Perhaps, Georgie might answer the door and…No.
She’s sixteen, I remind myself, the stars glittering in the black sky as untouchable to me as Georgiana.
My corridor to nowhere curves, following the stone wall for a time, indenting to a garden and continuing along, giving the illusion of a home with eight sides instead of four. The place would make a decent compass rose with cardinal directions—north, south, east, and west—as the focal point and intermediate points the crown to the optical illusion he wants. Or, maybe, it’s Cassandra. I can see her wanting to turn an ordinary four-sided house into a fucking nightmare like this.
Swearing if I don’t come upon another trail that might lead to a freestanding garage, I’ll abandon my search, I round another corner. I believe I’m at the eastern-most side, but that thought slips away as I blink at the huge pool and all the lights. The heat is stifling. I can’t wait to get to my house on the outskirts of Denver, when the American leg of the tour is over.
“Sloane, Sloane, I see you.” Georgie’s voice floats above me and my eyes flash towards the sound. She’s balanced on the balcony railing, gripping a balustrade.
I’m aging a decade with every passing second. Every beat of my heart. She’s naked. Her hair is loose, long, a cascade of midnight. Her breasts are high and round, her waist narrow. Pussy hair is fashioned into a landing strip.
This goes through my mind fast. But, still, too slow. Before I can move or talk, she’s flying through the air, hands spread, and crashing into the pool.
Chapter Three
Sloane
She hits the water at high velocity, bobs her head once, her skin pale in the darkness. When she dips under again, she doesn’t resurface.
I wait. Count to ten. Nothing. No sign of Georgie.
Fear slices through me. I rush toward the pool, already yanking off my boots and shirt. I dive in. The thought that this is the deep end clicks in my scared brain. There’s enough water here where Georgie won’t have broken her neck. Paralyzed herself. Or killed herself.
She hasn’t reemerged, though.
It’s dark and the lights near the balcony aren’t breaching the surface. I kick hard, knowing I’m in the general spot she landed. My hand touches something. Hair. I grab her and propel us upwards. It seems like she dove in hours ago. Logic tells me it’s been only a few minutes. Three? Four? Five?
I lay her poolside, close to the outside sconces. They gleam around us in irregular squares, obliterating the slivered moon that mocks me in a sad parody of a lunar smile. Georgie resembles a beautiful corpse. She’s cold. Unmoving. Not breathing.
Fuuuucccckkkk.
I press upon her, counting out, in my head, the chest pumps I’m administering to her. A bit of water pops out of her mouth.
“Come on, baby.”
I don’t know this girl except to recognize she’s all kinds of fucked up, a lost little lamb with no guidance. I can relate. In her, I see me. My pain. My hurt. My self-destruction.
I pump again, worried that I might break her ribs. More water bubbles from her mouth, so I shut off my racing thoughts and focus on her.
A third time and she begins to cough violently then turns to her side, vomiting. Unlike her deathly stillness from just seconds ago, she’s trembling viciously now.
I cover my face and rest back on my haunches. The night has fucked my head up and tempts me to call my dealer. I have one in every city and they keep their contact information up-to-date for me, counting on the day I tumble again.
Instead of being happy that Dad hadn’t been able to keep his freak call with Parnell and Cassandra, I’m suddenly furious. I didn’t need her pussy. I had pussy earlier this morning and I’ll have a bunch of pussy after my concert tonight.
Fingers touch my legs, grabbing my attention. I stare at Georgie. Reddened eyes fill with tears. Fear. Confusion. She draws in heavy breaths.
“You need a hospital,” I whisper to her, tangling my fingers through her wet hair. She leans against my hands. I pull away. Just a little while ago, my hands had been shoved in her mother’s cunt and ass. My tongue had lapped Cassandra’s clit. I’m an excellent pussy eater and I put it to full use on Cassandra’s pussy.
As I showered her scent, taste, and juices from me, she’d climbed in and sucked my cock. Not talking. Just on her knees servicing me.
Now, as she sleeps—or whatever—and Parnell is lost in thoughts of my aunt’s pussy, I hold their daughter. Ignoring her curves. Her beautiful breasts. Her strip of pussy hair.
