Backstage

by A. m Madden

  “Fuck, I’m sorry. You must be starving.” I reach for her hand and pull her up to a standing position. “Come, let’s see what we can find.”

  I lead her to my kitchen. This could be a crapshoot. She opens the fridge and laughs. “Oh my God. There’s nothing in here.” I look over her shoulder. She’s right. Nothing.

  “Wait, I have this.” I pull a frozen block from my freezer, one of the many in there. “Whenever Leila makes a meal, she makes a portion for me. She’s afraid I’m going to starve to death.” I read the label and add, “Like lasagna?”

  “God, I love Leila. Remind me to tell her that. Yes, I love lasagna.”

  I hand her the container, “Now what?”

  She shakes her head and sighs. In fifteen minutes time she has this solid block of ice resembling a steaming plate of lasagna. “How’d ya do that?”

  “Magic,” she winks. “You see that box on your counter with the door on it? That’s a microwave. It heats food until it’s hot and edible.”

  I reach over and smack her ass, causing her to yelp and run away from me. In two long strides, I reach her and grab her waist, pulling her into my body. “You like being a smart ass?” I ask directly into her ear. Her nod is slow and timid. The skin on her arms breaks out into goose bumps. “Do you know how I handle smart asses?” Her shake is just as slow as her nod was. “I spank them.”

  I can’t hold back anymore. All our teasing, flirting, and making out is about to end. I need this girl desperately. I need to know what she feels like beneath me, and what I feel like inside her.

  “Tara?”

  At the sound of her name, she turns in my arms, linking her hands behind my neck. “Trey, I don’t do casual.”

  She loosens her grip and tries to pull away from me, but I won’t have it. My fingers automatically tighten around her waist. On their own accord, they move to the small of her back and press her into me further. I won’t have her leaving me like this. I need her.

  Now. Not tomorrow, not next week. Now.

  At the same time, I can’t give her more than just casual.

  I desperately hold her against me, refusing to let her go. When I bend to kiss her, she meets my mouth half way.

  She buries her fingers in my hair, just as I skim my hands over her ass. It’s so sexy in her tight jeans. I mold her curves, committing them all to memory. Our tongues tangle, fighting each other for more. When she grants me access to her sweet mouth, she sucks on my tongue vigorously. The pressure in my body is building like a shaken bottle of champagne. If she were to say stop now, I’m not sure I could. My moan comes right before my cork is released.

  One minute we are in the middle of my apartment kissing, the next I have her up against my wall, forcing her legs around my waist. Our movements become jerky and awkward. She wants this to keep going, I can feel it in the way she clutches me and drinks me in with her mouth. I don’t make love. I fuck. I fuck hard. Tonight, I want to fuck slowly. I want to fuck her for hours.

  I’m the first to break our kiss. “Tara?” I ask that unspoken question that got us here.

  She looks at me questioning, doubting what I want from her. She struggles with her own reservations. I can see her fighting with her little voice. “It” probably is telling her, don’t do it. She waits a beat, before crushing her mouth to mine. No words are spoken. I’m betting she just told that little voice to shut the fuck up. I carry her to my bedroom and lower her onto my bed while our mouths still frantically try to consume the other.

  First I yank off her shirt, then her jeans. Tara lying on my bed in her bra and panties fucks with me. She knocks me breathless, yet again. She’s so gorgeous. She looks so much like…

  I can’t. I can’t think of her.

  I destroy the clasp of her bra trying to tear it off of her. I do the same to her panties. Still fully clothed, I hover over her using my arms to keep me suspended. She pants from being aroused, from being nervous? I’m sure it’s a combination of both. My eyes travel down her smooth neck and settle on her gorgeous tits. They’re so pale. Her nipples are the same color pink as her lips, and they’re just as kissable.

  My cock wants out. He wants to be released and he wants in on this party, but not before I devour her inch-by-inch. I’ve imagined what she would taste like. I pull one perfect nipple into my mouth. It instantly lengthens as I pull and suck on it shamelessly. I feel like a teenager tasting his first tit.

