by Brandy Ayers
The second we breach the threshold, Scott whirls around and slams the door shut, pushing my back against the cold metal as he wages all-out war on my neck. “Hottest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced looking backstage and seeing my motherfucking wife standing there cheering for me.”
“Really? That stadium had a higher population than some towns, all screaming for you, and it was me making you hot?” Fuck he smells good. Like spice and testosterone and lust and every manly thing in the world.
“I only heard you. Through a whole crowd, I could pick out your screams. They’re all I give a damn about in this world.” Scott grips my ripped-up T-shirt and tears it down the middle. The now completely shredded fabric falls away to reveal my naked breasts.
This never gets old. Scott’s eyes on me, the hunger that lives there every time he looks at me. The heat that covers my skin at his touch. The absolute maddening need that over takes my senses when we’re pressed this close but not yet joined. A year later, and it is still as awe inspiring as those first weeks and months together when I tried to deny the truth of our pull to one another.
“Tell me you liked watching me play. Tell me it got you wet.” He rocks his hard cock, cloaked in tight leather pants that make me pant, against my core. “When I peel these sexy as hell leggings off, am I going to find you soppy for what only I can give you?”
“I mean, you were okay. Is it really necessary to play that loud though?” It’s all lies. Sure, when I met Scott, I wasn’t exactly a metal head. But watching him work, seeing the artistry he puts into his music, I’ve become a fan of not only his, but the whole genre. But I still love my Britney, too.
A wicked smile stretches across Scott’s face. “Ahhh, there’s the brat I know and love.” Dropping me to my feet, Scott spins me around the room until I’m bent over one of the tables with a mirror hanging over. The metal cools my heated breasts, and I gasp at the abrupt temperature change.
“Think you can lie to me like that without paying for it?”
I’m so turned on, my clit seems to have developed its own pulse. “Who’s lying? Your music’s just a bunch of screaming and banging.” Lies. All lies. But, fuck, do I love what comes after I tell them.
Scott laughs and shakes his head. “I’ll show you banging.”
Before the laugh can escape my throat, Scott pulls back his hand and cracks a slap across my ass. The thin leather pants I’m wearing do nothing to soften the blow. The sting fades all too quickly, and I want more. I want his palm against my bare flesh.
Once again reading my mind, Scott rolls the tight leggings down to my knees and leaves them there. I can barely move my legs because the damn things are so tight. Another slap fills the room as he smacks my other ass cheek.
“Let’s find out the truth, shall we?” He runs his fingers up from where my leggings bind my knees, up my inner thigh, and slides them over my slit, which is indeed soaking wet. “My, my, my. Is all this cream from watching your husband play? Or is it thanks to my rough handling of you?”
The gentle slip of his fingertips over my throbbing clit has me teetering on the edge. He keeps his touch light, teasing, not giving the pressure he knows I need. “All of it. Oh god, watching you out there made me hot. Tossing me around and slapping my ass does too.”
“Good girl.” Scott kisses my shoulder then pulls back. I watch in the mirror as he lazily walks over to the leather couch placed against one wall and sits down, spreading his legs in that way men do that annoys you on public transportation but makes you drool in basically every other instance. “I gave you a show. Now it’s your turn.”
God damn, that is hot. The space between my legs grows wetter by the second. I need his cock inside me, like immediately. Slowly, I turn around and prop my naked ass on the vanity top. He wants a show? I’ll give him a show.
Slowly, I stand, bend at the waist, and peel the leggings off my feet, letting my shoes clatter to the floor. I’m naked, standing in his dressing room, and he’s dressed, lounging back on the couch, just watching me with a heat I’ve become very accustomed to.
I decide right then, I want to do a little role play. “I’m sorry I snuck back to your private room, Mr. Flores. I’m just such a big fan. I needed to be with you.”
One corner of his mouth twitches into an almost smile, but he reigns it in. “You know we don’t let groupies backstage.” He brings one hand up to slide a thumb along his bottom lip. Those deep brown eyes I love so much give me a long look up and down my body. Assessing me. Deciding if I make the cut.
