by Brandy Ayers
As my orgasm begins to weaken, I wait for the final thrust. The surge of heat from his cum exploding inside me. But I’m left waiting.
The room spins, I’m left empty for only a moment before I’m on my back and Scott is pushing back inside my swollen walls. In a blur of motion, Scott wraps his arms around my back and picks me up. I only have a split second to wrap my legs around his waist before he bounces me up and down on his cock standing in the middle of the room. Gravity pulls me down further and further until I swear he’s going to rip me in half. My mouth gapes open as another orgasm sweeps through my body. This one fast but no less intense. The very second I start the descent from that round of pleasure, Scott falls to his knees and lays me out on the floor.
“Rich girl like you, I bet no man has ever dared to fuck you on a dirty floor. Only satin sheets for your ass.” I whimper and nod. He’s right. Every bit of sex I’ve had has been polite and boring. Who knew I needed to be fucked rough and raw on the floor? Apparently, Scott did.
With my legs thrown over his shoulders and my body almost bent in half, Scott leverages two more orgasms from my limp body. There is no more protesting. No more insults. I don’t have the strength left to keep up the act. He’s done what he said he would do. Fucked me into submission. And I love it. Finally, there on the floor, Scott gives me what I’d been waiting for. With a brutal thrust, his head flies back and jet after jet of hot cum fills me, spilling from between our bodies.
He collapses on top of me, panting. “Birth control?”
I nod. “Clean?”
He nods.
I lose track of the positions and the locations of every orgasm. It’s just a pleasure parade around his apartment, no surface is safe from our fuck-fest. Between rounds, I become aware that I must look like shit. Sweat covers my skin, my hair has to be a rat’s nest, and I know my makeup isn’t where it should be. But Scott doesn’t give a shit. He tells me I’m beautiful. He worships my body and touches me in a way that inches suspiciously close to cherishing.
When I start to give him crap again, or acting the brat again, he spanks me until I’m a puddle of goo in his hands. Sometimes, I act up just to feel the sting of his skin against mine.
God only knows how many hours later I find myself in his bed, wrapped in his arms, sleep swiftly bearing down on my exhausted form. It’s dark outside now, we had a dinner of BLTs and shitty beer naked in bed. I’m satisfied in more ways than ever before in my life. And I’m scared out of my mind. “This doesn’t mean anything. Just because we’re good in bed, doesn’t mean we’re good anywhere else.”
Scott kisses my shoulder. “Shut up and go to sleep, my little brat. Your ass is going to need time to heal, so no antagonizing me for the rest of the night.”
Pulling my back in tight against his chest, Scott nuzzles his face into my neck and releases a deep breath.
God help me, a smile slides across my face. This is bad.
Chapter Six
Scott
“So, are you like a musician or something?” Lacy’s voice echoes from the half-finished studio at the back of the apartment.
Shit.
I shut the door a little harder than necessary behind me. Annoyance has already taken up residence in my chest thanks to the self-inflicted wild goose chase I’ve spent the last hour of my life involved in. All because Lacy wanted a certain all-natural soap that she’s been missing since moving in. Apparently, Dove bar soap isn’t good enough. And since I’m addicted to making this woman happy, I voluntarily went out in search of it.
Only to come home to her and her questions.
“Figured that out finally, did you?” Trepidation creeps up my spine. I won’t lie to her, but I don’t want her finding out about my fame yet.
During some of our post-sex conversations, I’ve been able to figure out that Lacy isn’t much of a music person. When she does listen to music, it is all Top 40 shit that Malfeesance would never be caught dead near. It’s no wonder she has no clue who I am.
“Oh God, are you a starving artist or something?” She pads out from my soon-to-be studio carrying the practice guitar I’ve kept handy during renovations.
All the really valuable stuff is in storage in the basement. The dozens of guitars, amps, awards, magazine covers. All boxed away and hidden in the basement, like porno mags I’m hiding from my mom. Only they’re little pieces of my life I’m hiding away from the girl I’m quickly realizing I can’t live without.
