Rocked by Him

by Lucy Lambert

  Finally, I got inside. Against the far wall I saw the stage. A drum set sat on it, microphones, guitars in their stands. But no band to be seen.

  It was a big room with high ceilings. Girders crisscrossed that ceiling adorned with various lights that I figured could put on quite the show. Ductwork and big vents promised air conditioning. At that moment, plenty of fluorescent bulbs shone down on the milling crowds as everyone found their place.

  Against the other wall was another bar. Everyone flocked towards that but me. No, I wanted to get the best seat in the house. Front and center.

  Except there were no seats.

  The center of the stage jutted out a bit, and I could imagine vocalists straying out there to greet the crowd, or guitarists shredding through a solo as people reached forward to touch them.

  Despite my excitement, it all felt a little alien to me. I’d never really done the whole live music thing, preferring instead my phone or my computer.

  A sense of anticipation built in this place like I’d never experienced before. It was a static charge in the air, just looking for some conductor. It left my breathing shallow and my heartbeat rapid, caressing my skin into gooseflesh.

  The space continued filling until even standing room went into short supply. Bodies bumped together, leather slithered against leather. But nobody minded. Everyone watched the stage, a quiet descending as everyone found their place and had their drink in hand.

  I looked at the mic on its tall stand. I could just about see Drake there, driving the crowd wild.

  What time was it? How much longer were they going to take?

  After that period of quiet anticipation, the crowd grew restless. The soles of my feet panged, and I shifted my weight between them.

  A cold thread of fear tickled at my insides. Had Drake relapsed? Was he even then standing behind the curtain, allowing his fear to gain control?

  I checked to see if there were stairs up to the stage, and a door there. I would climb up there and get him out here. I’d convinced him once. I could convince him again…

  Then all the lights went out, plunging the big auditorium into darkness.

  I suppressed my initial impulse to yelp in shock. Apparently this was supposed to happen. Despite my blindness, I could feel the crowd shifting around me, feel their anticipation coming to a head.

  The lights stayed off for maybe thirty seconds or so. In that time, everyone quieted down so that all I could hear was the occasional rustle of clothing.

  Then I could feel something from the stage. A presence, a potential.

  My heart slammed so loud in my chest I was surprised nobody asked me if I was okay. My fingernails dug into my palms from squeezing my fists.

  The microphone whined a little as someone adjusted it. Drake. It had to be Drake.

  It was killing me that I couldn���t see him!

  The speakers spat static.

  Then someone strummed a guitar, the powerful speakers in the room pushing the sound wave through my body.

  At the same time, a single spotlight slowly came to life, dousing the center of the stage with its red light. It glinted off the instruments, off the microphone stand.

  Drake stood with his feet spread apart, his jacket hanging open, one hand wrapped around the microphone. For just a second, our eyes met.

  Then the guitarist swung his arm around and struck a powerful chord. Everyone cheered. I cheered.

  More lights flashed on. They went in sequence, bathing the stage and the first few rows of people.

  Normally, I was more of a pop girl. But that evening, The Icons entranced me. Drake had me under the spell of his music from that very first chord.

  Being in that crowd just heightened the experience more. We cheered when he hit the high notes, or when he belted out a verse.

  He was perfectly attuned, his body swaying in time with the beat. Once again, I’d never really experienced or seen anything like it.

  And Drake’s eyes belonged to me. It was as though he sang every word of every song for me. At one point, he strode out onto that little pier jutting out from the stage into the sea of people. Everyone reached up, trying to catch his hand.

  But he found mine. He knelt down in front of me, and I could feel the heat coming from his body, the immense amount of energy it took to do this.

  He seemed just as reluctant to let go of me as I did to let his fingers slip through mine.

  They played for hours, their music washing over us all. It reverberated in every fiber of my body.

  At some point, I found myself ordering a vodka cooler from the bar. I drained that, and then another, and two more after that one.

