by Cassia Leo
The couple of songs they performed on stools were teeth-gnashing and gut-wrenching, speaking of losing someone to addiction and self-sacrificing servicemen and women being used and abused as pawns in chess matches of the rich and heartless.
That song made me miss Bill something fierce, the only dad I’ve ever had, and I choked up, suddenly terrified of losing him to some landmine blast or whatever. He was suspended in such precariousness that he could very well die and just get chalked up to another casualty of war and be totally forgotten by his country. I cleared my throat and blinked, then sucked in several deep breaths to get my composure back.
Today, for the first time, I saw a bunch of guys, singing the music they loved to write and sing rather than what a machine had forced them to put out. Their first album, which got picked up off their demo, as well as their rapidly building fan base, consisted of mostly their own material. It was the second over-produced, heavily skewed record that tanked. Not even one of those other songs had emerged in this set yet, and I doubted any would.
People loved their music and it showed here when they left the stage, only to get pulled back by boisterous cheers and whistles.
As the electrically charged eroticism came back in for the encore performance with that pulsing heartbeat percussion Matty loved to bang out, and God, Danny’s sexy sighs, the crowd screamed and women swayed and tossed undergarments, roses, and condoms onto the stage.
Their tunes were raw and gritty, but still heartfelt and soulful. Itchy Fringe no longer struck me as a garbage band. And that’s not just because I was starting to see Danny in a different light. After all the shit this poor band has been through, with getting picked up with exuberance and then chucked out the door with a kiss-my-ass shove after one damn slump, I was starting to appreciate the layers and truth in their tunes, even the smutty ones.
I was starting to appreciate Danny Zane.
Too bad he shut me down physically because I was as horny as a succubus, aching to unzip his jeans and get busy. I was seriously tingling and throbbing for release.
After they left the stage for good, Matty texted Kate to come meet him backstage for drinks. She squealed.
I laced my fingers together in mock prayer. “Can you ask him if I can come too, please? I really need to talk to Danny.” And his hot parts too.
“Hold on.”
She nodded when her phone chimed back. “Matty said, ‘Sure come on in.’”
“Good. Awesome.”
Right before ransacking my drool-worthy rock star, I wanted to tell Danny he was so right about the new direction the band was taking. I did believe IF would overcome this hurdle and thrive, even though it was back to being an indie band.
I’d never been backstage at Smitty’s Smokehouse, or anywhere really.
The big TV room with three long couches, standup arcade games, and my all-time fave pinball machine, Tales of the Arabian Nights, fruit and wing platters, and an ice chest with bottled beers was more than I expected.
Danny didn’t even see me walk in though. At all. Because he was too busy mauling some blond chick in a frisky make out session on one of the couches and was half over her lap and not facing the door.
Ripping my stinging eyes away, I clutched Kate’s wrist, gulped down a sob, and furiously blinked away pooling salt water. I quickly choked out, “Ya know what? Changed my mind. I’m just gonna take off. I don’t really feel like partying.”
She shrugged and said, “Um, okay,” with a bubbly trill. She was clearly happy. Her find of a hot man was solely ogling her with keen interest and getting evidently aroused at what he saw.
Matty came up to us, stood beside Kate, and placed his hand on her lower back. “Hi, babe. Glad you came.”
“Me too.” She flashed me an exaggerated toothy grin that screeched, “Eeek,” all by itself.
I looked at the door, my escape from hell, as Matty said, “You’re not stayin’?”
“Nah, I suddenly don’t feel so well. But thanks for inviting me.”
I burst out of there, slamming the door behind me. I hunched and tried to catch my breath as soon as my feet padded down the wooden hallway, but sobs thrashed out of me, despite my best effort to hold my composure. This was the worst thing ever. “What the hell?” It made me ill and so upset to see him lip-locked and grinding his package into some chick’s trampy bits, with a hungry clutch on her face, as if her orifices held nectar for rock gods. She’s no better than me! She’s no substitute for me either! He wants me. Not that skank. So why was he kissing her like there was no tomorrow? Err, I hate him! I hate his guts.
I drove back home in tears with my heart in a million pieces.