“I never understood people who would rather be poor and an artist than rich and a broker or something. Like what kind of sense does that make?”
“Maybe they’d rather be happy doing something they love. Money doesn’t bring love.” I cross to the kitchen, dumping the bags of food and her soap, which cost as much as all our groceries for the week, on the counters.
I’m unsurprised to see she follows behind. Lacy puts on a big front like she can’t stand me or this place, but when we’re both here, she seeks me out. Sometimes, she pokes at me, like now. Sometimes she just sits nearby. But it is clear she doesn’t like being alone as much as she says.
“Sure, it does. Money can bring you anything.” Laying my guitar on the island, she hops up next to it, her bare legs swinging back and forth over the edge. A couple days ago, Lacy came back from a walk around the neighborhood with bags of clothes. Mostly sundresses meant to torture my cock. No clue how she bought them considering the agent on her case has yet to call back and her funds are still on lock down.
“You have money. Do you have love?” A flash of hurt crosses her face, and I immediately want to punch myself in the nuts for putting it there. “Do I look like I’m starving?” I wave my hand over the mounds of food waiting to be put away. Then down my body, which she has seen quite a lot of these past few days.
“Okay, good point.” The twang of a few strings vibrates through the air as she plucks at my guitar. “So, you, like, make your living playing music?”
One by one, I put the produce away, keeping my eyes glued to the avocados and tomatoes like they might sprout legs and wander off. “Yes.”
Silence presses in around us. She’s thinking. One thing I’ve learned about Lacy is that when she’s quiet, I should be worried. It means she’s putting things together. I don’t want her to put this together.
“If you’re some big musician, why don’t you just hire people to do all the work around here for you? Why do it yourself?” She jumps down from the counter, reaching around me to take out the grapes I just put away. Back on her perch, she pops them in one at a time, looking at me with new curiosity.
“Why pay someone to do something I’m perfectly capable of doing? And who said I’m big?” Does she already know? It shouldn’t be a big deal. Lacy is famous in her own right, as a socialite and daughter of the infamous Frank Falluci. Even before the scandal with her dad, I knew of her, though not much. Though it took that article for me to connect the dots that the woman I saved was the one in the tabloids.
“So, what? You play bars? Small clubs? Are you a solo artist? Do you have a band?” Lacy pops a handful of grapes off the vine and pushes the baggie to the center of the island.
I shift my gaze toward her and raise one eyebrow. That’s all. One eye-brow, and she knows.
“You’re worse than my maid.” She grumbles more under her breath but hops down and puts the grapes back where she got them. Then turns around to lean against the fridge. The dress she has on today is tight above the waist, pushing the tits I love to fondle up high on her chest. Below her waist, it is flowing and hangs to her mid-thigh. It’s a deep, clover green which sets off her brown hair and eyes.
Since our first night together, Lacy spends her days insisting we’re not going to have sex anymore and her nights climbing my dick like it’s the fucking stairway to heaven. I haven’t slept in the unfinished guest room for almost a week. Turns out Lacy is a cuddler. During the day, she keeps the walls forged by her shitty childhood and even shittier father tall and impenetrable.
But at night, she snuggles with me as close as she can.
If only she’d allow herself give into our obvious chemistry during the day.
“So, are you going to answer my questions?”
I shrug, cross my arms, and narrow my eyes at her. “What does it matter how I make my money? All that matters is I have enough to keep you in bacon and kale, not to mention ninety-dollar bars of goat’s milk soap. You obviously never asked where all of daddy’s money came from.”
Me and my fucking mouth. The very nanosecond the words come out, Lacy freezes, the teasing smile she’d been shooting at me sliding off her face until she’s frowning with that little crease between her eyebrows. All because I’m an insecure asshole afraid the girl I like is going to treat me differently once she figures out I’m a multi-million record selling, Grammy award winning, famous rock star.
“I didn’t mean—”
“No. You did.”
