by Paige North
He spreads my nervous thighs apart and finds my clit through my panties, then presses two fingers into gentle circles. My knees weaken even more, and I gasp for breath. “Open your eyes,” he tells me. “Look at Athena.”
My chin tilts back in aching need, and I open my eyes to stare at the golden statue. How can I let him do this, here of all places? Why can’t I stop it? What’s more, why do I feel like I’m under a spell every time we’re together?
“See how fierce she is? In charge?” His fingers hook around the sides of my panties, and slowly he brings them down, using his foot to push them the rest of the way. My pussy is now naked and vulnerable, exposed to a public space, like I’m on display. Like Athena. “You’re just like her, Elena. Brave, adventurous, beautiful.”
Brave. A laugh erupts inside my head. I am not brave. I’m scared of failing in the music industry, I’m scared of going back to New Hampshire labeled a failure, I’m scared I’m falling for Jayce when he won’t let me in, and my obsession with him is jinxing my concentration.
“Tell me what you want.” His hypnotizing voice commands me.
“I want you to kiss me.”
“Kiss you, or lick you?”
“Both.”
“Where? Say where, Elena.”
“My pussy.” I reach down and pat my clit to heighten the ache.
He pushes my hand away. “Tell me the whole thing.”
“I want you to kiss and lick my pussy.” I remain focused on the golden goddess, my fingers gripping his hair. Athena wouldn’t be afraid of anything—not her sexuality, not her power, certainly not any man. She’s in charge.
“And what else…” Slowly, he slides his thick finger into me again, just like he did the first time at Vanguard when I melted and combusted in his arms.
“Open your mouth and take me in,” I say, my voice sounding husky in my own ears. It doesn’t sound like me. “I want to see you…admiring me.”
“Worshipping you, you mean.” He opens his mouth and takes a long, slow lick of my open folds. Pulling out his fingers, he rubs them along my clit, wetting it with my juices, then licks me again.
“Yes. Worship me,” I say, closing my eyes, feeling his tongue and mouth working beautifully together, building intensity and peaking my desire. I can feel myself close. It’s going to be the fastest I’ve ever come. Jayce Owens can make me come at the drop of a hat.
“You’re almost there…” His hot breath flushes my skin, and the pressure forms together at the apex of my folds.
My fingers rake through his hair, and I grip him harder.
“I feel it, Elena. Come for me.”
“Lick my pussy,” I find myself saying. It’s me, my words, though it sounds like somebody else. Who stole my identity and replaced it with a sexually confident woman?
I chance a glance at him and see his face pressed between my legs, mouth open and sucking my clit, licking it, and sucking again like it’s a source of nourishment for his hungry soul. His eyes narrow into a smile behind my pussy, and I can’t believe what is happening. Maybe it’s the power of Athena, the power of Jayce’s drawl guiding me through this maze of desire, the power of not giving a shit where I am, but I let it all go.
My climax washes over me, consumes me, paralyzes me.
There’s beauty in letting go. Beauty in white-hot aching need, in letting someone strip your fears, so you can reach yourself, live your true potential, become your inner Athena. And even more beauty that I’m feeding all this energy straight into him, as he drinks me in. I’m falling and spinning to some other world, and I love it. I’ve never had this and don’t want it to ever end, even if I have to suffer through confusion for a while.
I need this.
I need it like a drug.
If Jayce can take my body to such higher levels of sexual evolution, I shudder to think what he can do for the other areas of my life.
11
Jayce
The first thing I did after dropping her off at her car at the studio? I went home and wrote another new song. Lyrics about worshipping her body, refueling from a kiss with victory in her hands. Think I’ll call it “Greek Girl in Nashville.”
There’s nothing sexier than discovering a simple woman to be full of hidden secrets, a well of passion buried deep inside her, and it’s up to you to find it. Maybe the Holy Grail of Life is simply that—getting a woman to submit to her desires. It’s the strangest thing. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and it scares the shit out of me.