Jed was already stationed at his post on the stoop. He even had a coiled device attached to his ear like someone in the Secret Service.
His concerned expression said he could tell I was traumatized about something, but he didn’t question me about it, and I stepped inside in silence.
As I raced up the stairs, I broke down in pitiful sobs, yearning to feel Danny’s lips and body on mine once again. He was surely, at this very moment, sexing-up some girl who was just a replacement for me. He should be fucking me. I’m sure she doesn’t better match his personality than I do. He’s so damn weird and stupid.
I went back downstairs in my pajamas and searched the freezer for something to drown my sorrows in. “Ah ha.” I grabbed Danny’s unopened pint of Cherry Garcia, not even caring that I absolutely loathe cherry anything. I peeled off the plastic safety seal, grabbed a spoon, and went into the theater with it. I popped in a Carol Burnett Show DVD that Bill had in his retro collection. Even though I’ve seen these sketches dozens of times, they still cracked me up, and I felt utterly satisfied for stealing Danny’s favorite ice cream and downing every speck of it. I went back up to my room, feeling slightly better with the hilarity of Tim Conway fresh in my mind.
I did not feel satisfied in my panties though, even at 1:37 a.m. I had this major urgent throb that needed tending to because it refused to obey my will and chill out. Danny still wasn’t back yet to seduce, but, hell, I didn’t want his filthy, chick-slicked junk anywhere near me anyway. Gross. Maybe he’ll stay out all night. Man, just the thought of that annihilated me and made me tear up. He’s disgusting.
I found Screaming Friction buried deep in my MP3 player. I then turned the overhead lights off, leaving just my soft nightstand lamp on, tucked ear buds into my ears, and got cozy propped up against two pillows on my headboard. I imagined Danny was singing about a deep longing for me as the song spilled out.
When it got to the delicious, sexy moans in the middle that used to sicken me, I found delight instead and slipped fingers under silky fabric and swirled and stroked my already-slippery clit.
At the part in the song that spoke of deep thrusts, “uh, uh, uh,” I closed my eyes and shoved two fingers in as deep as they’d go and pounded my hungry bits to the rhythm of Danny’s sexy beat. I writhed while riding my own fleshy toys and moaned in time to his verbal huffs that were pulsing in my ears and making me so damn hot and wet. Danny. Uh, I want you so bad. I shoved another hand into my panties to spread my lips apart further and thumb-rub my clit at the same time. I bucked and gritted my teeth as I fucked my own damn self because Danny wouldn’t. Apparently, we’re too damn different! Whatever, asshole.
I gasped and shrieked when an ear bud got jerked out of my ear and rapped my bare arm with a stinging zap. My busier hand froze, two wet fingers buried up to the hilt.
Danny stood over me, quickly clapping his hand over my mouth, blocking a loud moan-turned scream. “Keep going, sweetheart. Don’t stop on my account.”
Red hot blood flooded my face, and I shook my head no.
“Do it. I wanna watch you come.”
I fired my gaze to the door I stupidly left open, then looked back at the shirtless deity standing in the table lamp’s golden glow. He was peering down on me with insistence blaring in his eyes.
“Do it. Now.”
&n
bsp; My pulse quickened. I slowly nodded that I would and went back to my task of masturbation while he watched every breath, every bop of my stomach, every drenched stroke. I was embarrassed that he caught me, but pangs of dirty desire hit my gut at his order.
For once, I loved his bossiness. Shit. Was he like this in bed? Is that what he meant by us being different? No one in the world knew it, but we were not exactly that different.
I closed my eyes to pretend he wasn’t standing there, but I could feel his hot-poker gaze on me like laser beams. That only made me burn hotter and slick up more.
My body was cooperating, building to the edge of ecstasy. I’d, any second now, any second, sail over the cliff I was rapidly approaching. I shoved my fingers in faster and rougher and jerked up into them while going wild on my engorged clit. My moans went spastic.
He let go of my mouth as my voiced pleasure kicked up to a steady flow of sensual noise rather than random blips. Winded breaths and sounds of sex rushed out of my mouth like rills of fire, and the music of my arousal, with Danny standing there, waiting for the explosion, set me off like a rocket. I peeked and saw the amazing bulge in his jeans.
