by Lisa Gillis
The playlist had ended, and the quietness was broken only by the soft sensual sounds of what he was doing, the barely restrained whimpers escaping my throat, and the clatter of my sunglasses to the countertop as they slipped from my head.
My gaze fell on Rusty, finding the animal watching intently. Blocking out the bizarre image, I pressed my eyelids closed, but the enhanced sensation from doing so, and the next swipe of his tongue, down the valley between my breasts, caused my head to loll on my neck and my eyes to fall open to the track lighting on the ceiling.
His mouth wandered to the other breast, lavishing it with equal attention. With no bra to hinder, his lips, tongue and teeth generously lingered with tickling swirls and laps of liquid fire. Tugs and nips that tightened my grip– each pulling at some current connected to the fires flaming my innermost core, and pulling stifled moans past my lips.
This sensory overload came to a gradual end, his thumb brushing one of the damp tips, then my moist lips. His head leaned to mine as he stared into my eyes. His look was heated but with each passing second, he seemed to be banking the embers. I felt a crushing weight. Not the physical one I craved of his body against mine, but a mentally crushing letdown when I saw the resignation in his look.
“Don’t be mad…” The breath of his whisper brushed my face.
Mad? Was there a word for this ugly spectrum of emotions suddenly churning and charring my insides? I wanted to scream in frustration and cry in shame. He was famous. I was a regular person— not a hot groupie. Had I really thought someone like him would waste even a quickie on me?
Maybe it wasn’t me. I fought my old self-esteem issues. He did have a show in two hours… Sports players didn’t have sex right before the game, right? Maybe rock stars didn’t expend the energy right before a show… Idiot. He's some sort of rock star, he likely has a groupie getting him off during the show…
Extracting an electronic tablet from a drawer just beyond us, he laid it on the counter top. Prideful, I blinked away the ache behind my eyelids to peer as he prompted my attention to the paragraphs on the screen. My peripheral vision perceived a large box of foil packets in the same drawer.
“I have to do this…” His halting explanation seemed regretful. “And there's no right time or way… Believe me…”
Somehow, my senses and my mind calmed enough to read, and afterward, I raised my eyes, expecting hidden cameramen announcing some sort of comic reality show to pop out of one of the many paneled doors. Most likely, my expression was comical enough for ratings, but Jack’s return look was earnest and even slightly pleading.
A minute later, I used a stylus pen and scrawled my name and date into a blank line concurring in writing that I was a willing participant of this passionate encounter and that I wouldn’t speak of it to anyone. I even, as per his instruction, added my thumbprint. Maybe I should have felt offended, but more eminent was the previous pact of his lips, tongue, and touch– not legal jargon on a document. Besides, the look of relief on his face—as if he had worried I might stab him with the stylus and leave—mollified me in a big way.
Shoving the device in the drawer, he turned back to me, his eyes burning into mine as his lips took possession of mine. His hands curved to my waist, easing me down to the floor. I felt the glide of my shorts down my legs, and automatically stepped from them. Our kiss became separated as he pushed at his jeans, and I took that opportunity to rid my feet of socks and shoes. Straightening, I found his eyes skimming over me, and I was glad I’d listened to Olivia and worn the lingerie from the back corner of my drawer. Standing before him, wearing only a pair of red G-string underwear, I’d never felt sexier.
And that was good. Because I’d never seen any man as sexy as Jack. He was just stepping from his jeans, and with a little kick, he sent them to the side. My breath came in short pants as I took in once more all that had spellbound me since first laying eyes on him. The shiny, shaggy hair falling over broad shoulders, inked triceps, biceps, forearms—when had I ever thought a man’s forearms were sexy? Yet Jack’s were. Long fingers. Abs tapering into a now bare waist, lean strong hipbones, and between them…
Holy fuckin' shit…
I could feel the short hitches of my breath as I admired, and at the same time, craved every inch. Could I take every inch? That remained to be seen, but I’d die a happy woman trying. Briefly, my eyes touched over tan muscular legs, and long sexy feet, before they greedily came back up to those many thick inches…
His fingertips skimmed the sides of my breasts, and his palms moved to cover them, letting the weight spill into his hands. Bending the several inches necessary to touch his tongue to them, he stole another suck before turning away.
