by Paige North
She snorts. “Yeah, extra sessions.” And then she closes the door to her room, and I switch my work gear of jeans and black T-shirt for a sexy tight top and heels. I’m in too deep, I know I am, and the repercussions will catch up to me if I keep going down this route. But I can’t get Jayce Owens out of my head, can’t think of anything other than the way he made me feel that night, and can’t ignore him anymore, no matter how hard I try.
Not a club or restaurant this time. No, that would be too neutral. This time, Jayce Owens has arranged for Fermin to drive me to his house. HIS HOUSE.
Out front is a long iron gate with roped lasso design, and a fountain with a statue of a horse in it. I’ve heard of celebrities who opt for modest homes to keep it real, but guess what—Jayce isn’t one of them. His home is sprawling on rolling green hills in the same vicinity as the treehouse he took me. Come to think of it, the house looks familiar.
“Thought you’d never get here.” He emerges from a hallway wiping his hands on a towel, as I stand in his foyer taking in the stately surroundings. Something smells delicious. There’s bluegrass music playing in the background.
“Is this…is this the same house I saw from far away the other night?”
He tilts his head in a guilty gesture. “The very one. Welcome to Casa Owens.”
“Whoa, it’s beautiful.” Inside of me, something flickers. Jealousy? Envy? Who knows, I might make it big in the business one day soon and have a similar mansion to my name. But for now, all I can do is marvel at what’s not mine.
“Thanks. Come into the kitchen. I’m making something.” He walks off, giving Fermin a knowing nod, and the driver salutes him as he takes off outside.
“What are you making?” I look around at light gray walls, gray wood floors, and detailed white crown molding.
“Chicken apple sausage with sweet potato fries. You eaten yet?” Jayce leads me through a minimalistic living room into the kitchen replete with slick granite, shiny stainless steel appliances and the most delicious smell I’ve smelled all week.
“I’m good. I ate not too long ago.” I pat my stomach. I really haven’t, but I’m too nervous to eat anything at the moment.
“Liar.”
“I’ll take a little bit,” I comply, so I won’t come across as rude. The sweet potato fries do sound good. I lean up against the counter and watch him rifle around in the pan. Wearing jeans, black T-shirt, barefoot, spatula in hand, he looks damn fine. He can cook for me anytime.
Jayce fishes into the pan where two, fat chicken apple sausages are simmering in something delicious. He brings a piece to my mouth. “When you eat sausage here, it’s not a little, Shortcake. It’s a lot.” He laughs. “Now, open up.”
Unable to hold my smile down, I open my mouth and close my eyes. He feeds me the steaming piece of meat, and I slowly begin to bite down on it, blow to cool, then bite again.
The evening goes well—lovely, actually—and I’m not sure why that comes as a surprise. Maybe because, knowing Jayce, I was expecting another session of tawdry, hardcore sex. Fucking, according to him.
Instead, he’s in a relaxed state, convincingly having a nice time while eating, regaling me with stories of other country singers—the flashy ones, the divas, the down-to-earth ones who haven’t forgotten their roots, and I imagine Jayce along that spectrum. With this house and the limo he sends for me every time? He’s probably closer to the flashy kind of country star, which makes me wonder more about his life, his roots, where he came from.
“You know when Rick said today that you were our lucky charm?” Jayce dips his finger into his third Jack & Coke to stir it up.
“Yeah?”
“He had no idea how true that is for me.” A melancholy demeanor comes over him. “Ever since you started coming around, I’ve been writing more songs. Guess I was blocked before, but you’ve turned on some switch.”
“I wonder why.” I swirl my glass of wine, as I lean forward and squeeze my cleavage, feeling bolder. “I mean, I’m just a girl you fuck. You don’t make love to me, so I don’t know why I would affect you in any way.” An inner voice in me cheers for saying it.
I know he feels more than lust whenever we’re around. I know there’s something deeper just underneath his surface. The more time we spend together, the more I see him for who he truly is—a complicated, sexy, talented, driven, moody man. But for all I know about him, he’s still, for all intents and purposes, a stranger to me.
