by Mj Fields
I am throbbing. Between my legs is a pulse that is on fire. I am full as his rock hard dick thrusts in and out of my mouth. I am hungry. I have never wanted a sexual experience like this. I thought it degrading, but it wasn’t for him. It was for me.
I am drenched. My own desire is evident and excruciating as he rubs his finger between my drenched lips, his cock between the lips of my mouth. I wouldn’t stop if I could.
I can’t stop the desires, the fire; a choir of lust, greed, and need consumes me. His finger pushes between my slick folds, and my hips rock forward, forcing them farther, closer to the burn, nearer to the point of reckless abandon.
He shoves inside as he thrusts his massive erection farther into my mouth, and a quiver ripples below as I choke on his size.
“Fuck,” he growls.
As my eyes meet his, I see the muck is clear. No filter, no mask, he is open to me, and I am opening further to him. My legs spread wider, and another finger pushes inside me. I clench around him as the burn of an orgasm spreads like wildfire in the pit of my stomach.
I cry out as my pussy contracts and convulses, my cry muffled by his cock. He pulls out swiftly as his finger curls, causing me to cry out again.
He watches me intently, intensely as I feel him try to add another finger. I cringe from anticipation. I know how long, how thick his fingers are, and I am afraid, so afraid he will tear me apart on the outside like he already, unknowingly, has on the inside.
“Too fucking tight,” he growls as he rubs his dick across my nipples. “And I’m too damn hungry.”
He stands up, swiftly and effortlessly flipping me to my stomach, and his hands grip my knees as he positions me face down with my butt in the air. I ready myself for his entry, scared, unashamed, and yearning for what is to come.
Beckett grips my ass cheeks, spreading them wide. “So sexy. So fucking tight and sexy. I’m gonna tear you apart,” he promises, yet it is as if he is apologizing.
I bury my face in his sheets. The smell of bleach is evident, and I am thankful that they are clean. God, I hope they are clean.
I feel his breath immediately before his tongue savagely attacks my still quivering sex. Then he yanks me against his face as he growls, nips, sucks, and licks at me from behind. Raw, carnal sounds escape as he devours me, my own need and pleasure mimicking his sound.
I come. I come harder than I ever have, my hips thrusting and rocking against his face.
“That’s it, sexy little thing. Fuck my face while I fuck your tight, sweet, little pussy with my tongue,” he demands.
Lost in desire, I obey.
He pulls away when I am panting and exhausted, then flips me slowly to my back and straddles me. He reaches behind himself and rubs me back and forth, petting me, caressing me, bringing me nearly there again before he pulls his hand away and rubs it between my breasts then up and down his length. He then pushes my breasts together and pinches my agonizingly hard nipples as he thrusts himself forward between them.
My eyes are glued to his. His are glued to our connection.
“Fuuuucccckkkk,” he growls as he pumps faster, harder. He holds them together with one hand while bringing his other hand to my mouth.
“Spit,” he orders.
“What?” I am shocked.
“You do or I will.” His jaw twitches.
Confused, I look at him.
He spits in his own hand then runs his saliva up and down himself before pushing between my breasts again.
“Mouth or tits?” he grunts.
“What do you mean?”
“Swallow or—”
“Oh, oh.”
I am embarrassed, and he is unashamed.
“Tits it is,” he grunts out as he releases his tight grip on my breasts. “Beautiful fucking tits.” He leans down and sucks my nipple in his mouth as he strokes himself back and forth until he groans my name. Then he leans back, his hot come streaming across my chest before he bends down and kisses me hard and possessively.
When he pulls back and rolls to his side, I look down to see come still on my chest.
“Um, I think I need …” I start to get up, but he stops me.
“Stay. I’ve got it.”
While I lie completely still, my head spins. My body aches. I am breathless. I close my eyes, not wanting to see the evidence of a mistake I know I cannot take back. I’m not even sure I would if I could.
The bed dips, and I open my eyes. In his hands, the strong and very able hands of a man who has touched, licked, and tasted every intimate part of my body, is a towel.