  She arches into my mouth and complains when I release her. Through my own hooded eyes, I stare right into hers. I’m giving her one last chance to stop me. I only give her three seconds, because my mouth is on her other breast, picking up exactly where I left off. I feel her fingers in my hair, tugging so I’ll look at her again.

  Please, Tara, I internally plead. Please let me have you.

  I wait for her to speak. She doesn’t. Instead she pulls my head down to hers and kisses me fiercely. Maybe she’s in search of a connection, something to validate that this isn’t just sex. It’s not. If it were, I’d be pulling my usual shit. No eye contact, pounding her from behind, looking for a quick release so I can tell her to leave. I no longer have a desire to pull the usual. The only thing I want is to devour her.

  I break our kiss so I can proceed with tasting her body. Her fingers release my hair when I move further away. She’s trimmed, but not shaved. Most chicks shave it all off. I find it sexy as fuck that she isn’t like most chicks. She’s wet before my tongue even finds her. I can see her glistening in the dim light of my room. I skim a knuckle over her clit, and then I circle it very slowly. Her hips move a fraction at my touch. I replace my knuckle with my tongue, and then my mouth. Our eyes meet, and while holding her gaze I close my mouth over her pussy. Her taste on my tongue is addictive. When she gets close, I pull off and focus elsewhere. Only after her breathing calms do I resume. By the time I anchor my mouth to her clit, she’s screaming my name.

  I can’t get enough of her. I could go on all night. I feel starved for her. I give her three orgasms, and the only reason I stop is because she’s begging me to.

  “Please, Trey. I need you,” she voices my own thoughts.

  I need her, too. I need her more than she’ll ever know. Her words are the only thing that stops me feasting on her all night. I leave her to stand at the foot of the bed. I use every fiber of my being to not rush through stripping off my clothes or putting on my condom. By the time I join her on the bed again, her lip is tightly clenched between her teeth. Her breathing is ragged. Her milk chocolate eyes look darker. Her fingers are clutching the comforter.

  Neither of us speaks. Not when I cover her body with mine, not when I take her. I know she wants me to say something. Her eyes plead for me to tell her my thoughts. Instead, I show her. I slide into her while we are face to face. She feels so fucking good.

  The familiar instincts want to take over, trying to get me to plunge in and move faster. The prick inside me screams, fuck her you goddamn pussy. My body has been conditioned to do the normal. I fight it with all I have to try to relish in this and enjoy it.

  Thoughts race through my head. I’m spiraling downhill with every thrust. I thought I could make it different with her. I wanted to so desperately, but I’m losing the battle. I need to stop seeing her. I close my eyes in an attempt to break our connection. It works, and I transport to someone else, someplace else where I’m back to releasing all my issues through my fucking cock.

  I’m back to that.

  The sick part is Tara doesn’t know any of this is happening at the moment. She is lost in her own moment. Hers causes her to tighten around me and call my name when she comes. My name on her lips brings me back, and I come immediately after.

  I’m drained from the tornado my brain just experienced and the fuck my cock did.

  Shit.

  Fucking and thinking don’t mix. They don’t belong in the same room.

  I collapse beside her and she turns to face me.

  “Can I ask you something?” she asks hesi
tantly.

  “Yeah.”

  “After we have lasagna, can we do it again?” she shrugs and smiles. I laugh at her comment, not expecting her to say that. Instantly, Tara swings my pendulum back to her side.

  I skim her face with my palm, dragging a thumb over her full bottom lip. “Absolutely.” I nod and add, “As many times as you want.”

  Our lair has been invaded by little people, two little people to be specific. I am afraid of little people, especially the kind that can’t walk or talk yet. They just stare at you with this look on their faces like they can read your thoughts. It’s scary.

  Since they arrived a few months ago, Madden and Siarra Lair have both overrun our rock star lair. Everyone is going ape-shit over them. I do have to admit, they’re cute. That is when they aren’t staring at me. When they are, I feel so exposed. Until they are walking talking people, I’ll keep my distance. As their only cool as shit uncle, I plan on teaching them the ropes. My personal goal is to have Madden’s first words be “fucking, Hunter.” Leila isn’t happy about my goal.

