Pure Iron

by Bargo, Holly

  “And what did you think when lead guitarist Mick Hendriksen introduced his new wife?” the deejay asked the young woman whom he was interviewing.

  “Talk about unexpected!” the woman squeaked, then laughed. “I mean, he’s so sexy and he’s got a huge reputation for being a ladies man. I just can’t believe he got married!”

  Sonia’s smile disappeared.

  “Well, I suppose that’s the question of the hour, folks,” the deejay said. “Will this totally surprise marriage last? Can Mick Hendriksen, lead guitarist of Iron Falcon, remain faithful to his bride?”

  Warm arms slipped around her from behind and held her snugly against the hard-muscled body of her husband. “Yes, I can,” he reassured her, resting his cheek on her head. “And I will, baby, I will.”

  She relaxed against him, choosing to believe in his assertion of fidelity despite the nasty little voice in her mind warning her not to be foolish and gullible.

  “Are you always so … passionate … after a concert?” she asked tentatively.

  “Oftentimes, yes,” he admitted, knowing where the conversation would lead. “But I can work off the energy in other ways.” He stretched an arm out, drawing her attention to the ropy muscles in his forearm, the bulging biceps and triceps. “On tour I spend a lot of time in the gym of whatever hotel where we happen to be staying. I don’t look like this because playing guitar requires that much physical exertion.”

  “I could call Chef Kilrook and let him know that I can’t work for him, that I’ll be accompany you on the tour,” she offered, though her heart sank to reject such an incredible opportunity.

  “Baby, I can’t deny that I’ll be tempted,” he said honestly, wrapping his arm back around her. They both deserved candor. “There will be sexy woman all over the place, wherever we go, all of them ready and willing to crawl into bed with any band member. But they won’t be you and I won’t want them.”

  He pressed a kiss into her hair. “I would love to have you with me on the tour, but I don’t want you to forfeit the incredible opportunity you have with Kilrook.”

  She turned around in his embrace and tilted her face upward. Worry clouded her eyes. “Can we do this, Mick? Can we maintain a long distance marriage?”

  He kissed her tenderly and said, “I can be strong knowing you’re waiting for me. Can you be strong for me?”

  She nodded and buried her face in his bare chest. Mick pressed another kiss into her hair.

  “This has been crazy fast, I know,” he murmured. “But I love you and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you with me.”

  “Show me,” she said, her lips moving against the suddenly very sensitive skin over his breastbone. “Take me to bed and show me.”

  Without another word, he led her into the bedroom and made slow, sweet, tender love to his wife. Somehow that was more fulfilling than the adrenaline fueled fucking the night before. The morning’s lovemaking was about commitment and affection, not about the pleasurable release of a surfeit of energy.

  Two more weeks, Mick thought as they lay snuggled together. In just two more weeks, Sonia would start her new job and Mick would be playing at Caesar’s Palace. They’d have another three weeks to cement their relationship before he left for six months on a worldwide tour.

  He closed his eyes for a minute. Touring was hard work. Living in buses and hotels got old really quickly, but it was part of the job. After all, sales of albums and single songs didn’t pay the bills; ticket sales did. That’s where the money was. Merchandise added a small share. Iron Falcon’s popularity was rising fast, but they hadn’t reached iconic status. One wouldn’t find Iron Falcon’s logo merchandise at Walmart or Target, except maybe their CDs.

  His stomach rumbled, reminding him of its emptiness. He shifted and lightly kissed Sonia’s soft cheek, still flushed from multiple orgasms. God, she was so incredibly responsive to his touch. The very hint of a thought that she might respond just as readily to another man’s touch ignited flames of possessive fury deep in his gut and built the urge to plunge into her body to imprint his possession upon her.

  His stomach rumbled again, determined not to be ignored in favor of his dick, which twitched and swelled with obvious intent. Gingerly so as not to disturb his sleeping wife, Mick got out of bed. He quickly took his second shower of the morning and then headed for the kitchen where he quickly fixed scrambled eggs and toast.