I hold my hand up to take it, but he shakes his head, and I look up to watch him as he slowly cleans his come off my body. Each swipe of the steaming hot, wet towel entices and incites desire.
He folds the hand towel twice and then wraps his hand around my leg and pulls it open, spreading me farther. I start to bring my other leg up, closing them.
“No,” he says as he rubs between my legs, cleaning me, soothing me, exciting me. “You’re gonna be sore tomorrow.”
He stands up and walks to the bathroom again. When he returns, he stands naked beside me, his manhood hanging proudly between his strong, thick, muscular thighs.
“You sleep here. I’ll take Memphis’s room.” He bends down and pushes my hair away from my face then kisses the top of my head. Then he looks lower. “You’re a brunette, Sonya. I think I’d like you even more if you didn’t hide your natural color.”
He starts to reach between my legs, and I allow them to fall open, unable to deny myself whatever he is about to give me. He tugs at the small patch of hair and groans. “If I don’t walk away now, I’ll abuse your body.”
“Don’t walk.” The words drop from my mouth, and I am immediately regretful.
He stops and looks up at me, shaking his head. “You’ve been alone for a while. You told me that. You’re drunk. I know that. I am a patient man, Sonya.” He pushes my legs together. “But my patience is being tried right now, and I’m fucked up, too. I need to walk out this door alone. If I come back in, you better make damn sure to tell me to leave.” He covers my naked body. “And you better hope that will stop me.”
Then, like a storm, he is gone.
I roll to my side, bring my knees to my chest, and cry. I cry in shame, in guilt. I cry because I let myself down. And I cry because I am weak.
***
I wake to light peeking through the window, feeling sick to my stomach. My head is pounding, and I am still completely naked.
I sit up and look beside me. On the nightstand, there is a bottle of water and two Motrin.
I sit up, holding the blanket close to my body; unscrew the cap of the water; and take the pills. Then I stand, grabbing my clothes that are scattered around the room and dress quickly.
I look for my coat, my phone, my …
“Shit,” I say when I remember my coat is gone with the phone in its pocket.
I try to figure out the best escape. I don’t want to be seen. Not by the band and certainly not by the man who caused this confusion.
I look at the French doors and decide they’re the best escape. I open them quietly, then jump when I see Finn lying asleep in the chaise he had dragged down to the beach last night.
A blanket covers his lower half, his bare feet peeking out from under it. His torso and tattoos are exposed, and he is just as beautiful sober as drunk. His hair is stuck up in every direction possible, his neatly trimmed beard seems thicker, and his arm is covering his eyes.
I quietly turn, shut the door behind me, and ready myself to tiptoe away unnoticed. Then he groans and runs a hand down his chest under the blanket to adjust himself. I lick my lips, immediately thinking about what the blanket is covering, and then curse myself for being so damn stupid.
He lets out a deep breath and rolls to his side, facing away from me.
On the deck next to the chaise is a pack of Camel lights, a Zippo, an ashtray, and his phone.
How could I be so stupid? I y
ell at myself again.
I need a phone to call a cab, so I slowly reach down and grab his phone, then start to walk away quietly.
“You need something?”
I turn quickly back and watch him lazily sit up, the muscles in his abs flexing. The morning light is adorning him, loving him, shining on him like a spotlight.
“Just borrowing your …”
He stands, takes two steps, snatches the phone away, hits a few apps, takes my hand, and places my finger on the home button. Once, twice, three times, and then four.
“What are you doing?”
“Passwords are a bitch to remember. Fingerprints don’t change.” Then he hands it to me. He runs his fingers through his hair, licks his lips, and looks me up and down slowly. “You need something?”
My words rush out in a jumbled mess. “A cab, my phone … Why are you sleeping out here? It’s cold.”
He shakes his head. “I like to sleep outside.”
I gasp. “It must have gotten down to sixty degrees last night.”
His lips curl up on the side. “Camping weather.”
I shake my head and can’t help returning his grin. “You’re crazy.”