  The room started to spin, and a sensation of lightness filled me like I could float up from the floor at any moment. It was heavenly. I wanted to deepen it, so I drank more. I drank until I couldn’t remember anything but being in this place, hearing and feeling that music.

  I must have really lost it at some point, because the next time I opened my eyes Drake had his arms around me, his face close to mine.

  Then I remembered nothing.

  ***

  Then Drake helped me step out of a cab into the cool night air. He opened the door of our apartment building for me, the lights in the lobby blinding.

  I loved being pressed against him like that.

  We stood in the elevator and he hit the button for my floor.

  “That was amazing… Amazing!” I said.

  He kept one arm around my waist to keep me from falling over.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  God! How could he be so handsome. His jaw line, his eyes, the perfect distribution of stubble. The way he keeps his jacket open…

  He was looking at me, and I wondered if I’d said those last few things out loud or in my head.

  I didn’t care though. I wanted him to know.

  The elevator dinged, and the door slid open.

  “Come on, let’s get you to bed. Are your keys in your purse?” Drake said.

  His voice had a husky quality to it (probably from all that singing, I realized later) that sent me tingling.

  I let him take my purse and look through it. He found the key and slid it into the lock, then opened the door. From there, he practically carried me to my bedroom and set me down on the bed.

  His face came so close to mine that I couldn’t resist. I kissed him again. He didn’t pull away.

  Then we parted.

  “Good night,” he said, trying to leave. I held onto his hand.

  “Drake… Will you stay with me tonight?”

  I still needed him, and I kept thinking about how close we’d come earlier in the dressing room. Tonight, I was his. Tonight, he could do anything he wanted to me.

  “No,” he said, standing beside my bed. He was a silhouette in the darkness of my room. “I’ll see you tomorrow? Okay?”

  “Don’t go…” I said.

  But he left me. I heard the apartment door open and shut, and felt how alone I was. I grabbed my blanket and wrapped it around myself, the despair a hollow feeling expanding within my stomach.

  ***

  A fire truck screaming by on the street below woke me. I jerked up, instantly regretting it.

  One hand on my throbbing head, I reached out and found the button on my alarm clock. The little glowing numbers proclaimed the time to be just shy of 9:30.

  Despite my headache, and the sensitive feeling in my stomach, panic stabbed through my chest.

  I’m late! I thought. But I stopped pushing myself to my feet when I remembered that I couldn’t be late. I didn’t have a job to be late for. I’d been fired.

  That just made the sick feeling worse. So, after getting up to jerk the curtains more tightly together (thus eliminating the jag of unwelcome daylight cutting its way across the bed) I flopped back down on the comforter.

  Sleep refused to take me, however. So I watched the minutes advance by on the clock, promising to myself to never drink again.

  As I
lay there, more and more of the previous day pushed itself into my fuzzy mind. The phone call from that strange bouncer, Lawrence. Drake, lying there on the couch. Lying with Drake on the couch.

  I recalled his music as more a mood or a feeling than anything. It had penetrated deep down. So I was a little upset that I couldn’t remember any of the words.

  I did remember, however, Drake’s eyes on me. Like he’d been singing only for me.

  The stale taste in my mouth and the pounding in my head finally banded together, and I stood on unsteady feet and tottered to my bathroom just before ten that morning.

  Planting my hands on the cool vanity top, I leaned forward and looked in the mirror. Hair askew (that was to be expected) business jacket wrinkled (I slept in my clothes? Gah!) color drained from face. Yep, I looked just how I felt.

  It took me a few moments of trying to figure out why I’d slept in my clothes before remembering the cab ride home, Drake’s taking me to my room… and my pleading with him to stay with me.

  “Stupid,” I said to my reflection. Her jaw tightened in response, and I didn’t see her further reaction since I looked down.

  How could I have let myself get drunk like that? I made a total ass of myself!

  Then I realized that he really hadn’t taken advantage of me. Even though he could have. Even though, at the time, I’d wanted him to.

  The more I got to know this guy, the more I liked him. I resolved then to get myself cleaned up, then go apologize to him for throwing myself at him like that.

