by Nikki Wild
“My father was a postmaster. My mother was a house wife who could never do anything correct, according to my father. Hell, in his eyes, none of us could do right. He was angry at the world, and he took it out on us every night when he came home. Ian got the worst of it, being younger than me. I tried to stop it, but I was just a kid, what could I do?”
Her eyes filled with pity, and I looked away. That was why I kept my mouth shut about this shit. I didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.
“You had another brother, too?” she prodded. As it always did when Lennon was mentioned, I winced. Sometimes the pain of losing him was still so fresh, I wondered if it would ever fade.
“Yeah. Lennon. My father let me name him. I was obsessed with the Beatles, even then.”
“That’s nice,” Catherine said, her voice soft and quiet.
“Lennon died of cancer when he was five. They found a tumor in his brain when he was three, and he fought hard for the next two. My mother brought us all to Philadelphia to have him treated by the best doctors in the world. He was the toughest little kid I’ve ever known.”
“I’m so sorry, Liam,” she said, her voice cracking ever so slightly. She had to know this shit already. Why was she asking these questions?
“It was a long time ago,” I said, standing up quickly and walking over to the bar. The beer wasn’t hitting the spot anymore, so I poured myself a shot of whiskey and downed it, then poured another. “Sure you don’t want a drink, Catherine? It takes the edge off.”
“It’s a little early - I mean, no, thank you.”
“Sure you aren’t judging me?” I asked, teasingly.
She laughed softly and held up two fingers.
“Scouts honor!” she said.
I smiled and nodded. The whiskey hit me quickly and it felt fucking fantastic. That was more like it. It was exactly what I needed to keep the demons at the edge of my consciousness, instead of taunting me in my head.
The other thing I needed was right between Catherine’s crossed thighs. Her skirt had ridden up, revealing a tiny sliver of inner thigh that I longed to run my tongue along.
I sat down beside her on the couch, and as soon as our legs touched, she scooted over. I smirked.
She was going to make me work for it.
That’s okay, though.
I enjoyed the chase almost as much as the conquering. And she might not know it yet, but I was going to conquer every fuckin’ inch of her creamy flesh.
“Let’s talk about you,” I suggested. Her eyes widened and she immediately shook her head.
“Me? Oh, no, that’s not why we’re here.”
“I couldn’t give a shit about that. I mean, I respect you have a job to do and all that, luv, but seriously, it’s all just horseshit. We both know what the Rolling Stone wants. You’ll write a puff piece about my tortured past and the way my music lets me fuckin’ work through it, and all the teenaged girls will read it and tear up about things that happened a long time ago… Lets talk about you. I bet you’re more interesting than all of my boring drivel…”
“You’re the most famous rock star on the planet, Liam.”
“Rubbish. What is fame but a constant headache? It’s not real. It doesn’t last. Tell me, Catherine, are you single? Have a boyfriend? Husband? Girlfriend?” I asked with a wink.
“None of the above,” she replied.
“I find that hard to believe,” I replied, putting my hand on her knee. To my surprise, she let it rest there instead of puling away.
“I work a lot,” she said. “I’m sure you can relate to that.”
“Unfortunately, yes I can.”
“Let’s talk about that. What keeps you motivated, Liam? What keeps you writing songs and performing? Your career has lasted a lot longer than most musician’s already, and you’re still going strong, still pumping out the hits.”
“Ian writes most of the songs. I’ve written a few, but I mostly just sing and play and look fuckin’ pretty…”
“But what keeps you going?” she asked, ignoring the way I downplayed my accomplishments.
“I guess the fact that I don’t have a fuckin’ choice. Everyone depends on me getting up there on the stage, making it to the next show, paying everyone’s salaries with ticket sales. If there’s no show, nobody gets paid. Nobody buys albums anymore… If you’re going to survive in music today, you’ve got to keep moving. The tour never stops.”
“That sounds like a lot of pressure.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I replied, taking another swig of whiskey. It’s warm embrace felt like home. I couldn’t wait for the show to be over so I could forget about everything. There was a time when I wouldn’t have waited, but I was trying to be on my best behavior and avoid Ian’s incessant nagging.
“Do you enjoy performing?”
“It’s a good escape. Sometimes I wish it lasted longer, because it’s the only time I feel in my element. Off stage, I’m bloody lost. I don’t really fit in the square world, you know? But on stage, I can just be me, and let the music take over.”
“That sounds….freeing.”
“That’s one way to put it. Now, let’s talk about you again.”
“Liam…”
“Where did you grow up, Catherine?” I asked. She re-crossed her legs, forcing my hand to fall away.
“New York,” she replied.
“And did you have a happy childhood?” I asked. Her eyes flashed over at me and I didn’t like what I saw there. I recognized the pain of the past all too well.
“Not really, but I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Now you know how I feel!” I exclaimed. I was rewarded with the sound of her laughter.
“I guess so,” she responded.
“You know what I say, Catherine?”
“What’s that?”
“I say fuck the past! In fact, let’s make a toast!” I held up my glass of whiskey, and she raised her bottle of water. “To the future!”
