Stryker's Desire

by Meg Ripley

  “She is pretty hot,” Mark said. “You’ve banged worse.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Coming from you? You’d bang a fucking shoe if it was curvy enough.” Mark laughed out loud.

  “Hey—don’t knock fucking shoes,” he told me jokingly. “They don’t expect a phone call in the morning and you can’t get them pregnant.” I snorted.

  “So, it’s an actual thing—you and Fran?” I shrugged.

  “It’s as much a thing as either of us are up to right now, even without the sex.”

  “I’ll try and help a brother out,” Mark said, smirking. “Get everyone to party it up for the last night. Beg to go to the Clermont Lounge, then you and Fran can have the bus to yourselves.” I snickered.

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, shaking my head. “It’ll play out just like that.” The fact was that I’d take any chance to have at least fifteen minutes alone with Fran at that point—and twenty or thirty would be even better. Maybe an hour. We had to make up for lost time, after all. “See what you can do.”

  “You know Nick’s never going to let you live it down though, right?” I nodded. The other day, during one of the bullshit promotional interviews we’d had to do at yet another radio station, Nick had spent the entire time dropping hints—little comments about “how close we’re all getting as bands,” and “the need for companionship” and shit like that. It was just enough to get a sharp look from Alex.

  “Yeah, I figure I’ll be getting texts about it when we’re back in Dade,” I said, shaking my head. “Whatever. It is what it is.”

  “Even if you don’t know what it is, exactly?” Mark raised an eyebrow.

  “Even then,” I agreed. “Let me finish this bullshit for the site.”

  “I’ll come get you in a bit; Nate wants to smoke out.” I nodded and turned back to the blog post, thinking to myself what a fucking fiasco that part of the agreement had been.

  From the label’s perspective, it was a huge success; getting us and the members of Juniper Woolf to update it every day had driven a lot of traffic to the site, which had resulted in people ordering merch—including our last album—and there was some kind of ruckus at the label about “generating buzz” which I didn’t understand but apparently made them happier than a pig in shit. But if we ever did anything like this again—some kind of promotional deal with another band—I was going to put my foot down to Ron and insist that we get an actual journalist of some kind, at least some kind of fucking writer, to do the work of documenting it.

  I’d just finished and posted the blog to the site when I heard someone else walking into the rec area. I looked up while I closed the laptop down and saw Nate. “What’s up?” Nate shrugged, slipping his hand into his pocket and coming up with a couple of joints.

  “Fran’s doing some interview thing with a magazine, so I thought I’d come back here and see about getting lit,” Nate explained.

  “Feel like sharing?” Nate set one of the joints aside and I handed him my lighter.

  “Sure, man.” He got the joint going and took a hit, holding his breath for a second as he passed it. It was quality shit—probably more of Fran’s stash, I thought, when I passed the crackling, smoking joint back to him. “So you and Fran?”

  “Jesus how many times do I have to have this conversation? I’m fucking tired of it,” I said, coughing through the heavy smoke.

  “She just normally doesn’t hook up like that. It’s weird, is all,” Nate said before taking another hit. I took the J from him when he extended it to me and took as big a drag on it as I could handle. For a second we were both silent, holding the pot smoke in our lungs to get the most out of it. We both started coughing at almost the same moment.

  “Yeah, she mentioned the first time we hooked up that normally she just takes care of things herself on tour,” I said; I doubted that it was a secret to any of her band mates. Hell—everyone in Molly Riot knew everyone else’s porn preferences and masturbation schedules. You couldn’t help knowing shit like that when you spent every waking moment together. It surprised me again that Fran and I had managed to pull off keeping our thing secret for so long.

  “When was that?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “You want to know the first time I fucked your lead singer?” Nate shrugged. I took another hit. “Right at the start. I think Orlando probably.” Nate snickered.

  “I won the betting pool then,” Nate said, before bringing the joint to his lips.

  “Betting pool? You sons of bitches bet on how long it would take Fran and me to hook up?” Nate nodded before blowing out acrid pot smoke.