He nods once. “You need a ride?”
“I can call a cab.” I hold up his phone. Then it hits me. “You know it’s not smart to give out your password.”
“My mouth was on your pussy, my tongue in every nook and cranny of your body. I’m good with a password, Sonya.”
I am shocked, embarrassed, possibly turned on, but I remind myself who he is.
“You give all your conquests your phone and—”
He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing. “You too fucked up to remember what was said last night?”
“No, but—”
“Let me remind you.” He reaches out and lifts my chin with his finger. “I have you under me; no one else holds that position.”
“This is a bad idea.”
He shakes his head. “Come on; I’ll give you a ride.”
“No,” I say quickly as I type in a search for a cab.
“No?” He looks shocked, possibly hurt. I thought I would like him being hurt, but I don’t when it’s because of me, because I let things get so out of control.
“It’s best this way.”
“All right then.” He grabs his shirt. “See you around.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
I stand under the hot shower, thinking about last night, about how I fucked up and how I won’t fuck up again. I sure as fuck didn’t expect to open up to her like I did and get kicked in the nuts in the morning. I gave her the ultimate VIP pass, and she shot me down. What a fucking joke.
One fucked up night and I am a joke.
At least I didn’t fuck her, I think as I turn the hot water off and allow a cold blast to hit me. I sure as fuck lost my damn mind on that pussy, though. She would be thinking about that for a while.
I turn off the cold water, grab a towel, and wrap it around me as I step out.
Oral sex used to be my preferred method of giving pleasure, but it’s too damn intimate for the casual acquaintance. I gave her that, and she walked.
Bitch. Confused bitch.
It has been years since I felt that need, years since I devoured a woman like that. It used to be a craving I couldn’t contain. In the blink of an eye, however, I gave that up.
Shaking away those thoughts, I stand in front of the mirror and trim my beard up a bit. Tomorrow, we are heading on the road, and I’m pretty damn sure I won’t want the task of maintaining a grooming schedule when we will be balls to the wall traveling, doing interviews, and rocking our asses off.
When I finish, I clean the hair out of the sink and flush it down the toilet. Grabbing a pair of jeans, I pull them up, adjust my dick, and button my fly. Then I grab a Zeppelin tee and throw it on, pulling a denim button up on over it.
I walk out onto the patio, grab the cigarettes and Zippo, and light one up. Once I grab my phone sitting on the chaise and hold my thumb on the home button, it comes alive in vibrant, technological colors. Then I go to the settings and delete her paw print.
What the fuck was I thinking? That’s gotta be the most adolescent shit I have pulled in years. I ponder what the equivalent would have been back in my school years. One of those half heart key rings or a friendship bracelet? Stupid fuck. I toss the phone back down on the chaise.
Leaning against the railing, I take a few more drags from the cigarette that I know damn well isn’t good for me. Then again, nothing I have been doing for the past couple days is good for me. I’m a fucking wreck right now. Hell, if I think back, I have always been a storm of a man.
Since the ocean is calm today, I try to focus on that, draw from it, and it works … until I hear a door shut behind me.
“We gots to go, bro.”
I turn around, and River is standing there with two cups of coffee in his hands, the same digs as he was wearing last night, and his hair as fucked up as mine was this morning.
“You have a good night?” I chuckle as he walks toward me and hands me the coffee.
“If you call beating yourself off, thinking about Beyoncé good, then yeah, it was fucking epic.” He laughs.
I take a sip of the coffee. “Where do we have to be?”
“X-man’s office. Something about opening act shit.”
“He still tripping on making us pick the acts?”
He looks at me, knowing I’m pissed about it. He and I signed a deal with Stockton Records when we first started playing together, and they fucked us hard. They stole our music and gave it to another band they had. When I questioned it, they laughed us off. Two fucked-up, talented kids who partied way too much took it in the ass. The other two band members didn’t baulk; they joined another band that Stockton signed, and today, they are fucked, too. I don’t like that kind of fucking.