She’s stirring something inside me. I have no clue what. Perhaps, she’s humanizing me and reminding me of my descent to the bottom of my drug hell.
Maybe, she’s touching me because I’ve dealt with her globhead father and miserable mother for the entire evening. It’s a convincing attempt to gloss over an objectionable attraction that began last night when I believed she was eighteen.
It’s small consolation that I really have no respect for her fucking father and little for Cassandra. When we were fucking, her attention kept straying to Parnell, wanting him, not me. He kept dick in hand and jerked off. It made her fuck me harder. All she has to do is walk the fuck away. Open her fucking mouth. Tell Parnell to go fuck himself since he’s such a fucking expert.
Although I was there to fuck and not exchange family fucking stories, neither of them mentioned their daughter. Worse, Parnell doesn’t recognize all her red flags. One day, he’ll get a call that she’s overdosed. Or find her himself.
He’ll pretend he didn’t know she was an addict, when the evidence is right in front of him. He’s just a fucking idiot.
Georgie raises up on her elbows and tips her head back. Her nipples look delicious, pink, hard and inviting. She coughs and her shoulders shake.
Self-disgust wallops me. I’m devouring the sight of her whereas she’s in need of a hospital.
She touches my wrist, slips two fingers beneath my leather bracelet. “Why are you here?”
Her voice is weak, scratchy.
“Be glad I am,” I bark, my irritation with myself spilling over.
She sidles a glare at me and lays back down on the hard concrete. “Go away. I refuse to talk to you. You’re just going to leave.”
She sounds sad and alone, which I’m well-acquainted with. “Well, yeah, Georgie. I don’t live here.” Thank fuck. “I have to leave.”
A tear rolls down her cheek. “I need to call Crowell. I need more blow.”
The fuck she does. She needs a fucking hospital. I scowl at her. “Who’s Crowell?”
She pokes out her bottom lip. I wince at her behavior. She’s acting as young as she looks. As young as she is. I scoot closer to her. “Well? He your dealer?”
Her eyes round at that, then she coughs and giggles. “No, silly. Crowell is my brother’s best friend. My sometimes lover. The one you punched last night.”
Oh, that asshole.
She frowns, ignoring the internal shock that is freezing the muscles on my face. I don’t want to think of her fucking anyone. Inevitably, I’ll start to think of me fucking her…Fuck…isn’t her brother around the same age as me? Does that mean she’s fucking someone twenty-four or twenty-five?
Fuck, yeah. I saw the motherfucker with my own eyes last night. Definitely, closer to my age than hers.
“Your sometimes lover?”
She nods, closes her eyes and gasps in air, wheezing. “He gives me blow. I feel so good then. He said it all goes away. And it does. Just like when he’s using his mouth on me.”
“His mouth?” My eyes travel to her pussy. “So he only mouth fucks you?”
“I suck him, too,” she responds defensively. “And, I told you I’m a virgin.”
I study her mouth, her lips pale and without their earlier pretty pinkness, think about how they felt wrapped around my cock. “He’s really never put his dick in you?”
“No. But he was really mad that I was with you and we both got naked tonight. I have no one but him. He has a girlfri
end, though, and he can’t see me anymore. He was bringing me to your concert and, now, I’m not going.” She sniffles, which won’t help her hoarseness.
This shit isn’t my problem. It isn’t. I’m returning Monday to fuck her mother again. Cassandra may allow her husband to walk all over her—for the money more than likely—but she’s talented as fuck in bed. She’s beautiful, too.
Georgie crawls to her hands and knees. She’s in position for me to fuck her doggy-style. My dick is rock hard and I don’t know for who. Her or Cassandra? I try to insist it’s for Cassandra. She’s twenty years older than me and married. That fucking scandal would be bad enough. Georgie is nine years younger than I am, a felony in the works. No one would care that when I touched her the first time, I believed she was eighteen.
Fucking her again with full knowledge of her age would ruin my fucking career if it became known.
I refuse to let my dick fuck up one more thing in my life.
