Saving Her Harem

by Alexis Adaire

  Not knowing in advance I’d have this idea, I didn’t come prepared; no swimsuit, no towel. However, skinny-dipping shouldn’t be a problem. I’m on a private residence and I know everyone on the property by now, and the workers have all gone home, and the security guard who makes his rounds every night doesn’t arrive this early. That leaves only the producer, engineer, and tech guys, and they’re usually in the guest house by now.

  I slip my sandals off and feel the lush grass between my toes. As I strip out of my shirt and bra, the warm night air confirms that this was indeed a great idea. Seconds later, I’m standing blissfully naked in the middle of the British countryside.

  Just before I step into the pool, I look up at the big house and see a light on in one of the second-floor bedrooms. A movement catches my eye, but it’s gone before I can tell whether or it was real or imagined. It could be one of the guys passing by a window, but I watch for a few more seconds and see nothing, so I descend the steps and immerse myself.

  As the delicious water caresses my naked body, little by little I feel my worries ease. The pool isn’t big enough for a proper swim, but that wasn’t my intention anyway. I just want to float around and relax.

  “What lovely sight have I stumbled upon?”

  My rapture evaporates the second I hear Jordan’s voice. He’s standing at the edge of the pool, leering. I bring my feet down under me and lower myself into the water up to my neck. Behind him on the grass, my clothes lie in a pile.

  “Jordan, I’d like some privacy. Get out of here.”

  “I just got here, sweetheart, and I love the view. Besides, aren’t you being paid to keep the band happy?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Please go away.”

  He squats down and grins.

  “I overheard you and Griff talking. I know you were hired to babysit Harem. Then, like lots of women before you, you decided you wanted to fuck the entire band. Basically, you’re nothing but a very well-paid groupie.”

  “And you’re an asshole who doesn’t give a shit about the trouble he causes.”

  “What would it take, eh?”

  I have no idea what he means, but he stands and removes his shirt.

  “I’m serious now. I want to see what’s so special about you.”

  I see his pants come down. As he steps out of them, I’m suddenly paralyzed with fear.

  “Tell me, Miss Kelsey, how much will it cost me to have a go? Ten thousand pounds?”

  Naked now, he paces along the side of the pool. What do I do?

  “Fifty thousand?”

  He takes his cock in his hand.

  “You drive a hard bargain,” he says, stroking himself. “A hundred thousand, then. It’s all Monopoly money to me, I’ve got so fucking much of it.”

  When he moves to the steps and descends into the pool, I know I can’t stay where I am. I rush to the edge and pull myself out of the water, running to my clothes. As I grab my pants, his hands lock on my arms, pulling me backwards to him. I feel his naked body against mine and struggle to break free, but he’s much stronger than I am.

  I’ve never taken a self-defense course, but I reflexively bring my heel down on top of his foot. To my dismay, he barely flinches.

  My heart jumps to my throat as he puts his mouth to my ear and says, “C’mon, love, don’t you want to collect the whole set?”

  I open my mouth to scream, the only defense option left, but before I can make a sound, I hear a familiar voice.

  “You motherfucker!”

  My arms are suddenly free. Whirling around, I see Brandon behind Jordan, holding him with one arm around his neck and the other pinning both elbows behind his back.

  “Let me go, mate, I was just giving her a little scare, that’s all. Didn’t mean any harm.”

  Before Brandon can respond, I step forward and bring my knee up hard, hitting Jordan squarely in the balls.

  He grunts, then goes limp. Brandon lets him go and he slumps to the grass on his hands and knees and proceeds to puke his guts out.

  “Are you okay?” Brandon asks. I nod. “Do you have your phone?”

  I dig through my pile of clothes and fish my phone out of my pants.

  “Call the others. Tell them to get out here right away.”

  I breathlessly make the call as Jordan rolls over onto his side, holding his crotch and moaning in pain.