I imagined him, driving in deep from behind, his fingers clawing into the flesh at my hips. Uh, that did it, more gloriously than ever. Uh, yes! Fuck, uh, uh, uh. Aahhh. Oh my god. Danny! Rapid, thunderous squeezes hit me deep in my core with an ache and whoosh of expelled elation. Uh, yes. I let out a deep sigh with a smile on my face from utter satisfaction. I sank deeper into my pillow and mattress as my body unwound.
“So hot and delicious,” he whispered as my contractions petered off.
When I was able to snatch my breath, I said, “Damn right I am. Now you know for sure. Did you screw her, that skank I saw you mauling backstage?”
He shook his head. “No. I was just pissing into the wind. There’s only one woman I want to screw. And we both know damn well who that is.” His slimmer, sexier gaze fired into me with intense heat.
I breathed faster and my pulse raced as he slowly scrutinized me from clammy head to painted toenails. Not knowing what to do with my juicified hands, I crossed my chest with my arms and curled my fingers. “Then do it. Take me.”
He slowly leaned down over me and his hot, hard pecs pressed against my skin. He breathed out a slow, “Baby … fuck,” in my ear, and left five additional pieces of salt water taffy where he presented the first. He kissed my sweaty brow with a slow, lip dragging kiss, and deeply sniffed my cum-soaked fingers. “What were you thinking about, Alexa?”
I gulped and licked my lips. “Take your pants off and I’ll show you.”
“Damn. God, Lex, you are so, so bad.” He growled and his face crimped in tension as he straightened and stiffened. “Maybe some other time. You have to keep showing me you’re my kind of bad.”
“Your kind of bad? Um, okay. I’ll be sure to do that.” I smiled as he walked out and down the hall towards his room. Ohmygod, wow. Yes, yes, yes!
I let out an exhale of relief and smiled as I curled up on my pillow. This, whatever was happening between us, was definitely not one-sided, and it certainly wasn’t over. I wouldn’t let it be. I will get stuffed up with his yummy junk, no matter what it takes. I craved him like candy.
I was determined to not only get into his tight jeans but his heart too. Because for some damn-dumb reason, he was already well past worming into mine.
***
CHAPTER SIX
Danny
The first song my uncuffed band intended for our new unlabeled album tracked beautifully, in spite of me having a really hard time not thinking about certain fingers in certain panties. That only added gravel and urgency to my voice.
My loins physically ached as I pictured an X-rated video with Brat as my model for all the salivating, delectable turns in the tune that I’d penned about some fantastical dream girl I thought didn’t exist. She most likely doesn’t. But what if she does? Could bratty, catty Alexa actually be a true possibility for me? Would she actually be into things like the chains I sing about and eagerly anticipate and wait for my word, breath, touch? Hmm. I do not know. But I sure as hell wanted to find out. She did, after all, tickle her bits for me on command. That was the hottest thing imaginable.
Mixing by our master mixer Kenny would probably take weeks because we were dying to get it perfect, and multiple tweaks were par for the course.
So ready to party and celebrate our sure slam dunk, we called some random passed-along numbers and had a well-dressed posse ready to party at the studio within an hour. We boarded the band bus with those slinky groupies in tow, as well as Lex’s friend Kate, who’d somehow snagged the eye and hands of Matty once again. I rebuffed arm candy of my own. It would’ve only been for show. I know what and who I fucking want, and trying to trick my brain into thinking differently had already bombed.
I sure as hell didn’t invite Alexa though because for one, she needed to focus on work tomorrow rather than one of my sneaky, hungry hands sliding up between her legs, and two, I was in a really good mood and didn’t want to deal with the sneers and comments from the others about bagging my sorta-sister.
We chose an obscure, off-the-map bar with only three cars in the lot to let loose. Inside, we found the stage empty. Only two guys patronized the place at stools at the shiny bar, so Matty and I played an impromptu version of the song we cut today called Rock Candy.