  I also knew that I needed to take care of this lack-of-job situation, as well as the money-for-parents conundrum. I met my reflection’s puffy eyes in the mirror. We both agreed to tackle our problems one at a time.

  So I spun the taps in the tub and pulled up on the plunger, and in a few moments steaming water spewed from the shower head. Condensation on the mirror quickly blocked my reflection’s accusing eyes and I stripped down and got in. The hiss of water changed to splashes as I got comfortable.

  I closed my eyes, head right under the jet of water, and let its warm embrace surround me. It was amazing, the curative powers of a simple hot shower. I felt the tension leaving my shoulders, the sick feeling receding from my stomach. And even that ubiquitous ball of worry in my chest shrank a little.

  Instead, my thoughts strayed to Drake. I squeezed out a big glob of shampoo and began working it into my hair, my fingertips massaging my scalp.

  Drake had nice hands, I remembered. Warm, soft, and dry. But insistent, desirous.

  I remembered their eagerness in the dressing room, getting higher and higher up my thighs.

  My lips parted and I breathed out a sigh as another feeling blossomed low and hot inside me.

  Eyes still closed, hot water still cascading down my bare, glistening skin, I hugged myself, fingers hooked to my shoulders.

  Yes, Drake had such wonderful fingers. I let myself imagine then that Lawrence hadn’t interrupted us. I imagined Drake’s fingers going higher up my inner thigh, getting so close to that heat…

  I sucked my lower lip into my mouth and let it slide out slowly between my teeth. My legs crossed, and I squeezed my thighs together. A spark of hot desire ran up my body, sparked by the pressure.

  “Oh…” I said.

  I could almost feel Drake’s lips on my neck, could almost feel the prickle of his stubble.

  I let my hands slide down from my shoulders until they cupped my breasts. They were firm. Water slicked them, and my nipples stood erect. My fingertips brushed over them and I gasped as my whole body erupted in gooseflesh from the strength of the sensation.

  My thighs squeezed together harder. I thought of Drake’s fingers finding me, feeling the hot wetness I felt for him there. I breathed in steam as my back arched, inner muscles clenching.

  Giving one final squeeze, my hands slid from my breasts down my flat stomach, water rushing over them. I leaned against the wall of my shower and let my thighs shift apart.

  In my imagination, Drake’s kissing grew more insistent. His fingertip found my entrance and moved in slow, electrifying circles around it. My hips arched forward, trying to make him enter me, trying to make him give me what I wanted.

  But he teased me, his lips smiling against the soft skin of my throat even as his circling fingertip moved with maddening slowness.

  I slid my own finger down between my lips, my eyes scrunching at the heat I found there.

  I didn’t deny myself. My finger slipped inside, hugged all around by my trembling walls. My other hand shot out against the tiles, trying to find something to hold onto.

  “Oh!” I said, my finger moving faster, stroking against the front wall of my sex even as I imagined Drake doing the same.

  The hiss and splash of the shower became distant, the coolness of the shower wall against my back a faraway feeling. Even with my eyes closed, I could see Drake’s face as he urged me closer and closer.

  My climax came hard and fast, my walls closing in around my finger even as my whole body went rigid, overloaded with pleasure.

  I imagined Drake’s teeth pressing gently against my throat, his fingers moving insistently, guiding my orgasm deeper, urging every last ounce of bliss out of my arching body.

  When it ended, I sank panting to the slick porcelain floor of my tub, hot water raining down on me. A shuddering spell took me, and it took a long time for me to catch my breath.

  A warm, diffuse feeling filled me. My skin flushed with heat.

  Finally, I did manage to get myself clean, and my knees barely trembled after I turned off the water and stepped out. I was happy that my mirror was still fogged up so that I wouldn’t have to meet my reflection’s gaze. Though, as I toweled off, I imagine that even she, my harshest critic, would be feeling pretty satisfied at that moment.