  When his belly had been satisfied, he decided to take a walk along the beach. He put two steps out the door before realizing that Sonia would worry if he had not returned by the time she woke. He went back inside, found a piece of scrap paper, and jotted down a note: “Went for a walk on the beach. Be back soon. Love, Mick.”

  A couple of minutes later, saltwater washed over his feet and splashed the rolled up cuffs of his jeans and the midday sun beat warmly down on his bare shoulders and back. The ocean breeze played with his hair, smelling fresh and invigorating as he breathed it in. He rolled his shoulders and enjoyed the leisurely stretch of muscle as he walked.

  Surprisingly, this stretch of beach was sparsely populated. As he walked, only three joggers passed him, two of them raising a hand in a friendly wave. He walked past a handful of families, small children building sandcastles and young teens chasing each other as their parents and chaperones looked on, conversed among themselves, or read. None of them paid him any mind other than a cursory glance.

  The anonymity felt good.

  He rolled his shoulders again, the muscles feeling warm and loose beneath his sun-warmed skin. He rolled his head, closing his eyes against the sun overhead and enjoying the popping in his neck as the bones cracked. When he opened his eyes, he realized he’d acquired a companion.

  “Hi,” she said with a charming smile.

  “Hello,” he replied.

  A small hand took hold of his.

  “I’m Caitlin. Who are you?”

  “I’m Mick.”

  The girl blinked her big brown eyes at him, tilted her head, and pursed her lips as she considered his answer.

  “My sister likes you. She thinks you’re pretty,” the girl blurted with the disconcerting honesty of the very young.

  “I’m sure your sister is worried that you’re wandering around here by yourself,” he said gently and squatted down to look the child in the eye. “Where is your sister?”

  “That way,” Caitlin said and pointed behind them with a chubby arm that was turning pink with sunburn.

  “Why don’t you take me there so I can say hi?” he suggested, knowing that the child’s parents or babysitter was probably frantic.

  Caitlin considered his request, then nodded in agreement. “Do you want a lemonade?” she asked as she skipped by his side. “Mommy makes good lemonade.”

  “Sure,” he agreed and hoped that her mommy wouldn’t call the cops on him. “Show me the way, moppet.”

  “My name is Caitlin, not moppet.”

  He gave her his trademarked, charming smile. Like every other female, she melted beneath its potency. “You look like a moppet to me,” he teased lightly. “A cute one.”

  The little girl pouted. “Everyone says I’m cute, ‘cept Lisa. She says I’m annoying.”

  “I am sure you are never annoying,” he replied patiently. “Now, where are we going?”

  “My legs are tired. Can I ride on your shoulders?”

  He looked back down at her and noticed that her chubby little legs were pink with sunburn as well. Too bad he wasn’t wearing a shirt, or he’d use that to cover her. Still squatting in front of her, he suggested an alternative, “How about we race?”

  “But my legs are tired,” she objected, thrusting her bottom lip out in a big pout.

  “How am I going to follow you back to your mommy if I don’t lead me?” he asked in what he hoped was a reasonable tone. Damn, he thought, of all the times to forget his cell phone, this one took the cake.

  “Pick me up,” the girl merely insisted.

  Bowing to the inevitabl
e, because he desperately wanted to avoid a temper tantrum, he picked up the little girl and set her on his shoulders. Her soft, plump thighs cradled the back of his neck and her fat, little feet locked at his throat. He felt her lean forward, her chubby body pressing against the back of his head. A plump little hand shot out from beside his temple and pointed.

  “That way, Mick,” she said peremptorily.

  “All right, moppet,” he said and rose to his full height and began walking as directed. Caitlin grabbed fistfuls of his hair and jerked on it, giggling and shouting, “Run, horsey! Run!”

  Mick stubbornly walked.

  He wasn’t sure how long he walked, but the girl actually did point him to a small beach cottage similar to the one he rented before she slumped over for an impromptu snooze. He gently drew her off his shoulders and carried her in his arms. He strode up the front porch steps and knocked on the front door.

  “Hello?” he called out. He knocked again. “Hello, is anyone there?”