Our small audience cheered, but that wasn’t exactly indicative of its brilliance because alcohol was already flowing and the girls were greedy for attention.
Kate rushed up to Matty with a big hug and said, “That was amazing, babe? It is so hot. You were absolutely right. I’m sure it’ll be a hit.” She lowered her voice, but I still clearly heard her say, “Wanna see how wet you made me?”
Standing next to her when she let Matty go, I mouthed, “Babe?” at him. “Wet?”
Matty grinned instead of begging me with wide eyes to rescue him, so I let it be. In allowing Kate to tag along again, he must really dig her. He bores easily, quickly moving from one chick to the next.
The bartender, or owner maybe, a white towel draped over his shoulder, came up to us after. “You’re Itchy Fringe right? That was so phenomenal. We just don’t get talent in here like that. I know this is a hole-in-the-wall, but would you consider booking a gig here?”
I sneered and shrugged because he was damn right. This place was way too small for our typical, rowdy crowd.
But, Matty, our current booking agent while we were in the hunt for another one, said, “Yeah maybe, man. We’ll consider it. We can maybe swing a few songs.” He handed him his business card. “Call me later sometime next week, and we’ll see if we can iron something out.”
The guy grinned big. “All right. Cool, cool. This is great. Thanks.” He shook the card in his fist for a moment then pocketed it and walked away with a skip in his step.
When he was back behind the wooden slab, I spun like a rabid Rottweiler and said, “Fuck it. Here? Seriously? No way are we playing here. We may have slipped chart-wise, but we still have an avid fan base that realizes we got fucked by corporate bullshit. We’ve been everywhere from Arlington to Vancouver. We are far from being garden trolls. This place can hold fifty people. At most. This is not us, man. Not us at all.”
He socked my arm. “I don’t care about numbers. I just want us to try out our new shit, live, wherever we can, and see how people jam. This crowd’s not gonna be our typical horny peeps, and I want to see if we can expand our reach. Don’t you? That still-unnamed bluesy song you wrote last month would be a good choice, for instance.”
I shook my head with an angry huff. “Yeah, whatfuckingever. Do whatever the hell you want. I just find going from stadiums to shitholes insulting. We are better than that … damn fucking better than this.” I bashed a chair with the heel of my hand and it loudly scraped forward a foot. “Dammitall.” So much for my good mood. I wanted to break chairs, never mind shove them. Busting some drummer’s head would f
ell pretty righteous too. I slumped down at a table all by myself and didn’t even get hard watching Matty enjoying Kate’s hot tits in the corner of the room.
The other ladies danced in a sultry pile with the remaining four members of my band to Styx, Heart, and Bad Company that was pumping out of the ceiling speakers.
I snickered that our security guy Jarvis looked like one of the Men in Black. He was standing by the door, his hands folded together in front of his package. He gave me a nod, and I huffed with a sneer that I needed armed, suited dudes at all. We normally did when traveling and junk, but my crazy stalker had jacked up our risk factor to a whole new level of insanity.
After downing two mugs of black coffee with a splash of coconut rum, I said, ‘Fuck it,’ to my no-hard-drinking rule and tossed back a beer. Okay, that wasn’t hard, yet, but I was determined to go numb and was just getting started. I was still fuming that Matty was seriously considering here. Smitty’s Smokehouse and that crowd of two-fifty or whatever was bad enough. And now, we’re down to fifty fucking morons, if we’re lucky? Are you kidding me? Shit. This sucks balls.
My cock jacked halfway at the middle of Never by Heart because all I could picture was giving that blond chick back in my house exactly what she was dying for until she screamed my name over and over and over. Alexa could definitely perk up my mood.
I texted her. For the first time ever, it was nothing even remotely in the camp of brotherly concern. Changed my mind. I’m dying to acquaint myself with your luscious body. Can I tie you up in my bed later and lick all your hottest places?
I smirked when she quickly wrote back, Hell yeah!!! I’ll be waiting. Right there. In your bed.
That sweet response took care of my half-wilt and my jeans became excruciatingly tight. I numbed my arousal with a few shots of tequila and squinted at my phone that emitted her pheromones again via song.