“I said that I don’t make love, not that I wouldn’t.”
“What’s the difference?” I ask.
“Time. I haven’t spent long enough with any woman to get to that point.” He looks away as if something is calling him across the room then gets up. After a minute of contemplating, he turns to me and sits back down. “Can I ask you something?”
“Depends on what.” I smile, then think about how standoffish that sounded. “Yes, you can ask me anything.” I would probably tell him everything anyway.
“If I were to ask you to come around more, spend time with me…would you?”
“You mean…just to visit you more?”
He doesn’t quite look like he knows what he wants. Like the idea just barfed out of his head, mostly due to his alcohol fog. “I just…I need you around more.”
Um…okay. “Why? Because it helps you write songs?” Is he telling me I’m some kind of muse? But what about my job? My life?
“You know it’s more,” he says. “I just…I haven’t had this much creativity in a while and don’t want to jinx it.”
“Jayce, I have work. As it is, I’m probably in hot water with my boss for calling in sick.”
“Not every day. Just three, maybe four days a week. Cut your hours. Don’t give your job up completely. You can use my home recording studio to work on your music. Whatever you want. I’ll cover your losses.”
“Jayce…” I blow out a breath and fiddle with my split ends, which have suddenly taken up a lot of my interest.
Just two weeks ago, I was waiting in a VIP room at a club, reminding myself to stay true to my vision, stick to my guns, succeed on my own. Now I’m contemplating easy money to sit around and be Jayce Owens’ muse, a muse who will most likely have sex with him to help spawn his creativity. This is a slippery, slippery slope.
“I’ll pay you double what you’re getting down at the honkey-tonk.”
Wait, what. Is he serious? Double? I’d be able to work on my music and get paid to hang out with Jayce Owens at his own home? He has to be insane. How would I be different from a call girl? How would I explain this to my family, to Zoe, to my boss?
More importantly…how could I say no?
9
Jayce
What am I thinking by blurting the first thought that comes into my mind? Do I want her here so much that I’d be willing to pay her, keep her here like a friggin pet? Doesn’t speak too highly of me that I don’t believe she might want to stay just because she likes me.
“I don’t know,” she says, and I’d be lying if I said my stomach doesn’t sink. Another reason I like this girl. Anyone else would’ve jumped on that offer right away, but this girl doesn’t care that I’m paying her to do something most women would do for free. Or that some women would pay to do. She twists her hair into a rope. “I’ll think about it.”
“It was just an idea.” An idea I’ve never offered anyone else in my life. For a minute, we sit at the dining table, staring into our drinks, thinking things we should probably never say. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, Elena. I’m only trying to tell you that you’ve been good for me.”
Her shirt slides off her shoulder so sexy and effortless, she probably has no idea she looks so fucking beautiful. “I’m not uncomfortable. It’s just a lot to consider.”
“Hey.”
Pensive green eyes turn to me.
“Pretty eyebrows, pretty strawberry blonde hair, pretty lips...” I smile, but it’s a wistful one.
“Dark eyes, dar
k look, dark thoughts…” She grins then sinks back the rest of her wine.
“Oh, you have no idea. Come here.” I pat my spread-open legs. “Come warm my lap.”
She giggles, so fucking cute. “What’s the magic word?”
“Come warm my lap now,” I say. “Or I’ll go over there and spank you.”
“I don’t have to listen to you. You ain’t my daddy.”
“Oh, I ain’t, ain’t I?” I chuckle at our deliberate overuse of country talk. “What if I told you I don’t need to be? What if I told you I could make you do anything I ask you to do?” I raise my eyebrows with a teasing grin.
She stands with her wine glass, her round tits held snugly by the tight tank top underneath her shirt. “What are you gonna do, hypnotize me?” She swirls her glass, white wine doing laps inside.
“Better. I’m gonna tell you how beautiful you are, how I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I spun you around in my treehouse and fucked you from behind.”
“Mmm…” Her eyes close, face tilts up.
