Splinters

by M R Field

  “It’s okay,” I assure him, my voice deep with desire. “You can come in.”

  I don’t risk turning around just yet. I know those eyes will loosen the grip I have at my side, and the fingers will release my costume until it flutters to the ground.

  “Ten minutes to show time, Hazel.” His voice breaks. A breath flutters out of my throat.

  In the corner of my eye, I see him move closer until he is standing behind me. My grip tightens on the fabric as I feel his warm breath against my neck. Goosebumps tease along my skin and I can’t help it. I have to look at him. My eyes turn and stare into the molten depths of the eyes of the most beautiful man I have ever known. Without a word, his fingers reach out to my hips and begin to slowly zip up the corset. As the zip drags up my side, his warm fingers tease my skin until soft pants escape my lips. I swallow hard. I run the tip of my tongue along the inside of my lip, not caring that I’ve probably coated it in lipstick.

  He finishes zipping me up and runs his fingertips along the feathered tulle that peeks out at the top from under the seam of the corset. He hisses as the heat from my body rushes to the surface, giving my skin a pink glow.

  He gently turns me to face him and I watch nervously as his eyes trail up and down my body.

  “You are magnificent,” he breathes, his voice only marginally returning.

  “Th … thank you for the flowers,” I stammer, too turned on to function. A slow smile warms his face as he leans forward to leave a gentle kiss behind my left ear.

  “Anytime,” he whispers. We stand for a moment, transfixed in each other’s gaze, until a very fiery Trice and Alex barge in and ruin our moment.

  “It’s a costume, Alex! I am not putting a coat on. We have a show to do!” Trice stands with her hands on her hips, the tulle beneath her skirt bouncing in protest.

  “Please Bea, can you please put on a jacket at least? Maybe some fuckin’ jeans?”

  “Oh! Don’t be such a caveman. It’s not even short! Are you going to light a fire and growl at the predators?”

  “No, baby. The only fire I’ll be starting will be in our bed.”

  I snort, breaking the tension in the room. They are feisty today.

  “Here’s a thought.” Trice’s voice lowers slightly. “How about you tell me how good I look without giving me a reason to kick your arse to the couch tonight? This is our big night, Alex.”

  “I know Bea-Bea. I just wasn’t expecting that. Give me a moment for my brain to

  catch up, okay? You look incredible.”

  Her mouth tips into a small grin as she shakes her head at him, her sour mood dissipating into thin air.

  “See the shit I have to put up with?” Robbie whispers in my ear. I shiver and turn my cheek towards him.

  “I see.” Gazing into his eyes, Trice and Alex are forgotten and I’m standing on the precipice, holding on for dear life.

  “I’ll put on some pants straight after the performance, you big idiot.” Trice laughs, slapping me out of Robbie’s intense gaze.

  “Trust Alex to be a dickhead.” Robbie shakes his head.

  “Big dick is what you mean—just drop the ‘head’.” Alex jokes as Trice steps closer to him.

  “Whatever, you knucklehead.” Trice pushes him on the chest, “Behave like this again, and you can stay home. Now go out there and keep your sister company. I invited her and her boyfriend, Richard.”

  Alex pouts but not before Trice reaches up and kisses him. “See you soon. Go keep our friends company. Cheer for us.”

  I tense, wondering what Robbie will do beside me, only to feel him squeeze my hip slightly.

  “You will be amazing out there, Farfalla. I can’t wait to see.” He steps around me and gives his sister a quick peck on the cheek before leaving us alone.

  Trice and I smile at each other as my breath returns.

  “You ready to wow my brother?” Trice asks, raising her eyebrow at me.

  “He left me breathless just then.” I smack my lips together, glancing quickly into the mirror. My wanton gaze urges me on, and surprisingly, my lipstick looks untouched … for now. “But it’s my turn to return the favour. I’ll need to give him the kiss of life by the time I’ve finished with him.”

  “Excellent.” Trice claps. “Let’s go.”

  We leave the dressing room, spotting our band mates coming out of Trice’s dressing room. Trinity designed and made their outfits and they look amazing. Each member wore a black shirt, an emerald under-bust corset, and an emerald tie with a black lace overlay. They each wore wide leg black pants and heels, except Jules. She had her docs on underneath so she could drum. Either way, our band is spectacular.

