by L. V. Lewis
While Sky’s uncharacteristic moodiness earlier stung like a bitch, I had woken her up from a deep, much-needed sleep, which explains why she snapped at me. Still, her reaction momentarily took me back to how Kim acted during her final days. Kim habitually became like that during tours—surly, pissed off, uncommunicative. I have no doubt that if she had lived, she most likely would have broken up with me, left me, or vice versa.
I get it. Sky is under a lot of pressure. She tries not to show how concerned she is about the tour, but the way she’s been pushing herself lately is a dead giveaway.
I give her a broad smile to reassure her. “No, I promise. I’m just thinking about how we can best use Pit Viper to enhance your songs.”
This is not the entire truth. There are also other things I want to talk about with her, but this is not the right time or place. Her hopefulness has rubbed off on me, or some shit, because I’m beginning to feel like we may have a shot at this—whatever it is—between us.
“You know, we wouldn’t need Pit Viper if another rocker I know and love would play for me.” She slaps her hand over her mouth as if, too late, she realizes she’s said the “L” word. “I mean, you know, love as in ‘like a lot’ as friends, fuckbuddies, or whatever the hell we are.”
I let her off the hook because she’s about to have a meltdown, and I need her to be comfortable and unfrazzled enough to negotiate with Pit Viper. He’ll take over, if she allows him to. Controlling fucker.
I react to her faux pas with a mixture of sincerity and levity. “Listen, Sky. I’ve grown to care for you too, and we are definitely good friends…who fuck a lot, so don’t sweat it.”
She laughs. “You’re incorrigible, Brody.”
“Most rockers are.”
“But then you’re not in some ways. You’re really an enigma. I told you I was going to figure you out, and I’m not anywhere near accomplishing that.”
I sigh. “It’s entirely my fault, Sky. I promise, when this tour is over, we’re going to have a conversation about everything.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Including that R.I.P. tattoo on your bicep?”
To be honest, I’m surprised she has taken this long to ask about it. I shrug. “Yeah, and the person who inspired it. Okay?”
She smiles. “Okay.”
I look deep into her eyes. “Do you trust me, Sky? I mean really trust me?”
She looks thoughtful for a moment, and then her green eyes shine with an emotion that is unmistakable. “I know it’s been a short time, but I do trust you. I trust you with my life.”
“Good, because I’m going to need you to hold on to your curiosity about me and my past a little while longer.”
She nods, her mouth twisted to one side as if she’s resisting the urge to frown.
“I’ve met Pit Viper,” I continue. “In fact, he and I were on the same label once upon a time. I don’t look very much like I did in the past, and I certainly don’t go by the same name, so I’m going to try and psych him out. Can I trust you to just go with that? Like I said, I’m going to come completely clean with you very soon.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll play along.”
The car slows and she peers out the window. “We’re here.”
The driver stops the car, and Malik jumps out of the front seat so he can open the door for us.
An explosion of camera flashes blind us, and the paps yell to Sky.
Malik positions himself in front of us, as a human battering ram, carving a path for us through the melee.
“Skylar! Skylar, look here!” a reporter shouts.
“Hey Skylar, who’s your boy toy?” another one of them asks.
This is not a press conference, so we don’t entertain any questions. And fuck that ugly bastard who called me a “boy toy.” Savage would’ve popped him in his fucking mouth, but I’m not Savage anymore. I’m Brody Kent, Skylar’s fucking PA, who keeps her business straight by day, and makes wild, passionate love to her at night. I’m also the man who is perilously close to falling in love with her. But I don’t say any of this shit to the paps.
Skylar and I just smile for the cameras, and quickly move toward the restaurant door.
Like a linebacker, Malik straight-arms a photographer who gets too close, moving him out of our way.
Finally, we’re inside and the hostess whisks us to a VIP private dining room. The “one and only” Pit Viper is already seated, accompanied by a man that appears to be his manager.
Pit looks askance at me.