“To the future!” she echoed, laughing, touching her drink to mine. I downed the whiskey and poured another.
“Sure you don’t want some?” I asked.
“What the hell,” she replied. “You only live once, right?”
“That’s more like it!” I exclaimed. The amber liquid swirled around the crystal glass as I handed it to her. She took a tentative slip and then downed it in one shot, smiling warmly at me.
My cock twitched in my pants.
Seven
CATHERINE
The crowd was huge and when Liam and Ian and the rest of the Electric Horses walked on stage, they erupted in a frenzied welcome. The boys strapped on their guitars, and without a word, launched into their hottest number one hit, Somewhere Else, bringing the crowd to their feet before the first verse was even finished. The song was all about wanting to be somewhere else, anywhere else but where you were. I’d felt that way since I’d arrived, but now, watching the boys perform, I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.
Liam’s comfort on stage was obvious. He became one with the guitar, stalking the microphone like a determined lover, the lyrics pouring out of him like a waterfall. His voice was strong, solid, and so fucking sexy that I felt my nipples harden like pebbles and stay that way throughout the entire show. It was impossible to look away from him. His presence was commanding, sultry, and his body moved with such unbridled sexuality, he almost looked as if he were making love to the audience. His eyes closed, his hips undulating, his mouth open, his hair flying, his always unbuttoned shirt billowing behind him and exposing that muscular tattooed chest, all at the same time. It was breathtaking.
My eyes raked over the adoring crowd, and I saw hundreds of women who surely had the same expression splashed across their faces as I did - pure, unadulterated desire.
Song after song, Liam poured his heart out. That kind of passion could never be faked. He was indeed a man in his element. I couldn’t help but smile. No wonder everyone was able to look past his asshol
e demeanor. No wonder the record label executives were going to such lengths to try to improve his image. Nobody in their right mind would want this train to stop.
By the time the show was halfway over, Liam had the crowd eating out of his hand. He and Ian pretty much ignored each other, though, and while I sensed the tension between them, they played off of each other effortlessly. The band was tight, skilled, and perfectly adapted to every nuance of Liam’s singing. If he got softer, they got softer. If he played harder, they played louder.
I couldn’t help but lose myself in the magic.
Rhone stood beside me, and I glanced over at her. Her eyes were filled with love, her gaze glued on Ian the whole time. You could almost feel the happiness oozing off of her, and it made me smile. It also made me wonder why Ian could find love and stability and Liam couldn’t. Perhaps after a little more time with him, I could get a better handle on that.
As for now, I was just going to allow myself to drink in the undeniable sex machine that was Liam. I felt a familiar stirring between my legs, my nipples hardened even more beneath my blouse, and my stomach flipped.
As much as I hated to admit it, I wasn’t immune to Liam’s charms. As much as I wanted to remain professional, another part of me wanted to give in to his devilish temptation. And at this point, watching him, that part was winning out. Big time.
My thoughts had drifted so far away from my reason for being there, that by the time the show was over, I was in a hypnotic haze. By the looks of the throngs of fans that were cheering, stomping and clapping, chanting ‘more, more, more!’, they were under the same spell.
The boys came backstage, talked to each other for a moment, wiping sweat from their faces, pouring water in their mouths, their energy electric. Within moments, they walked back out and the crowd collectively went crazy.
I was in awe.
This wasn’t my first rodeo. I’d been to countless concerts myself, but being backstage was a whole different trip. Watching the effect the band had on the crowd from this side was intense. The ecstatic faces, the synchronized lips singing along to every song they’d memorized, the devotion for the band filling their eyes as they swayed together.
It made me high just watching it - I could only imagine how it must feel to be the object of their adoration. But Liam and the boys seemed to take it in stride, as if it was second nature to be in front of all of these people night after night.
The spotlight was not for me, I’d figured that out long ago. That’s why I was a writer now. I much preferred working behind the scenes, just me and my laptop and not a million pairs of eyes watching my every move.
My father had been a famous newscaster. I’d grown up watching him on television, interviewing presidents and breaking important stories. He was intense, driven and laser-focused on delivering the most in-depth stories he could. My mother and I adored him. Until I was ten, the three of us had the perfect life, even if he wasn’t home as much as we’d like him to be. When I expressed an interest in writing, he pushed me to follow in his footsteps. The stage was set for our lives to play out perfectly, but it didn’t work out that way.
Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was ten, and everything fell apart. She tried to fight it, but in the end, the cancer won. After she died, Dad fell apart. He began drinking heavily and his life and career died with the woman he couldn’t live without. It was devastating to watch. I basically raised myself, and in the end, by the time I was in my early twenties, he was a shell of the man he once was. I spent a year taking care of him before his body let go, freeing him from his own private hell.
I threw myself into my writing after he was gone. I began with poems and short stories but my heart was in songwriting. Because of my father’s career, I was recruited to be a journalist, and since it paid the bills, I kept doing it. But songwriting was always my secret passion, and outside of a few trusted friends and colleagues, I kept that to myself. I’d sold a few songs along the way that became big hits, and I was immensely proud of them, and even if those royalty checks became smaller as time sped by, it was always a private little pleasure when they arrived… I liked keeping it to myself, though. Sometimes a girl has to have her own secrets.