  “You gals look incredible!” I squeal.

  We all grin at each other until our sound tech guy, Dan, appears before us. “Two minutes, ladies.”

  We nod, walking to the side of the stage. The anticipation lightens my steps and as I stand next to the dark curtain, I know one thing is for certain. I hold no more fear. It’s time to live and let him in. Get ready, Robbie. I’m coming to get you.

  “If this is it.”

  Newton Faulkner

  ROBBIE

  The cool ice cube crunches between my teeth as the melted water drips against my hot tongue. It’s all I can do to get me focused. Crunch and repeat. I tilt the glass to pour another cube into my mouth, the noise of the crunching ice startling my eardrums, as I stare at the stage. Waiting. The ice continues to melt, losing a brutal battle against my heated mouth. What battle will I face tonight?

  “Another Coke, Robbie?” I turn as my barman Deacon gestures to my glass on the counter.

  “Yeah, thanks. With plenty of ice,” I mutter, grinding down on another cube. I had intended to still work at the bar, but after fucking up a dozen drinks, Deacon told me to sit my arse down. I was a useless bar tender while I waited for the girls to begin. The bare stage taunts me. Fuck. How can I concentrate on her act while she’s wearing the hottest get-up I’ve ever seen? I tilt my glass and slide more ice into my mouth. Crunch, crunch.

  I ache.

  My clothes suffocate me.

  My thoughts battle against me.

  Her skin trembled as my fingers trailed up her side, the satin teasing me. Fuck. The soft blush against her shoulder invited me to touch it, just like the Garden of Eden. Yeah, I want to bite that apple. Eternal damnation doesn’t frighten me, but a life without her by my side petrifies me.

  I barely even notice that my club is full. Or that my new drink is in my hand. If I asked, I’d find out that we were at full capacity and that people were still waiting outside for their chance to come in. If I looked away from the stage, I’d see that the drinks are flowing and that people look as if they’re enjoying themselves. I don’t smell the aroma from the appetizers served to the tables and booths, nor hear the jazz music in the air while the sounds of busy feet and happy chatter whirl around me. I should be walking around and greeting people, but I can’t right now. All I notice is that empty stage. I’m irrational, and I know it. It’s only going to be empty for a moment, you idiot, but I feel like I have waited for this moment, for the lights to turn on, for her to shine on that stage and see her come alive. Just like a dream I’ve had for years. Already, one look at her in costume is better than any fantasy I’ve ever had. Ugh. My mind just went there.

  My jaw clenches and I throw the Coke down my throat to relieve the tension. I reach down quickly and adjust my pants while moving slightly on the barstool. Focus. The whole reason that this club is standing around us in my name is about to make her mark, and I don’t need my stupid cock to ruin it for me. I’ve already been waiting forever.

  I’m about to ask Deacon to fill my tumbler with just ice to keep my jaw busy rather than clench itself into an injury when the gentle overhead lights above the centre tables fade even more, and Hazel’s voice begins to caress the room.

  “Good evening everyone, and welcome. Tonight, the Emerald Vixen welcomes you to celebrate New Year’s E
ve with us—so sit back and relax and let the EV’s Cabaret entertain you!”

  The flutter of applause begins as small droplights illuminate two wooden chairs on stage. Both Hazel and Trice appear, walking closer to them, while a shuffle in movement is seen behind them. Sporadic wolf whistles sound around the room, and I can’t help but focus in on Hazel. The catcalls haven’t fazed her—if anything, her smile continues to light up the room.

  Both women take their seats facing forward on the backward positioned wooden chairs, their legs open across the seat, and thoughts of calming my cock disappear. Hazel’s long legs shine under the soft lights, and my eyes feast on her hungrily. The sheen of her fishnets gleam at me from her legs, the satin skirt hiding what I long to taste. Both Trice and Hazel then fold their left arms over the back of the chair, and place their right elbows on their left hands. Each moment is timed simultaneously. Slow. Quiet. Inviting. Their tilted faces sit cradled in their right hands and they stare into the audience. This. Is. It.

