by Ashley Love
I trail along behind them as John goes on and on about his daughter, Harry nodding and laughing politely. Joe strides up next to me and I glance at him briefly as we make our way into the South Pavilion.
"You know," Joe tells me, and I look up at him, finding him peering down at me hesitantly, "It's not my job to tell him what to do. It's not my job to tell his mother what he does. In fact, doing that greatly impedes my job. If he doesn't trust me then he tries to ditch me and that's how people get hurt. It's my job to protect him. I've known this kid since he was fourteen years old. I know him. I know how he thinks. I know how he works. I'm not surprised that he was able to get to you."
I cringe, looking away but he continues on.
"I'm not surprised you gave in."
My eyes meet his again and he's looking at me steadily.
"I'll keep your secret, Scarlett. But I'm telling you now, nothing good can come of this."
I look up at him, slightly shocked. I think that this is the most Joe has ever said to me in the entire two months we've been together on this tour. He's looking down at me sympathetically...well...sympathetically for him. He glares. It's his constant expression but you just have to learn to read his glares.
It takes a few moments for what he's said to register and the overwhelming guilt consumes me again. I look at the ground and then at Harry, who's still nodding politely to John. I know Joe is right. I know my conscience is right. I know this, but...there's no stopping this. We've opened Pandora's Box and it can't be closed again, no matter how much I wish I had the willpower to do it.
Joe is still looking at me, his black eyes imploring, begging for my understanding. I give him a slight nod and he returns it, the look on his face saying he knows nothing has changed. I'll be in Harry's bed again, or he'll be in mine, but this is going to continue. As much as I hate it, I'm in this.
"Scar," Harry calls, and I look up to find him standing in front of a large canvas, John having melted into the background. "Tell me about this one!"
I move forward, taking in the large painting of Pluto and Proserpine. Harry leans in close to me, pretending to be looking at the painting as he whispers, "Sorry about that."
I shake my head at him before beginning to explain the piece and he listens intently, following me along as we move through the South Pavilion and then the West, John and Joe trailing behind us in a quiet sentinel.
"You're not even thinking critically, Harry!" I exclaim as we make our way out of the West Pavilion.
"Scar! It's a fucking landscape!" he shoots back and John clears his throat, causing us to turn our attention to him
"The changing exhibit is last," he informs us, an amused expression on his face as he opens the door to the building. "It's a small exhibition celebrating nudity in art." He ushers us inside and waits at the doorway of the exhibit, gesturing us to walk in. He and Joe wait at the entrance, allowing us to go in unchaperoned.
"Still," I say, picking up our conversation as I make my way into the room, "I've told you before, 'pretty' is not a critique!"
"Ugh, it was a grove of trees, Scarlett! How the hell am I supposed to—holy shit!"
It seems that now he's finally noticed the large painting on the wall in front of us. I look at him and it takes all of my willpower not to burst out laughing. His eyes are large as saucers, his mouth hanging open in shock as he takes in the large painting of a woman's spread legs.
"Amazing, isn't it?" I say, leaning forward to survey the brush strokes and I swear I can hear him swallow the lump in his throat. I glance back at him and he's standing with his arms crossed over his front. I playfully roll my eyes, moving back from the painting and grinning at him. "Jesus, Harry, do you ever not think about sex?"
I shake my head at him as I turn my back, moving along to the next painting. I hear him scurry up behind me, his voice quiet and tense as he says, "Scar, that is a ten by twelve foot vagina on the wall!"
"And here's its companion," I say, barely containing my smile as he looks from me to the painting in front of us.
"Oh, Jesus," he says, cringing and throwing his hands up in front of his face. "Dick is not my thing."
I hum in response, the risqué retort bounding around inside my head. And then I think, to hell with it. If I'm going to hell I want a first class ticket. "No, you like pussy don't you?" I probe, giggling a little when he moans.
"You can't say stuff like that to me," he whines, his hands moving to my hips as we stand in front of a portrait of two bodies erotically entwined. "God, Scar, what the hell is this shit?"
"Art," I reply simply, leaning back into him, feeling him pressing into me.
