The bed feels decadent, with its layers of expensive sheets and blankets. I close my eyes, worn out and ready to get some much-needed sleep.
So of course, I toss and turn for half an hour, unable to get my brain to calm down. All the thoughts of the last twenty-four hours come back to me: the jet ride over, seeing Wolfshire for the first time, the tour, the torrid kiss with Ian in the wine cellar, my table dance… and of course, Jordan’s arrival and the shitstorm that followed.
Poor Brandon, stuck in the middle of all this as Jordan’s replacement. This can’t be easy for him.
Since I can’t sleep, I think back on the time in Fiji when he and I went swimming in the ocean in our underwear, the day after we first met. He refused to get out of the water, and when I forced him to do so, he was embarrassed because of the rock-hard erection that was pushing at his wet boxer briefs.
I remember the blowjob I gave him there, not realizing at the time that he was a virgin, and the subsequent lessons teaching him how to hold back his orgasm. I smile when I think about how well he’s learned those lessons. Finally, I remember taking his virginity the night Harem and I sealed our relationship, with all five men joining me in bed for an exquisite Harem orgy, there in that tropical paradise.
I had never done anything like that before in my life, not even close. But it all felt so natural, so right. It was me and the gorgeous, wonderful men I’d fallen in love with.
Great, now I’ll never get to sleep.
My pussy is soaking wet, and I know the only hope for me to doze off is to first have an orgasm to settle my body and my brain.
I slip a hand into my panties and begin to softly stroke my clit, then suddenly stop.
What the hell am I doing? Why have sex alone when I have five smoking hot men in this house to choose from?
I need to feel flesh-on-flesh.
I need the other person here who feels unsure of his place in all this.
I need my Brandon.
* * *
I slide out of bed and crack open the door. Peeking into the hallway, I see nobody, so I quietly pad barefoot over the ancient hardwood floors to the next bedroom. That’s when it hits me that I have no idea which bedroom Brandon is in. There are six of them on this floor and six on the third floor, just above. Thirteen in all, counting the big one on the top floor.
I have no choice but to try each door to see if it’s locked, and try to open the door enough to get a glimpse inside. I place my hand on the first door and give it a turn, but it doesn’t budge. Moving on the second, I get the same result. Dammit, do all of these guys lock their doors?
I grab the third door knob and start to turn it.
“Pssst!”
I spin in the direction of the sound and see Jason standing half in the doorway of the first door that I’d tried. The half that’s in the hall reveals that he’s shirtless, his long hair hanging down over his many tattoos, including the blazing sun on his belly. It turns out he’s fully naked, because when he steps out, I see his dangling cock.
“What the bloody hell are you doing?” he whispers loudly.
I put my finger across my lips to shut him up as I walk back to him.
“Do you know what room Brandon is in?” I whisper. “I need to see him.”
Jason gives me a dirty smile. “Did you come all the way to England to have sex with someone from Nebraska?”
I hit him playfully on the chest.
“It’s Oklahoma, and I just really want to talk to him.”
“Follow me,” he says, and I follow him down the hall, dropping back a few steps to get a glimpse of his glorious naked ass.
Jason stops at one door. “This is him.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Absolutely.”
I try the knob and it doesn’t turn. “Dammit.”
Jason suddenly raps on the door with his knuckles, quietly enough to not awaken anyone in the other rooms. We wait, and he’s about to rap a second time when the door opens and I see Brandon, sleepy-eyed and wearing a T-shirt and boxer briefs.
“Ms. Lambert would like a word with you, sir,” Jason whispers.
Brandon steps aside and says, “Sure, come in.”
I start to enter, then feel sort of bad for Jason, so I kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you, Jason.”
“Sure, love,” he says.
I can see in his eyes that he’s disappointed he wasn’t my choice. Not jealous, because these guys never get jealous of one another, just wishing he was in Brandon’s position. As I step inside, I see Jason’s cock in my peripheral vision. It’s so beautiful.
He’s so beautiful.
He’s Jason Stone, lead singer of Harem, for Christ’s sake.
Hell, now I want them both. My pussy twitches eagerly at the thought.
“Wait,” I whisper as he starts to turn away. His eyes meet mine and I reach out and take that cock in my hand. “Get in here.”
I close the door as he steps into the room. It’s dark, except for the beautiful glow of moonlight from the window.
“What’s up?” Brandon asks sleepily, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I can’t sleep. I need to come.”
He smiles. “I’d be happy to help you out.”
I walk towards him and Jason follows. I spin and put a finger in his chest.
“No, you stand here and watch for now.”
I throw my arms around Brandon’s neck and kiss him hard, pushing him back on the bed as I do. I break to climb on top of him, then resume the delicious kiss. He smells and tastes like toothpaste, and for some reason, tonight that really seems to turn me on.
“Take your clothes off,” I urge, climbing off him just long enough for him to get naked. My mouth is on his cock immediately, licking and sucking to coax him to an erection. I look up at Jason, standing a few feet from the bed, and see his own cock starting to rise in the moonlight.
When I have Brandon hard, I slide off the bed and stand in front of Jason.
“Undress me.”