“Sure is. Says it’ll be good for us.”
“Yeah, good for us,” I huff then take a drag off the nearly spent cigarette. I throw it down, stomp it out, drain the cup of coffee, and look at him.
“Finn, we all gotta start somewhere right?”
I nod. “I never signed on to lift anyone up.”
“You did when you met me. No one else would have given me the fucking opportunity. Hell, I was a fucking mess of meth and heroine, a fucking—”
“You pulled me out of the depths of hell, too, man. Forced me to become the responsible one.” I smack him on the back.
He pulls his shades down and nods. “Well, let’s hope we can do that shit for someone else.” He smirks. “You and I, we’re even, right?”
He used to ask me that shit all the time, back when we played in a three piece band. It drove me nuts then.
“I’m no savior, River. We were even from go.”
“You two ready?” I look back to see Billy standing in the doorway, looking at his Apple watch.
“Your wife say it’s time?” River jokes.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re a bitch to that thing on your wrist. Seriously, man.” River smacks him on the ass as he walks past him.
“It’s efficient and keeps me organized.” Billy gives him the non-rock-star Billy answer.
“Imagine if it put out?” I say, grabbing my phone. “You’d never have to leave that fucking room of yours.”
I follow Billy and River on my bike. There aren’t too many days left that I will be able to enjoy this since we will be traveling by plane or bus, though Madison is pushing for us to do as little bus travel as possible. I hope for none.
When we stop at a light, I see Billy scolding River through the back window. Then a lit cigarette comes flying out the driver side, and I can’t help laughing.
I’m sure as hell glad River has someone like him as a role model. At one point, he just had me. Now, I’m reverting into the not so damn good place. Not topping any charts on being a role model. Then again, that’s never something I wanted to be. Nor hav
e I wanted to be about the pussy.
I only want the music—owning it, playing it, creating it—and to become the best me Finn Beckett could be. Fuck the haters, fuck the naysayers, fuck the doubters, and fuck anyone who wants to bring me down.
Memphis, Billy, Xavier, and Nickie D, they are guys to look up to, not me.
***
We are sitting in the conference room when Xavier walks in, laughing with Taelyn.
“What’s so funny?” River asks, taking his boots off the table.
“Xavier’s an uncle again,” Taelyn teases.
“The hell I am.” He laughs, squeezing her hand.
“Fugly is your nephew, so that means—” she begins.
“Fugly is your nephew.” He chuckles.
“Fine, I’m okay with it.” She smirks and then looks at us. “Cyrus’s dog had puppies, twelve to be exact. They didn’t know she was pregnant.”
“Or that something that ugly would even have a chance at getting laid.” Xavier laughs, and she smacks his stomach playfully.
“The pups ugly?” Memphis asks.
“God only knows, man. No evidence yet.” Xavier sits down and looks at Memphis. “How you doing?”
“Real damn good.” He grins like a teenage boy who just got his first blow job.
“Everything healing up?” X asks like it’s no big deal that they are discussing Memphis’s dick in front of us.
I look at Taelyn, who is unaffected as well. What the hell?
“Everyone in the room have a dick piercing?” River asks.
“I don’t.” Taelyn laughs, and Xavier shoots her a look that says I can’t believe you just said that. “What, Xavier? I don’t.”
“Good damn thing,” he huffs.
“If you wanted one, you could get one of those pink strap-on things and crown that bitch, Taelyn. Then you could make X your bit—”
“Watch it, River,” X growls at him, teeth bared and all.
Taelyn giggles, and X looks at her. “Shit’s not funny.”
“Actually, it’s hysterical, but”—she pauses and winks at him—“it’s not why we are here.”
She grabs a pile of folders from the desk and passes them out. “Tour schedule, press obligations, opening act auditions, hotel, and flight information are all enclosed. Any questions with travel, Madison is the girl to call. Press is Sonya”—she looks at me as if testing my ability to deal—“or me.” Apparently, she doesn’t think I can. Can’t say I blame her. I did snap at her, literally.