  A woman who looked to be in her middle thirties appeared. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks streaked with tears. Those eyes widened with alarm at his appearance, then latched onto the little girl he carried.

  “Caitlin!” the woman howled and lunged for her daughter.

  Mick took a quick step backward even as the child was snatched from his arms.

  “I found her wandering about a mile or so up-beach,” he explained as the woman tearfully remonstrated with the sleepy child. “She’s sunburned. You might want to treat that.”

  “Thank you, thank you,” Caitlin’s mother repeated tearfully.

  “Sara!” the woman shouted, bringing a thud of feet that skittered to a stop. The feet belonged to a shapely high school girl who squealed with excitement the second she recognized their visitor. Caitlin’s mother said sternly, “You are lucky that this nice man found your sister and brought her here unharmed.” She looked at Mick and swallowed any reservations she might have had about admitting a large, muscled, tattooed stranger into her home. “Please, come in. The least I can do is get you some lemonade to drink. You must be thirsty.”

  “Mom, you can’t offer him lemonade,” the teenager protested in embarrassment. “That’s Mick Hendriksen! With Iron Falcon!” She squealed again and bounded on her tip-toes. “Is the rest of the band here with you? Dad keeps some bourbon on hand. Do you want that instead of lemonade?”

  “Sara!” the woman admonished in horror. “Call your father at once to let him know that Caitlin’s been returned to us.”

  She looked up at Mick, who hovered uncertainly near the door. “I apologize for my daughter’s behavior. She’s at that age, at least I keep telling myself that it’s only a phase she’s going through.” She stepped back to invite him inside. “Please, do come in. Something cool to drink would be the least I can do.”

  He stepped inside the air conditioned cottage, hearing Sara squeal excitedly in the background. “A glass of water would be fine, thank you,” he said.

  “Of course,” the woman said. “If you’ll wait just a moment while I settle Caitlin in her bed?”

  He nodded and stayed put while the woman walked away with her sleeping child. He looked around him, noting the plethora of electronic entertainment devices. It wasn’t hard to guess that Sara had been occupied with the gadgets instead of babysitting her little sister, who likely had gotten bored and simply wandered off. He shuddered to think of what could have happened to the child.

  The woman returned, walked straight to the kitchen, and poured him a glass of water from the spigot. She handed it to him and he took a few large swallows, enjoying the glide of the cold liquid down his throat.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’m glad Caitlin’s all right. I should be going.”

  “No, you can’t go! I need an autograph!” Sara shouted.

  “Sara! Mind your manners,” her mother chided.

  “But, Mom, you don’t understand. This is Mick Hendriksen of Iron Falcon. I have a poster of his band on my bedroom wall. He’s so sexy.”

  “Really, I should leave,” he murmured and stepped backward and set the half-emptied glass of water down.

  “That doesn’t excuse your rudeness,” her mother hissed. She turned to look at the young man and blinked as though suddenly realizing that her home had been invaded by something very handsome and virile and shirtless.

  “Mommy, Sara didn’t do what you told her,” a sleep little voice tattled as the little girl, probably woken by her older sister’s loud squealing, walked out of her bedroom. Caitlin looked up, saw Mick, and smiled. “Hi, Mick. Did Mommy give you lemonade?”

  “She offered, moppet,” he said with a smile, squatting down again. The girl trotted toward him and launched herself at him. He hugged her lightly and then set her back solidly on her little feet. “I have to go home now. My wife will be wondering where I’ve wandered off to, just like your Mommy and Daddy wondered where you went.”

  Caitlin considered that and pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek. “I like you better than Sara,” she confided in a loud whisper.

  “You’re really married?” Sara shrilled with disbelief.

  Mick ruffled the child’s sweat-damp curls and stood. “Yes,” he answered, “I really am married.” He looked to the girls’ mother and said, “I went out for a walk while she was napping—” no need to explain why she was napping “—and I’m sure she’ll be wondering what’s keeping me. I’m just glad I was able to help the moppet there.”

  “He calls me moppet!” Caitlin shouted with glee.

