Oona was here earlier to help me eat some of my feast of leftovers, but she’s gone now and my house is quiet. Not in the way I like either, but in kind of a lonely way. I miss Nick more than I’d expected to. And while I’m pretty sure Nick feels the same, he hasn’t said it in so many words, nor have we made any move to become more official than we were when I almost slept with Jake.
How do people do that, anyway? In some ways, Nick involving me in things outside of just calls between the two of us feels more relationship-y somehow. Like his friends know about me and include me when they can. It’s not a perfect system, but I love that they try.
I’m not sure what he’s told them, if anything, about why I’m not there. Surely they’ve asked? Or at least wondered why they haven’t met me in person? Or perhaps when they can?
What I’d really like to know, though, is how do grown-ups in this day and age decide that they’re a thing, especially a thing to the exclusion of other people? It’s possible that monogamy isn’t Nick’s bag, but he’s told me about Teague and his very strong feelings about fidelity, and he didn’t mention being polyam at the time, which would’ve been a good excuse to bring it up. So I’m going to go ahead and say that Nicky is a one-girl kind of guy.
After I finish the dishes from Oona’s visit, I get ready for bed and read for a while. Nick said he’d call after his show, and I’d like to be awake for that. I even wore cute pajamas for that. I have perhaps started fantasizing about what we might do during such a call. I’m squeamish about camming because it seems too easy for pictures or god forbid video to get out, even if I trust Nicky, which I do. For some—probably completely illogical—reason, talking seems less like it could be exploited in a super-icky way.
And hell, can’t a girl enjoy herself? I plan to, unless of course Nick is out carousing in the streets of Philadelphia, which he may well be. But without Benji, since Jordan’s there, and without Teague and Christian, and Zane not being the paint-the-town type anyhow, I doubt it. Sometimes they hang out with groupies and, yeah, go out with their roadies, but for the most part, the LtG boys stick together like glue in a way that’s pretty damn cute.
My phone rings and a smile steals over my face before I can stop it. That’ll be Nick. No one else would call me at this hour. When I pick it up, it is indeed him, the selfie he took and set as his pic on my phone coming up. My goodness he’s a goofball. But a really frigging hot goofball. Not in the conventional sense like Teague or the other guys… No, he’s too rough around the edges for that. But he looks carefree and laidback, and I could really use some of that in my life.
“How was the show?”
“Aw, babe. It was so freaking great. The crowd was totally into us, the energy was amazing, and everyone was just in it, you know? I’ll send you a recording because it was fucking awesome.”
Sometimes Nicky hooks me up with a livestream, but I like the recordings, so I can listen to my favorite parts over and over. Mostly it’s him saying something ridiculous or bouncing around the stage like a wild man. And yeah, I like it when he strips off his shirt and sometimes more, okay? He’s got a body that just does it for me, especially since I know what he can do with it. Many, many good things.
“That sounds great. Good thing to come off of to head up to New York.”
“Hell, yeah, it is.”
He sounds wound up, as though he’s about to bounce off the walls. Maybe he should go out to burn off some of this energy so he can actually sleep.
“You going out? You sound keyed up, like you need to get rid of some of that post-show high.”
It’s entirely selfish and unfair of me to hope that he’ll say no, but I guess sometimes wishes come true for people like me, because he says, “I might if you’re tired. I don’t want to keep you up if you have an early client tomorrow, but if you don’t…”
It’s possible I’m too quick to say, “I don’t,” because he huffs a laugh.
“Then I’d rather blow off some steam with you. What are you wearing?”
13
Nick
* * *
“You know that mint-green camisole with the white lace at the top?”
“Yes, I do.” God, do I ever. I remember stripping that off her as she straddled me. I remember sucking on her tits and her rubbing off against my thigh until I smacked her ass, rolled her over, peeled off the matching underwear, and then fucked her with her urging me on. Fucking A, yes, I have very fond memories of that tank top thinger.
“Well, it’s not that.”