The feeling is mutual. Still, I shake his hand while Sky checks her wrap with the hostess. “Brody Kent,” I say. “We spoke on the phone.”
Pit continues to look at me, his brow furrowed. “Pit Viper, aka Max Lachlan. This is my manager, Liam Cooper.”
His Australian accent is thicker than I remember.
Sky joins us at the table, so I figure I should make the introductions. “Mr. Lachlan, Mr. Cooper—this is Skylar Samuelson and her security chief, Malik Thompson.”
They both stand.
The hostess pulls out a chair for Sky. We all sit.
As Sky and I discussed earlier, she takes the lead on negotiating with Pit, who’s squinting at me again.
Pit shakes his head. “As you know, Skylar, the elder Mrs. Samuelson called us up a couple of days ago, after hearing that I was on hiatus, and asked me to play for the last three stops on your European tour.”
“Yeah, my mother is definitely a “momanger.” She’s always looking for ways to do cutting-edge things for my career. I’d like to thank you for entertaining her offer and coming here to meet with us.”
“My pleasure, love. I’m not one to big note meself, but I’m no bodgy bloke, neither.” Pit laughs and Sky and I follow suit.
Sky fake smiles at Pit. “I know you’re not. I’ve heard your music and it’s out-of-this-world.”
He winks at Sky and I almost blow a gasket. What the hell?
“Thank you, darling. So what’s your endgame, pretty lady? Let’s nut this out so we can eat.”
Sky smiles politely, while I work to refrain from punching his lights out. “If you could give some of my songs part of your signature sound, I’d be able to tap into a new fan base for these last three concerts on the tour.”
Pit ponders the idea for a few seconds. “I promise to give you a fair go, and I’m guessing that when my fans hear that I’m playing with you, they’ll come scurrying in like cockies.”
Sky nods. “Not sure what a cockie is, but I like the sound of them scurrying in.”
“Ah, it’s just what you Americans call a cockroach.”
“Okay,” Sky says and slowly sips her water. “What is your fee, Mr. Lachlan?”
“It’s Max…or Pit, when we’re on stage, little lady.” He winks at Sky again.
She blushes and I see lightning bolts. Didn’t realize I was such a jealous man until now.
She replies, “Thank you, Max. I realize that a performer of your stature needs more than just double or triple scale. I want to know how much you’re going to hurt my bank account before I sign on the dotted line.”
Pit laughs as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.
“I have a copy of Max’s boilerplate contract for these types of things.” Mr. Cooper removes a one-pager from his briefcase and hands it to Sky. She looks it over and then hands it to me.
I give it a once-over. Everything looks legit. Of course, I knew Pit wouldn’t come cheap, but I’m pleased to see he isn’t gouging Sky. I give her my nod of approval.
She offers him her hand to shake, and Pit Viper obliges. “I’m looking forward to us working together, Max.”
The waiter hovers nearby while Sky signs the document.
I pick up my menu, as does Sky, happy to have this bit of business complete. “What’s good here?” I ask the waiter.
He goes into his spiel about the daily specials and personal favorites.
Sky squeezes my thigh under the table to get my a
ttention. “Thank you,” she mouths.
“Welcome,” I mouth back.
Although I’m not performing, it feels good to be in partnership with someone again, and to be living vicariously through her experiences.
Sky jumps me as soon as I get her suite door open.
“What gives?” I ask, blown away by her eagerness.
“I don’t know, I guess negotiations make me horny.” Her hands roam my body with an enthusiasm I don’t reject.
“My God, woman, if that’s the case I’d certainly like to see you negotiate more often.” I respond in kind, my hands going to her hips and pulling her body flush with mine.
I find the pulse on her throat and suck her supple skin, teasing it gently with my tongue.
She moans—something she always does when I arouse her.
My cock starts to harden against her taut belly. She must feel it because she reaches between us and strokes it as we kiss.
We stumble to the bed, removing our clothes as we go.