His ass . I stared as he stopped in the middle section of the bus, bent into a bunk, and pulled at the bedding.
“It’s clean, I swear… But I know it’ll make you feel better…”
I realized I was still standing in the galley kitchen area, dazed by his butt.
It was then I comprehended how bizarre this was. A few hours ago, I’d never heard his name. An hour ago, I’d never laid eyes on him. Yet, this man was, apparently, a celebrity of sorts. And he was changing the sheets! Which meant, quite probably, there was a different woman—or more than one—in his bed at any given time.
In less than two minutes, the bunk was fitted with a fresh sheet, and he was against me, skin to skin, kissing me crazy. I tumbled with him onto the bunk, falling atop him, and his eyes gleamed at the way my breasts dangled. The scruff of stubble along his jaws and chin was my current fascination, and I dropped my head, reveling in the sandpaper feel against my sensitive lips. He played with my dangling goodies, squeezing, kneading, brushing his fingers across the tips, pinching, and my eyes closed in ecstasy.
I was busy touching my tongue to the cords of his neck when his hands began to roam, and settled on my rear. He splayed his fingers, and curved them, seemingly trying the feel. Because I was straddling him, it was easy enough when his finger followed the strip of thong and then dipped beneath it for an intimate touch. My gaze fell into the depth of his eyes, and I froze as he explored, up my sensitive slit, and briefly intruded into.
Still holding my gaze, he smiled, more with his eyes than with his lips, maybe to find me already so wet for him. And if my coil of nerves hadn’t relaxed with that sweet expression, the pressure of his finger when it moved to its next specific destination relaxed me into his touch. Every neuron in my body honed in on the press of his thumb, the trace of it around the little button of pleasure. My body, my mind, from then on out responded to him, naturally, without thought, without inhibition.
I went down on him, followed his happy trail to its destination. Without pause, I dragged my tongue up the length and lashed the head, before taking him into my mouth. The vibration of a groan drove me on, and I teased with my tongue as I took him further, and then relaxing my throat, took as much as I could. Meanwhile my fingers curved around the remaining inches.
His groans drove me on, and at one point, I swore I heard my name.
Mariss…
Determined to see if I could pull those particular syllables from him again, I worked at it harder than ever—ever. I knew I was good at this, but strove to be among the best he’d ever had. That was probably dreaming, because he’d surely had hundreds of the most experienced, but as I called on every trick I knew, I let myself dream it could be true. I was giving his balls some attention, licking, sucking, when I heard it again.
Mariss… And this time, it was clear. “Mariss, enough, honey…”
And with a last stroke of my hair, he urged me up with a gentle tug at the tresses.
His eyes were slits as his hands played along my body, lingering on what seemed to be his favorite area, my breasts. But over the next minute, they opened to grace me with his heated gaze.
With a roll, he had me beneath him, and grinned into my startled face. Propped on those inked arms, he spent a few seconds possessing my lips in another fie
ry kiss, and eased lower, for a few kisses to my breasts, and lower, a quick second to swirl that wicked tongue in my naval, before he stopped, eye level with the red thong.
His tongue ran down the red strip of fabric, and that tease was almost my undoing. I almost came right then and there. My hands balled into the sheets as I struggled for control. Transferring his attention to the strip on one of my hips, he dipped his head again, tugging with his teeth. And then to the other side, the same, working them down several inches at a time until they easily peeled completely off with a last clamp of his teeth.