I groan and flop onto the super-cushy hotel bed. No tour bus bunking tonight. No, tonight we get the luxury of a swank-ass hotel, and I starfish on the king-sized bed because I can. “You’re cruel, you know that, you little minx? Getting a guy all excited about those sexy underthings, and I swear, if you say that you’re wearing an ankle-length flannel nightgown or coveralls or something, I’m gonna be real sad.”
Although truthfully, I bet Dempsey could make anything look sexy. She could wear a paper bag or a burlap sack, and I’d still get hard.
“No,” she chides. “It’s the same kind of set. Since you liked the green ones so much, I got another set in lilac. Does that meet with your approval, or am I still a mean girl?”
I can picture her exactly, spread out on her bed in clingy, soft, light purple barely-theres. It, uh, might be too much for me. Nah, not too much, but I’m going to need to unzip these jeans, otherwise I’m going to be very uncomfortable.
“I approve. Is that all you’re wearing?” She might still be dressed, though it’s kind of late so I’m guessing she’s already in bed and only wearing that sorry excuse for an outfit.
“Yes. I’m in bed. Where are you?”
“Also in bed, but still wearing my clothes from the show. You can probably smell me from LA. Sorry about that.”
Some girls are into that or at least wouldn’t mind, but Dempsey’s a bit more…fastidious than that. That’s a word, right? And the right one? Whatever.
“Would you like to take a shower? With me?”
“How… Oh.” Yeah, I can see how that could work and be hella sexy. “You want to tell me what you would do if you were here?”
“That’s what I had in mind, yes.”
Her voice has become that sensual purr it does sometimes when she’s getting sexy or flirty with me. It’s the change in tone that tells me, even if she’s asking for the ketchup, I’m likely going to be getting lucky in the very near future.
I sit up on the bed, fly still undone and my hand wrapped around my dick, because I am ready to get this show on the road.
“If I were there, we wouldn’t even make it to the bathroom before I started taking your clothes off. Shirt to start, and it would wind up on the floor right inside the room. Sometime I’d like to see you right after a show. Be with you when you’re all high from making music and getting your fill of attention. Someday I will, but for now I’m going to pretend that I’d push you up against a door and kiss you, run my hands all over the tats on your shoulders and then use my tongue to trace the tendons on your neck. You’d hum because your voice is tired from the show, but you want to tell me it feels really good.”
I make the noise I think she’s talking about, and she encourages me with a “yeah, just like that.”
I make my way to my feet, using a fist curled around the hem of my tee to take it off and drop it on the floor.
“Then what?”
“After I kissed the hell out of you and mouthed your neck the way you like, I’d slip my hand inside your jeans to feel how hard you are for me. You are hard now, aren’t you, Nicky?”
Aw, Christ. If I hadn’t been before, I sure as hell would be now with that faux-innocent lilt to her words. She’d look at me with those big brown eyes, bat her long lashes, maybe put a fingertip to her plump lips, and I’d be a goner. Lord knows Dempsey isn’t an innocent, but it’s hot when she pretends.
“Yeah. Yes.” And I’m stroking said hardness, thinking of it bein
g Dempsey’s soft hand instead of mine.
“Once you were panting and bucking up into my hand, I’d let you go and tell you to take your pants off. Go ahead, take them all the way off with your shorts and leave them on the floor. Tell me when you’re done.”
Taking my hand off my dick is the last thing I want to do, so I try to just sort of wiggle my pants off, but it doesn’t work so I have to. My cock bobs when I let it go, and it’s so hard it aches, and I shove my shorts down as quickly as possible. Peel off my socks while I’m at it.
“Done.”
“So you’re naked now? And so hard for me it hurts?”
“Yeah,” I grit out through my teeth. I swear the woman is not this much of a tease when we’re together, but she likes to toy with me over the phone.
“Then you should probably head to the shower, yeah? Get in there, Nick, because I’m not going to touch you again until you’re good and wet.”