  I shuffle on my bar stool, too tense to move away from the bar and sit with our friends. Did she like the flowers? Will she give me a chance? A fool can hope, right?

  A soft light appears behind them, showing Jules seated on her Cajon drum. Her lips move to count and suddenly her hands begin to massage the drum to belt out a rhythmic solid beat. The clapping of her palms against the wood, lingers with familiarity in the air as the gentle chatter of the crowd quietens down further. Each smack against the drum, one sound after the other, becomes a deliberate move of slow anticipation. As my eyes shift from Jules, they collide with the deep stare of Hazel, her eyes transfixed on me, and I feel the ice cube melt against my tongue. Her ruby lips open as she begins to sing the opening bars of “Royals” by Lorde. The cadence of her voice smooths itself across my spine, tightening my pants and stiffening my lower back. Fuck me. She’ll have me twisted like a pretzel soon. I move the glass to the bar without breaking eye contact as yes, that’s right—she’s looking right at me.

  As her voice continues to move in the near silent room, both her and Trice begin to use the chairs as their own instruments, rolling their hips across them, then standing up and smacking their hands against the seat in time with the song. Their arms rise with the chairs in the air for a moment, only to quickly strike them down against the ground in time with the beat of the drum behind them. Each movement is so in sync that I can’t help feeling a sense of pride. My baby sister is up there, and although I know she looks and acts like a fucking rock star, I only spare her a second glance as my eyes are solely on Hazel. My farfalla. Everything else fades away.

  The song continues its steady beat until they are halfway, leaving Trice and Hazel to sing out the lyrics using the chairs for percussion, and as they bang the chairs down in their final rhythmic thud, more lights illuminate the stage, showing Jules now seated at her drum kit, reaching into her back pocket and retrieving a set of drumsticks. Roni and Maxi also come into focus under the yellow light, and begin strumming to the beat of the chairs. Jules then rips her sticks down, causing the finality of the ensemble to rock the ever-loving shit out of the piece. The pace of the song increases into heavier, edgier and wicked sounds while Hazel’s voice booms through the club, bathing the audience with her talent. She’s magnificent and all this time, her gaze has not left me.

  As the song concludes, the band slowly winds down to the original slow beat, leaving the girls to take their opening poses, seated on the chairs, their faces resting on their hands, and wicked, satisfied smiles adorning their faces. I can make her smile like that.

  The song ends, and the crowd erupts in applause. I clap my hands vigorously, watching those deep eyes grin back at me. She is too far for me to see the depths of those emerald beauties, but fuck it’s taking a massive toll on me holding myself back. They enjoy the moment of applause until the heavy rifts of guitar strum and a jazzy beat fills the club. I can barely register the actual song they are performing to, as all I can focus on is Hazel standing with Trice and the swishing of the skirt against her thighs and the fluidity of her hips. She is hypnotising me with lust, I either get up and drag her to my office or I don’t stop watching her.

  The performance continues throughout the evening while I stay firmly seated on my stool. Each song that passes becomes more memorable than the last. My chest fills with pride watching Hazel rule that stage alongside Trice. As their current song draws to a close, the band slowly ceases to play and the lights switch off abruptly, coating the stage in darkness. For a moment, the crowd applauds then is stunned into whispered confusion by the performers’ sudden departure. I grab a quick drink from my glass and clutch it, eager for them to return.

  The overhead lights slowly turn on revealing the stage being cleared of the performers and only Hazel is left, seated at the piano. Her shoulders rise and fall before she says clearly into the microphone,

  “I hope you’re listening, Tesoro, my brown-eyed boy.” I clench the glass in my hand and quickly shift it to the bar, watching as her fingers linger above the keys. She hums quietly, the notes vibrating from her throat, before lowering her fingers as the gentle melody begins to play. “You’d Be So Nice To Come Home To” by Frank Sinatra fills the air, but the quirky upbeat is missing, leaving the slow, haunting tone of her voice, lingering, waiting and if I wasn’t already seduced, I’d be so now. Pure sex falls from those lips. Her voice caresses my ears, sending my hormones into overdrive. I watch her as she plays the keys, I watch her as she turns her head towards me and continues to sing, and I watch the determined and heated look in her eyes. I simply watch, staring back, quirking my eyebrow and challenging her to follow through. To not shy away.