Tossing them aside, he put his lips to one of my ankles as he picked it up, and shimmied back up, his hair brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. His eyes hungered, as if he were looking at a delectable dessert instead of my privates. I felt a whimper hum in my windpipe, and gulped in anticipation. With one long lick, his tongue certainly savored as if tasting butter cream icing. My hips arced to him, offering him all the butter cream icing he wanted, and he took, greedily. With licks and laps, sucks, and swipes, he partook, and still came back for more, plunging his tongue deep inside and swirling for any he might’ve missed.
I might not have known his name an hour ago, but now I was screaming it to the ceiling of this boxed-in bunk as I alternated between clamping that dark head with my legs, and relaxing the grip, letting them part as if that would let him lap even more of my hidden places with that heavenly tongue. I tried not to pull his hair, and instead fisted the sheets. He swiped his tongue, over, and circled my clit as his fingers reached and worked their magic from the inside. Right when I felt the tingles of a second orgasm coming on, he put his lips to my clit sucking it as surely as he’d sucked on my breasts. I may have lost consciousness. I know I screamed. When I became aware of my surroundings again, my fingers had migrated from the sheets to hold his hair in a death grip, and the air was prickling my sweaty skin into goose bumps.
Forcing my fingers to relax, I whispered an apology, which he ignored. His thumb caressed the area of skin just below my bikini line. The effect was calming, quieting my hyperactive body. Pushing himself up, he nudged my jelly legs, and automatically, I curved them to his waist as he rolled a condom on.
I was sure nothing could feel more exquisite than being tongued to orgasm by this man, but as my body adjusted to him in a whole new way, my nerves screamed in pleasure. My insides stretched to accommodate him, and when he paused, my fingernails dug into his ass in frustration.
“Okay?” he whispered.
“I was ‘til you stopped…”
As sweet as chocolate, his eyes glimmered as they locked to my gaze. “If you need a minute—”
“I don’t.” My hands emphasized the answer, pulling him to me.
As each thrust went deeper, my whimpers changed, and when I knew I had him all, my eyes fluttered open of their own accord. We were joined as intimately as we could be and I’d never felt so intensely possessed. A gasp blew from my lips at the sensation, and his eyes touched knowingly over mine.
“Told you,” he whispered, a finger brushing at my face.
He hadn’t exactly told me. Not aloud anyway. And if he had, I wouldn’t have believed him… My muscles had involuntarily clenched—not in pleasure, in protest. Although I willed myself to relax, they spasmed again.
“Okay, you gotta stop that…” His breath was warm on my face, and his gaze moved to focus beyond me instead of on me. “Hang on, Mariss, or this is going to be over before it starts…”
My eyes drifted closed, and I warred with my body as it adjusted. The seconds ticked by, and a pleasant achy throb emanated in waves from the center of my being.
Holy shit, is this why Olivia was rock star crazed? Is this why groupies acted demented? Were all rock stars this blessed anatomically?
It was suddenly torture ‘hanging on,’ especially when his fingers moved between us, teasing me until I was unable to keep still. He moved then, the first rock, and when he was buried balls deep again, a groan tore from my throat.
Again, and again. I was going to lose my mind.
His eyes held mine captive, and as we moved together, I closed mine for a moment, unsettled by the feeling of him staring into the depths of my soul.
The pace was fast, furious. We slammed together, we ground together. When we came together with one last push, a screech spilled from my lips and a husky curse from his.
When our breaths mingled as something besides gasps and groans, and our hearts slowed, he dropped his head, touching his lips to mine for yet another mind-twisting kiss, before easing away. A hand maintained contact resting on my hip.
This was always the awkward moment. The memories of hookups from years ago were suddenly fresh—the moment of pretending to sleep so one person can sneak out, or hustling to dress while the other person was in the bathroom.
As if knowing the indecency was over, or maybe he had watched, I sure wouldn’t have known, Rusty peeked his head over the bunk.
Seeing the trajectory of my gaze, Jack turned, admonishing his pet, then swung out of bed, grabbing strewn clothing. As he pulled on his jeans, I admired the view, the contrast of the tan line at his waist, and possessively assessed the slight curving indentations my nails had caused in the pale skin he was about to cover. Rusty playfully scampered off with a sock just as Jack reached for it, and an amused smile tipped my lips.