For fuck’s sake. I haul ass to the bathroom and crank the water on high. While I wait for it to get hot, I put the phone on speaker and hope the walls aren’t thin enough for my neighbor to get their jollies from Dempsey’s dirty talk. The head of my cock is slick with pre-come because she’s got me so hot I’m leaking.
When the water’s warm, I step in and let it wash over me, not touching myself even though the spray pelting down is almost painful. I thread my fingers through my hair in my attempt to get it soaked through, and then I think it’s good enough.
“I’m wet.”
“Good. Now it’s time you get clean, don’t you think? Is it a bar of soap or a bottle of gel?”
“Bar.”
“Then I’d take it between my hand and rub until I got up a nice lather.”
I can do that. Dempsey would probably be all sexy while she did it, but I’m not super-classy under the best of circumstances and I’m desperate so I just rub until I’ve got a good froth of suds. “Okay, I’ve got hands full of bubbles.”
“Very good,” she purrs, and I am hanging on every sound that drops from her lips. “Because the next thing I’d do is…”
“Is what?” I’m practically shaking with need under the spray, my hands surrounded with suds and waiting. Jesus fuck, the waiting. I can practically see her lounging on her bed and toying with a lock of her hair while she torments me, smiling like a satisfied cat all the way. Well, it’s gonna be my turn next.
“Touch and stroke and rub you everywhere…except your cock.”
I choke on fucking nothing and nearly double over. She’s gonna kill me. “You’re the devil.”
She laughs because she’s mean like that. She really is a product of the fires of hell. That might be the horniness talking, but nah, I’m pretty sure she’s just the spawn of demons.
“Come on, Nicky, are you doing it? Arms, legs, stomach, behind your ears? Scrub up, dirty boy. I want you squeaky clean. Because you know what I’d do?”
Please tell me that it is take pity on me and my about-to-burst dick, because swear to god… I really hope this is a rhetorical question because I’m not sure I’m capable of speech. I don’t have all that many brain cells, and they’re all occupied.
“I’d get on my knees and suck you.”
My groan must be loud enough for her to hear over the spray of the shower, and I bang a fist on the tile because this is too goddamn much. Press my forehead to the tile too, because closing my eyes isn’t good enough to get the image of Dempsey naked and on her knees for me out of my head. To actually get her out of my head, I’d probably have to bang my head so hard I’d render myself unconscious. Even then, I’m not sure I wouldn’t dream about her.
“Since I’m not there, you’re going to have to get your hand all slick and stroke yourself. You can do that, right? You’re still with me?”
“Yeah, god, yes.”
I do what she’s said, and I do my very best not to just race to the finish because I know she’d take her time with her tongue and her lips and gentle scrapes of her teeth that I try to replicate with a soft drag of my fingernails. All the while, I want to just jerk myself hard and fast to get the job done because this is excruciating.
She’s not letting up on me at all either. No, she’s continuing to murmur dirty things, and even though she’s not here, it’s like I’m surrounded by her. Her voice in my ear, my hands at her command, the slick glide of my hand mimicking how it feels to be in her mouth. It’s fucking incredible, and it makes me miss her like whoa.
“Little faster, because I’d be sucking you real good right now. Come on, Nicky, I want you to finish. I want you to come all over my chest. I want you all over me.”
And yeah, that is totally enough to get me off. I know my come is spurting onto the tiles of the shower and not onto her freckled chest, but I can see it so clearly, the way her eyes close and her mouth opens and how she would milk me real good and then hold my cock right between her tits and fuck it, fuck it all because I’m about to fall over in the goddamn shower. Be like one of those old people who breaks a hip and needs one of those alert buttons because they’ve fallen and can’t get up. Goddamn you, Dempsey Lawrence, for incapacitating me. I feel like my brain just blew out my dick.
“Fuck, Demps. You knocked my legs out from under me. Can I go lie down before I pass out?”