Together, we unroll a condom and with an eagerness that makes us clumsy, slide it onto me.
Sky pushes me onto the bed and straddles me.
I love how, with my encouragement, she’s become so bold. She unapologetically takes what she wants in the bedroom now.
Sky lowers herself inch by agonizing inch onto my cock until I am buried in her to the hilt. She begins to rock in a sensual, methodical motion, sliding up and down my length. She levers her torso down. With her breasts against my chest, her lips pressed to my throat, and her thighs gripping my sides tightly, she continues her sexy grind.
I mimic her movements below, meeting her strokes, my muscles contracting as the sensation she’s creating build me up toward the ultimate release.
“You feel so fucking good, Sky,” I mutter. It feels so good that my eyes roll up into my head.
Taking my face in her palms, she kisses me, riding me in her slow, sexy roll. She laces her fingers through mine, and then sits back up again. She moves her hips in broad circles, lifting until only my tip is inside of her. She sits on me until I’m deep inside her once again.
I’m shaking all over. She squeezes me in tiny flutters, her muscles pulsing. The feeling is so intense my orgasm detonates, spurting my hot seed into the condom.
Our bodies are covered in a fine sheen of sweat, but she keeps her rhythm as my waves and shudders continue. I tremble, but I’m intent on moving until she gets what she needs. She releases my hands and leans back, bracing her hands against my thighs, her hips still writhing, moving relentlessly against mine.
I put my back into it grinding up, up, up.
She stiffens, finally.
“Oh, Brody!” she screams over and over, repeating my name as if in prayer. She rides out the throes of her orgasm, and collapses onto my torso, completely spent.
I roll her onto her side, and pad to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. I return to the bed with a warm, wet towel in tow. Since she did all the work, the least I can do is clean her up.
Sky shields herself shyly as I stroke her. I shake my head at her, shocked that the woman, who fucked me like that, could be so bashful.
“You just rode me like a cowgirl, and now all of a sudden you’re shy?”
“When I was doing that you weren’t gazing into my…” she trails off, as if she can’t say the word.
“Your p—?”
She shoves me playfully, effectively stopping me from saying the offending word. “There are no cats in this room, and I can say vagina,” she insists.
I climb back in bed next to her and pull her close. “Whatever. I like how it trembled like a purring cat.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” she says after a short silence.
Her laughter is contagious, and I double over at the humor of the situation.
Like Kim, she doesn’t take herself too seriously, and I love that about Sky. But unlike Kim, she isn’t afraid to deviate from her natural submissiveness. She refuses to allow herself to be manipulated in affairs of the heart, which is something else I love about her.
How I feel about her mother, however, is another story. I’m proud of the way Sky has committed herself to standing up against her controlling mother despite having spent years under her Green Giant-sized thumb.
I’m pretty sure I love the fuck out of her, but I’m not ready to say it yet—not until I’m really sure—and she knows everything there is to know about me that might give her pause. Sky’s Freudian slip earlier was adorable, but I want us both to be sure we really love each other, before we make it official.
Calm from our fit of laughter, I kiss her temple. “Are you ready for the new music Pit Viper’s going to play for you?”
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it, but I still wish you were the one on stage with me.”
I shift, so we’re eye level. “Sky, I want nothing more than to be able to share the music world with you, but I left it all behind for very serious reasons.”
“I know, and I don’t mean to belabor the point. I-I’ve grown to care about you, and I know from the one time I saw you play, music is your passion, as much or more than it is mine. There’s a gift within you that only you possess, and you’re allowing it to die a slow, painful death. You’re not sharing it with the world. And that is a travesty.”
“I think you have enough passion for both of us,” I joke.
She says she cares about me, and I think I really love this girl. I have to be in love with her, otherwise I’d be flipping my shit at the subject of performing again.
“If I could do music the way I did it in the past, don’t you think I would? It’s taken me five long years to come to terms with the fact that I can’t do what I love because of the darkness it brings out in me.”