  I put on my clothes in a rush as Brandon stands over Jordan, a look of disdain on his face. Then I run to Brandon and hug him as tightly as I can. I don’t even care that I’m getting him wet. I can finally breathe again now that I feel safe.

  It doesn’t take long before the other men come running up all at once, their eyes wide at the sight of a Brandon having returned, Jordan still writhing naked on the ground, and me standing there in wet clothes.

  “What the fuck?” Jason says.

  “This fuckup attacked Kelsey,” Brandon says firmly.

  They look at me and I nod confirmation.

  “Did he…?”

  “No,” I say. “Brandon got here just in time.”

  Brandon reads their confusion and explains, “I got back while you guys were eating dinner and went straight up to my room. I was planning to reappear in the morning. Looking out my window, I happened to see Kelsey here at the pool. When I saw Jordan show up, I sensed trouble and ran down here.”

  Jordan has struggled to a sitting position. “This wanker overreacted,” he croaks. “I was just having a bit of fun. Giving her a scare, that’s all.”

  They all look to me, and the distressed look on my face tells them a completely different story.

  Zilla immediately steps forward and threatens to punch Jordan, who cowers and brings up his arms in self-defense.

  “You sorry piece of shite,” Zilla says.

  Ian takes control of the situation, telling Jordan, “You have twenty minutes to get the fuck out of Wolfshire. If we find you here after that, Zilla is going to crush your fingers one by one and make sure you never play another fucking note the rest of your life.”

  Jordan doesn’t say a word.

  “You hear him, arsehole?” Zilla barks, and Jordan nods in response.

  Without a word, Zilla reaches down and grabs me, one arm around my back and one behind my knees, and lifts me off my feet. Then he holds me against his chest and carries me away from the source of all the trouble here at Wolfshire, the arrogant man-child who has ruined what should have been a fairy tale vacation.

  “You okay?”

  I nod, and only then do I burst into tears, shaking.

  My sweet Zilla kisses me on the forehead and quickens his pace.

  I look over his shoulder and see my other four men following right behind.

  13

  We’re all gathered at the big table in the kitchen, in front of the huge stone fireplace. I’ve got a glass in my hand with two fingers of something called Old Comber 30-Year-Old Pure Pot Still Irish Whiskey. I’d never heard of it, but Ian says that’s because it costs the equivalent of almost seven hundred bucks per bottle. And he brought up two bottles.

  “Shouldn’t you be saving this for a special occasion?” I say, my sense of humor finally coming back. It’s been nearly two hours since Jordan attacked me in the Rose Maze. After I changed into some dry clothes, they all tried to console me as I cried for a while, as much because of all the recent stress as from the attack itself. Then I slowly began to settle down once we moved in here.

  “This qualifies as a special occasion,” Jason says. “We’ve rid ourselves of a cancer that has long threatened the health of the band.”

  Nick drapes an arm around Brandon’s shoulders and adds, “And our American buddy is back, this time for good.”

  Ian walks in to report on his phone call to Griff about the incident. He says he told him the band didn’t care how much money it cost, Jordan was to be bought out immediately.

  “He said it could cost millions. I told him we didn’t care if it cost billions.”


  “Hear, hear!” Nick says. “I propose a toast,” he adds, pouring himself a shot.

  “Another?” I ask, eliciting laughter.

  I look around the table at my guys, who already seem happier with the Jordan issue settled once and for all. With everyone finally relaxing, this seems as good a time as any.

  “Hey, guys, what’s gonna happen with us?”

  Everyone turns to me. When they see my serious expression, they turn serious as well. Even Nick.

  “What do you mean, love?” Zilla asks.

  “I mean, once the album is done, what happens? You guys all have your own homes. Ian is here, two of you live in London, and Jason is in Paris. Meanwhile, Brandon and I live in Manhattan.”

  Blank faces all around. Nobody seem to get the question that seems so obvious to me.

  “Will we just split up? Stay on our own until the next tour? And what if you decide you don’t even want me on that tour? What then?”

