“Mitch?” I repeat, caught off guard, “What does Mitch have to do with anything?”
“I mean, there’s some unresolved stuff going on—”
“You don’t actually have feelings for him, do you?” I ask, Kelly’s warnings echoing in my ears.
“Not...No...” Ellie sputters unconvincingly, “But he’s important to me as a friend. And as a songwriting partner.”
“He seems to think of you as more than that,” I mutter.
“Maybe,” she admits, “But I can’t hold that against him.”
“Neither can I,” I say, taking in the sight of her. Even flustered, she’s still stunning.
It’s taking a Herculean effort not to wrap her up in my arms again and carry her back to the tour bus. The surge of desire that overtook me just moments ago does not seem to be quieting. This is going to be a long night of pent-up need, I can tell that much already. Still, it’s worth it. I don’t want to blow this thing on the first pass.
“Let’s get out of here,” I suggest, taking Ellie by the hand.
“OK,” she says, happy for the subject change. “Where should we go?”
“Anywhere,” I say, “The world is our oyster. Or something.”
“Let’s just see where the night takes us,” Ellie suggests.
“Right,” I say, leading her through the backstage universe. I savor the feel of her hand in mine as we make our way along. “We’ve got two great shows to celebrate, eh?”
“I don’t think you can put my show on the same level as what you just did,” she laughs, “But I’ll take it, nonetheless.”
“You really need to get better at taking compliments,” I tell her, “You’re going to be rolling in them soon enough. Did you see that crowd at your show? I think you’re about to make it, my dear.”
“Is that even a thing, ‘Making It’?” she asks, as we approach the back entrance of the space.
“Beats me,” I say with a shrug, “Most of the time, it starts to feel just like everyday life. But every once in a while, it can be pretty amazing.”
We step out of the backstage tent side-by-side, and are instantly blinded by a searing wall of flashbulbs. I throw up my hand to shield my eyes from the lights, and feel Ellie shrink back against me. There are a dozen photographers gathered around us, snapping shot after shot. Generally, I don’t give a damn who gets a picture of me, but I can feel Ellie cowering in shock and embarrassment.
A sudden surge of anger whips through me, and I bowl through the throng of paparazzi, towing Ellie along behind me. Reporters are screaming questions at us as we make our way past, and I answer them all at once with a flip of the ol’ bird.
Ellie and I race away from the cloud of eager gossip-mongers and lose ourselves in the crowd. We hurry along, trying to ignore the curious stares as we pass. I slip a pair of sunglasses over my eyes and tell Ellie to do the same. Sure, it’s night time—but being the weird guy wearing sunglasses at night is still a lot better than being the clamored-after rock star disrupting everyone’s evening. Little by little, people stop noticing us.
I trot up to a nearby food tent and procure us a couple of well-deserved beers. Handing one to Ellie, I can see she’s a little overwhelmed. First the kiss, then the photographer ambush—the poor thing’s getting completely immersed. I at least got to wade in the shallow end for a while before plunging into the deep.
Ellie’s getting no such pass.
“Are you OK?” I ask, taking a wonderfully icy sip of beer.
“What, me?” she says sarcastically, “Oh, yeah. I’m fine. Just trying to figure out how you people do this twenty four seven.”
“Don’t have much of a choice,” I tell her.
“But how do you stand it?” she asks, as we walk toward the outskirts of the crowd, “How can it possibly be worth it to have people hounding you all the time?”
“You already know the answer,” I tell her, “Ninety nine percent of being a musician is nonsense, but the one percent that makes it worth it, the music itself, is the only thing worth living for.”
“What about a little peace?” she asks wistfully, “Isn’t that worth living for, too?”
“That’s all up to you,” I tell her, “But I’d suggest that you decide soon whether or not you think you can handle all of this.”
“It’s not a question of whether I can handle it,” she says hotly, “I can handle it just fine. I can deal with spats with writing partners, and a chaotic schedule, and not knowing when I’ll be able to sleep next, or have my next meal. I can even handle the petty gossip bullshit if I have to. I’m just trying to figure out whether fame is really the end-all be-all that you seem so attached to.”
“Hey,” I say sternly, “Don’t put words in my mouth. I didn’t say anything about wanting, let alone needing, to be famous.”
“So you don’t like it?” she challenges me, “Some part of you doesn’t love being famous just as much as you love the music?”
“Don’t attack me for being successful just because you’re afraid,” I tell her.
“I’m not—”
“Sure you are. You’d be an idiot if you weren’t, and I certainly know you’re not that.”
“I just...I don’t want to fuck everything up,” she says, her anger giving way to upset. “If I put myself in the spotlight, open myself up to the world, nothing’s ever going to be the same.”
“No,” I allow, “But you’ll be OK.”
“It seems lonely, living the way you do,” she says as we walk beyond the crowd, out through the green fields.
“It can be,” I tell her, “But once in a while...like right now for instance...it’s not so bad.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a slight smile cross her lips.
We look back at the bustling festival and linger beyond its reach. There will be plenty of time for complications, and noise, and fervor. But for right now, all I want in the world is to be alone with this person I’ve managed to find among the masses.