  As the song continues my pulse quickens, sending waves of lust once again to my already strained groin. I want her in more fucking ways than are imaginable. I want her on the keys of that piano before taking her again against the top. I want my hands, fingers, mouth, and tongue to lap up the desire she’s shown me tonight, and I want her in my bed, tearing up the sheets until all that is left is a languid, happy mess. No more waiting, and no more being alone.

  The song ends, and the crowd erupts spectacularly. The band members and Trice return for their final number. This time, Trice takes a seat at the piano and Hazel walks up to the lone microphone with a tambourine in her hand. She looks over her shoulder quickly and Jules taps the drumsticks above her head. Without missing a beat, Hazel’s eyes find me again as she shouts into the microphone, “Let’s bring the New Year in with an oldie but a goodie!”

  A smile lights up her face as the familiar sounds of Promises’ “Baby It’s You” fills the room, and sends a bolt of lightning straight through my chest. As Hazel’s fingers tap the tambourine against her thigh, all I want to do is run up to her and kiss those lips that are holding so much promise. My patrons dance around their tables, waving their arms in the air, as the happy vibe that Haze and Trice’s performance has created fills the room. But my focus isn’t on them. They are merely glimmers in the path to Hazel.

  I don’t even taste the sweet drink in my mouth any more. All I see and hear is her and I’m fucking begging to touch her. The movement of her hips rocking from side to side causes warmth to spread through me. Hurry up and finish that song. The agonising wait for the song to end finally arrives, and as the band, Trice and Hazel take their final bow, I prowl through the crowd towards her. The countdown to midnight descends, but I will save my lips for her. Friends and staff momentarily halt me, wishing me a Happy New Year, but I awkwardly move away to the side. I can’t lose track of her.

  The stage is clear and there is only one place that she will be. My footsteps march towards her changing room and when I finally reach the thick wooden door, I don’t even knock. I have lost all sense of patience and courtesy. For almost two and a half hours, her whole being has seduced me, and I have been stripped down to a remnant of the man I was, reduced now to a fuckin’ horny mess of my former self. I’m surprised I can even walk.

  I
throw open the door, only to find her leaning with her back against the vanity, her chest heaving while her eyes are firmly planted on mine. I storm through and slam the door behind me. The only sounds aside from our mingled heavy breathing is the crisp click of the lock being turned. I don’t want to fuck this up. I clench my fists behind my back to stop from pouncing her like a caged lion.

  “That night years ago, when we first kissed, you changed me.” I pant in ragged breaths. “Your lips barely grazed mine, but the mark remained, Farfalla. It was there. It’s all I continued to feel whenever you were near.”

  “Me too,” she whimpers, her tongue darting out to meet her lower lip. I can’t take it anymore. I march towards her, her eyes widening as I draw near. I stand frozen, taking in the features of her beautiful face and raise my hand to run a finger along her hot cheek.

  “Are you mine, now?” I ask, gazing into the emerald pools that have captured my thoughts and haunted my dreams for years.

  “Yes.” She panting and before I can move to her, she surprises me and grabs my shirt and pulls me close. Her lips a breath away as she says, “Happy New Year, Robbie. Here’s to new beginnings.”

  She toasts by slamming her lips against mine. I don’t hesitate. I pull her closer, as her soft, warm, lips punish me. My body ignites as I grab her hips and tap her legs, urging her to jump around my waist. She moves instantaneously, and I groan as her hot centre lands against my rigid crotch. I grind my hips into her and she moans, my mouth opening wider, capturing her tongue and drawing it deeper into my mouth.

  Her hands move up into my hair, gripping tightly and I hiss, the pain turning me on. I walk with her clenched around my hips towards the small lounge chair against the other side of the room. I lift her higher so I can sit, her arms tightening around my neck as I lower us slowly, careful not to slip. The comfort of the upholstered chair against my back is short-lived as the intensity of our touching increases and like a wild animal, Hazel moves her hands to the side of my face as she grinds down on me.