I’m obsessed. Entranced.
So by the time Elena shows up at my house today, large bag in hand, declaring, “I’ll stay. Not for double the money. Just enough to cover my losses,” I knew I’d have to put my fears aside. Creativity has its price. If I want to be taken seriously as an artist, and not just a two-hit wonder, I’m gonna have to go ‘n’ get my heart broke.
Hell, works for Taylor Swift.
Staring at Elena in my foyer, nervously biting her lip and gripping her bag like a lifeline, I’d be helpless to push her away even if I wanted to.
We spend the next several days talking, having mind-blowing sex, writing songs, and getting to know more about each other. But no matter what, I don’t tell her about my family. Why would I risk it? So she could sum me up in a heartbeat?
Jayce Owens is just an Appalachian hick. He got where he is on pure luck—zero hard work and zero college degree. It’s bad enough he didn’t graduate high school. I don’t need his drama, his family’s late night fights, father’s drunken rages, brothers fights for control, or his mama’s tears. That is one thing I did not bank on when I moved to Nashville.
Because it will happen. The moment she sees where I come from, she’ll start seeing me differently. I just can’t risk it. I need her too much.
Instead, I tell her other things, stories about my brothers, how we used to suck venom out of our wasp stings, drink out of a garden hose, and come home way past supper time. It all sounds so romantic when I tell it, when I leave out the part about bruises and Mama’s silent tears in the middle of the night.
I also leave out the part where my daddy would whoop my ass raw if Mama had cooked and I wasn’t at the table yet. Things I haven’t thought about in years. Still, it feels good to talk about good times with my brothers, something other than my success.
Elena mentions her best friend who stopped talking to her when she found out she was moving to Nashville. Basically thought she was wasting her time on foolish dreams when she could be starting a career as a music teacher or some bullshit back home in New Hampshire. This best friend had been everything to her before, so I respect Elena even more now that I know she went ahead and pursued her dream anyway. Fuck that. If your friends don’t support you, it’s time for new friends.
What’s cool is seeing Elena’s walls come down. I love catching her mid-laugh about something that happened when she was little. Makes me envision her as a tiny girl in ponytail, dreaming of being a star. She still waits tables at Hammerhill’s—a good gig I don’t want her to give up—only now it’s three nights a week instead of full weekdays and nights. I pay her half of the rent, even though she’s not staying there, and her roommate seems to get into text battles with her about it a lot. She wants to know where she’s getting her money, and I’m pretty sure Elena hasn’t told her the truth.
Because she doesn’t want her to know I’m helping, most likely. Still, I help, because it’s only fair she have a place to return to if she gets tired of me. Which she will.
Daddy did.
Ethan did.
Seems like the only people who love me sometimes are my fans. That’s because they don’t know me. They don’t know I can drink. They don’t know I can throw headphones across a room when I’m pissed. They don’t know the real me.
Days turn into nights, and nights turn into weeks. The routine is the same—we work on melodies, we go into Bluebird to record, Rick gets antsier that we haven’t cranked out the mega hit he wants, then we
come home, fuck our brains out, and start all over again. Having Shortcake around has definitely boosted my creativity and made me want to stay home more, but we’re also at the point where girls normally want to know “where we stand,” and I reckon I have no fucking clue. If I ever manage to get this far with a woman, it’s time for her to go.
But Elena brings out the best in me, stirs up dangerous shit in my heart, things I’m not ready to face.
We’re neck deep in the love ballad, the one about Elena, the one Rick doesn’t think should be on the album. But my feeling is, if Elena and I get it perfect, he won’t be able to say no. Problem is, I keep imagining myself as a country music fan in my car, stopping to hear the new Jayce Owens song, featuring newcomer, Elena Wallace. Even though we sound great together, the melody sounds just like every other slow country duet you’ve ever heard. Yeah, I know Elena told me that, but I don’t think her way works either, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings.
