Nashville Nights

by Lexi Archer

  Nashville Nights

  Lexi Archer

  Contents

  1. Tommy

  2. Gina

  3. Tommy

  4. Gina

  5. Tommy

  6. Gina

  7. Tommy

  8. Gina

  9. Tommy

  10. Gina

  11. Gina

  More from Lexi Archer

  Nashville Nights

  Lexi Archer

  Copyright 2019 Lexi Archer

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Individuals pictured on the cover are models and used for illustrative purposes only.

  First digital edition electronically published by Lexi Archer, September 2019

  Let your fantasies come true with Lexi Archer…

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  Created with Vellum

  1

  Tommy

  I jogged up the stairs to the small apartment I shared with Gina. She was going to be just as excited hearing this as I'd been to hear it back at the bar. I had my guitar beside me, like I always did after playing at the bar, and it felt like I was walking on air as I took the steps one at a time.

  I would've taken them two at a time, but the last thing I wanted to risk was accidentally hurting my baby. If I lost this guitar…

  Well, best to not think about that. I’d think about the amazing thing that’d happened tonight instead.

  I practically threw the door open. Gina was in her usual spot in a pair of pajamas. A tank top up top that left nothing to the imagination. She wasn't wearing a bra tonight, like usual when she was lounging around the apartment. She wore an impossibly tight pair of shorts down below. She was wearing panties, at least, because I could totally see them peeking out from between her legs.

  My wife was pure sex, and even now that we'd been married for a year I couldn't look at her without my cock getting rock hard in my pants as I thought of all the things I’d love to do to her.

  She looked up from her Kindle. Gina was a brainy type. Always reading something. It was part of the whole writing thing she did on the side when she got home from work. She said she was doing research. Though most nights she seemed to be doing way more research than actual writing.

  I didn't mind. Her "research" usually involved reading romance, and when she was reading romances about billionaires sweeping women off their feet she always got hot and heavy and decided to take some of that excitement out on me.

  So you bet your ass I had no trouble with her reading choices!

  "What's got you so excited tonight?" she asked, looking up from her Kindle and arching an eyebrow.

  "You're not going to believe this," I said.

  "Did you get someone's card or something?" she asked, sitting up and taking notice.

  "Did I get someone's card?" I asked, chuckling as I said it. “Oh boy did I get someone's card!"

  "Baby," she said. "You're getting me really excited here. What are you talking about?"

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out the card. Held it up. Though of course she couldn't see it from here, so I filled in some of the details.

  "I got none other than Ray Bob Donovan's card!"

  Her reaction wasn't exactly what I'd been hoping for. She burst into laughter. So I stood there with a card that was as good as gold for most musicians in this city, staring at her and wondering why what the hell was so funny.

  "I'm sorry baby," she said. "But Ray Bob Donovan? Who the hell has a name like Ray Bob?"

  "Well I'm sure there are a few people who have a name like that," I said. "Especially around here. But the important thing is this is Ray Bob Donovan we're talking about! As in the Ray Bob Donovan who’s the CEO of Lonesome Gravel Road Records!"

  Her eyes did go wide at that. She might not know the names of all of the movers and shakers in this city, but she sure as shit knew the name of some of the big name record companies. It was impossible for her not to know the names of some of the big record companies around here considering how I’d talked her ear off about it ever since we got here.

  "No shit baby?" she asked. "You're not bullshitting me on this one?"

  "No shit," I said. "No bullshit either. No shit at all! Ray Bob Donovan came up to me after my set at the bar and said he wanted to talk to me!"

  "No shit,” she breathed. “I guess I left the bar a little too early tonight.”

  I grinned down at her. “No shit!”

  "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just that when I've been on my feet all day at the bank I get a little tired. I wanted to come home and unwind."

  "It's okay," I said.

  And it really was okay. Unlike some of the guys who were out there slinging their guitars and singing in the hope they’d get discovered, just like I might've been discovered tonight, I was fully aware that my wife had a job and a life. She had a job that allowed me to go out and do my singing thing, because my day job sure as shit wouldn't be enough to afford the kind of rent even in this tiny one bedroom matchbox of an apartment.

  So I never gave her crap if she decided she wanted to call it an early night. No, it was perfectly fine if she wanted to do her own thing. That was one of the things that made our relationship work, so far, one year into our marriage.

  Gina got up from her favorite perch on the couch and tossed her Kindle down. I winced and hoped the thing wouldn't bounce. It's not like we were hurting for money exactly, but she'd been insistent on getting the most expensive model, and the last thing I wanted was a cracked screen on that thing.

  Not that I was one to talk considering the amount of money I spent on my guitar, but whatever.