“Least it wasn’t anything of yours.” My thong was hanging from his fingertips, presumably saved from his dog. Grinning back, he courteously began to scoop the rest of my things up and leaned in for another quick kiss as he dropped them to the bed. With a finger, he indicated a door, and offered the shower beyond it. If this was his typical lay, he was incredible at every phase, including a non-awkward afterward.
The terry towel I used a quarter of an hour later was as soft as a flower petal. I was sure he hadn’t planned on joining me, but he did, and it had been amazing again. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was something out of the ordinary for him also, or maybe it had just taken me years to discover such a chemistry connection could exist. The second Jack opened the door to clear the steam from the tiny room, Rusty ran in and began to lick the excess water from our ankles. Jack again shooed the animal and his dark eyes roved over my face.
Leaning into the mirror, I scrubbed at a mascara-smudged eye until the makeup was gone, and automatically, he passed a brush and my hair clips over. Leaning in his usual stance against the counter, he watched with a gleam of admiration in his eyes. I found myself wishing he were just a normal guy who would ask for my number. Once dressed, I turned back to him, checking my pockets for my license, money, and keys while scanning the floor for anything that I might have missed.
“Thanks for the stage fright cure…” Although his words were jesting, his eyes seemed solemn.
“Anytime.” Giving in to an impulse beyond my control, I stood on the toes of my Doc’s and placed a kiss on his jaw, then knelt to give Rusty a pat before turning to the door.
“Oh, Mariss, wait…” Never would I forget the sound of my name as he spoke it during our short acquaintance. Even in bed, he had used it liberally, not resorting to ‘girl’, or ‘damn girl,’ which I remembered from college one-night stands. When he pulled open a cabinet, I humorously wondered if there was something else I needed to sign. Satisfaction accomplished or something similar. But, what he passed over was a CD. “Listen to it… You might like it.” Stars in heaven couldn’t top the twinkle in those eyes.
“Thanks, I have no doubts that I will…” And it was the truth. Just hearing his voice would always take me back to this time. Yet, a parting gift of his album made me feel like a groupie, which cheapened our time together.
Who was I kidding? Sternly, I squared my shoulders. The tryst was tawdry. There was no sugarcoating the details no matter how sweet each had felt.
“Is it cool if I get your number?”
That was one way to cure the sleazy tramp feeling.
My chin jerked to his in
disbelief as I silently handed my phone over for the swap. Instead of reaching for it to text himself from it, he shot me one of those quirky grins I had come to know in such a short time.
“I, um, already got it. Kind of assumed, then figured assuming was asinine of me.”
When? I wondered. Before following me into the shower? While I had put myself together afterward? Not that it mattered, and I returned the smile, “No, it’s cool.” Cool was an understatement. He might never contact me, but this mixture of consideration, and rock stardom was intriguing.
Next, he was the one to drop a parting kiss to my lips, before extending a gallant arm to assist me down the steps.
With a last wave, and much determination, I turned away for good, but my heart didn’t slow until I knew I was out of sight. Weaving around the trailers, I texted Olivia, and kept my fingers around the phone waiting for her text back.
Dusk was falling fast, and the crowd around the stage was now shadows, illuminated by strobing colored laser light lines. Within the hour, the voice on stage would be one I knew—intimately. I began to debate whether or not to watch the show. One thing I did not debate was my future.
I had missed and mourned my unfaithful fiancé for the last time. There was a better relationship waiting for me, somewhere, someday, and it had taken a lost Jack Russell terrier and a screamo musician to open my eyes.
My phone jingled, vibrating in my hand, and I turned the lighted screen to view.
CHAPTER 3: FIVE MINUTES LATER
310-214-2480
Staying for the show?
9:26 PM
Maybe
sent 9:27 PM
510-210-2480
You better ;)
