. That you’re a slut,” Paul replied with a hint of a smile.

  Uh-oh. JT turned around to face him. Play it stupid, JT. Don’t ask anything, make him tell you what he’s thinking. Act like being here is perfectly normal, just like it used to be. “Hey, Paul. Cherie just left to find you. Join me in a drink?” He raised the bottle in a half-salute.

  “Okay, why not? I’ve already started with the scotch, so might as well have some more. Leave off the ice, though.” Paul stepped closer, hands stuffed into his front pockets. JT glanced down as he approached. He raised his eyebrows when he took in the bulge straining at the front of Paul’s pants, but said nothing. This could become interesting if Cherie were here, he thought. But I wonder what brought that on?

  He poured the scotch, then held the glass out to Paul, who was struggling to extricate his hand from the tight jeans pocket. He ended up turning the lining inside-out to get his hand free. His money clip and several coins fell to the floor. Paul bent to retrieve them, but in his engorged state and the tight denim, he couldn’t make it all the way to the floor. He straightened up and chuckled, embarrassed. JT set the glass of scotch on the counter. “Need a hand, there, mate?” he said, stepping closer.

  “A hand would be wonderful,” Paul responded. Right here, he thought, as his erection throbbed at the sight of JT’s bare chest. I’ve never thought of him that way before; I wonder why now? JT squatted in front of Paul, head down, reaching out to pick up the fallen contents of his pocket. He had to restrain the urge to grab JT by the hair and yank his face into his aching crotch. What’s gotten into me? We’ve kissed a few times before during our threesomes, but that was in the heat of the moment. I’ve never actively thought of him that way.

  To shake off the unfamiliar, and unwelcome, feelings, Paul reeled in his anger and held it tightly like a shield. “Get up, Blackwood, you cheating fuck, and face me like a man.”

  JT rose, instantly wary. “What?”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “I am so sorry, Paul. I never meant—” JT began in a low voice.

  “To hell with your apology. I want to know what you did to her. How you convinced her to…to…” He looked down at the floor, then back up at JT, the pain evident in his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about you all afternoon, dammit. You and Cherie lying there, wrapped around each other. You’re such a whore, JT.”

  JT didn’t look away from Paul’s hurt gaze. “It was an accident, Paul. Really. I was alone in the elevator, and she got on. We were alone together, and I just lost control, Paul. I completely lost it.” JT couldn’t hold Paul’s stare any longer and looked down, guilty and ashamed.


  Paul’s anger flared, along with something deeper he wasn’t willing to identify. “That still doesn’t tell me how you changed her mind, JT. I know you’ve wanted her for more than a year, and that one day together just made it worse, instead of better. Since then, she’s been avoiding you, and you’ve been avoiding me, like a disease. What I want to know is what you did that changed her mind? How did you seduce our Cherie?”

  How to explain what he didn’t quite understand himself? “Paul, I…just don’t know. I don’t think I can really explain.”

  Paul fixed him in a penetrating stare. “Then show me, JT. Do it to me, then.”

  JT shook his head slowly, amazed. Did I hear him properly? He’s half out of his mind with obvious lust, more than half drunk, and he wants me to tease him further. “You want me to show you? But how? I really don’t know, Paul.”

  “And I really need to understand. Make me her for you.”

  JT was finally beginning to understand, himself. “If this is how you want it, then I won’t argue any more. Do you want to know how it was? Then lean up against that wall, don’t look at me, and put your hands in your pockets. Just like she did.” Paul backed to the wall, looking down at the floor. Despite his hurt and anger, he was intrigued by JT’s approach to women, Cherie in particular, and wondered if would affect him the same way. JT followed every step but the last; still, he stood too close to be casual. His stance and demeanor had changed. Paul felt like prey.

  “I want you to look at me. Please.” JT’s voice was hypnotic and low. Paul assumed Cherie was being reluctant, so he shook his head. He admitted to feeling a twinge of desire at JT’s imposing closeness. JT stepped closer still, almost touching, and gently pulled Paul’s hands from his pockets. He ran his thumbs slowly over the backs, then raised the shorter man’s hands to the wall, pinning him in place. “Please. I won’t touch you. I just want to see your face. I want to see you look at me. I’ve missed your eyes.” Still that low, seductive voice, this time so close to his ear.