Lacy dusts her hands off on the skirt of her dress. Not that her hands would ever be dirty. She straightens her spine, tries to keep the hurt off her face, but not quite accomplishing it.
The sadness I put there is killing me. She may be a spoiled rich girl, but I have no right to treat her like that. Especially when she’s just showing an interest in my life. Hell, for the first-time outside bed, Lacy is truly trying to have a conversation that doesn’t start and end with snark. Why am I not jumping at this chance to connect?
“That’s what everyone thinks about me, right? I just took my daddy’s blood money and spent it on a wardrobe the cost of which could fund a small country. All the papers are saying I knew what he’s been involved in. They’re pulling pictures of us from the one awkward Christmas dinner out we have a year. No one bothers to mention that dinner is spent in silence every year. That I’ve never known a thing about the man who spawned me. That he hates looking at me since my mother died, no matter how pretty I make myself. That he shipped me off to boarding school at eight-years-old.”
“Lacy—” I cross the few feet separating us, needing to hold her in my arms.
She backs away. I stop in my tracks. I’ve never forced a woman to do anything, and I’m not going to start now by forcing Lacy to let me comfort her.
“You know what else no one ever mentions in the paper? I don’t need Daddy’s blood money. You wanna know how I make my money?”
I go to answer, but she just keeps going. As if my mouth never opened to tell her I don't give two shits about her money. Or her father’s money. I care about the smartass, brilliant, sexy, horrible cook standing in front of me.
“I went on a couple dates with a famous actor when I was twenty-two. Tabloids got a hold of the pictures of him groping me at a club. They went viral, and overnight, I went from the unknown daughter of a well-known financial genius to party girl and socialite. Never mind that I didn’t want that guy’s hands on me. Or that I didn’t give two shits about the club scene. I went from having a couple dozen followers on Instagram, mostly friends and acquaintances, to thousands-upon-thousands of people looking at my photos.”
Lacy breaks the intense eye contact she’s maintained since starting her story. She glances at her fingers as they weave around the delicate fabric of her skirt. “It was addicting, all that attention after never being given any as a kid. I’m not saying I wasn’t already a bit of a brat when I started getting a little famous. I was. I am. Don’t think I don’t know.”
“Lace, you don’t have to tell me all this.” I force my arms to stay at my sides, but they ache to touch her. To make her feel good. To reassure her that she’s perfect just as she is. Jesus, if anyone knows the addictive qualities of people hanging on your every word, it’s me.
“I know.” Meeting my eyes once again, I’m shocked to see hers are shining with unshed tears. In our time together, I’ve seen her get pissed, I’ve seen her throw tantrums, I’ve even seen her totally defeated. I’ve never seen her cry.
“I haven’t known a whole lot of good men in my life, Scott. But I’d have to be an idiot not to recognize that you are the very best of men. You protected me when I was a stranger. Kept me sheltered and fed even though I’ve been nothing but a little shit to you. You’ve held me at night even when I try to put distance between us. I don’t know how to act around a good man. Have no clue how to process your kindness. But, I want you to know something about me that’s real. That’s more than just me stomping around making demands.”
I nod, feeling like complete shit, because I’m not as good as she thinks. I may not be lying to her outright about my fame, but I’m lying by omission. All the justifications I’ve been giving myself about not wanting her to look at me differently are bullshit.
“When I got famous, I decided I wanted to do something with it. Not just post selfies all day and watch the likes pile up, even though it made me feel good each time a notification buzzed through on my phone. I have a degree in fashion marketing. Before getting insta-famous, I had been working my way up at a fashion house. I started posting about the new designers I discovered through my job. Posting about products I loved but didn’t have huge followings. People started buying the things I liked, simply because I posted about them. Then I started getting offers from companies. They wanted to pay me insane amounts of money to post about their products. I only agreed to the ones I believed in, even if they weren’t the highest paying. Within six months of those pictures being posted, I was able to quit my job, I opened all my own bank accounts, ignored my trust fund, and it’s just been me ever since.”