Georgie wobbles to her feet. She looks at me through the fringes of her lashes and my heart hammers. My head fucking spins at the bleakness in her eyes. She stumbles forward. “Bye, Sloane.”
“Wait! Fuck. You need a hospital.”
Georgie shakes her head. “No. I’m not going to die. I feel a little woozy, but I’m fine. Nothing that won’t go away when I sleep it off.”
Does she not realize the severity of what she went through? “This isn’t a fucking movie,” I snarl, stomping toward her, prepared to toss her over my shoulder and bring her to the ER. “You drowned.”
“I almost drowned,” she corrects me, then makes a sweeping gesture toward her nude body. “I’m here. Not drowned.”
I inch closer to her. The moment I do, she surprises me and stands on her tiptoes to press her cold lips against mine. I have the urge to throw my arms around her and wrap her up in my body heat. Instead, I stand still.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “Really. I can’t remember the last time someone was so concerned about me. I’m not going to the hospital, though. If I’m going to die, I’d prefer to do it somewhere familiar. If I’m dying, the only thing I’ll do in an ER is die alone.”
Before I’m over my shock at her matter-of-fact statement, she’s gone.
Let her walk fucking away.
No.
I can’t let her go like this. She’s heading for the tree a few yards away. “I’m finding your father, so he can deal with you,” I call. “You. Need. A. Fucking. Hospital.”
She releases a loud, irritated sigh. “He’ll just buy me something. Either way.”
Do I really want to know? “Either way?” I echo, unable to resist my curiosity.
“He’ll buy me a beautiful coffin if I end up dead. Or he’ll buy me, whatever, if I don’t. No matter what I do—or need—that’s his answer. Spending money. I’m invisible around here and have been for months.” The sadness creeping into her voice affects me. “I only had Crowell and now he’s gone, too.” She clears her throat. It still doesn’t help. When she talks again, she’s still so hoarse. “I-I love you. If you knew me like I know you, you might love me, too.”
“You don’t fucking know me.”
She sighs. “Believe half of what you see and none of what you read. Right?”
I clench my jaw and don’t respond. I love beautiful girls and she’s stunning. I hate to see beauty destroyed just as much as I hate to deny myself. Whether she knows it or not, she’s still the lamb and I’m still the wolf. If I get involved with her, I’ll blow everything.
This is it. My chance to save my band. My chance to redeem myself with all my fuckups.
“Bye, Sloane,” she repeats.
She’s so fucking stubborn. Her attitude frustrates the fuck out of me. “Hard heads make dead asses.”
“Go. Leave,” she orders, her voice hardening. “You’re interfering and that doesn’t happen in this house. We each stay in our own lanes. We’re all on our own.” Her shoulders sag and she bows her head. “Welcome to my world,” she whispers, then scampers to the tree a few yards away.
The moment she reaches it, she stands on her tiptoes and grabs a low-hanging branch.
Why the fuck am I shocked she’s fucking scaling a tree like a chimpanzee? Without looking back, she disappears through the window.
Chances are fucking high water remain in her lungs. She can lay down and never fucking wake up, victim of a secondary drowning.
She won’t think of that. I bet she’s going to call Crowell for her coke, instead.
Swearing I don’t give a fuck, I go in search of my bike, determined to fucking find it and get far the fuck away from this mad house.
Cassandra
My fingers glide over my clit and I twist toward Parnell, wanting him inside of me. I’ve been thoroughly fucked. Sloane ate my pussy and kept his dick in me. I came more times tonight than I have in months.
Years.
I roll against my hand. My pussy needs another fuck. I wasn’t through fucking. But Sloane decided to leave. He gave no explanations. Just let me come on his tongue, got up, and headed to the shower.
Though I don’t follow him like a common groupie, I know he’s called a rock god, and he is. Tattoos cover his arms and back. Large, capable hands are very attuned to the needs of a woman’s body. Even the golden hoops in each ear turn me on.
My breathing shortens. “Dick, Parnell, please,” I beg. He doesn’t want me unless other men are present. Even then, he prefers his own touch over mine. I never realized this until tonight as Sloane pumped into me. I’d hoped Parnell would read my silent plea to make Sloane move and take me himself. He didn’t, so I stopped wishing and lost myself to Sloane’s expert touch.
