by S. K Munt
Callie nodded, smiling encouragingly. ‘I’ll be good.’
Another self-conscious grin quirked Ryan’s lips and Callie realized that this was one of the first times that she’d seen him light-hearted, and that it was a side of him that was even sexier than the brooding prince of darkness thing he usually had going for him. ‘Okay so I was going to drive you up to the gorge…’
‘You have a car now?’ Callie interrupted, then realized how dumb that sounded. In her mind, they were closer to nineteen than twenty-four. ‘Oh, of course you do.’ She’d had Thespia drop her off, and had met Ryan inside the restaurant and hadn’t seen him pull in.
‘I have a HSV commodore, and Hunter and I own a second-hand Torago together; the band one.’
Callie wasn’t all that knowledgable about cars but she knew what a HSV was. It was as luxurious as an Aussie made car could get; a staple of Australian pride. ‘What color and how can you afford one when you guys are getting a few gigs a month?’
‘Yellow. And I got it… well there’s the inheritance thing.’ He shifted in his seat and Callie instantly felt awful for prying. She knew what it was like to have painful parental problems. ‘Of course.’ She said. ‘Go on with your story but Ryan… I am sorry.’
‘It’s fine.’ He smiled weakly at her. ‘Anyway, I was going to drive you up to the gorge, grab a blanket and one of the acoustics from the back and lead you up the mountain.’
‘It’s a good thing I wore comfortable shoes then…’ Callie joked.
‘As I knew you would. But I was still imagining the Docs.’ He kicked her Volley’s under the table. ‘So while we were walking up, I was going to you know… inch closer,’ his fingers glided back down on the inside of her wrist and traced her heart line on her palm. ‘And closer… and when you stumbled- which you would of course because it’s pitch black up there and hard to navigate- I was going to catch your hand, and then not let it go. You know, like I didn’t even notice I was holding it…’
Callie blushed as she imagined him doing that, the unspoken tension he was creating there and then by slightly stroking the webbing between her fingers, making her wish he’d lace his fingers between hers. ‘Yep these are definitely the moves planned by a seventeen year old,’ she said, a little breathily.
‘I know right?’ Ryan winked and pulled his chair closer to hers, leaning his head towards her like what he had to say was of vital importance and secrecy. He removed his hand from hers and used it to prop his jaw up while his other stretched across the back of her chair, surrounding her but not quite touching her. It was agony.
‘Okay so we’d get up the mountain and I was going to take you up to the main jumping rock.’ His eyes stroked her neck, then met her eyes. ‘Remember the one I used to play guitar on?’
Callie nodded, remembering the first time she had seen Ryan up there and thought of him as: the cute one. ‘Blue board shorts,’ she whispered, her face growing hot.
‘That’s… that’s right!’ Ryan grinned again and nudged his shoulder against hers. ‘Good memory.’
‘One of my favorites.’ Their low voices formed a sort of mist around them. ‘Go on.’
He grinned at her and suddenly, his lips and teeth were the most fascinating thing in the world. ‘Once I got you up there, I was going to lay the blanket down, pull you into my lap, and ask you to play and sing for me.’ Ryan’s knee brushed against hers now but she was already too hypnotized by his sensual mouth and the way he had started lightly running his fingers down her hair to have enough lung space left to gasp in reaction. ‘And if you were too shy, I’d beg.’ His voice was almost toneless, breathy and warm against her jaw. ‘I was going to reach around you and pluck out a few chords but really it would have just been an excuse to get my arms around you… you know?’
‘Of course.’ Callie closed her eyes briefly, luxuriating in Ryan’s nearness, his barely there touches driving her out of her mind.
‘Right. And then, I was going to use the tip of my nose to part your hair until it parted over your neck…’ Ryan turned his face into the arch of her neck as he pulled her hair away from her pulse. ‘And then I was going to kiss you right there, on your nape,’ his thumb rolled over her topmost vertebrae, ‘and tell you to keep playing no matter what.’ Callie’s eyes fluttered shut as Ryan’s lips glanced off the sensitive flesh just at the curve of her jaw. ‘And while you sang like the angel you are, I was going to keep kissing down your spine...’ One of his fingers made her skin shiver as his free hand ran along the low scooped back of her black halter top. ‘The kisses would have gotten a bit wet, and a bit messy and I hoped, you’d start to find it hard to concentrate on your song…’
Callie moaned, because she could barely concentrate on breathing. ‘What song?’ She asked softly.