We sip our beers in silence, looking on as the world turns in front of our eyes.
Chapter Eight
We spend the night migrating from place to place together, flitting as we please between shows and parties. Roaming around the festival at night, I feel more in my element than I have since Mitch and I rolled up to our campsite in my crappy car.
The throbbing, chaotic energy of this young and vibrant place is something that I can understand. Fame, attention, and celebrity may be far beyond what I’m able to grasp, but this is a world I know how to navigate. In the night, anonymity is ours again. The entire population of the festival gives itself up to the booze-soaked, drug-addled evening and finally leaves us alone for a spell.
I’m not one to let a good party pass me by, and the past few days have certainly warranted a little letting loose on my part.
With Trent in tow, I throw myself into the current of the festivities. Soon, we’ve stumbled into the fray and procured a couple of drinks, then a couple more. I’ve made up my mind not to care about propriety tonight.
I’ve spent my entire time at Hawk and Dove this year worrying about my every move, and what’s come of it? I’m fighting with my only band mate, and locked in a frustrated stalemate with the mysterious, irresistible man currently swigging rum by my side.
As the alcohol starts to dull my anxiety, I finally start to forget about the abrupt end that my kiss with Trent came to earlier tonight.
In fact, his entire concert is a pleasant blur in my memory. The show was truly astounding—I never listen to music that intense, and I was blown away by how it got to me. So blown away, in fact, that I all but threw myself at Trent as soon as he came off the stage. It seemed like he wanted me, but I sensed a reluctance in him and backed off.
But I can still feel the pent-up attraction between us growing bigger with every passing moment. What are we supposed to do, if not let ourselves go? What’s lingering between us, and obstructing what we both so badly want?
&nb
sp; The night rages on, and I match Trent drink for drink. When happy strangers offer us hits off their joints, we accept graciously. I don’t usually party this heavily, but all the rules I’m used to organizing my life with seem to be suspended, these days.
As I become more and more intoxicated, my awareness of Trent grows razor sharp. I’m keyed in to his every gesture, his every expression. We move through the festival as a pair, stealing touches and glances, trying to read each other’s altered minds.
As my high reaches a fever pitch, a low, throbbing bass line catches my ear. I grab hold of Trent’s hand and tow him toward the sound. We race along and surface under a huge tent. A DJ is spinning heavy, pulsing beats, and a crowd of hundreds is gyrating and writhing on the dance floor.
I grin up at Trent in the darkness as wild, flashing lights spin overhead. His face breaks into a wide, wicked smile as I pull him out into the crowd. We weave through couples and groups of dancers, each locked in their own private universes. Even though we’re in a sea of people, it still feels more private here than it has since I met Trent just a couple of days ago. It’s like we’ve finally found a place that we can’t, and won’t, be followed. As long as we keep moving, it’s just the two of us alone in the world.
As we reach the center of the bumping, twisting crowd, I spin around to face Trent. His every muscle seems loosened, and even his smile is less controlled. I like this side of him—this unburdened, free-wheeling version.
I take a step toward him, letting my body find its way into the music. He looks down at me intently, eyes locked on the swaying of my hips. I lay my hands on his chest, letting my shoulders dip and sway. My hands have a mind of their own, wander down along the firm muscles of Trent’s chest, coming to rest finally on his hips.
“You’re quite the dancer,” he says over the music. His voice is scraping against the bottom of his register, and the lusty thickness fills me with wanting.
“I know a couple of moves, I guess,” I say. Pivoting, I turn my back to him and close the space between our bodies. I let out a low moan as I feel him start to grow hard against me. I felt him before, back behind the curtains at his concert. I could feel then that he wanted me, just like I feel it now.
So what in the world have we been wasting time for?
His hands fall upon my waist once more, caressing the dips of my hourglass figure. I feel his fingers tighten as the bulge in his jeans grows even more firm. He lets his hands wander across my tummy, trailing over the twin peaks of my hips and up, stopping just short of my breasts. I lean back into him, grinding against him with abandon. I love the feel of his hands on me, exploring my body as they please.
Though there are hundreds of people all around us, it feels like we’re the only two people on the planet.
I turn back to Trent, looking up into those bright green eyes that never fail to swallow me up. He tugs me against him, wanting me to feel his desire pressed up against me. I bury my fingers in his messy curls, letting my breasts push up between us. There’s no mistaking the need in his eyes, and I’m through playing games. I lean in close to his ear and whisper, “If you don’t get me out of here, I’ll have no choice but to have you right here in front of all these people.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” he growls, “We entertain these people plenty enough as it is.”
He takes hold of my hand and weaves off through the mass of people all around us.
Though simple, the mere touch of his hand sends sparking ripples of desire through me. I’m not usually the one to initiate things like this—to say what I want without fear. But something about Trent gives me courage. Something about how we understand each other makes it easy to speak what my heart, and what my body, wants above all.
We break free of the crowd, stumbling just a little. His strong arms steady me as we route a course back to the campsite. All around us, parties are raging through the night. The sky is still pitch black, with dawn lurking hours away, yet.