Jesus, I can see how all those little tarts who try to sneak backstage get addicted to it. These guys are powerful in their own right. And when they look at you with heat, just after literally bringing the house down, it’s a heady feeling to be the one to make their knees weak. I never got that until just this second.
“But since you’re already naked, I guess I won’t call security. But you better make sure I don’t regret that decision.”
Getting into the role of hyped up fangirl, I bounce on my toes a little with excitement. His eyes go right to my jiggling boobs. I fight the smart remark that just begs to be let out. I’m not Lacy the brat right now. I’m not Lacy the wife either. I’m Lacy the backstage slut.
“Oh, I promise, you’ll be happy.” I grab a towel from the side table and throw it to the ground between his knees. Yeah, we might be doing some hot as hell roleplaying, but I am not kneeling on a cold cement floor that has god knows what on it.
Scott spreads his legs a little more, brushes my hair back into a ponytail that he holds tight in his fist. “Well, let’s see what you got.”
For some reason, my heart is racing, and I actually feel nervous butterflies taking flight in my stomach. I’m so wet, I can feel it dripping down my thighs. Quickly, I tug at the buttons on his leather pants and pull down the zipper. His dick must have been tucked behind the waistband, because as soon as I separate the two sides of the opening, that long, thick cock I love so much pops up and practically points straight at my mouth.
The moan which slips through my lips is completely involuntary. I try to lean forward to take his head in my mouth, but his hold on my hair prevents me from tasting all but the tip.
I look up at him as my tongue swirls around just that little bit. “Please.”
“You want it, show me how much.”
God. This is so fucking hot. Whimpering, I push forward, my hair pulling on my scalp with the effort. It’s worth the slight pain when I take the first few inches in and suck hard.
Curses fly from Scott’s mouth in a filthy rant. His hold on my hair gives a little in his ecstasy, and I take advantage of the opportunity. In one swoop, I take him down my throat, my lips brushing the course hair at his base.
“Fucking hell.” His hips spasm up, fucking my mouth against his will. “Get up here, woman, before I blow my load down your throat.”
In one long pull, I back off his throbbing cock. Scott leans forward, gripping my hips and pulling me onto his lap.
“Stuff my cock in that tight little cunt of yours. Ride me like you worship me.” He slaps my ass, and I moan. I’ve lived with Scott the musician for a year and a half now. But I think this might be the first time I’m really seeing Scott the rock god. Fuck, if I don’t love it just as much as all the other versions I’ve seen.
Reaching between us, I grab his length and position it at my entrance. With ease, I drop down, down, down until my ass rests against the smooth leather still encasing his legs. This is the best kind of filthy sex I’ve experienced. Him totally dressed. Me totally naked. The need to come is bearing down on me, so I’m almost crazed with unadulterated need.
Grabbing his shoulders with both hands for leverage, I bounce on his cock fast and hard. His hands grip my hips right on the little tattoos of his fingerprints I got a couple months ago. The night he saw those goes down in history as another epic fuck fest.
Reaching up, I grip the little notch in his T-shirt and rip it open to almost his
bellybutton.
“Fuck that was hot.”
“Need to see it.” I push the shredded fabric to the side to reveal the tattoo of my name right over his heart, with a tiara dangling on the tail of the y. Putting my hand over his chest where he branded himself with my name, we go into overdrive.
Scott pumps me up and down his cock in a brutal pace. My nails dig into his shoulders as the pressure in my core builds and builds.
“Look, baby. Look how fucking perfectly you grip my cock. Made for me.” I lean back, bracing myself on his knees and gaze down to where is cock is thrusting in and out of me.
Suddenly, my orgasm washes over me, my body shaking from head to toe as the strength of it rolls along my limbs. I lose all rhythm, just writhing on top of him. Scott thrusts up hard one time and stays there, pinned inside me to the root. He presses his thumb down on my clit, and a second orgasm has me trying to climb off him, the intensity so high, it’s almost frightening. But Scott holds me down, makes sure I feel every last drop of overwhelming pleasure. I lean forward and bite his neck, and Scott comes, hard and loud.