I reach out and grab her tight thighs. How I’d love to feel those on either side of me, as she bounces up and down on my cock. “
“What else?” she asks as her fingers curl into my hair and grip tightly.
“See, it’s better than hypnosis. It’s working already. Haven’t stopped thinking about those tits.” I reach up and cup them both through her shirt, squeezing them together, searching for her nipples through the fabric. Immediately, they harden up, and so do I. “The way they ached for me, the way I sucked on them, flicked them with the tip of my tongue.”
My cock stiffens more than it already was. It’s been in a stage of semi-erection all night just looking at her.
Slowly, she turns around and lowers herself into my lap. “What else?” Pressing down, she finds my hardness with her ass and begins to writhe around in circles.
“But best of all, that pussy…so wet and inviting…the way I plunged into you.”
At the word “plunge,” she grips the armrests of the dining chair and using it for leverage, plunges down onto my cock, like fucking with our clothes on. “I like hearing what you loved the most.”
“That wasn’t what I loved most of all,” I say, wrapping my hands around her small waist. “What I loved most of all was hearing you moan and whimper. Did you like fucking outdoors, Elena? Like a wild animal?”
“It made me nervous.” She pushes her back against my chest and her head against my shoulder, all the while feeling my cock grind against her ass. “But I liked it.”
“Good, because I want to show you so many things. You’re grinding on my cock right now. Why are you doing that, Shortcake?” My hands slide up and cup her breasts again, only this time I pull down the edge of her shirt and expose her bra, pulling the cups down enough for me to pinch and play with her nipples.
“I like how it feels.”
“Tell me how it feels.”
“Dangerous, like I shouldn’t be doing this. Like I’m way in over my head.” Her voice is a hoarse whisper.
“It spikes your adrenaline, that feeling of danger, makes you want more. I know that feeling and want to see more of it in you. Do you want to feel my cock somewhere else?”
“Like where?”
“Here.” I reach up and slide my thumb into her mouth, forcing her jaw open slightly, then swirl it around on her hot tongue. She writhes harder onto me, moaning.
Twisting her head sideways, our lips lock, and suddenly I’m invited into her world again, exploring her hot mouth and tongue, tasting her wine and giving her a taste of my whiskey. Intermingling, connection, the way our bodies are at this moment, only there’s one too many layers of denim between us.
I knead her breasts together, so fucking hot and firm and ripe, I’m afraid I might hurt her, but she doesn’t complain. She only quickens the pace on her mini lap dance until I can’t take it anymore, and I spin her around. “Get down.”
Lusty cat eyes gaze at me, and I think she’s going to resist, but then she says, “Yes, sir.”
I smile. “I see Shortcake has discovered she likes following commands. I could do a lot with this new information. I like what you become when we’re together.”
“I like it, too.” And just like that, Elena crosses her arms in that awesome pose a woman does right before she takes her shirt off, and pulls both layers over her head. A moment later, she’s plucked off her bra, and then there’s nothing between her perfect tits and my face. But before I can lean forward to shove one full, round breast into my mouth, she’s on her knees. Just like I asked her to be. Her fingers resting on the V of my jeans, outlining my package, look so dainty, my cock twitches at the thought of them stroking me.
“Tell me what you want, Elena. Always tell me.”
“I want you to unzip your jeans. Please.”
“And then what?”
“And then let me see it.”
“See what, Elena? Say it out loud.”
“Your cock. I want to see your cock.”
“What will you do with it if I show it to you?”
She blushes and bend down to kiss her again, suck on her lips, and devour every drop of her. Then, I sit back, as she watches me unzip. I pull my jeans down around my ankles and slide them off. My cock tents my boxers, dying for the warmth and wetness of her inviting mouth, and she reaches out to slide those off too.
Like she’s read my mind, she pulls them off slowly, revealing every inch of me a bit at a time, her eyes widening with every second. She watches my cock spring to life, engorge in blood, its veins pulsing in desperate need. Gripping it in my hand, I stroke it lightly.
“I still can’t believe I’m doing this,” Elena says, wrapping two delicate hands around the base of my cock to hold it up right. If I could, I’d take a picture of this double fisting.