  This weekend is Memorial Day. She is throwing a six-month party for the Little Dude and the Princess at their beach house, which I was told I had to attend. Fuck, a kid’s birthday party? As long as I’m being tortured, I may as well work on my goal. Do six-month olds talk yet? Hehehe.

  Shit is changing for Devil’s Lair. Babies, weddings, engagements…what the fuck is happening? I’m embarrassed to say that even I am having very un-Trey-like thoughts. Although I haven’t uttered these words to ANYONE and I deny it every chance I get, I have a girlfriend. Tara is most definitely my girl. I’m not sure she knows that though.

  Once we fucked, she made it very clear she doesn’t share. I had a decision to make. I decided that the thought of another fucker having any part of her causes my blood to simmer. The thought of me with another chick makes me feel sick to my stomach. I guess I don’t share either, but I haven’t told her as such.

  So far, she’s okay with our relationship. I know there will come a time where she’ll need me to speak up, to tell her how I feel. She’ll need me to tell her that she’s my girl and that I want no other. I know the time will come when she’ll need me to admit that I want to spend the rest of my life with her. If and when that time comes, I’m not sure I’ll be able to. If I can’t, I know I’ll lose her. The thought scares me. Yet, the thought of committing scares me more. She’s fairly open with her feelings for me. She’s affectionate and caring. There is so much good in her, I worry I’ll taint her in some way.

  She spends the night at my place often. I have yet to do so at hers. I just can’t bring myself to stay over. The one rare time we argued was for that very reason. She doesn’t understand what my issues are with it. Maybe it’s too much like a home? I know. It doesn’t make sense. To my defense, in my mind my apartments have always harbored mindless fornication. I have no emotional attachment to my place or think of it as a home. None. If I needed to flee tomorrow, I could easily do so. I need none of the shit in my place, except my insurance policy. Staying at her place would make it more real, I guess? Who the fuck knows?

  She was so upset with me that night that she threw me out. I felt…confused, rejected. It bothered me. I ended up at Jack and Leila’s. A higher power took me right to their doorstep. Jack was surprised when I showed up. I think I craved honesty. I told him that Tara was messing with my head. His simple question, “What happened, Dude?” plugged me up and sent me bolting out his door. Tara eventually forgave me, but it was with no help from me. Because of my confused state, I’ve pushed her away. She keeps coming back. That’s the type of person she is. Even after experiencing my indifference, she keeps coming back. Each time she does, I soften just a bit more. Some might say she’s a positive influence on me.

  Positive.

  That’s not a word I would have used in my past. Up until recently, positive and I never crossed paths. It found me. We won a few Grammys. Jack negotiated with the studio the terms for our next two tours. His demands only benefit us all. They agreed to each and every demand. The first tour will be domestic, and the second worldwide. The Rolling Stone articles have been published. They were very well received, and Tara is now in high demand in the journalism world. All of it is good, positive stuff.

  On a negative note, her editor was fired for his lack of intuition on how big our stories could be. He didn’t go quietly and publicly ridiculed her in the middle of their office. Many have been gossiping about her being an ass-kisser trying to gain points with the Editor-in-Chief. They haven’t been nice about it. They’ve made her time at the office very uncomfortable. So the angst that she’s dealing with is a direct result of meeting me. Since meeting me, she’s experiencing the opposite of positive. She is also harboring a ton of insecurities because of Kate. After Kate’s visit, I was in a perpetual bad mood. Tara never asked for details regarding my relationship with Kate. The fact she didn’t ask meant more to me than she’ll ever know. I know it bothered her. I can’t change what happened with Kate, but I can protect Tara from it.