Watching Liam leave every part of himself on that stage, I wondered what secrets he was keeping. If I could uncover a few of them, I might just have myself a story.
Eight
LIAM
The roar of the crowd always gets me hard, and the guitar slung low over my hips does a shit job of hiding it. Performing is better than shaggin’. In fact, it’s just like shaggin’ thousands of people all at the same time. The build up, the anticipation, the waiting, and then the act itself, like you’re riding the waves of pleasure with all of them at once - the highs, the lows, the cock-out rocking, fist-pumping finale. The sweaty aftermath, the electric, lingering high that I can only achieve after being in front of thousands of screaming fans.
I’m beyond addicted to all of that shit.
It’s the only thing that keeps me going.
It’s the easiest, greatest escape from all the bullshit that makes up the rest of my life. Escaping from it is what I live for. Escaping from it is essential.
The encores are my favorite part of the show, not just because I could play all fuckin’ night and never tire, but because I know Ian thinks our shows should be short.
“Leave the crowd wanting more,” he always says. But fuck that. I say give the crowd what they paid their hard-earned money for. I say give the crowd the same escape that they give us. So, when I go back for an encore, and then do it again, it pleases me because it pisses Ian off. Pissing Ian off is one of my greatest skills and my favorite past times. Seeing his face turn red with frustration is my reward.
Sure, I love my brother. But for fuck’s sake, he is the most uptight motherfucker I know. I figure if I push his buttons enough times, he’ll mellow out a little.
Of course, I’ve been pushing his buttons for thirty years now and he’s still the same uptight asshole as he’s always been, but I’ve got hope.
Sometimes, though, I bend a little. Like now. I know he wants to end the show, I can feel his glare even though I’m not looking at him. I look down at the fans lining the edge of the stage and a pretty little blonde beauty is beaming up at me. I wink at her before launching into the last song. In the middle of it, I glance over at the side of the stage and see Catherine standing next to Rhone, her gorgeous green eyes glued to me. I give her a little nod and feel my cock swell in my pants.
If I don’t get some relief soon, that fucking monster is going to explode. And I feel sorry for anyone around me when that happens.
Another glance at Catherine, and I’m hoping like hell it’s her. She’s been oh-so-professional and all I want to do is rip off her clothes and shag her until she’s begging for more. I bet she has the sweetest little pussy this side of the pond.
Perhaps if I play along just right, I’ll find out for myself…
The song’s over and the boys and I bow as the crowd goes nuts, demanding more and more and more.
They’re my kind of crowd. Insatiable. Passionate. Hungry.
I nod to Ian and to his relief, I leave the stage.
As always, Big D walks up to me as soon as I’m away from the mic.
“Want me to bring any girls back for the afterparty, Liam?” I look over his shoulder. Catherine is standing quiet among a group of screaming fans. On any other night, I might point to three or four of them to play with…
But where was the fun in that?
No… I knew what I wanted. My cock threatened to rip right out of my pants as I drink in the sight of her.
“Nobody tonight, Big D. Gonna take a little break.”
His shocked face makes me laugh, but I turn and walk away, leaving him confused and bewildered as he follows behind.
Nine
CATHERINE
When I heard we weren’t sleeping in the bust tonight, that was fine by me… Unfortunately,
it looked like sleeping might not exactly be happening anywhere…
By the time we made it to the hotel, the party was in full swing. I couldn’t help but think how exhausting this must be night after night. Wake up, drive hundred of miles to the venue, wait around for hours, play the show, back on the bus, ride off to a hotel to party all night, and then get up in the morning and do it all over again. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was a fucking blast…
Once…
Maybe twice…
But every night?
Screw that.
A girl needed her beauty rest, you know? Apparently, that wasn’t going to happen here. By the time I checked in and took my bags to my room, the sounds of the party streaming down the hallway were irresistible. So was the thought of spending a few minutes with Liam, but I was pretending that wasn’t why I was going.
I changed clothes, putting on a pair of jeans and a low cut red velvet blouse. I’d had a thought earlier that if I opened up to Liam a little, maybe played his game just a bit, then maybe I could get him to open up to me. I wanted to do a good job with this article, and I wasn’t opposed to going to such lengths to make that happen.
The first thing I thought when I walked into the band’s party suite, was ‘where did all these people come from?’ A least a hundred people were crammed in there, all of them drinking and partying.
I spotted Ian and Rhone in the corner and decided to join them after helping myself to a glass of wine from the bar.
“Hello, Catherine, did you enjoy the show?” Ian asked.
“I did, it was amazing,” I replied.
“It always is,” Rhone said. Ian shook his head in disagreement.
“It was shit, Liam went on for way too long,” he said.
“Did he?” I asked. “Does he do that often?”
“All the bloody time! I’m convinced he only does it to piss me off.”
