by Avon Gale
“I’d rather fuck you.” Sawyer tossed a grin at her and obediently stripped off her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra, as it was currently drying in the shower after her attempt to wash the beer out of it in the sink with hotel shampoo.
Vix closed her eyes and let her legs fall open, so that Sawyer could play with her cunt. It felt good, and for being new to this whole girl-sex thing, Sawyer was a fast learner. Must be a musician thing. Vix rubbed her hands over Sawyer’s head as Sawyer licked her, sucked on her clit, and slid her tongue inside. After a few lovely moments, Vix tugged on Sawyer’s hair and said, “Hey. Here, I’ll show you how I like to get off.”
Sawyer lifted her head, her lips wet. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “Was I not doing it right?”
“There’s no right or wrong,” Vix assured her. She reached down and rubbed a hand over herself. “Fuck me with your fingers while I get myself off. I like that.”
Sawyer pressed two fingers inside of her, sliding them in and out a little too slowly. “How’s that?”
“Sometime this week, Bell.”
Sawyer grinned and started moving her hand faster. She was watching Vix rub her own clit as she fucked Vix with her fingers. Vix dropped back, head turned toward the pillow as she felt the climb toward orgasm start . . . and then she started giggling.
“What? No one’s singing ‘Desperado,’ Victoria.”
“I know.” Vix giggled again. “I’m sorry, but one time I was with this guy who called what you’re doing . . . ‘fingerblasting.’ And I knew another guy who called it ‘fingerbanging.’” She peeked down at Sawyer, thinking maybe she shouldn’t have said that. But it wasn’t like she was ashamed of her past or of being bisexual.
Sawyer didn’t seem bothered. She snickered. “‘Fingerblasting’?”
“Yup.”
“Did he make the sound effects, like this?” Sawyer started making rocket sounds as she fucked her fingers in and out.
“No, he wasn’t nearly as weird as you,” Vix said. “Or as hot. Actually, no lie, Sawyer, you are totally the hottest person I’ve ever banged.”
“I think I’m the one banging you.” Sawyer giggled. “Fingerbanging, that is. I like that better than blasting. You should write a song, ‘Fingerbanging to Desperado.’”
Vix laughed and threw an arm over her eyes, her other hand going back to stroking herself and rubbing her clit. The push and drag of Sawyer’s fingers added a delicious pressure, and it didn’t take Vix that long before she was arching her back and coming hard on Sawyer’s fingers. “Don’t stop,” she panted, when Sawyer went to withdraw. “I want another one.”
“Like you and your Coke Zero,” said Sawyer, but she didn’t seem like she minded too much. She got Vix off three times before Vix gallantly agreed to return the favor, but when she was settled between Sawyer’s legs with her soft, smooth thighs over her shoulders, Sawyer said, “Do you not like doing this?”
“Hey.” Vix smacked her lightly on Sawyer’s stomach. “I like doing it more than I like receiving, and that has nothing to do with you or the fact you’re a girl. What we did earlier is what I like when I get off, which has nothing to do with what we’re doing right now, which is getting you off. Don’t worry, Sawyer. You won’t find me staring at the clock or anything.”
“Would you try that with me? The finger—”
“Don’t say ‘banging,’” Vix interrupted quickly. “Seriously, I can’t go down on you if I’m giggling.”
“You could,” Sawyer said. “But okay, fine. Fingering. Finger-fucking? Whatever, try that on me. Hard, like I was doing to you.”
Sawyer’s bit of a bossy streak was hot, so Vix went back to licking and sucking on her clit and slid a finger inside. She followed it up with another one, fucking in and out of Sawyer’s wet, tight cunt. After a few seconds, she peeked up to see Sawyer’s face twisted with something caught between pleasure and uncertainty. “Is that expression because you like it or you don’t?”
“I don’t know. I think I like it, but not—not at the same time as you’re using your mouth. Like, it feels good, but I’m not sure I can come like this.” Sawyer reached down and rubbed a hand over Vix’s hair. “Keep trying to prove me wrong, though.”