‘Chains- Tina Arena…’ Ryan’s nose nuzzled her throat again and made her dizzy, just as his ankle hooked around hers, spreading her legs slightly under the tablecloth. ‘I loved it when you sang that…’
‘Oh?’ Callie’s stomach clenched and she felt herself grow damp and more lucid, not even trying to disguise her moan as Ryan’s hand cupped her knee and slid slowly up her thigh.
‘Yeah. If you started to fade, but stayed in my arms, reacting to my touch, I was going to slip my fingers over your thigh, pull back the edge of your panties right…’ his hand slipped under the hem of her black leather mini-skirt and then fingertips were tracing the crease between her lace panties and her inner thigh and Callie felt everything inside her tighten. She bowed her head towards his, aware that there were at least five other couples in the dim restaurant, and that Doris Day’s Perhaps was being filtered too softly through the built in speakers in the ceiling to disguise much of any sound she made, maybe even her breathing, which was becoming erratic- but she did not care. ‘Here…’ Ryan whispered. And then he slid those fingertips just under the lace, lifting it away from her flesh but not inching across, making her throb without actually coming close enough to press into her and offer relief.
‘Oh…’ she exhaled the word, her eyelids falling like shutters. Her hands tightened on the stem of the wine glass as though it might hold her up. ‘Ry you are…’ her face tilted towards his, felt him panting against her neck.
‘Teasing you?’ Callie moaned softly and nodded as his fingers tickled up her inner thigh. ‘Making you wet?’ His fingers stroked the other thigh. Callie almost groaned at his words and she wished fervently for her powers back right then so she could throw up a wall of sound to cover the things she wanted to make him grunt at her. She tossed him a sideways look and smiled, abashed.
‘Why don’t you find out for yourself Weaver?’
‘Oh hell Cal don’t encourage me…’ he growled into her ear. ‘You are so soft. So soft that it makes me want to be hard on you. Rough. If we were on that mountain right now I’d have two fingers working this… in and out… finding where you need to be touched while I strummed this-’ Ryan’s thumb slid down over her clit now and his aim was direct and her thighs clamped down on his wrist as a shudder went through her. She was close, so close that a moan escaped her and Callie knew that if he didn’t pull away they were going to be late. A little late was fine, in fact it was what she was aiming for, why she’d let this begin- hoping to distract him, knowing what the band would do if the lead singer was delayed. But she hadn’t counted on Ryan being quite so good at this and now Callie wanted to detain him for hours- years. Which was exactly why she had to put an end to it before she lost any semblance of control she’d thought she had. It was too early to play this card yet- Hunter needed to be built up, not just torn down from mediocrity.
‘God Ryan we have to stop…’
Ryan blinked, his dark eyelashes casting shadows. ‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t want to, that’s why. But the music…’ Callie swallowed and tried again, ‘the competition. Hunter is counting on you Ry, on us.’
The hand on her leg stilled. ‘You’re thinking about Hunter right now?’
Callie’s eyes opened wide. ‘Not in that way!’ She said quickly, because she wasn’t. ‘But we’ve been on a clock all night and as much as your hand feels like it’s literally slowing time, it’s not.’ She glanced at her watch, frowning. ‘Oh shit Ryan it’s ten to nine.’
Ryan blinked again and frowned. Not angry, but perplexed. He took her wrist and checked her watch and his eyes widened as well. ‘Dammit. You’re right.’ He got to his feet, pulled his wallet from his rear pocket and tossed four fifty dollar notes down on the table. ‘As much as I wish you’d been oblivious to the time Cal, we do need to go.’ Her jacket was draped over her shoulders and when she rose on her weakened legs, she felt him pull her chair away. She turned, watching him shrug into his own black leather jacket, saw his muscles tense and flex with every movement and the distracted, somewhat sullen shadows darkening his blue eyes. She swallowed, stepped into him, and joined the zipper to the metal teeth just above his hips. She could feel him against her own hips, a hard bulge that promised so much pleasure. He stiffened somewhat and sank his top teeth into his bottom lip for a moment before shifting his guarded gaze to hers. ‘Be careful what you’re accidentally brushing up against there little lady,’ he teased but in a voice that was somewhat gruff; frustrated.