I can’t wait to feel him again. Maybe, when he leaves, we can keep in contact. He makes me feel young and alive. Wanted.
I moan, thinking of his big dick. My insides throb. Parnell wanted me to have it hard. Sloane complied.
His dick is long and thick, his tongue soft and warm. Remembering him makes me come hard. My eyes roll back in my head and I scream.
Parnell bites my sensitive breasts and pain hits my nipple. I tremble, raise my legs, and lift my hips. He rips into me and another scream escapes me. I’m moaning. My pussy clenches his cock. He’s hard and rough and brutal. More so than I like it…he works into me again and I throw my head back, on the verge of coming again.
Parnell licks my neck and, then, grips it. I’m starting to come and he knows it. He’s pressing against my throat, cutting off my air supply, making my body float at the sheer intensity of hovering so close to death while doing something so life-affirming.
Blackness flirts at the edges of my vision. My lungs hurt. Every place in my body tingles, from my sensitive nipples to my pulsing pussy.
Unable to holler, I gag. I’m still coming and Parnell starts to stiffen. My consciousness is slipping away.
My life, too. Tears squeeze out of my eyes and I find the strength to grab my husband’s wrist. He’s killing me and he’s still buried in me.
“Please,” I choke out. Somehow.
His brows draw together and his hand falls away. “Cass?”
My neck will be bruised tomorrow. “I thought I was dying.”
A strange look passes over his face, but, then it clears. His fingers slip into my hair and he kisses me. “You liked fucking Sloane Mason?”
Saliva slides down my throat and I wince. It’s already sore. To spare Parnell’s ego, I carefully consider my answer. I don’t want to hurt Parnell’s feelings. I wish he’d come back to our bed without anyone else. I find myself nodding and then I remember our baby girl.
“Georgie is going to Sloane’s concert tomorrow—tonight,” I amend. It crossed over into the new day hours ago. “I gave her my permission to go with Crowell.”
Parnell rolls off me and I lift my head. My husband’s dick is glistening in the faint light. “She met him tonight.”
“Who?” I ask. I don’t know most of what Georgie does, but the thought of her me
eting up with Crowell doesn’t sit right with me. If it’s discovered I knowingly allowed her to associate with a grown man, my pristine reputation will suffer. “I’ll speak to Josh—“
“Not Crowell,” Parnell snaps with exasperation. “Sloane.”
I like the sound of that even less. Why, I’m not sure. Maybe, because Georgiana pollutes the house with that god awful music of his. I’ve heard her often enough extolling her love for Sloane. I scowl at the scrollwork on the ceiling. That isn’t it at all. Georgie is young.
Love and sex for her is acceptable, even warranted. She has every right to appease the demands of her body and search for her soulmate. I, on the other hand, will be seen as pathetic and desperate for getting in a young man’s bed. Women over forty are supposed to forget their vaginas are for anything other than pissing.
I grimace, tired of the refrain that constantly lives in my brain. Instead of feeling sorry for myself—making myself feel old—I should do something to remind myself that I’m still young enough to do whatever I want.
Have another baby, maybe?
But whose?
Parnell continues to talk and Sloane’s name catches my attention again.
If he sees Georgie…my young, gorgeous Georgie…My husband already has issues with my maturity. I can’t afford to have the rock god push me over, too.
A frisson of ugliness creeps into my thoughts, seeping into my veins like poison. The bitterness and hatred curling inside of me towards my daughter is dizzying. It frees me, too. I can finally admit that her youth is my problem.
I don’t know much of anything anymore, but I know I have to keep my daughter away from Sloane.
“She was being sullen as usual,” Parnell says with a sigh, filling up the sudden silence with a well-known fact.
Georgiana has her moods. I’d began to ignore them months ago. It’s easier to talk about nice things. Shopping. Travelling. Champagne. Fashion. Now, we don’t spend enough time together for me to exercise any parental authority over her.
Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series Page 5