Jason stands looking at my breasts. My nipples are so hard they’re almost sore, pushing against the cotton T-shirt.
“Hurry,” I command.
He obliges, taking off my shirt, then sliding my panties down my legs for me to step out of.
“Keep watching,” I tell him before I return to the bed and straddle Brandon, who’s still lying there with his hard cock pointing straight up. I hover above him, taking him in my hand and guiding him into my now dripping-wet cunt.
Brandon’s “Oh, fuck!” is drowned out by my lusty moan as I sink down onto his length and feel him fill me up, inch by inch. I ride that delicious cock, alternately rolling my hips on him then rocking back and forth as I grind against him.
I look over at Jason and see he’s fully erect now, his hand holding his cock, waiting for me to say the word.
Goddamn, I’m making Jason Stone wait to fuck me. None of my college friends would believe me if I told them. But watching him as he intensely stares at my body is nothing short of incredible. On each stroke, I lift my body off Brandon as high as I can without him slipping completely out of me, knowing that Jason is riveted to the live porn show being performed in front of him.
I see a bead of liquid shine on the tip of Jason’s cock and I know it’s time.
“Come here, baby,” I tell him, gesturing for him to join in. I climb off Brandon and lie on my back, spreading my legs just as Jason gets onto the bed. His finger finds my clit, and I have to stop him.
“No, just fuck me. Hard. That’s what I need tonight.”
Seconds later, he pushes his rock-hard cock into me. As Jason plunges in, I motion for Brandon to feed me his now-throbbing erection. The next few minutes are simply exquisite. I suck Brandon with everything I’ve got while Jason ramps up until he’s pounding away at me. I groan into Brandon’s cock each time Jason hammers into my pussy.
Brandon’s soft moans get gradually louder, sparking something in me, and I feel my muscles tighteni
ng, a sign that my body is preparing to unleash a wave of pleasure.
“Oh fuck,” Jason says lustfully. “I’m close.”
Suddenly Brandon absolutely erupts in my mouth, and I work hard to continue sucking him as my own orgasm builds.
“I’m gonna come,” Jason warns, and when I feel his hot cum spray deep inside me, I instantly tumble over the cliff. My orgasm is massive, both strong and absurdly long. I continue to suck Brandon as the waves of ecstasy wash over me, and Jason doesn’t let up, fucking me as hard as he can until he has nothing left to give.
Then again, neither do I. Brandon, too, looks utterly spent.
We all fall onto the bed, a magnificent, sweaty mass of burned-off sexual energy.
“Fuck, that was amazing,” Brandon says. Jason and I are incapable of speech at the moment.
This was what I needed.
To be with some of my men.
To feel loved and know that everything in my world is right.
With a hot, naked man still breathing heavily on either side of me, I try to stay in this lovely moment until I can finally fall asleep.
Because in the morning, reality will come crashing down in the form of Jordan Maris.
7
Jordan is not at breakfast the following morning. Jason gives me a sly wink when he walks in. I had quietly climbed out of bed at dawn and headed back to my own room to shower. I giggled to myself when I thought of him and Brandon waking up to find it was just the two of them in bed. Brandon seems tense, which is not a surprise since he and Jordan are in direct conflict now.
Jordan’s absence allows much of the talk to be about how big a role he should be allowed in the recording process. Zilla and Nick argue that he needn’t be involved at all, but Ian and Jason remind them that a few concessions to him might help the band avoid an expensive legal battle. Still, the issue of how to get Jordan out of Harem permanently weighs heavy on my men.
For now the band will just try to limit his input in the songwriting and restrict his playing to a few parts. Brandon is assured he will get the bulk of the work, which seems to relax him a little.
The morning is a whirlwind of activity. The mobile recording studio truck pulls up just after breakfast and several men I don’t recognize begin running cables from the truck into the great room. They also bring an array of equipment I’ve never seen before.
Nick’s drums are being set up, and a cage of plexiglass panels surrounds them. He tells me it’s to prevent the sound of his drums from “leaking” into the microphones used to record the other instruments. There are also big panels of foam, with ridges angling across them in odd patterns. Nick says they’re called baffles and they’ll be placed strategically as needed to absorb sound waves that bounce off the surfaces of a room. He explains that some instruments will be recorded using the natural acoustics of the giant room, while others require a “deader” sound, without all the reverb.
“How do you keep all this straight?” I ask.
“I don’t have to,” he grins. “That’s what the sound engineers are for.”
As I understand it, Hendrich Recorders, the company who provided the mobile recording studio that’s inside the eighteen-wheeler parked outside, bring the equipment, set it all up, and then stick around to make sure it continues to work properly. Harem’s longtime producer and his sound engineer will arrive this morning and supervise the actual recording process. They’ll be here until the guys have finished doing the songs for the new album, and they’ll all sleep in the guest house.
As the morning progresses, I can’t help but wonder why Jordan still hasn’t shown up. His absence makes for a lighter ambience, but I have a sharp sense of foreboding. I’m not going to be around while they’re recording, but him being here would certainly affect my guys.