She lifted her face to his and smiled shyly. ‘That was no accident.’ She zipped him up slowly, wishing it was the fly on his pants that she had instead. ‘And when the time is right, I’m going to do it on purpose again.’
She expected Ryan to smile, but he removed her hands from his zipper and stepped away. ‘This timing you speak of… how much is Hunter a factor in it?’
Callie froze, stung. Not because he was wrong, but because he was so right. ‘I don’t know.’ She admitted honestly. ‘And you knew that when you asked me out tonight.’
Ryan pulled his keys out of his pocket and spun them on his finger, still not looking at her as he waved to the waitress in the corner, pointed to the money he’d left on the table and then began moving towards the door. ‘Can I ask you one favor Cal?’ Callie frowned as she followed him, knowing she couldn’t promise anything or explain why. Ryan opened the glass door of the restaurant, holding it ajar for her. She ducked under his arm as she had the night before and when he fell in step behind her, she heard the metallic click of a lighter followed by the scent of cigarette smoke. ‘Get him out of your system fast, Callie,’ his hand rested on her lower black so he could whisper into her ear: ‘So I can get inside you and stay.’
She blinked up at him, perplexed. ‘You are in my system Ry.’ She ran her thumb over the stubble on his jaw until she could move his face so that his eyes were level with hers. A drifting cloud of translucent smoke hung between them and Callie was surprised how much the scent appealed to her, when it was exhaled from Ry. ‘You were the first one I felt anything for. When you didn’t kiss me in your lounge that day… God my lips felt bruised.’
Ryan whirled on her and suddenly, Callie was up against the pillar outside the door, and he was closing around her, his lips brushing against her own. She sighed in expected ecstasy but his mouth landed on the curve of her parted lips and he whispered: ‘Hunter was the first guy you kissed Callie. But I want to be the last.’ He caught her bottom lip between her teeth and groaned in frustration and she felt every nerve ending inside her implode. He pulled away and eyed her with a lusty, desperate and resigned gaze. Each emotion was a different shade of blue or green. ‘But that’s not going to happen when it’s his feelings you’re more worried about than mine, is it?’
Callie didn’t know what to say, so she looked down at her shoes and said nothing.
‘Yeah that’s what I thought.’ When she looked up he took a draw from his cigarette, shook his head and then flicked it into the car park. ‘We’ll kiss when you’re ready to fall in love with me Callie- and not a second before.’ With that Ryan turned and sauntered off like what he’d said was no big deal. She hugged herself in the cold night air, commanding herself not to tear up, wishing like hell that she could fall in love with him, give him her heart- but knowing that she never, ever would.
20.
Hunter’s fingers tripped clumsily over the strings in his sweaty hand and as the chord dropped, his stomach followed suit. He was hot, the lights were too bright and right in his face, most of the crowd seemed to have swarmed to the bar and his voice was wobbling over the opening lyrics of the first track on their list; Poison by Alice Cooper like he was a fourteen year old boy playing air-guitar in the shower. He was impressing nobody, and he felt the exasperation of his bandmates behind him.
He was going to kill Ryan.
Hunter had taken the lead before, but it had always been an act of stepping up after Ryan had already loosened the crowd. The band before them had sucked the energy out of the room with their amateurish attempt at death metal and there was no atmosphere left for Hunter to work with. He’d have to build it from scratch but his insecurity was distorting everything for him. He was a skilled guitarist, and had never baulked at singing along before while keeping up the leading melody, but in that moment, it felt like trying to rub his head and pat his stomach at the same time.
‘Your blood, like ice-’ Hunter sucked in a breath and tried to get closer to the right pitch on the next words. He loved this song! Hearing it as a little tyke had helped feed his need to grow up and do the same one day. He’d wanted it all; leather pants and long black hair and studs and hot girl in lace writing on chains- this song was the dream. This song was his dream.