  “If it makes you feel better, Nick said it’d take you until the last night of the tour to hook up with her,” Nate told me. I rolled my eyes.

  “How much did you win?” Nate looked up at the ceiling of the bus, swaying slightly as he struggled with the math.

  “Few hundred bucks,” he told me, smirking.

  “Give me fifty and we’ll call it even,” I said. Nate passed the joint; we’d almost finished it.

  “Soon as I collect, my man,” he said, nodding. “I’m gonna spend the rest of it at the Clermont. You going to that?” I shook my head.

  “I’m getting to be an old man,” I told Nate with a little grin. “Gonna come back on the bus and sleep until we get home.”

  “Frannie said the same thing,” Nate told me with a knowing smirk. “Sleep well, compadre.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “All right, Atlanta—this is our last song,” Alex told the roaring crowd in the club. The shrieks climbed a few decibels and I looked over at Nick; he was grinning, basking in the attention. We all were.

  Juniper Woolf had done their best to whip the crowd into a fury like always, and like always, we’d come out onto the baking hot stage to screaming fans ready to practically tear the place down. I had to admit, as tired as I was after the blitz of a promo tour, it felt good. It felt even better to know that everyone else on the bus was going to head over to Clermont Lounge after we cleared out of the venue for the night to party it up one last time before heading for home. Considering how late that strip club stayed open, I figured Fran and I would have most of the night to catch up on all the sex we hadn’t been having.

  Behind me, Mark counted us in. I looked over at the wings; Fran was perched on a stool, watching, and I shot her a quick grin as I started playing our last song of the night. I turned my attention back onto the crowd, falling into the rhythm with Mark, Dan, and Nick. I could hear Alex’s voice through the monitor, just over the sounds of the screaming from the crowd. I grinned, plowing through, and the song dropped off into a jam as Alex came to the end of the third chorus. It was our last night on the road; we were going to milk it as long as we could. Nick and I traded solos, back and forth, as the crowd continued to cheer. Mark switched the beat up and we followed him into it, deepening the number. I had no idea how long it went on, but the audience stayed with us throughout the musical meandering, and finally we plunged back into the main number, and Alex sang the chorus a final time.

  The crowd continued shrieking and screaming and cheering as we left the stage, begging for another encore; but we were done for the night. I grabbed Fran on my way off the stage, dragging her with my arm around her waist as we made our way to the green room where everyone else waited. I kissed her cheek and used the movement to bring my lips to her ear. “Let’s get rid of everyone as quickly as possible,” I told her. She laughed out loud, barely audible above the roar of the audience.

  In the green room, everyone was in a good mood; of course they were. We were on the last night of the promo tour, headed home in hours, and we’d packed the house and tore it up. The rest of the band and crew were more than ready for the Clermont Lounge, and I was more than ready to have a beer, take a shower, and get onto the bus with Fran.

  “Who’s ready to get this shit started?” Jaime gestured to a row of bottles on the green room table.

  “We’re taking that with us, right?” Nick snatched up a
pint of whiskey.

  “Of course,” Hannah said, beaming. “Just don’t destroy anything. We’re liable to the venue if you do.” Everyone cracked bottles—even Alex, though he opted for just a beer—and started getting ready to move onto the Clermont in their own ways. I stripped off my sweat-soaked shirt and threw it into my backpack, throwing on one that was probably almost as dirty but at least was dry and reminded myself that I’d be able to do laundry within a day.

  The whole time we waited for the crew to clear everything away and load it on the bus, I felt like my nerves were jumping around under my skin. I kept looking in Fran’s direction; I couldn’t wait to get her alone. Whatever we were to each other, however long it lasted, I wanted her. I felt like my blood was simmering in my body, almost like I’d never left the stage, like it might start boiling at any moment.

  Fran looked just as antsy as I felt, flitting back and forth across the room, sipping something in a red Solo cup. She was holding back—I knew she was. I’d seen her taking shots before, so I knew that she could handle much more than she was consuming.