I pull out my phone and take a few pics of the guys as they continue to set things up. For the past month, I’ve been posting things directly to their social media accounts on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. At first, they would have me send pictures they liked to the PR department at Crisis Records, then Nick had the idea of granting me direct access. Since then, everyone has loved my pictures and the witty little captions I post with them.
Since I’m not doing anything at all yet with my old business, this helps give me a sense of purpose, even if it only takes a few minutes each day. I show Zilla a particularly unflattering picture of him struggling with a cable, and he laughs.
“So what do you think of all this?” he asks in that deep voice as the great room is slowly converted into a studio.
“It’s fascinating,” I say, slipping my arms around his waist and hugging him tightly.
“I had them leave a chair for you.” He points to a big purple-cushioned antique chair with lion heads at the end of each arm rest.
“You mean I can stay and watch?” I’m suddenly excited at the idea. I had imagined they wouldn’t want anyone around who isn’t a band member or a studio technician.
“You have to, baby. You’re our primary source of inspiration.”
My heart melts at his words. This is a confusing time for me, and any reassurance I get helps.
One by one, the guys pick up their instruments and begin playing. They adjust the position of everything, tweaking all sorts of settings on their amplifiers. Nick in particular takes care to move each piece of his drum kit around until it’s precisely how he likes it.
It’s a scene I saw Harem repeat at the sound check prior to every show during the tour, but now my excitement is really building. Ian has the music for a batch of song ideas, and Jason has been working on coming up with lyrics and melodies. Of course, they thought they’d have months to work this all out; now they have to do much of it on the fly. Ian confides in me this morning that it’ll be a good test of just how professional they’ve become over the last decade, because not every band can just show up in the studio mostly unprepared and end up with something special when they’re done.
I sit in my purple throne and watch Harem. My Harem. I grow more excited with each passing minute as they seem to get closer to being ready to finally start the session.
My buzz turns sour when Jordan Maris walks through the front door, his two bimbos in tow.
“Good morning, gents!” he says cheerfully. Judging from the way he looks, his cheerful demeanor is over-compensation for his actual state. He’s unshaven, his eyes have dark circles under them, and his hair is distinctly messy—and not in a good way. He’s dressed much like the others, in typical rocker jeans, boots, a mostly unbuttoned shirt, and a battery of metal bracelets hanging loose on both well-tattooed arms.
There’s also a distinct air of difficulty and trouble around him. The mood in the room sinks noticeably. Ian quickly pulls Jordan aside for what was meant to be a private conversation, until Jordan gestures in my direction.
“And what about Yoko there?” he says, loudly enough for the entire room to hear.
Great. It’s obvious Ian told him again to send the two women away. Now I’m right in the middle of it.
“Kelsey stays,” Jason says forcefully.
“She’s a big part of this now.” Zilla’s voice booms across the room. “She’s going nowhere. If you think otherwise, get the fuck out.” His calm, steady tone is overshadowed by the intensity of the words.
“Then my girls stay, too,” Jordan says.
Nick and Brandon have been watching silently, but now Nick gets out from behind his drums and crosses the big room until he’s standing in front of the two women.
“Girls, how would you like to go shopping at Harrod’s today? Harem will give you 10,000 pounds to spend. Sound good?”
“Each?” one of the girls asks shamelessly.
“Sure, what the fuck.”
Both look at Jordan, who shakes his head ruefully. “Go ahead.”
“I’ll call our manager and set it up,” Nick tells the women. “You can wait in the guest house until he sends someone to fetch you. Hurry along now.”
Jordan follows them out the door as Nick returns to his drums. Once he’s seated behind them, he looks up to see everyone staring at him.
“What? It’s only fuckin’ money. I don’t want them hangin’ around here while we’re trying to create.” He picks up his nearby phone. “One sec, I gotta call Griff.”
Now I feel out of place. I look around the room. “Are you sure you want me to stay?”
“Yes!” I hear at least four voices in there. Maybe all five. I break into a grin.
Jordan returns and steps into the middle of the large circle formed by the various spots where the guys are with their instruments. “That was fucked up.”
“You know the rules, Jordan,” Ian says. “No visitors in the studio.”
Again I get a glare in my direction. “And what’s so special about your bird?”
“Everything,” Jason says. “Now let’s quit fucking around. We’ve got an album to make.”
Jordan’s not happy, but acquiesces. “So where are we then?” he asks, looking in Ian’s direction.
I know that Ian directs things in the studio. “The truck won’t be ready for a bit. That gives us time to go over some ideas that Jason and I have been working on. As you know, we need eleven or twelve songs to go with Little Miracle on the album. Crisis wants at least three more possible singles. I figure we can—”
“Hang on,” Jordan interrupts. “I thought that was just a one-off thing. It’s going on the album? Seriously?”
I can feel the tension ratchet up. “Of course. It’s a number one fucking hit, Jordan. Our first number one in years. Got an issue with it, do you?”
He tries to look sheepish, but it’s blatantly an act. “It’s just that it’s… well…”
“It’s what?” Zilla says, annoyed.
“It’s a bit soft, isn’t it?” Jordan says. “It was brilliant to write a cheesy little pop song that would get us back on the charts, but we’re a rock band, for fuck’s sake.”
Saving Her Harem Page 5