Vix went back to getting Sawyer off with her mouth, using her fingers to gently spread Sawyer’s cunt open, and it didn’t take Sawyer long to get off. Vix also knew to pull back because Sawyer got sensitive after she came, and didn’t immediately want another orgasm. They tried a few other things, Vix rubbing Sawyer’s clit and finger-fucking her at the same time, but she said that was a bit too much too. She did, however, like Vix to rub her clit and tongue-fuck her.
“Tongueblasting? Can we call it that?” Sawyer asked, later. “Because I sort of love that.”
“You’re ridiculous,” said Vix affectionately. She should probably be worried about how much she liked this part, the after-sex part, which included cuddling and sleeping with Sawyer pressed up against her. This was not a thing Vix did. After-sex usually meant leaving.
She was half-asleep when she heard Sawyer ask, “Do you—do you like the fingers thing because you also like men? Is that why I’m not into it?”
Vix’s eyes opened, and she frowned at the ugly-patterned wallpaper before flipping on her back. Sawyer propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at her expectantly.
“You’ve been worrying about this for, like, twenty minutes, haven’t you?”
“Whatever.”
“It has nothing to do with being bi or being a lesbian,” Vix said. “It has to do with being us. You and me. I like one thing, you like another. There are probably other lesbians who like the fingerbanging—” She scowled. “Goddamn it. Fingering. There are probably other lesbians who like the fingering thing, and there are probably bisexual girls who like oral—well, I know there are, I’ve been with some.” She reached up and rubbed her thumb across Sawyer’s bottom lip. “Don’t worry so much about whether you should or should not like something, okay? If you like it, you like it.”
Sawyer sighed. “I’m sorry. I know that’s a dumb question, I just . . .”
“I know. Sex makes everyone insecure at first.” Vix tugged Sawyer’s braid to pull her down and kiss her. “You’re good at it. I feel great, you made me feel great, and that’s all that matters. But there’s this idea that bisexuals can’t be monogamous because we’ll never be happy with one person since we’re secretly pining for another, so if that’s what you’re thinking—that sex with you is less or whatever—don’t. Sex with you is great. Even if you make rocket sounds while you’re fucking me.”
“You brought up the fingerblasting,” Sawyer grumbled, on a yawn. “Okay. Thanks. I’m learning a lot this summer.” She gave a soft laugh. “Fingerblasting and Fiddles: What I Did on My Summer Vacation, by Sawyer Bell.”
“Oh my God, go to sleep,” said Vix, flipping around so that her back was to Sawyer. She ignored the softly murmured rocket sounds from behind her, but Sawyer probably felt it when she laughed.
Laughing was okay, though. It was better than acknowledging the little pang she felt at hearing summer vacation. She had to remember that’s what this was for Sawyer. She wasn’t here for the long haul. Vix couldn’t get used to this, no matter if she wanted to or not.
Their show in Colorado was the first of three opening for a band called Racer, a rowdy, alt-country rock band with fans that put Tamarin Rodeo’s to shame. They didn’t seem inclined to spray anyone with their PBRs, though, so there was that. The guys were all nice, and they’d played with Victoria Vincent before, making Sawyer feel a bit out of place since everyone knew each other.
The other thing that made her uncomfortable happened after they’d met up for sound check in Denver. Sawyer was always shy around people she didn’t know, and it was clear that Jax and Vix knew each other—very well.
“I always think they should do a duet.” Connor came over to where she was tuning her fiddle. He nodded over at Vix and Jax. “Their voices
sound really good together.”
“And their names rhyme,” Kit pointed out. He frowned. “Kinda. I guess it’d have to be Jax and Vax, or Jix and Vix.”
“And Jax’s bi too, I think,” Jeff added, messing with his guitar. “They’ve hooked up,” he told Sawyer. “In case you didn’t know.”
Sawyer had no idea what to say to that. Instead, she studied Jax Elliott—whose given name was Jackson—from across the room. He wasn’t very tall—maybe five eight—and was lean, with close-cropped hair that appeared to be either brown or dark blond, and was wearing jeans, boots, and a white T-shirt. He admittedly had a sexy voice, all gravelly and rough. Sawyer had thought he had a cold when they first were introduced, but it turned out that was how he talked. She’d enjoyed listening to Racer at sound check, up until she found out Jax had slept with her—her Vix.