Slowly, the world comes back into focus. We’re both panting and gasping for oxygen, spent and exhausted after the whirlwind of activity from the first day of their U.S. tour.
“Oh my god, is that how sex with groupies always is?” I know he hasn’t partaken in that side of the rock star lifestyle in many years and hates talking about it because it was a time in his life where he didn’t have control thanks to drugs and alcohol, but I have to know.
He huffs out a laugh, the rush of warm air sending my hair dancing around my shoulders. “No, babe. Nothing has ever been like that.” He tugs me up a little, gazing into my eyes with love and lust and affection all mixed together. “I can’t remember anything before you. My life was black and white before you. Grey even. Now it’s pink...” He swipes at my nipple with his thumb. “... and red…” He kisses my lips. “...and light.”
I sigh, so content and in love, it makes my world spin. He makes my world spin. And yet he grounds me and gives me the solid foundation I’ve always craved. He’s my everything.
And I’m his. Forever.
Epilogue Two
Five Years Later
Scott
“Lacy, I need you to breathe.” The doctor keeps her voice calm and even, despite my beautiful wife turning into a member of the band Gwar right here on the delivery room table.
“Get this fucking kid out of me.” She grips my beard in her hand, pulling my face closer to hers. It hurts like a motherfucker, but I’m not going to complain considering what she’s going through right now. “Why didn’t I get drugs? Did you talk me out of the drugs?”
“What? No, I told you to get the drugs. You said you wanted to do this naturally. You wanted to start off being a mom on the right foot, do it all different than your parents from the start.” I knew this whole natural childbirth thing was going to be a challenge for her, but I’m really starting to worry here.
“That doesn’t sound like me.” She turns to the nurse on the other side of the bed. “I’m more of the pre-scheduled c-section and lipo combo. Or I used to be. But then this asshole made me a better person.”
Lacy grips the backs of her thighs and pulls back as another contraction hits, and she starts pushing through it.
“That’s it, baby. You can do it.”
The doctor starts counting down, and I swear Lacy growls. “Everyone shut the fuck up and let me concentraaaaaaate.”
We do as she asks and shut up. After a few seconds, the contraction ebbs away and Lacy rocks her head back and forth on the table. “It’s too quiet. Why is it so fucking quiet in here? Where is my birth playlist? We spent days picking out those songs.”
She told us an hour ago to turn it off because it was annoying her. But I’m not going to be the one to tell her that.
For a while, we weren’t sure we wanted kids. The first five years of our marriage consisted of touring, building up Lacy’s social media marketing firm, traveling and just enjoying each other. We talked about kids here and there, but Lacy was afraid she wouldn’t be a good parent considering everything she’d been through with her dad. I didn’t want to pressure her, but I had a deep desire to see her pregnant with our kid.
Then fate took over, and while we were touring in Europe last year, she ran out of birth control and couldn’t get a prescription filled overseas. On a whim, we decided to let what would happen, happen. Nine months later, here we are.
“Oh Jesus, another one already?” Pain is etched across Lacy’s delicate features, and it makes me want to slay dragons in her name.
But I can’t protect her from this. I can only hold her hand and help her breathe through it. And hope to god she doesn’t break my fingers in the process.
“So, help me, you bastard, we are done after this.” She screeches through clenched teeth. She grunts and starts turning a startling shade of red as she pushes while the doctor counts. Once the contraction passes, she starts in on me again. “I’m serious, Scott. I don’t care how cute this kid is, we are done. I’m never doing this again.”
“Got it. I am onboard with that.” We’ll see.
“Okay folks, I think one more push, and we’re going to have a baby.”
All too fast, another contraction starts. I swear, Lacy becomes a warrior right before my eyes. Determination set on her face like a battle mask.
“There’s the head.” The doctor says those words like they are routine, when they are the most amazingly miraculous thing ever. “Don’t push for a second, Lacy.”