There’s something missing. Not sure what it is, but I’m on edge over it.
“Try the melody I suggested,” she says one day while we’re at my house in the studio, strumming a few chords on the guitar. “You know, the one you fought tooth and nail that day to override?” There’s snark in her voice, a new thing for her. Not sure how I feel about it, but it’s got me breathing hard and shaking my head.
“You mean the one that won’t cut it?” I retort, eyeing her, then flipping through the music again. I hate to tell her, but I’m the one with a reputation on the line, not her.
“No, I mean the one that serves the song best. The one that makes it stand out.”
I laugh but it’s not funny. I’m in no mood for arguing today. She may think she’s onto something with that melody, but it’s only because she hasn’t recorded albums like I have. Besides, she’s making it sound too much like “Drink Me Like Wine” from the second album.
“Listen, Shortcake—”
“Elena.” She fires back. When I look at her, she’s got a sharp look to her mouth. I’ve never seen it before. “When we work on music for your album, Jayce,” she says a little softer, “I would like it if you called me by my name.” Her tone softens right at the end, like someone who’s trying to control a volcanic eruption. Where did this shade come from? Six weeks I’ve been calling her Shortcake, and now’s when it bothers her?
Fuck that.
“Okay, Elena…” I let out a slow, deep breath. “I know you have a fancy music degree from a fancy college, but here in the real world, experience goes a long way. Trust me when I say that melody won’t hold up. Yes, it’s sounds good, but it’s too—what they call—‘familiar,’ and last thing I need are critics saying the new album don’t sound fresh. You get what I’m saying?”
She sets the guitar down and huffs suddenly. “I know what ‘familiar’ means, Jayce. I don’t have to sit here and listen to this patronizing bullshit. And that fancy college actually taught me things you have no clue how to do.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass,” I say. “What you learn in the classroom is different from what you learn in the music business, and I would like it if you trusted me for once.” That’s all. I’m not asking for much. Just for her to acknowledge that I know a thing or two about making hit songs, goddammit, or go stare at my Grammys a while longer until she gets it.
She clucks her tongue, and I know she’s got more shit up her sleeve. Bring it.
“I know not everything is learned in the classroom, Jayce, but you’re the one who’s stuck and undecided about this song. I was only offering a suggestion, but of course, it didn’t come from your own brain, so God forbid it might be a viable one.” She’s on a roll now, pacing the room back and forth. “Admit it,” she adds, stopping to point—point—a fucking finger at me. “You think you’re better than me. Well, guess what? You’re not. You’re closed-minded and stubborn and I know I’m right.”
“You’re wrong. Actually.”
“The least you could do is give my suggestion a shot. If it doesn’t sound good, fine. But you won’t do that. You know why? Because you’re full of pride and bullshit. Because it’s always about you.”
Enough of this. “If it’s all about me then why are you here?”
“I don’t know! Why don’t you tell me? I’ve been wondering the same!”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now with this shit? Why do I ask you so much about your life, your hometown, your family, how you grew to love music? Huh? If all so goddamned about me!”
“Because it takes the focus off you.” She snaps those sharp green eyes at me. “You ask me about me, not because you care, but because that way, you don’t have to talk about you.”
I have nothing to say to that. I look away. Is she right?
“Because God forbid Jayce Owens delves any deeper into his background or opens up to the girl who’s been by his side for six weeks, the girl he happens to call his muse, goddess, and other lies. So inspired you are by me that you asked me to stay here a while. You know what? I’ve been stupid. You’ve just been using me.” She paces the room, gathering her shit.
Unsuspected panic rises in my chest. Where the fuck does she think she’s going? “Don’t…fucking leave,” I tell her. “Sit down and work on this.”
“I gave up my job, my time, and my friendships to give you what you want, and you don’t even appreciate it.”