  I couldn’t stand it. I met Fran’s eye, nodded towards the door. The after-party had been going on for what felt like an eternity, even though it was only about forty-five minutes. Fran raised an eyebrow and gave me the briefest little smile before turning back to talk to Dan some more about something I didn’t care about. I finished off my beer and tossed the empty into the trash, asking Mark where the venue’s showers were. “Around the corner from here,” he told me, pointing. “Go get clean for your woman.” I rolled my eyes and grabbed a towel. There’d be soap, shampoo, whatever I needed in the shower; the rest of the guys had cleaned up already and left whatever they’d used behind.

  I caught Fran’s eye once more as I headed to the door of the green room, not saying a word, but letting her know where I was going. Her lips twitched as she began to smile, and I didn’t know whether or not she’d follow me.

  I found the shower room—still faintly steamy from whoever had last used it—and threw my towel on the rack, stretching against the tightness in my neck and shoulders and back as I stripped off my clothes. I’d get a decent scrub, and wash my hair, and throw on the last clothes I had in my backpack. By then everyone would be ready to head out—I was sure of that.

  I started the water and climbed in, closing my eyes and leaning against the wall as I let the warming water rain down over my head. I groaned as I felt some of my muscles start to relax; it felt good. Not as good as fucking Fran, but good enough for the moment. I stood for a few moments longer, getting good and soaked, and then reached out without opening my eyes, groping for one of the bottles of shampoo I’d seen along the shelf on the wall.

  Instead, my hand closed on something yielding—flesh. I opened my eyes and blinked through the water running over them, grinning when I recognized Fran. She’d snuck into the shower room with me, stripped down, and stepped into the shower. “Hey,” she said, smiling back at me a little bit. The water pelted the tops of her heavy tits, the top of her head, plastering her dyed-violet hair against her scalp and her neck.

  “You’ve been a stranger lately,” I said, letting go of her arm. In spite of my irritable words, I had to admit that the sight of her naked body, there with me in the shower, turned me on immediately. I could feel my cock starting to get hard as the blood pooled in my groin.

  “Seemed like a good idea,” Fran said, stepping closer to me. “But hey—now we’re going to be going home, and we can figure shit out, right?”

  “Right,” I agreed. “But tonight…”

  “Tonight, we’re going to fuck like rabbits,” Fran told me. She grabbed for the bottle of shower gel someone had left—I thought it might be Nick, based on the smell of it. “But we should get you cleaned up first.” I held up my hands, giving her silent permission. Fran lathered up some shower gel between her palms and began rubbing me down, starting at my shoulders. I relaxed into her touches, closing my eyes and just giving into it.

  “You’re pretty good at this,” I told her, tensing once more as her hands moved down towards my hips—towards my already-hard cock. I heard Fran chuckle softly, and then I groaned as I felt her hand wrapping around my erection, beginning to stroke. The soap made it easy—I gritted my teeth, struggling to hold back while she rubbed me up and down, her thumb teasing the tip of my cock every few moments. “I think—I think it’s clean now,” I told her, panting and leaning against the wall slightly. I opened my eyes to see her smirk.

  “Legs a bit unsteady there?” Fran played her soap-slick hands over her own body, lingering at her tits for a moment before she stepped into the water to rinse off. “That’s a shame—I was hoping you could fuck me up against the wall.” I raised an eyebrow at that, smiling back at her.

  “My legs are steady enough for that,” I told her, reaching out and wrapping my arms around her waist. I pulled her body against mine and began touching her everywhere. I kissed her lips, her throat, her shoulder, loving the feeling of her skin under my fingertips, loving the way she twisted and writhed against me when I slipped one hand up between her legs.

  I lifted her up and pressed her back against the wall, as Fran wrapped her legs around my waist, her arms around my shoulders, holding me close. I kissed her again and again—she tasted like beer and sweetness and cigarette smoke; I couldn’t get enough of her. I rocked my hips against Fran’s, rubbing against her slick folds. “Where have you been the last two weeks?” I murmured against her neck, teasing her with my cock. It was almost more than I could stand; I wanted more than anything to slide inside of her, to feel her tightness wrapping around me.