  They actually start laughing, the dorks. At least until they see I’m tearing up again.

  “Baby, there’s nothing to worry about,” Jason says.

  I look at him with big wet eyes, needing more of an explanation than that.

  Ian provides it, first coming around the table to give me a big hug. “We were going to surprise you with this after the album was finished, but now seems like as good a time as any. Nick, it was your idea. Go ahead…”

  Nick takes over. “The problem is that none of us want to move. We all love our homes, and we’ve seen how much you love New York.”

  This doesn’t sound like a solution is coming.

  “There are six of us. We thought, why not spend two months in each of our homes? God knows they’re all big enough to fit the whole lot of us. That way, we stay together year-round.”

  “And when we get sick of each other,” Zilla says, “which always happens eventually, we can take little vacations. Maybe two of us, sometimes three or four, going off to some incredible adventure somewhere in the world for a short while.”

  “There’s a catch, though,” says Nick.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “We’ve seen your tiny place in New York. That ain’t gonna cut it, baby.” Everyone laughs. “And Brandon here doesn’t even have a place at the moment. He’s literally homeless.”

  “So then I told them,” Jason says, “fuck it, we’ll buy a new one. Something near Central Park. Maybe the entire penthouse floor of some luxury condo building.”

  “That would cost twenty or thirty million dollars,” I say. Looking around the table, I see only blank faces.

  “And…?” Jason asks.

  Oh yeah. I forgot who these guys are for a minute.

  “This is such a great idea,” I say. “So we start as soon as the album is done?”

  Zilla grins. “Technically, we’ve already started. We’ve all been living at Ian’s place for over a month. You can pick where we live next.”

  Between the brick kitchen, the whiskey, and my men, I’m feeling warm and so, so comfortable.

  “Paris sounds lovely. How much longer do you think the album will take?”

  Brandon points out the obvious. “It’s bound to go much faster now with Jordan gone.”

  “One and a half songs left to record,” Ian says. “Then vocal harmonies. Then we do the mastering.”

  He correctly reads my wrinkled brow. “That’s when all the recording is done and Jason and I sit in the truck with the producer and engineer, and go through each song to make sure everything sounds as perfect as can be. Individual volume levels of the various instruments and voices, special effects, etc. The final step before we hand the digital files to Crisis Records. Should take us a week or two.”

  “So you’ll resume first thing in the morning?” I ask.

  “You know…” Jason says slowly. Everyone waits for him to continue, but he holds the pause dramatically.

  Ian has a funny look in his eyes. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Jason nods.

  “Yeah, great idea,” Zilla says. “Let’s fucking do it.”

  “Do what?” I ask. I swear, it’s like these guys can read each other’s minds.

  Ian stands. “I’ll go get the crew from the guest house.”

  They’re all suddenly excited. Everyone gets up now.

  “What’s going on?” I ask impatiently, still seated.

  “We have an album to finish,” Jason says as Ian heads out the door.

  “Right now? It’s almost midnight and you guys are half drunk. You’re actually going to start a recording session now?”

  Nick grabs the whiskey bottle and gives me a silly lopsided grin. “You should know by now that we rockers are nocturnal creatures, most alert and active between midnight and 6 a.m. And alcohol is our fuel. We’re in our element now.”

  “You guys are insane.”

  “True. Then again, we never claimed we were particularly stable individuals.” He stops at the kitchen door, bottle in hand. “You coming, love?”

  We all move to the great room and the guys begin to warm up on their instruments. The producer comes in to find out what’s going on, and when they tell him, he just shrugs and says, “All right, then. Where do you want to start?” This is obviously not the first late-night recording session he’s done for Harem.

  They pick up where they left off, on the song that they were recording yesterday when Jordan and Brandon started fighting. They run through the song a couple of times, then Ian tells the producer they’re ready to give it a shot.