“Why? Because of me?” Is she talking about the celebrity thing? That’s what most women say, but I’ve already lifted Elena to a higher level of woman altogether and doubt that’s what she means.
“No.” She flashes me a chastising look. “Because things have changed so quickly in such a short time, I sometimes don’t believe it’s real.” Teasingly, she brings her hand up to the head of my cock and wraps it around, twisting her hand like she’s polishing it.
I groan low and long. “Oh, it’s real, Shortcake.” I close my eyes, waiting for the moment her mouth envelops me, my whole body wired with anticipation.
Finally, I feel her warm breath on my cock, making my arms and legs tingle with excitement. She begins slowly with her tongue, running it along the underside of my head then she wraps her lips around me all at once, holding her mouth there.
I pulse inside her mouth. She responds by sucking, looking up at me to see how she’s doing, but it’s those eyes, those eyes that kill me. Shortcake has been laying low. Shortcake has dick-sucking skills. I won’t ask where she got them, because I don’t want to know. I cannot imagine another man receiving this same pleasure. She’s mine and only mine, and I push her head onto me slowly to remind her that I call the shots.
Yes, I take sick pleasure in telling others what to do, but maybe there’s something in that powerless childhood of mine to blame for it. “Take it in all the way. That’s it…” I guide her in, feeling the push at the back of her throat. Watching Elena’s mouth stretch so wide is nearly enough to make me come in her mouth, but I’m not done.
She sucks me in further, twists my cock, and draws me again, all the while her other hand holds my balls in place. I swear, if she looks up at me again with those emeralds while filling her mouth with my dick, I’m going to spill into her. As though she can read my mind, she uses her other hand to double fist me again, and then she pumps my cock, sliding her hands up and down, while I feel the pressure building like a geyser. But then she has to go and make those noises—those slurping sounds that threaten to do me in.
“Keep doing that and you’re going for trouble.”
I can’t. I can’t
hold it in anymore, as much as I want to last twenty hours in bed. I fucking can’t. Not with those eyes, that slurping, that tipsiness setting her off, releasing her hidden sexiness. It’s too much. I pull out quickly, holding her face in place. For a split second, I see that familiar panic, the one that tells me Elena has never done something before, but somehow I seriously doubt it. “Trust me,” I tell her.
And then, holding her mouth open, I come long and agonizingly hard, and she takes it onto her tongue. “Good girl,” I groan through pulse after pulse, watching each one spilling more and more come into her.
When my waves subside, I see her adoring face rest on my thigh. I pull her into my lap. She swallows what’s left, and I swear, nothing has ever been more intimate between us or anybody. It takes a special person to pull off a blowjob like that. I just never imagined it would come from Shortcake.
She’s sunlight and starlight and every kind of light in between—her face, her mouth, her willingness to push boundaries, the trust she puts in me at this very moment. What am I giving her in return? I have to do better, be better. She’s a goddess and I love…I fucking love everything about her.
10
Elena
In the morning, sunlight filters in through the window, only it’s not my window. I’m in a bedroom that’s not mine, my head feels woozy, and I’m alone. Did I sleep at Jayce’s last night? I’m in my tight top and panties, my jeans on the floor.
Suddenly, I remember everything.
The wine, the dining room…the dessert. I distinctly remember pleasuring Jayce and loving it. I remember him holding me a long time and wondering what he might’ve been thinking to squeeze me so tightly. I remember him telling me he wanted to return the favor, but I was happy to delay it ‘til morning. It was a long day yesterday, and the wine had muddled my brain.
Somewhere in the house, there’s a one-sided phone conversation. Sounds like Jayce. Thank God, or it’d be awkward to run into someone else here. Stepping into my jeans, I move to the door then flit down the hall, passing what looks like a studio complete with soundproof glass, microphone, wooden stool, and three guitars lined up against the wall inside. Lucky. Jayce sounds like he’s in the kitchen, but I don’t want to intrude on his private conversation. Just because I slept here and we’ve grown closer doesn’t mean I can just eavesdrop.