She huffs this little laugh that is miles away from actually being amused. “That’s the part that pisses me off more than anything. Not only did they freeze the accounts connected to the family money, which I haven’t touched in years. They froze my personal accounts. The ones filled with money I’ve earned.”
Once she’s done, Lacy stands taller, pride in this unconventional career obvious in her every feature. But also, a little insecurity. Like she’s afraid I’ll put her down for what she does. That will never happen. “Will you let me come closer now?”
She nods. Bites her lip.
In two steps, I’ve got her pressed against me. Finally, my heart and body relax. “I think you are amazing. I like that you know what you want and demand it. I love that you give me shit. I love even more that you give over control when we’re naked. Everything you just told me just reiterates what a strong, amazing woman you are.”
Lacy might not be the nicest person I’ve ever met. She might treat people like they should be getting her what she wants. But I see beneath all that. That is a product of her childhood, of being raised by paid staff instead of parents. And she’s been doing better. Cleaning up after herself. Thanking me. Softening right before my eyes. I can see her past melting away to the person she truly is.
On the tip of my tongue are the words I need to tell her. About my band, my money, my fame. But just as I’m about to spill everything, flashes of the women who came before blind me, and my jaw clamps shut. The users who only wanted me for what I could do for them. Discovering them fucking my bandmates or other musicians when they thought they could do more for them. How they all disappeared when I went to rehab and stopped partying.
Lacy won’t do those things, I know she won’t. But an unreasonable part of me screams to wait. To see how things play out.
Idiot that I am, I listen.
Chapter Seven
Lacy
“I can’t. Please, Scott, no more.” My body is completely wrung out.
The minute I came home from being out all day, Scott pounced on me like I’d been gone weeks, not hours. We heaped my clothes in a pile in thirty seconds flat. My first orgasm came not two minutes later.
Just like always, we’d stumbled and fucked our way around the apartment. For some reason, whenever we get together, we can’t just stay in one spot and go at it. It becomes the Olympics of sex.
“You can, and you will. I said I was going to make you come four times before I did, and i
t’s only been three.” With his cock firmly lodged deep inside me, Scott strides over to the couch and sits down. My body has a mind of its own, automatically writhing and bouncing on his dick like it’s my own personal Pogo stick.
My chest is right in his face in this position, and he sucks one nipple into his mouth while tweaking the other between his calloused fingers. The soft heat of his tongue on one side and the rough scratch on the other has my brain spinning. His hips rise to meet every downward thrust of my own.
“Give it to me, Lacy.” That growl thing he does when he’s trying so hard to hold himself back from coming does me in for the fourth time. Well, that and his cock hammering into my G-spot over and over while my clit rubs against the base of him. “There it is, my beauty.”
I go limp with the force of the pleasure being pulled from me. Scott takes over, hands planted on my hips, moving me up and down on his pulsing cock until he’s totally satisfied.
Sweating and grinning like idiots, we curl together on the couch, a throw blanket tossed over our cooling flesh. “If that’s how I get welcomed every time I leave and come back home, I’m going to have to make more trips.”
He pinches my side, right at the ticklish spot he’d discovered last week. “Don’t even think about it. This place feels empty when you aren’t stomping around, huffing about how our appliances are conspiring against your cooking skills or the hot water doesn’t stay hot enough for the hour you need to spend in the shower doing god knows what since you won’t let me join you in there.”
A sigh slips through my lips, and I snuggle deeper into his side. When we got to this place where we act like a newlywed couple, I’ll never know. Nor do I remember when I started referring to the apartment in a warehouse I used to hate as my home. It might have been sometime after Scott made me an office right after the fight about my money, or his career, or I don’t even remember what that fight was really about.
That was almost a month ago, and the next day, I woke up to him painting the spare bedroom a sparkly gold on one wall and beautiful cream on all the others. Apparently, he’d stalked my social media after I passed out that night and found some of the dream rooms I pinned. It turned out perfect and beautiful.