  “Wait!” Sara shrieked. “I still need your autograph.”

  The nubile young woman lifted her tee shirt to bare her chest, barely covered in a neon pink bikini top.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have a pen with me,” Mick apologized as he slowly sidled away from the girl.

  “Sara!” her mother gasped.

  Unrepentant, Sara thrust out her hand, holding a black indelible marker. “Here! Use this.”

  The old Mick would have happily scrawled his name across the girl’s chest and suggested something very naughty afterward. The new, married Mick took the marker and scrawled his name across her forearm. Then with an uncomfortable shrug and nod, he excused himself and walked out.

  His long stride looked unhurried, but covered a lot of ground quickly. He began humming as he walked, that morning’s luxuriant lovemaking turning into rich, languorous music in his brain. Once again, he vowed never to fuck up this relationship; his muse was far too important to lose in a moment of stupid temptation.

  “You’re back!” Sonia exclaimed joyfully when he walked into their cottage. “Have a nice walk?”

  He chuckled and crossed the floor to envelope her in a hug and kiss her senseless.

  “Oh. Oh, wow,” she said breathlessly when he released her. “What was that for?”

  “I missed you,” he said with a panty-melting grin.

  “Some young, nubile things throw themselves at you?” she asked dryly.

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” he answered. At her raised eyebrows, he told her the story of finding—or being found by—a small cherub of a girl who’d wandered from her inattentive, older sister.

  “That was good of you to take her to her family,” Sonia praised.

  Her admiration made him feel ten feet tall and mighty—rather like Superman with tattoos and an über cool career. He just barely stopped himself from shuffling his feet and saying something corny like, “Ah, shucks, ma’am, ‘tweren’t nothin’.”

  So, he did what he wanted to do, what he always wanted to do, and gathered her against his body so he could kiss her senseless again. He loved how easy that was, how satisfying. Before Sonia, kissing was something used to warm a woman, get her motor revved. It meant no more than that. But with Sonia … damn. With Sonia, kissing could be an Olympic sport, a designer drug, something incredible and fulfilling in and of itself. It was like getting dessert before the meal.

  “Did you have anything planned fo
r today?” she asked after he lifted his mouth from hers and she managed to collect her thoughts.

  “Oh, yeah,” he chuckled softly and ground his hips into her.

  “Besides that,” she said.

  “Nope. Can’t say that I did and can’t say that I see anything wrong with it, either.”

  She opened her mouth, then realized that there really wasn’t anything they had to do. No appointments. No obligations.

  “You’re right,” she agreed with a naughty smile.

  “I am?”

  “Yep, just this once. Don’t get used to it.”

  He laughed as she took his hand and led him back to the bedroom.

  He never would have imagined that lovemaking could be wonderful when seasoned with laughter and merriment.

  Their bellies growled ominously when they finally rolled out of the rumpled bed and into the shower where they drained the water heater of all its hot water. “I don’t like cooking tonight,” Sonia said as she sprawled in a chair, one leg draped over the padded arm. Mick knelt on the floor in front of her and gently lifted her other leg over the chair’s other arm. Her bathrobe gaped, revealing the treasures concealed beneath the fabric. His gaze was drawn to the swollen, wet, pink flesh of her sex, which beckoned to him like a siren’s call. He dipped his head to lick at it, savor the musky honey that flowed so readily to his tongue. She moaned and his licked more forcefully. The extra-sensitive tissues convulsed beneath his tongue. Within seconds she was grinding herself against his mouth as best she could from an angle that robbed her of leverage. In a few short minutes she shuddered helplessly as he drove her over the precipice and drank all her body had to offer.

  Mick straightened his spine and rubbed his hands over the soft skin of her spread thighs. He pulled down his briefs and aimed his heavy cock at the entrance of her body. As he guided himself into her body, he leaned forward to eat at her mouth as he had just eaten at her pussy. He cupped his hands under her, holding her body steady as he pumped in and out. The soft sounds she made spurred him to give her as much pleasure as he could. Judging by the next two orgasms that rippled over his cock, he succeeded.