  Back in my bedroom, I pulled on my favorite pair of dark-washed blue jeans from Old Navy and a plain white tee that complemented them nicely. It was kind of strange to be dressed so casually in the middle of a business day, but I stopped that train of that there. I had a towel wrapped around my hair like a tall, fluffy turban, intending to get to blow-drying and styling later.

  Any further, and I knew I’d break down again as I thought about being jobless.

  I even flung my curtains open and let the sun shine in. It seemed so happy and bright, so warm and optimistic. A smile touched my lips when I looked down at the traffic, that some sunshine glinted from the windshields of the taxis, trucks, and cars wandering past.

  Breakfast consisted of some orange pekoe tea and a slice of dry toast. I didn’t want to risk upsetting my stomach any more. And I ate quickly, wanting to get on to the next task quickly.

  I found my cell in my purse, went to the living room, sat on the couch and found Drake under the contacts. Here, I met some resistance. Call or text? Texting would be easier, I thought. More casual. I just needed to make sure everything was still okay between us.

  In my text history I saw all the stuff from yesterday and the embers of my anger glowed briefly before I suffocated them. No, none of my situation was Drake’s fault. I couldn’t blame him for that any more. Not if I wanted to be with him.

  So I composed what I hoped was a casual message congratulating him on his show yesterday and thanking him for making certain I got home safe. After a second, I added what I hoped would be a mysterious seeming winking face and then hit send, my heart instantly beating faster.

  Something chirped in my bedroom.

  “What the hell?” I said, getting up from the couch.

  I peeked around the doorframe. There was my bed, the covers awry. The sun still shone in, the light catching all the dust in the air. But no sign of what made the noise. The window was shut, so it couldn’t have been one of those evil, red-eyed pigeons popping in to see if I had left anything to eat.

  I turned around, ready to go back to the couch to await Drake’s reply, when something chirped behind me.

  The noise made me jump even as I spun around
to discover the source. It came from my pile of clothes that I’d dumped in here after getting out of the shower. I went down to my knees and sifted through it, coming to my wrinkled jacket.

  Picking it up, I looked at it. Aside from the wrinkles, I saw the bulge. Reaching into the inner pocket, my fingertips met a cool, hard case.

  I pulled it out. Drake’s phone! It came back to me then, getting his phone, putting it there. In all the excitement, I’d forgotten to give it back!

  “Damn it, Jennifer!” I said, holding his phone in one hand and mine in the other.

  This was a really smooth move, stealing his phone. I looked at it, then. It was the latest generation iPhone.

  Curiosity overcoming common sense, I hit the home button, then slid my finger across the screen. He didn’t keep it locked!

  As though it had a mind of its own, my thumb tapped the green text icon, bringing up my latest message. It also had all my angry ones from before. I went and sat on my bed, wondering what to do.

  I’d already gone this far, hadn’t I?

  So I hit the little edit button and deleted all my earlier ones. I even deleted my latest one, realizing that by opening it myself he wouldn’t see any new messages from me.

  In my rush to go bring him back his phone, I almost forgot about my hair. It was a botched job in the bathroom, my quickly blow-drying it while pulling at the knots with a brush. It came out all poofy and wavy, like I was an ’80s Madonna. My reflection raised her eyebrow at me.

  “Oh, keep it to yourself,” I said.

  Not wanting to wait, I took the stairs down to Drake’s floor. Then I stood in front of his apartment, somehow out of breath and nervous. I pushed back against the hair trying to spill down my face, then knocked.

  At first, I worried that he may have already gone out. I worried that maybe he’d discovered his phone missing and had contacted Club 54 to ask if they had it. Lawrence would probably tell Drake that I had his phone.

  I lifted my fist to knock again when the door opened.

  Drake stood there shirtless, wearing a pair of jeans. As usual, his hair and stubble looked perfect. If he’d gotten drunk last night, he definitely didn’t look hungover this morning. He wore a small silver crucifix around his neck, the bit of precious metal resting against his smooth chest.