  I’m shocked by how good they sound. After everything that’s happened tonight, it’s like an emotional floodgate has been opened. Jason is amazing, singing as well as I’ve ever heard him sing. They absolutely rip through the song.

  Brandon plays his part perfectly. This is the song during which Jordan complained about Brandon’s playing, but it’s easy to see how wrong he was. Brandon is sublime and doesn’t overplay, giving the song exactly the touch it needs. He understands that musically, Jason and Ian are the stars here, and everyone else plays a supporting role. His playing is subtle and sexy.

  “Well, what do you think?” Ian asks the others when they reach the end.

  “Needs more cowbell.”

  We all turn simultaneously to Brandon, standing behind his keyboards with a big grin on his adorable face. Everyone cracks up laughing.

  “Your playing is bloody amazing, Brandon,” Zilla says, giving voice to everyone’s thoughts.

  Brandon shrugs humbly. “Hey, it’s a great tune. What’s next?”

  * * *

  It’s two in the morning when Harem begins recording the final song, a slow, bluesy track called Baby’s Got That Look in Her Eye. It’s the same song I danced to when I did my striptease, only now Jason has put lyrics to it. It’s quite possibly the sexiest song Ian and Jason have ever written, and by the third or fourth run-through, I’ve completely fallen under its spell.

  In my own defense, I haven’t had sex in more than a week, and I’m surrounded by hot young men who I know also haven’t. And this song! Oh my god. Especially hearing it mixed perfectly in my headphones.

  Halfway through one take, Jason removes the microphone from its stand and walks toward me as he sings the chorus, oozing sex and charisma with each syllable.

  Baby’s got that look in her eye,

  She’s ready to go, she won’t be denied,

  No way to resist, it’s useless to try.

  ‘Cause Baby’s got that look in her eye.

  He stands in front of me, his eyes roaming over my body. This kind of scene has played over and over in the fantasies of thousands—maybe millions—of girls, but Jason Stone is singing to me and looking me over.

  I take the zipper of my pink velour hoodie and slowly tug downward. Jason looks into my eyes and practically lights my pussy on fire. I feel it instantly, the warmth between my legs. As he begins the second verse, I open the hoodie, exposing my breasts to him little by
little. By the time the chorus comes around again, I’ve opened it all the way and Jason is really selling those lyrics, as if he’s singing about us, about what’s taking place between us in this very moment.

  Ian does a long slide guitar solo that will close out the song. Meanwhile, Jason and I are still having a moment as Ian and the band play on. He’s right in front of me, so close I could reach out and touch him, and when I see the obvious hard-on pressing against the front of his pants, it’s all I can do to resist. I’m so turned on that I start to squirm in my chair.

  The song ends and Jason smiles at me before stepping away. I zip up, glancing up to see the others looking my way. Apparently, my little show wasn’t as private as it seemed in the moment. Ian is the only one not paying attention, and he looks irritated.

  “Fuck. That was perfect except me. Goddamit.”

  Zilla says, “Just do it again, mate. Keep our tracks and play another take over them.”

  Ian tells the producer to rewind the track to just before the final solo so he can do another take. Everyone watches as he burns his way through it, but at the end he’s still not satisfied. He tries another take, then another.

  Meanwhile, I’m enthralled. Watching a musical genius at work is mesmerizing. Ian may not be satisfied with his playing, but to me, every note sounds perfect.

  “Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!” His frustration would be obvious even without the stream of obscenities. If only I could do something…

  I look around the room. The tech guys are all outside in the truck. They can hear us, but can’t see us. All the servants have long gone home. Nonetheless, I’m hesitant to act on my impulse, afraid that the band might look at it as an intrusion. But I know my guys, and am pretty confident that at worst they’d tell me it’s not a good idea.

  Time to get slutty, Kelsey.

  I remove my headphones and cross the room to Ian, kissing him gently on the lips.

  “You can do this, baby,” I tell him. “Nobody on the planet makes a guitar sound sexier than you.”