"Why don't we study this stuff?" he breathes into my ear and I laugh slightly, as he hugs me tight against him.
"We do," I say, ignoring his hand that is inching up my stomach. "The Greeks were all about nudity in art."
"But not like this," he says, his large hand giving my breast a squeeze as his lips nibble at my neck. I allow my head to loll to the side, my eyes closing, pushing the guilt down. God, I just can't get enough of him.
"Can we go back to the hotel?" he whispers in my ear.
My eyes open, my body on fire as I shiver, his mouth opening against my neck, tongue reaching out to flick at my pulse point. Joe's words echo in my head and I know I should say no. I know when we get back I shouldn't tell him to come to my room to "study." I know I should tell him that we need to stop this crazy thing before we both go up in flames. I should tell him no...
"Yes," I say, turning in his arms to look into his handsome face, resolve no where in sight. "Let's get out of here."
15
My heart is thundering in my chest as I make my way back to my hotel room. My ears are ringing and my throat is sore and for the millionth time I think why the hell did I wait so long to go to one of these concerts.
He had begged me to go tonight. He'd taken my hands in his and listened as I gave him excuse after excuse not to go: my thesis, I was tired, I had to get his next lesson ready. And he stood there, nodding along and when I was finished he leaned in and kissed me, tongue sliding in slowly, giving me a little taste before pulling back. Then he sighed and cocked his head to one side, green eyes sparkling as he said, "Please baby." The smile that exploded onto his features when I reluctantly agreed was enough to dazzle me into actually being on time.
Once I got over the initial lameness of it all and really just concentrated on him, the way he moved, the sound of his voice, I was entranced. I was fucking mesmerized by him. The way he could stand in the middle of that stage, just stand there, a smoldering look on his face, so much like the one he gives me when he's ready to rip my clothes off and I'm taking too long to let him. And the crowd just screams for him, the way I scream for him when he does it just right.
My body is still tingling from it all as I fall back onto my bed and wait...wait for him to get back from the arena, wait to throw him down on this bed and tear his clothes off. My eyes flick to the clock and it reads 10:47. He should be back any minute. I wonder briefly if I have time to shave my legs. I want this to be fucking fantastic. I decide against it because seriously, he'll be here any second now and I don't want him coming in then having to wait. I don't want to wait one second.
The phone rings and I reach for it, sighing slightly as I answer. My stomach tightens when I hear his voice. "I'm gonna be a little longer than I thought," he says, his words low and soft and I know he can't really talk, voices chattering in the background.
"Harry," I whine, drawing out his name as a flash of heat travels through me, my want for him intensifying to an almost unbearable level.
"I know," he growls and I can tell he's not pleased either. "Chris has us doing this thing in this club. It's just an appearance. I'll be there in half an hour, forty-five minutes tops."
I sigh, my eyes falling closed as the ache between my legs intensifies. I need him right now, not in an hour.
"Can you do something for me?" he asks and his voice is low, but this ti
me I know it's not from trying to be unheard. "Will you wait for me in my room?"
"I guess I could do that," I reply, sighing and the line is quiet for a moment.
"Will you wait for me naked?"
I nearly groan out loud. I can tell he's grinning just from the sound of his voice and I bet he's chewing on his bottom lip, like he always does when he asks me to do something risqué or sexy.
"Harry..." I say, uneasiness in my voice. His mother has been known to just go into his room. The mere thought of a scenario in which she walks in to find me naked on her underage son's bed... Let's just say jail would be the least of my worries at that point.
"Please, Scarlett," he begs, a slight whine in his voice, and I sigh again.
"What if your mother—"
"Mom's with me. She always comes to the aftershow club things we do and she'll go to her room when I come back. Please, Scar."
"Ugh," I moan slightly, running a hand over my face. I can't believe I'm agreeing to this. "Alright..."
"Yes!" he hisses quietly and I know he just did a victory dance. I grin at the visual.
"Just hurry, okay?" I say, barely containing the slight whine in my voice.
"Oh trust me," he responds with a snort of laughter, "I'm trying."