She giggles, so goddamn pleased with herself, but I can’t really blame her. If I gave her an orgasm like the one she just gave me, I’d commission a medal. Or maybe a crown. Maybe both. And one of those stick things while I’m at it. Not a wand. Not a staff, but I think it’s an s-word? Scepter. Yeah, that’s it. I grab the phone off the counter and press it to my ear as I head back out to the bedroom because I can’t imagine she’s gonna say no. She might be the devil, but she’s not a monster.
“Of course. Don’t want you to have to cancel the rest of your tour because you got a concussion from fainting in the bathroom and hitting your head on the way down. But make sure you dry off first, don’t want you to have to sleep in a wet bed, that’s gross. And uncomfortable.”
She knows me far too well. I was totally about to fall face-first onto the fluffy bed. But now I’ll head back to the bathroom and at least do a quick swipe of the towel so I’m not still dripping before I do.
Once I’ve done the bare minimum of toweling off, I do flop over, but on my back, my calves and feet dangling off the bed.
“Damn, woman. You really did a number on me. Can I return the favor?”
Dempsey
* * *
“You’ve proven yourself more than able in the past, so I have no doubt you can, but are you really up for it? You sound like you might need a nap before you do anything, never mind get me off.”
“Yeah, you really shoulda thought that through.”
Touring is exhausting. I mean, the ones I did were just stops at shopping malls, and even then it was enervating. Of course, I was dealing with serious anxiety and that didn’t help any, but I suspect the brutal schedule wears on even nonstop guys like Nick.
If he were the kind of man who was constantly getting his and leaving me high and dry, then I’d be peeved, but Nick’s a generous lover. This isn’t him trying to get out of something he doesn’t want to do since he came so what the hell does he care about me. He sounds honest-to-god worn out.
“For real, though, Nicky. If you just need to go to bed, I get it. You’re on the road again tomorrow, yeah?”
There’s a muffled “mmph” from the other end that I’ll take as a yes.
“So go to sleep, you foolish man.”
There’s some shuffling on the other end that sounds like he’s rummaging around in his bed linens.
“Nope. I can do this. Swear.”
I shake my head because sometimes I think he doesn’t stop until he literally passes out, and I don’t want to be responsible for that. “Okay, but if you lose consciousness while we’re having phone sex, I’m going to be insulted.”
“Pfft. No chance. Not with me thinking about you in that little outfit.�
��
To his credit, he does sound slightly more awake. Nick does love when I wear sweet nothings. I mean, matching bra and underwear will make his eyes glaze over, and the few silky lace things I have render him basically inarticulate. A corset and garters with stockings could probably raise him from the dead. Or put him in the ground. I’m not sure. Maybe it would work both ways?
“You do still have that on, right? Or are you naked now? Naked would be good, too. You look phenomenal naked.”
He’s sweet.
“No, I’ve still got it on. I mean, my underwear are getting so wet I may as well take them off, but—”
“I’m really fucking pissed right now that scientists have been working on anything except making a transporter so I could be there with you right this very second.”
“That is irritating.” Or is it? Would a transporter make it possible for me to leave my house? Or would it not fucking matter? I’ve seen Nick’s house because he’s given me a tour and sent me pics of Fiona being ridiculous all over the massive place, but I’m not sure it would make a damn bit of difference when faced with the prospect of actually being there. It’s moot, though.
“But I can pretend. I’ve got a really good imagination, you know that?”
“Yes, I do know that.” I let the pads of my fingers drift over my skin that’s exposed between the hem of my slightly rucked-up shirt and the waistband of my underwear. And it’s true. If Nick had any patience, he’d be a great writer. As it is, he could probably pull off being a front for a whole bunch of ghostwriters. Come up with a wild premise and make someone else take care of the nitty gritty, the actual execution. That’d be incredible. But it would probably be a full-time job to keep track of continuity errors…
“You know what else I’ve got?”
His voice is teasing, sexy, but because he’s infected me with his ridiculousness, the only answers that come to mind are wildly inappropriate. Two thumbs, an uncanny sense of rhythm, and some severe and untreated ADHD? A lot of tats, the world’s cutest dog, and some serious issues with impulse control?
The Inside Track: A License to Love Novel Page 14