Sawyer knew it wasn’t fair to think about Vix as “her” anything. This was a summer tour. She was here to clear her mind, play some music, and have some amazing sex with a talented and beautiful girl. She was not here to be possessive or clingy. No. She and Vix were friends, they were having sex, and this was all going to be over in August. Right.
For some reason, Sawyer found herself, after sound check, thinking about that song of Vix’s with the lyrics and no music. She pulled her violin out and started playing in the deserted greenroom, messing around with the soft echoes of a melody she could hear in her head. She was tense and the violin sounded it, the notes sharper than she intended. Frowning, she took a deep, cleansing breath and played a few notes of Bach’s “Chaconne” to calm down.
“Woah. Vix said you were from Juilliard, and damn. You’re good.”
She opened her eyes, all her calm shaken away by the sight of Jax Elliott standing in the doorway to the greenroom. He was leaning against the door, tattooed arms crossed—he had more tattoos than anyone Sawyer had ever seen, his knuckles were tattooed—and smiling at her. A nice smile too.
“Thanks.” She knew she was being ridiculous. Jax seemed like a good guy; there was no reason she should be acting like this. “I’m starting to get a little out of practice playing Bach, though.”
“Hey, I get that. I forget the lyrics to my own songs,” Jax joked. “You enjoying the life of a barely paid touring musician?”
“Actually, yeah. It’s a lot better than the life of a stressed-out Juilliard senior.” The second she said it, she was embarrassed at how it might sound—like this was a cakewalk, not a serious pursuit like her music. While Sawyer was certain that no one in her class could handle this for a week, much less all the time. She wondered what it said about her that she was going to miss showering in truck stops. Try as she might, Sawyer couldn’t quite ignore the dates on the calendar and how they were inching closer to their last show in Memphis.
Jax didn’t seem to think anything of her comment, though. He shook his head and gave his gruff laugh. “I bet. Well, it’s great to meet you. Glad that you were able to join Vix on her tour.”
“Ah—yeah, good to meet you too,” she said, and stood up. “Vix says you guys are one of her favorite bands.”
“Does she? Aww. That’s nice. Me and Vix go way back.” Jax’s smile was open and friendly. “How’d you end up on tour with her band, anyhow? I didn’t think Vix played many shows at Juilliard.”
“I— We went to high school together,” Sawyer said. “I saw the ad for a fiddle player and thought it would, um, be a good thing to do.” That sounded stupid. Was she going to spend her life sounding stupid around cool people?
“Are you—”
“Jax, stop hitting on my fiddle player.” Vix strolled in, sunglasses pushed up on her head. She held up a bag. “Sawyer, you want to help me dye my hair? I found a place with some Manic Panic. It looks so sad right now.”
Sawyer nodded, irrationally happy at the invite. “Sure.”
“I could help.” Jax leered. “Both of you. I’m happy to lend a hand.”
“Uh-huh.” Vix sounded amused, not angry like the night the guy had suggested a threesome in Virginia. “Thanks, but we got it. Go write a song or three,” she joked.
“Oh! That reminds me,” said Jax. “Guess whose band is gonna have one of their songs on a television show?”
Vix clapped a hand over her mouth, then said, “Is it . . . Ink River?” She laughed when Jax scowled at her. “Kidding, kidding. Even though you’d totally be okay with that.” She glanced over at Sawyer and held her hand up to her mouth, pretend-whispering, “Jax is a huge Noah Greer fanboy.”
“He’s an amazing songwriter!” Jax protested. “Come on, you have to give him that. Sawyer, you’ve got my back on this one, don’t you?”
Sawyer cleared her throat, embarrassed. “I . . . ah. I’m not sure who that is.”
“You knew Uncle Tupelo and Wilco, but not Ink River?”
“If it’s music from the last three years, I’ve been under a school-shaped rock,” Sawyer reminded Vix. “My dad’s the one who got me into Uncle Tupelo and Wilco, though.”
“That makes me feel old as hell,” said Jax, shaking his head.
Vix hit Jax lightly in the arm. “Because you are. Anyway, Sawyer, Ink River is a band, and their lead singer, Noah Greer, is a musical genius but a huge brat.” Vix rolled her eyes. “At the Americana Music Fest last year, I went up to say hi to him, right? He took one look at me and said, ‘The Miley Cyrus concert is next week.’”