I lean over Lacy’s leg to take in the scrunched-up face of my son or daughter sticking out of my wife. Okay, that's weird.
A tiny fist starts punching my arm, and I bolt back up to look at my wife’s frantic face. “I told you not to look! You can never unsee that. I didn’t poop, did I? Having a human hanging half out of you is weird.”
The nurses try to hide their chuckles, but I hear them anyway. Thankfully, Lacy is so focused on not pushing until the doctor gives the go ahead that she doesn’t notice.
“Okay, last one Lacy.”
“You said the last one was the last one. You are a lying liar who lies.” Once she’s done with her little rant, Lacy bears down, swallowing the pain I know she must be feeling, and gives it everything she has. Before I know it, the doctor is standing up and laying the most perfect, screaming creature I’ve ever seen on Lacy’s naked chest. When did they take her gown off?
“You have a beautiful baby girl.” The doctor proclaims before she gets back to work doing whatever she has to do between my wife’s legs. Which I try hard not to think about.
Lacy is sobbing, tears pouring from her eyes. I see the instincts kick in right away. She pulls the baby closer. Around us, nurses are swooping in and cleaning the baby off but letting her lay on Lacy. I realize I’m crying, too, as I brush a hand over my daughter’s delicate head.
My daughter. Fuck. Those words nearly bring me to my knees.
“I think I know her name.”
“Yeah?” Names have been somewhat of a point of contention between us the last three months. Lacy wanted something different and off the wall. I wanted something classic that no one would tease her for down the line. “Hit me with it.”
“Iliana.” Lacy strokes our baby girl’s cheek, and the little thing quiets down immediately, rooting around looking for Lacy’s breast. “I saw it one of my baby books and loved it, but I was afraid you’d shoot it down. It means ray of light.”
Looking at my little girl, with her shock of dark hair just like her Mom’s, slightly darker complexion like mine, and greyish blue eyes I know most babies have for the first few weeks, I couldn’t agree more. Lacy is my light, and our daughter is a piece of her. A ray of light.
“I love it, Lace. Iliana it is.” I kiss Lacy on the forehead, then do the same to Iliana. My heart is so full, it aches.
Iliana finally finds what she’s been looking for and latches onto her m
ama’s breast with no problem. It’s just about the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced.
A nurse comes over and checks out the baby and talks about the latch and how to make sure it is good and how to correct it if it’s not. A lot of it goes over my head to be honest, but I make a mental note to go over that section of our baby book again so I can support Lacy.
“Looks like you are going to have a champion eater here. She’s got a strong suckle and got her latch right on the first try. Got a little piglet on your hands.” The nurse looks fondly down at my wife and baby and completely misses the annoyed expression on Lacy’s face.
“Hey, lady, we’re trying to not give our daughter an eating complex, so how about you lay off the name calling.” The baby snorts as if she’s agreeing with her mom but was probably just a misplacement of nose against boob.
With her jaw on the floor, the nurse backs up out of the danger zone of Mama Bear Lacy Flores.
Chuckling to myself, I lean over to kiss Lacy full on the lips. Pulling back, I look at her tired eyes, sweaty hair, and makeup free face. “You are the most beautiful woman on the face of the planet. And everyone on the planet better watch the hell out if they try to hurt our baby.”
“Damn straight.”
I couldn’t love this woman anymore if I tried. Though I’ve been thinking that same thing for the past five and a half years. I expect I’ll have the same thought for the rest of our days. And I’ll always be wrong. I can love her more. And I will.
Epilogue Three
Ten Years Later
Lacy
My three little munchkins all sit in a semicircle with Marci and Micah’s two kids. The five of them all stare up at their dads as they play guitar and keep a beat on a pot one of the little monsters had been banging minutes ago. In this house, music time doesn’t mean your run of the mill nursery rhymes though. Nope, in this house, it is all cleaned up versions of Black Sabbath and Metallic, with a little Malfeesance thrown in.