  “You know where I’ve been,” Fran replied, her hands tightening on my shoulders. Her breath hitched in her throat as we moved together, teasing each other.

  “Yeah—but you haven’t…” I groaned against her shoulder, shuddering a little bit at the feeling of her heat and wetness against my rock-hard cock. “We haven’t fucked in weeks.”

  “Well we’re fixing that now,” Fran pointed out. “So, get to it already.” I chuckled and shifted against her, reaching down to line the tip of my cock up with her wet folds. I thrust my hips up into Fran’s; her tight, wet heat wrapped around my aching cock all at once. We both moaned and I had to hold back for a minute, standing there absolutely still—I was sure I’d come right away, otherwise.

  We started to move again, Fran twisting and writhing, trapped between me and the wall, and me pushing deeper and deeper inside of her. She felt fucking amazing—even better than I remembered. “Fuck—Fran…”

  “I know,” Fran moaned, burying her face against my neck. “Feels right, doesn’t it?”

  “Feels fucking amazing,” I told her, picking up my pace. I rocked my hips against hers, pushing deeper and deeper, and lost all track of time. The heat and humidity of the shower, the feeling of Fran’s body pressed against mine, her tight muscles flexing and rippling around my cock, made it impossible to think. We both kept moving, kissing and touching each other everywhere, barely holding ourselves up as we both came closer and closer to coming.

  All at once I felt Fran’s body tense against mine, felt her muscles tighten around me. I swallowed down her moans as she came, her hips bucking against mine, her body flexing around me in erratic spasms. I couldn’t hold back anymore; I groaned against her lips as wave after wave of pleasure crackled through my body. I held her against the wall, thrusting into her hard and fast as I came, shuddering from the feeling of relief that washed through me. It seemed to last for an hour, over and over again, while we both slid against the walls and reeled against each other in the shower.

  I slid out of Fran and let her down carefully onto her feet. She leaned heavily against the wall of the shower and I watched as the water flowed over her trembling body. It was almost enough to make me hard all over again—but I told myself we’d probably spent too long away from the party already. “We should see if everyone’s ready to clear out,” I said, once I was able to
catch my breath.

  “Yeah,” Fran agreed, looking dazed and pleased. She grinned. “I could stand to do that a good three or four more times.”

  “On the bus,” I told her. “No chance of breaking an arm slipping on tile there.”

  “Agreed. Let’s get out.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I woke up in my own bed for the first time in months, feeling as though I’d slept for a hundred years; in reality it had been probably closer to ten hours. The bus had dropped us off the day before, in the afternoon, and I’d watched Mary and Olivia greeting Alex and Nick, beaming like the pleased girlfriends they were, and wondered if Fran felt weird about the situation the way I did.

  It was the first day of our break before going into the studio to work on an EP together; I had laundry to take care of, a kitchen to stock, and—in spite of how rested I felt—sleep to catch up on. There was also the question of a song I’d been working on, and the one that Fran had showed me early on in the tour. We’d never really talked about it since that night, but I couldn’t get it out of my head. It deserved to be recorded.

  I stretched and yawned and thought about walking down to the little Cuban café about a block away from my apartment to get a cafecito and maybe something to eat. Have to get dressed to do that, I thought, kicking the sheets off of my legs. Part of me thought that would be a small sacrifice; the other part of me felt magnetically stuck to my bed.

  My phone rang, and I tumbled over the edge of the bed, groping for it in the gloomy light. I’d plugged it in before I’d passed out the night before, and completely forgot about it. I managed to find it on the bedside table and pull the charging cord out; the screen flashed Fran’s name. “What’s up?” I said as soon as the call connected.

  “We’re on TMZ, that’s what’s up,” Fran said quickly.

  “What? What for?” I crawled back onto the bed and half-buried my face in the pillow, shifting the phone to the ear I hadn’t covered up.