We race through the mad, wild world of the festival. All around us, people are shouting and laughing, drinking and smoking, falling on each other as lovers and fighters both. I’d forgotten how intoxicating this place can be, in all senses of the word. But the madness doesn’t derail us—if anything it only adds to our fervor.
Clutching onto each other, Trent and I finally find ourselves at the base of the hill on which the talent campsite stands. The incline seems higher than Everest in our current state, but we set to climbing all the same. With every step, I can feel the throbbing need building up in the very core of my body. I know it’s been growing there since the moment I laid eyes on Trent in the flesh, despite my attempts to ignore it.
Well, for tonight at least, I’m through trying to turn a blind eye to what I want.
We stagger over the top of the hill, chests heaving. I swear, I could take him right here on this little patch of grass. His arm is hooked protectively around my waist as he leads me forward through the deserted camp. Everyone else is still down among the revelers, it would seem. We have the entire hilltop to ourselves.
We hurry around my own modest little camp, but I see no signs of life. I haven’t checked on my band mate since I put him back to bed this morning, but I have no room for Mitch in my thoughts right now. All I can think of is Trent—all of Trent.
“My guys won’t be back until sunrise,” he whispers to me, pulling me onto the tour bus.
“Good,” I say, “Because you’re going to be occupied for a while.”
As the door snaps closed behind us, I throw my arms around Trent’s broad shoulders. His hands fall on the swell of my ass, pulling me tightly against him. Our mouths meet in a searching, eager kiss. His strong tongue glides against mine as his fingers dig deeply into my skin.
All the matters in the world at this moment is those hands, that mouth, this amazing person before me.
I let out a gasp as Trent hoists me up into the air as if I were weightless. I throw my legs around his waist, hooking my ankles behind him. He suspends me before him as I kiss him with an urgency I’ve never known.
I bite his firm bottom lip ever-so-lightly, drawing a rumbling groan from his throat. I can feel him throbbing against me, now. All that separates his thick, pulsing manhood from the aching wetness between my legs is a few layers of cloth and denim.
The friction between us builds to a frenzy, and I tear my mouth from Trent’s to cry out, “I can’t wait any longer.”
That’s all he needs to hear. Trent’s arms tighten around me, and he carries me swiftly across the cabin of the tour bus. Without breaking stride, he kicks open door after door until we find ourselves in a small, quiet chamber in the back of the huge vehicle. I peer around the space, and a thrill runs through me as I realize that most of it is taken up by an enormous, pristine bed. Well, pristine for now, anyway.
Trent falls to his knees on the sprawling bed, laying me down before him.
He pulls himself on top of me and I eagerly part my legs, wanting to feel that pulsing need against me once more. His lips find the tender skin of my throat, kissing me deeply wherever they land. I let my head fall back against the bed, savoring the feeling of his lips as they brush against me.
He pulls at the loose hem of my top, drawing the garment up over my head and tossing it across the room.
I lay before him in my cotton bra and panties, but he drinks in the sight of me as if I was Venus herself. With a reverence I’ve never seen from any man, he let lets his hands trail down the length of me, driving me more and more wild with every stroke.
His hands slip around my back, unhooking my bra with one swift, expert motion. My amble breasts spill out, and he eagerly lowers his mouth to my hard, erect nipple. He takes the stiff little peak into his mouth and sucks, hard.
I arch my back, moaning at the sweet sharpness of his kiss.
His hands continue to roam as he lays kiss after kiss upon my breasts. Down across my belly his fingers skirt as I tug at the bottom of his tee shirt. H
e rips the shirt off his hardened body and presses himself to me.
Our bare torsos come together, and the heat of his skin sends me spiraling into a state of utter need and desperate anticipation. I want there to be no space between us at all. I want to feel all of him, right this instant.
I bring my lips to his, telling him without words what I need so badly.
In a heartbeat, he’s tugged his jeans and briefs down his smooth, firm thighs, and I let my hands wander where they will. Trent takes in a sharp breath as my hands close around the hard length between his legs. I can scarcely hold all of him at once.
My hands work up and down his staggeringly long thickness, and I can feel him growing harder by the second. His eyes are closed in utter bliss, and I'm nearly on edge myself, just knowing how good I can make him feel.
His eyes finally focus on mine once more, and he looks down at me in wonder.
I gasp as he pins me back hard against the bed, snatching my hands away and holding them firmly above my head. He looses a hand and wastes no time—I cry out as I feel his fingers glance against the length of my wet slit.
A smile spreads across his face as he traces a slow caress along that eager place between my legs. He’s taking his time, letting us both enjoy every minute. I stare up at him, wild-eyed with anticipation, as he slips his fingers between my silky folds. Further inside me his thick fingers dive, flexing against my most intimate flesh. I relish the feeling of him inside of me, but I only want more, I want to take as much as he can give me.
“Oh my god,” I moan breathlessly, as he finds the throbbing, tender nub there and begins to rub, hard. He knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly how to touch me. He kneads and caresses with expert precision, and my very vision begins to swim. It’s all I can do to dig my fingers into the bedding and try to keep from screaming into the night.
He reaches over me to grab a condom off the bedside table, tears the package open and swiftly wraps his member.
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