I sigh as I hang up and begin peeling off my clothes slowly, eyeing myself in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door for a moment before pulling on my fluffy hotel robe. I grab a clip, twisting my long hair up on my head because he likes taking it down and running his hands through it. I snatch the two room keys off the bedside table (one mine, the other Harry's) and head down the hall. I'm looking over my shoulder as I slip the key in and let myself into his room.
He has clothes everywhere, CDs piled on the table, a basketball sitting in a chair, and I shift awkwardly in the doorway. This room is a testament to its occupant, a seventeen year old boy...who I'm waiting for...naked.
Maybe this has gone on for too long. Maybe I need to just go back to my room and put my clothes on and fall asleep to Leno on TV. I shift again, my thighs slick from the concert earlier and my calves slide against each other, the prickling hairs scratching against my skin. I really need to shave my legs.
The clock on the bedside table says 11:07. Harry should be back in about 30 minutes. I chew my bottom lip, debating what to do. It will take me ten minutes to shave my legs, one or two to dry off, one or two to get back here, a few to position myself on the bed. It would cut it too close. I sigh, my eyes falling on the bathroom door, and I have an idea.
I step inside and look around the counter, searching for his razor. Oh God, what if he doesn't have a razor? What if he doesn't need to shave yet? Panic floods me for a moment, the guilt gnawing at my insides but my common sense kicks in, remembering a few times when he would kiss me goodbye in the morning, the soft hairs on his upper lip tickling my cheek. I tug the shower curtain back and find it lying on the soap holder.
I sigh again, turning the knobs and water pours from the shower head. I let my robe fall to the floor, stepping under the spray. I allow the water to caress over me for a moment before reaching for the small soap wrapped in paper that's sitting on the side of the tub.
As I begin to shave, my mind wanders back to an hour or so ago. I just can't get the way he moved out of my head. He was different up there on that stage, less bumbling and shy, his voice confident and strong. I was amazed at how he could sing and dance in front of twenty thousand people and not even blink over it, but so often he's fidgeting and nervous sitting in front of me just analyzing a piece of art.
God, the way he moved. His body seemed to just glide across the stage, hips rolling and shimmying and the crowd fucking loved him. And he took it all in, smiling and laughing and pointing when someone did something he liked. And this thing he did with his mouth, holding the microphone to his lips and moving his body, pulsing beats coming through the speakers. And I stood amazed, wondering how the hell he did that. I'd have to ask him about that later...
But his voice! God, it gives me chills just thinking about it. His voice caressed those notes like his hands caress my body behind closed doors. And at one point during their performance, his eyes met mine and he gave me that small smile before cocking his head to the side and bringing the microphone to his mouth and the sound that came out was so...God, I can't even describe it. And he brought his hand above his head, just like the four other guys on stage, and he let it fall, his finger pointing at me, a smile tugging at his mouth before looking away and scanning the arena, the crowd going wild.
By the time I'm finish shaving I'm so hot I can barely breathe. I lay his razor back in place and turn the warm hot water down, the spray instantly chilling my skin and my nipples tightening almost painfully. My eyes close as I run my hand down my neck, in between my breasts and down over my hip, just trying to breathe. God, the shit he does to me and he's not even here.
My eyes fly open and I nearly scream when I hear the curtain pull back and someone steps in behind me. But my body instantly relaxes when I feel his familiar hands slide around my stomach.
"You know, when I told you to wait for me naked I was just thinking you'd lay across the bed or something," Harry chuckles, his breath tickling my ear. "But this is so much better."
I moan a little, leaning back into him and he hugs me close, my hands sliding over his arms, feeling the goose bumps prickling his skin.
"Whew, baby..." he comments and I feel the shiver shake through him. "Why's the water so cold?" He leans down, reaching out to twirl the hot water knob and the water warms instantly and so does my skin because I can feel him pressing into me. I just want to devour him. I spin in his arms and capture his lips, taking him a little by surprise as I press my body fully against his. He moans into my mouth, his hands sliding down to grip my ass in his hands.