  Kate did try to see me again. She showed up at my place. Her second attempt was less successful than her first. I opened the door, told her to stay the fuck away from me, and slammed it shut. A few days later, I found a letter in my mailbox. Just as I suspected, she wants me. After I left, Zane did a number on her. It forced her to rethink all her relationships. Kate felt we had something between us before she fucked it up. She loves me and wants nothing but the best for me. She feels deep down, in spite of the fact she hurt me, that I love her too. She’s fucking delusional. Tara found the letter. I wasn’t happy she read it and told her so. I did explain that I don’t believe Kate loves me for one minute. I think she wants the successful fucking rock star that I became. I crumpled the letter and flushed it. Either way, it’s inconsequential to my life.

  Basically, my relationship with Tara has been a roller coaster ride for her. She keeps getting back on even when I keep trying to kick her off and it keeps making her sick in the process. She puts her own discomforts aside to comfort me. She stayed again last night, picking up on the fact that something was bothering me.

  My mail was delivered from the studio. The studio receives all sorts of fan mail for us, and usually it’s opened by admins and answered without our involvement. Occasionally, a few pieces that are labeled confidential are flagged and are put aside to be delivered personally. Those are accumulated and sent to our private residences by carrier. Over the past few years, the size of my flagged mail has gone from a thin envelope containing a few letters to a box containing shit loads. Many times we’d joke about a letter or propositions we received in our flagged boxes. We’ve all received our fair share of crazy, Leila included. I’ve gotten all sorts of invites, condoms printed with a phone number on them, or even a hotel room key. It’s funny shit and all part of being a famous rock star.

  I was sorting through the piles of mail, and came across a letter that stopped me in my tracks. It was addressed to Trey Taylor, but the postmark was from Utah. There wasn’t a return address on it. I would have considered it a coincidence if not for the word “URGENT” that was written in ominous red marker across the front. I couldn’t bring myself to open it. I’d recognize the elegant script on the envelope anywhere. I’ve been staring at this envelope for hours, debating on throwing it out or opening up Pandora’s Box.

  I stuffed the letter in my pocket, not ready to face what was inside.

  Tara was my salvation last night. I was able to lose myself in her. She was able to help me forget by fucking me and blowing me. Her lips wrapped around my cock were the perfect antidotes to the poison coursing through my veins. It’s how I deal with stress. She was there for me.

  Once my cock settled, she fell asleep curled up against me. I was up all night. Just laying, staring at the ceiling. When she left this morning, she knew something was wrong. I practically pushed her out, anxious to read that fucking letter. I was consumed by what it could possibly say. My
last phone call to the Rappaports was a while back when we were traveling. They didn’t have any new information for me except that my uncle was in major debt. Along with my murderer of a father, they single handedly drove the Barton legacy and name into the ground. Getting this letter isn’t a coincidence. Sitting now, staring at it, I’m no longer so anxious to read it.

  Plan my moves, I argue with myself.

  I can’t plan my moves without information. This letter is just that. It’s nothing else but information. I can choose to use it for my benefit, or I can choose to ignore it. Either way, I need to open it. It’s a great argument, but it doesn’t motivate me enough to open the damn letter. Even though it’s morning, I grab a beer for liquid courage. What seems like hours later, but is actually only minutes, I finally tear open the envelope with shaking fingers.

  Dear Trestan,

  First, let me say I’m very proud of you. I’ve been following your career now for about a year. You boys have accomplished so much in such a short time. I wish I could have been part of all your milestones. I also wish you much more success in your future.

  You’re probably wondering how I found you. Let me start from the beginning. After you left, your dad was convicted of Taylor’s murder. Going through that trial alone was pure hell. You were right. He was a very sick man. I can say I’m sorry until I’m blue in the face, and it won’t be enough. But, I am sorry. I’m sorry I was so blind all those years. He cost me everything, the most important thing being my son.

  I can’t blame him entirely. I need to take responsibility. My punishment most definitely fits the crime. But, when you love someone with your entire being, you often don’t see reality very clearly.

  Things quickly declined after your father was convicted. Your Uncle Abraham had taken over the business, and your father’s congregation. Abe lost a lot of members, for obvious reasons. He got involved with some shady people in attempts to make a quick buck. Your father thought he still had control of things, and continued giving Abe instructions, but your uncle often ignored him.