“I don’t understand,” she says. “But I will trust that you know yourself better than anyone, and that you can’t do it anymore for your own health and wellbeing. So, if staying away from it will keep you sober, I won’t push you to do it.”
“Thank you, Sky.”
I’m this close to telling her everything, but I want her to have the tour out of the way before I do. I want to see if we’re on the same page concerning our relationship.
The next three and a half weeks are going to be the longest of my life.
ELEVEN
SKYLAR
DAY TWENTY-SIX
My mother gives my suite a sweeping appraisal. “You’re shacking up with your P.A. now?”
I purposely didn’t remove all of Brody’s things that migrated into my room courtesy of our late night liaisons.
She stands in front of a pair of his MMA shorts on the ottoman, and her lip curls in distaste.
He sparred with Malik last night, and ended up in my bed after we showered together.
“You’re in rare form, Mother.”
Removing her gloves, she takes a seat in an armchair, and I perch on the edge of the ottoman next to Brody’s shorts.
My mother is one of the few women left in this century who still wears gloves when she travels for no apparent reason other than as an accessory.
“It isn’t my form that should be called into question,” Mother says. “You do realize that ticket sales are way down while you’re playing footsies with your P.A.?”
“We are mitigating the losses. And, in addition to you hiring Pit Viper, Brody and I have shored up the marketing. And Cyndi has re-choreographed several of my songs. I’m sure the show tonight is going to boost ticket sales considerably in the last two venues.”
“We shall see.” She crosses her right leg delicately over her left. “Where is your—boy toy, is it?”
“Mother, he’s not a boy, and definitely not anyone’s toy,” I say through gritted teeth. “He’s a man, a very intelligent and talented one at that.”
She snickers, and then dismisses the notion. “Oh really? Well, that’s not what the tabloids say. Or, have you not been keeping up with what’s being said about you and Mr. Kent in the media?”
She reaches over to smooth a stray hair lingering on my forehead, but I slap her hand away. Hurt, she responds to my rebuff, “Well, Sky, you can turn up your nose all you want, but people read those rags and use them to make important decisions like whether or not to buy tickets to a tarnished pop star’s concerts.”
I can’t believe my own mother just said what she did. Tarnished? I don’t know how to feel about what she said…anger, hurt, frustration, betrayal, or sadness, but I think I’m leaning toward a combo of all of them. How can she be so heartless toward her own daughter?
Her words cut to the bone, but I refuse to let her make me cry. I’m done with being my mother’s victim. I will stand up... to her and for myself. “Are you so hateful that you’d like to see me fail, Mother?”
She stares at me, face crumbling, and springs out of her chair, wrapping her long, non-nurturing arms around me. She reminds me of an octopus. “My darling girl, you are my only daughter, and I’ve always been your biggest supporter and… fan. I’m merely disappointed that you would throw all of your hard work away for a man… who’s beneath you.”
Shaking my head, furious at the word, I jerk away from her. “Brody isn’t beneath me. Wow! Really? Is there even one sincere bone in your body anymore, Mother? God!”
She huffs a laborious sigh. “First, stop taking the Lord’s name in vain, Skylar. And, two, you are way too wrapped up in this man, he must really have his claws in you. I’m pretty sure that nothing I say will bring you to your senses, so you can see him for what he really is.”
I laugh sarcastically. “Okay, Mother, what is he really, in your opinion?”
She shakes her head, stunned by my new-found assertiveness. “He’s a drug addict, Skylar! Can’t you see it?”
I roll my eyes at her. “I already know about Brody’s struggles with addiction, Mother. And you know what? He was reluctant to take this job because of it! The question is how do you know about it? Are you spying on him?”
She seems surprised that I already know about Brody’s addiction. “Well, it wasn’t too hard to figure out. Come on Skylar, a man his age retires from the business only for a couple of reasons.” She opens her mouth, as if she has something more to say, but then flashes a look of utter defeat, closes her mouth, and raises both her hands in a conciliatory gesture.