  Then I forgot all about expensive e-readers and guitars as she threw herself at me and wrapped her legs around me. Oh hell yes did she have my undivided attention whenever she did something like that!

  "Baby!" she shouted. "You're going to be a star!"

  Then she leaned in and kissed me. She also started grinding against me down below. I was already rock hard from seeing her in her pajamas, and feeling her pressing against me only served to make me even harder.

  She pulled away and leaned into me. Gave me a deep sniff. It was kind of weird, but it was something she always did when I got back from one of my gigs.

  "You smell like a country music star baby," she said.

  "You sure about that?" I asked. "Is there something you need to tell me about you and Garth?"

  "I'm pretty sure about that," she said. “And I bet Garth smells like old man."

  "He smells like old man and all that money he has!" I said. "Seriously. He’s like the best-selling country artist ever."

  "More best-selling than Johnny Cash?" Gina asked. "Waylon Jennings? Hank?"

  “Which Hank?” I asked.

  “Any of’em baby,” she said with a grin.

  "Probably better selling than all of them combined," I said. "Country wasn't mainstream until he made it mainstream back in the early ‘90s.”

  "Whatever," she said, cutting me off before I could launch into my usual spiel about how Garth’s career launched right around the time they started actually tracking record sales at the stores which helped country take off in the ‘90s in a major way. "You smell like a country start right now, and that’s all that matters.”

  There was a hint of lust to her voice. Okay, so there was more than a hint of lust to her voice. She sounded like she was ready to go!

  One of the wonderful things about my marriage to Gina was we'd never quite gotten out of that honeymoon phase where we constantly wanted to fuck each other
's brains out. We were both still young, attractive, with the whole world ahead of us. I’d heard of other people talking about how the honeymoon phase eventually came to an end, but most of those people seemed to have one thing in common: none of them were all that happy in their relationships.

  I had high hopes that Gina and I might be able to overcome that and have one of those marriages where we never got past the point where we acted like a couple of horny teenagers who couldn’t get enough of each other. I certainly loved that we got to do that now.

  It was a nice feeling. Though there was also a part of me that looked at some of the older guys who'd been at this for a hell of a lot longer than I had and worried. I wondered if that was going to be me in ten, fifteen, or twenty years. If I'd look back on this time I had with Gina with fondness and think about how good I had it because she'd ended up leaving me because it was tough loving a country man who had dreams of hitting it big but never quite managed to make it.

  I pushed those thoughts away. I would be successful, damn it, and she’d be one of those pretty wives who enjoyed spending all her time out at the country club while the nanny took care of everything. That was the life I was going to give her, because that was life a beauty like her deserved!

  "Oh my," she said, looking down at me and biting her lip. "It certainly feels like you're happy to see me, big boy!"

  "I'm always happy to see you," I said with a lopsided grin. "But that reminds me. Someone else wants to see you."

  "Who?" she asked.

  "Ray Bob was very specific when he gave me his card,” I said. "He wanted to meet me and my wife. I guess he saw me chatting with you earlier before you left the bar.”

  "Seriously?" she asked, cocking her head to the side and seeming genuinely perplexed that the head of a big label in Nashville would want to see her of all people.

  To be honest I was a little confused as well, but those record execs could be a weird sort sometimes. So I shrugged.

  "I'm not the high-powered record executive. I'm just the guy slinging his guitar and singing his songs," I said. "But word on the street is he’s really big about making sure his stars present a certain image. He likes my music, he told me as much tonight, but he probably wants to make sure I'm the right fit for his label."

  She bit her lip. Holy hell did she look so fucking sexy when she bit her lip like that.

  "So you're saying I'm supposed to be the perfect little country music housewife for you when we go meet him? That's the message I'm getting here?"

  "Pretty much," I said. "Do you think you can deal with that?"

  "Does the best country and western song ever written include pickup trucks, mama, and trains?" she asked, a twinkle in her eye.

  "You're damn right it does!" I said.

  "But in the meantime, maybe you could take me up on all the hints I've been dropping?" she asked. "Because I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to take this before I throw you down on the bed and have my way with you!"

  I grinned and pulled my hat down just a little. Tried to make my voice gravelly as I did my best Marshall Dillon. Though, come to think of it, Marshall Dillon hadn't exactly had a gravelly voice. He'd come along before the whole spaghetti western renaissance that turned cowboys into the gritty realistic things they were now.

  "Ma'am," I said, adding a little bit of twang to my voice as I said it. That was the sort of thing that was an occupational skill if you were going to do this gig.

  Mine wasn’t all that hard to come by. I’d grown up rural along with Gina, though there was at least one guy who was a regular performer down at the bar who went from a Jersey accent to a fair approximation of the upper South when he hit the stage.