“What friendships?” I blurt out. “You’re just like me. We’re loners who delve into our music and don’t come up for air until we’re out of oxygen. I’m your only fucking friend, Elena.”
“Shut up.”
“Why? Because it’s true?”
“Because you’re an asshole.”
“Maybe so, but I’m talking truth here.” I reach for her arm and pull her toward me, but she yanks I away. “Admit it. You want to be here just as much as I want you to, because you have no one else to hang out with. Plus, it’ll help you break into the business. It’s a win-win for you, hon. How do I know you’re not the one using me to advance your career, huh, Shortcake? Answer me that!”
The hand flies faster than I can get ready for it, slapping me hard across the cheek.
Her fingertips fly to her mouth. “How dare you?” she breathes. “How the fuck dare you suggest that I’m here every day just for my career and not because I love being with you?” Her eyes redden, and a well of tears rise up behind her lids. “And because I believe in what we create together? You’re as deluded as you are controlling. Well, guess what? You’re not controlling me anymore.” She picks up her gig bag, shoves her guitar inside, and tosses it over her shoulder.
Like hell I’m not. I stand and rush at her to stop her from leaving. I’ve invested too fucking much in her, more than anyone in my life.
Let her go, Jayce, my brain tells me. This’ll blow over, she’s just mad, let it be. But the other part…the part I’m scared of, the part that reminds me of my dad, sees a woman who might, just might love my darker fantasies as much as I do, and I can’t let her get away.
She’s too important to me.
No way I can handle her leaving my life. Not now, not so close to finishing the album. I’m paying her bills, we’re making it work, and one stupid argument shouldn’t fuck that up. I’ll tell her when she can go.
“Come here, you ain’t going anywhere.” I grab her shoulders and pull her in with one arm. She wriggles to free herself.
“Let me go!” she cries, pushing against me, but still no match.
“I believe in everything we do together, or else I wouldn’t have asked you to collaborate with me,” I say this to her face, making sure she gets a good look at my eyes, ‘cause I ain’t lying. “You think, for one second, that I go around asking random backup singers to work on songs with me? Is that what you think?” I hold her by the arms to make her look at me, but she averts her face. “You’re fucking crazy.”
“You’re crazy for doing this. Let me go, Jayce. I need to go home.”
“You are home.
”
“No, I’m not. I have no home right now!” Hot tears spill out of her lower lids, but I wipe them away. I love every part of her, salty tears and all.
“I can’t let you go,” I say. “Not until you calm the fuck down.”
“You can’t keep me here, Jayce.”
“I know that, so you’re just going to have to trust me.”
“I’ve heard that before…”
“Have I ever let you down?” Pulling her out of the studio, I lead her down the hall, as she struggles and fights to be set free. “You’re fighting for no reason. I know we both got a lot on our minds, but I would never hurt you.”
“You just did with your belittling bullshit.”
Entering my bedroom, I toss her onto my bed and lock the door. “I have never belittled you,” I say, unbuttoning the top button of my jeans. “I respect you too much. Or have you not been paying attention?”
“What are you doing? Sex doesn’t solve everything. Tell me you’re sorry, or I have no reason to stay.” She gets up, but I hold her in place, kick open my bottom drawer, and pull out the rope I keep inside.
Her eyes widen and her breath becomes shallow, but I have to test her. If she can’t pass this, then maybe she’s right, and we’re not meant to be.
“What are you doing with that?” she asks.
She eyes the rope I pull out and twist in my hands, slapping my palm. “Sorry is an empty word. People throw it around all the time. It doesn’t mean anything. I’m an action man, Elena. This is how I fix things. Come over here.” I point to the bedpost.
“You’re insane.”
“There are things about me I want to tell you,” I explain.
“Then tell me.”
“I’m scared you’ll run off, and right now, you’re proving me right,” I say. She doesn’t reply, her beautiful chest heaving in her tank top. “Let me tie you up. If you don’t love it, then you’re free to go.”