But he was not Alice Cooper. No matter what he did Hunter had been born a pretty boy and was going to die one. If he grew his hair out, he ended up looking like a girl. And if he tried to skip showering or let his stubble grow- he looked like a dirty girl with a hormonal imbalance. He was never going to eat a bat onstage, and he still felt guilty taking the soaps from a motel room let along slamming a lamp against the wall and landing himself in hot water when his folks found out. And he liked himself just fine; which was probably why he’d never changed. He had no piercings, no tatts- in fact he was shit scared of doing something so drastic. He could mess around with a bunch of girls but he couldn’t imagine ever really treating one like shit; he was still shaken and drowning in guilt from the sound of Eva’s tears from the night he’d ended things, so orgies with playboy playmates was probably never going to be in the offing and Hunter was… well he was fine with that.
He liked Rock for the way it ripped through his soul and left life behind, not darkness. He sang because he literally couldn’t not sing when the music moved him, and he’d been just as delighted to hear Callie do Madonna in that haunting voice of hers, as he had listening to the little gay guy bring the ceiling down with Metallica.
Gavin the little gay ballet dancing guy. Just the thought of him pissed Hunter off. The guy was just so freaking talented and he’d known it too. How good would it feel to know that you were doing the music justice- not the other way around? Angry now, mad at himself, Hunter let the next words out from somewhere deep inside his lungs and was shocked to hear how much clearer they were, though his rage made the lyrics growl. He dropped his eyes to the mic in his hands, not wanting his foolish grin of triumph for having sorted out his pitch at last be noticed by a single face in the crowd. ‘Black lace…’ he cranked his own personal volume dial up. ‘On sweat…’
Behind him Nick lost his shit on the drums in the very best way and that energetic response to Hunter’s vocal prompts spurned him on more. He launched into the bridge, feeling that feeling sweep over him- the pure joy of getting the notes right, of everything coming together, drums, guitars, amps, bass… and then voice. His voice. Rising above them all, hitting the spots in the back of the room that drums couldn’t go. He thought of the lyrics, of the poisonous girl, the forbidden temptress and there was Callie sobbing on his bedroom floor, her bare midriff clashing with her devastated tears. He shouldn’t have touched her but he did. There was Callie, sliding into the pool in that red biki
ni with her tits pressed together and the tone in her stomach forcing his eyes to follow down to where he knew heaven waited between her thighs. He shouldn’t have touched her that night but he did.
He was always going to touch her and probably at the worst possible times and she could have stopped it by staying away but she didn’t. Yes she was poison, but she had the antidote to it between her ripe little thighs and Hunter had been too much of a pussy to pin her against him and take everything she had to offer. And now, fuck now she was probably somewhere with Ryan-
And then he felt her. Mid-way through the chorus Hunter looked up and there was Callie, shoving her way through the crowd like the crazed fan she’d been at The Silverchair concert in Ninety-Seven, rather than the delicate ballerina she’d become since. She was sex on legs, wearing the tightest, shortest black leather mini skirt he had ever seen, which clung to her ass, and a black top which draped from her neck, parted at the rise of her breasts and then puddled near her upper ribs showing the taut bronzed flesh of her chest and the inner curves of her champagne-cup breasts. She turned and beckoned hurriedly to someone, and Hunter almost got hard then and there to see that aside from the tiniest strings of black elastic slanting across her back, her skin there was bare and bronze and taut too. And just to make her that much more perfect-she had black Dunlop Volley’s on her feet. Not heels, not boots, not trying too hard but just enough like she’d been going for glamorous but before she could complete the look, a good song had come on the radio and she’d totally forgotten that she was dressing to impress. The curve of her ankle bone was the sexiest thing Hunter had ever seen, and he loved the way she’d taken to wearing her black hair and out straight. Not iron straight like all the girls were suddenly doing, getting around with weird heat creases at their parts and going off their nuts when a guy dared touch the hair she’d spent hours to make it look like they’d done nothing to. No Callie’s black hair fell thickly and freely and ever so slightly rumpled. It was the hair of a girl who wanted something to hide behind. The hair of a girl who intended on breaking her neck to the next good beat that came along.