“God, yeah, I heard he’s a dick.” Jax winced. “He’s still really fucking good at writing songs, though.”
“I know. You love him. That’s why I went up to say hi: I was gonna get you an autograph.”
“I don’t want an autograph,” Jax muttered, but he looked like maybe he did. “Anyway, you’re totally ignoring my news about my song.”
“Oh, it was your song?” Vix batted her eyelashes. “Right, right. A theme song! That’s awesome, which one is it?”
“Guess,” said Jax.
Sawyer listened to them banter, feeling more and more like a third wheel. She told herself it was only because they didn’t usually spend this much time with other bands when they played together, not because of the easy camaraderie between Vix and Jax.
“It’s ‘The Ballad of Whiskey Jack,’” Jax said. “The one off our last album. Remember, I told you it was based on that story about a bank robber who got drunk and lost twenty bucks while robbing a bank in the middle of the afternoon?”
Vix started singing something that was, ostensibly, the song. “I know all your songs by heart, idiot.”
Sawyer fought an urge to pick up her bow and drag it down the strings. What was the matter with her? She didn’t feel jealous as much as she felt ignored. Or, no, it wasn’t that. She felt . . . left out. Excluded by this reminder that this was not her life, and wouldn’t be. That this was a transient experience, and it would, at some point, end. She had felt like such a part of Victoria Vincent, a real band member. For the first time, she felt like exactly what she was—a fiddle player hired to fill in for a few months in the summer.
“I really need to dye my hair, so we’ll catch up later?” Vix asked, giving Jax a hug. Jax said something into Vix’s ear and Vix laughed. She shook her head. “I’ll think about it.”
“See you, Sawyer,” Jax said, giving her not a hug, but a friendly wave.
Why that made her feel out of sorts, Sawyer didn’t know. She didn’t want a hug! “Yeah, I— Nice to meet you, Jax.”
When he was gone, Vix shook her head fondly. “He’s great, isn’t he? Their band is so good. I can’t wait for you to hear them! This is, like, not only a show I get to play but a concert I love to attend, so that’s awesome.” She paused. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah,” Sawyer assured her. She did feel better, now that . . . what? Now that she had Vix’s attention, or now that Jax was gone and she didn’t feel like an outsider anymore? She stowed her violin. “He seems nice.”
“Right? And that voice.” She gave a little shiver. “I know dudes aren�
�t your thing, but gah.” She smiled at Sawyer and lifted the bag again. “So, hair? I wonder if we could make out in the bathroom? I bet we could.”
“We’ll never know unless we try,” said Sawyer, feeling her spirits lift. She was being ridiculous and she knew it. She reminded herself about living in the moment, and went to help Vix dye her hair an unnatural shade of purple in the venue’s bathroom.
Thanks to a great crowd and the usual magical elixir of performing—especially performing with Vix—Sawyer felt a lot better after the show that night in Denver. She also did enjoy watching Racer perform, happy that she missed getting sprayed with beer this time. Sawyer couldn’t lie and say that Jax didn’t have a sexy voice and some great songs. In fact, she liked “Embers of Ashes” so much that she messed around with a version on the fiddle and played it for Jax, which he loved. He was hard to dislike, really, and he disappeared about ten minutes after she played his song for him with a couple of girls. Sawyer and Vix snuck off and made out in the van, which was great, and then they had another eight-hour drive to Salt Lake City.
They were two hours out from the venue when Kit turned around and said to Vix, “You didn’t hook up with Jax on my seat or anything, right?”
“What? No, but why would you care?” Vix looked up from her phone.
“I know you’ve done it before, is all.” Kit pointed at her. “A guy should know these things about his seat.”
“You’re such a dork, Kit.” Vix said it fondly, flipped Kit off, and went back to her phone.
Sawyer bit the inside of her cheek. She’d worked out that her initial discomfort with Racer was simply how left out she’d felt, and now that she’d met everyone and they were so friendly, she didn’t expect to feel so out of sorts about Jax and Vix having hooked up. Or maybe that wasn’t quite fair. She was mostly out of sorts about the idea that they’d do it again.