  "A woman like you never needs to worry about throwing a man down and having her way with him. Men would gladly line up with their cocks sticking up for the chance to get with you!"

  "You’re terrible!” she said, but she smiled and giggled again, and then her smile and giggle turned to a yelp of surprise and then a quiet gasp as I pulled her back to the bedroom.

  Oh yes. I was going to have some fun with my wife tonight! It was always fun with my wife, but the most fun was always the fun I was having right in that moment.

  2

  Gina

  "Holy shit do I feel way underdressed for this," I said.

  "What are you talking about?" Tommy asked from beside me where he was driving in.

  Though he was looking out the windshield and looking up as well. Peering out from under the wide brim of that hat he insisted on wearing everywhere. Not that it was much of a surprise that he wore the thing everywhere he went. It was sort of a big part of his image.

  It hadn't been part of his image back home, but that was back before he really started getting into country music and decided to make a go of it out here in Nashville. Before I’d dutifully come along because that's what the good wife was supposed to do, right?

  At least in this genre of music that's what a good wife was supposed to do.

  Besides, I thought he looked really cute in that hat. He had a couple of them that he switched out depending on how he was feeling of an evening. It looked sexy on him, and I didn’t care that the whole cowboy hat thing was something that was part of just about every dude’s image when they came out here.

  He let out a low whistle as he saw the house we were driving up to. I looked at the house, really a mansion, and let out a whistle of my own. It was a reminder that we weren't in Kansas anymore, for all that we hadn't actually come from Kansas in the first place, but whatever.

  The point was this was a reminder that there was a whole different side to this town. A side where there were people who had a shitload of money that they could throw away on stuff like massive houses. A side that wasn’t living paycheck to paycheck and trying to make ends meet.

  For all that a lot of the haves in this town were the kinds of people who were making their fortunes on the backs of the have nots. Wasn’t that pretty much the case wherever you went, though?

  “This place is a hell of a lot bigger than I’d imagined,” Tommy said.

  “What kind of place were you imagining?” I asked as he pulled up to the place.

  It was way bigger than any house I’d ever seen before too. I’d thought that people who had a furnished basement were a big deal back home, but this was nothing like that. I was willing to bet there was one hell of a basement on this thing along with a wine cellar and a bunch of other fancy words that only showed up when you were talking about the kind of place where obscenely rich people made their homes.

  “I don’t know what I was imagining,” he said. “I had a friend in high school whose dad was a judge, and I thought they had a pretty neat place out on a lake near where I grew up.”

  “We grew up in the same place,” I said.

  “Well yeah, but you were never really good friends with Roger, so whatever,” he said.

  “That asshole who was always hitting on anything with a pair of tits?” I said, snorting. “I can’t believe you were friends with him.”

  “I wasn’t friends with him really,” he said. “More like everyone was nice to him because he always had those big parties out at his place, and his dad being the judge meant we didn’t have to worry all that much about the cops coming out to bust up the place.”

  “Yeah, I went to a few of those parties myself,” I said.

  “I seem to remember feeling you up out by the dock while we were skinny dipping one night out there,” Tommy said as we pulled up to a spot where there were honest-to-God people stepping out and doing the whole valet parking thing.

  We didn’t have long, but I figured I could have a little bit of fun with my husband.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, trying my best to sound pissed off. It was tough considering I was also trying very hard not to giggle, but whatever. “I don’t remember you ever feeling me up while we were skinny dipping!”

  I remembered it very well. I was getting wet just
thinking about it. That’d been one of the first times we’d been naked together like that. Feeling his cock brushing up against my ass had sent a shiver running through me as well as a deep yearning desire to have that cock inside me.

  I didn’t have it inside me that night, of course. Fucking in a lake like that was a good way to get a UTI. That had been a lot of fun, though.

  “I know you’re trying to do that thing where you freak me the fuck out,” he said. “And it’s not going to work.”

  I jutted my lip out in a pout. It was so much more fun when he got all flustered and worried, but I guess there wasn’t much chance of something like that happening. One of the problems with pulling a move like that with my husband on the regular was he was used to it and didn’t fall for it nearly as much these days.

  Oh well.

  “Looks like we’re going to have to do the fancy parking tonight,” Tommy said, grimacing. “I hope they aren’t expecting a tip or anything. I didn’t bring any cash with me.”

  “I think I might have something,” I said. “How much do you think they want?”

  The closest I’d ever been to having valet parking was when I’d gone to a Christmas dinner for the bank. One of those things that was a regional thing where everybody from all the banks in the area were expected to show up and do their things.

  Around this town that meant there were a lot of better halves with stable jobs showing up with dudes or women in cowboy or cowgirl hats who looked like they’d just stepped off of the cover of their album.