I nibble at his bottom lip, my hands roaming up and down his chest, nails skittering over his abs, feeling his stomach tremble under my fingers. He continues to moan into my mouth as my hands hold his hips, fingers pressing into his skin.
"What's gotten into you?" he breathes, his mouth wrenching away from mine.
"I saw the show," I pant breathlessly and he laughs, his head falling back and I take the opportunity to lick at his neck, his laugh melting into a moan.
"Liked it, did ya?" he grins, tilting his head back down to look at my face, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.
"Oh yeah," I tease, a finger trailing down his chest. "Especially that thing you did...with your mouth."
He cocks an eyebrow at me, looking at me curiously. "My mouth?"
"Yeah," I say, nuzzling his nose with mine. "It was..." I trail, not even knowing how to make the sounds he made. "It was like drums."
"What, this?" he asks, and presses his lips together and this sound, like nothing I'd ever heard before, comes out. I nod, mesmerized, my fingers going up to brush his lips, feeling them vibrate before he stops, licking his lips. "That's beat boxing," he tells me, nodding his head assuredly and I smile at him. "It started with Doug E Fresh and Biz Markie in the 80s and—"
"Do it again," I say softly, cutting him off, and he smiles widely at me before licking his lips.
He presses his lips together again, setting a beat that has my heart pulsing, my hips itching to swish. I bring my hand up again to touch his lips, completely intrigued. He pulls back a little, laughing. "It's hard to do when you press on my mouth, babe," he grins, licking his lips again, and I can't take it.
My mouth crushes to his as my hand finds his dick, hard and ready, giving him a slow stroke. His mouth opens against mine in a silent gasp of pleasure as my thumb swipes over the head. He drops his face to my shoulder, whimpering softly as I work him slow, his hands sliding up my back to cup my shoulders. I grip him tighter, the water pouring onto us making my hands slippery as I peck kisses along his ear.
"St-stop," he pants softly, his fingers gripping my wrist and tugging my hand away from him.
I pout at him slightly as
he pulls his head up, his heavy breath fanning my lips and he kisses me hard, his hands moving around my stomach and down, parting my folds with his long fingers. I reach to grip his shoulders but he's sliding down to his knees, grinning up at me. He grips my ankle softly, tugging a little and I reach one arm out to steady myself on the tiled wall of the shower as he slips my leg over his shoulder.
"You know..." he whispers, taking my free hand and pressing it to myself, nudging it with his nose and I make a "V" of my fingers for him, receiving a grin in return. "I've always kinda wanted to try this."
I give him a confused look but he just licks his lips before dipping his head and I wait for his tongue to touch me. I moan loudly when I feel his lips vibrate against me, the beat he's setting slow and deep and I feel my knees tremble. His hand slides slickly up my outer thigh that's resting on his shoulder, caressing me softly as his lips work between my fingers, vibrating and shivering against my clit. My entire body is trembling and shaking and I whine when he pulls back, smacking his lips as he looks up at me, grinning before dipping his head again.
I let my head fall back and I hiss when I feel his fingers pressing into me, stretching me open and his beat stutters for a moment as he moans. "Fuck, babe," he pants, watching his fingers work in and out slowly. "God, you're soaked."
My free hand wraps in his wet curls as he brings his lips to me again, pulsing and vibrating against my clit and I can feel it building in me. My fingers pull from his hair as I reach out to grab onto the shower rod, my knees threatening to give way any second as the pleasure pulses through me. I moan his name and I feel him growl against me, his mouth becoming more furious as his fingers work me harder, and I cry out, my body clutching at his fingers, my voice echoing off the tiled walls.
I'm shaking hard as he slides up again and I grip onto his shoulders for support, my eyes still closed. His hands are turning me around slowly and he moves us so I'm under the spray, the water beating soothingly down onto my breasts. His fingers come up, and I feel the clip release my hair, sending it tumbling down over my shoulders and he hums softly as it tickles across his chest and neck. He clasps the clip around the shower rod, his arms circling around to hold me. I lay my head back on his shoulder and he presses his lips to my temple, softly humming, swaying me slowly.
