by Ashley Pullo
“Now!” she demands as I close my eyes.
“Ah shit. Fuck, oh Chloe . . .” I explode.
She looks down at her chest, my cum dripping between her breasts. God, she’s beautiful.
“Adam Ford, what happened to your self-control?”
“Oh shit – Chloe I’m sorry. Let me clean you off.” I reach for a package of cocktail napkins as she stands in front of me.
“Kiss me,” she says.
I kiss her, our lips searching for that perfect ridge of comfort and excitement.
“Okay, now clean me! This stuff hardens quicker than Royal icing.” She laughs.
I wipe her neck and chest with a handful of paper napkins, all of which have B&T stamped on them. I help Chloe fasten her bra, kissing her shoulders and running my hand down the front of her pants. “Let me play with you,” I say.
“Not here. I don’t have sex in semi-public places. And see that camera up there?” She points to the corner where a video camera dangles from a wire. “It could still work.”
“Nice try – but I’m never uncomfortable.”
“Wait – how’d you know that’s what I was trying to do?”
“Come home with me tonight,” I command.
Either from the shoddy festive lighting or the realization that this is getting real, Chloe glows. She takes a step closer and smiles. “Okay, lo-ver. Let’s go to Brooklyn.”
I SLAM HER body against the outside of my apartment door, watching her red lips creep into a smile.
Focus Adam.
I press against her, pinning her hips under mine, and brushing my lips against her mouth.
“Chloe, let it all go – right now. Because once we step inside this door, you will deny every single one of your impulses. Control it.”
“Ah, I see . . . a practice in patience.” She laughs and wiggles her shoulders. “Okay! I’m ready.”
I put my hand on her neck. “Look at me. No more talking, no humming, and absolutely no touching – my lips are off limits.” I turn the key in the doorknob as she grabs my neck, kissing me frantically. I push open the door and break our kiss. “In,” I order.
Chloe takes a step inside and inhales deeply. She wants this – she wants to feel the discipline of resolve. I remove her leather jacket and drop it on the floor. I stand behind her, wrapping my arm around her chest. “Bedroom,” I say into her neck.
She walks forward, never looking back. I push open my bedroom door and nudge her toward the center of the room. Her eyes follow me as I take off my jacket and roll up my sleeves.
“Remove your clothes,” I say with authority.
Her lips stretch into a smile but I shake my head. She pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it to the floor. Chloe unbuckles and then pulls down her black pants, stopping at her ankles to remove her shoes. She steps out of her pants and kicks them toward me. I cross my arms and shake my head. “Everything,” I scorn.
Chloe reaches behind her back and unfastens her blue bra, letting it drop to the floor. She lowers her blue panties to her thighs and then seductively bends over her long legs to slide them off. When she stands in front of me, I almost lose it. Her body is soft and feminine, but it’s her naked vulnerability, her passion – shit, I cannot regulate my emotions.
“Now, turn around,” I say.
She rolls her eyes dramatically, so I respond with a disapproving glare.
“Turn around, Chloe.”
Chloe pivots slowly and places her hands on her waist. I take a few moments to run my eyes up and down her bare backside, smiling the entire time – and now I’m hard.
I remove my tie and shirt and approach her back. She flinches as my fingers slowly trail down her arms. I pull her wrists behind her and fasten them with my tie. “No touching, not even yourself.” I pull the tie taut and then slowly spin her around.
She looks into my eyes, then my lips . . . and then my chest. Chloe lowers her head to observe my cock penetrating through my pants. I touch myself and she bites her lip.
I run my thumb over her lips. She ignores my teasing by tightening her mouth, fighting her urge to suck my finger. I kiss her neck and her shoulder, and then slowly run my tongue over her breast. Her body tenses as she lets out a small whimper.
“Control it,” I instruct.
Her head rolls back as she tries to focus on anything but me. I smile into her chest, amused by her failed efforts. My tongue circles her hard nipple and she squirms under my touch. I bring my hands to her hips and squeeze tightly, standing up and staring into her eyes. They’re darker now, insatiable lust permeating her body.
“Look at me,” I say.
Chloe’s eyes are wild and her mouth is quivering. She wants to say something, but she wants to fuck even more. Her eyes fall to my mouth – this will be the test.
I slowly lick . . . then scrape with my teeth . . . and then bite, my bottom lip.
“Oh fuck it!” Chloe heaves her naked body onto my chest and bites my lip. I knew she couldn’t last – but what I didn’t know, what I wasn’t prepared for?
How much I fucking love it.
“GEORGE CLOONEY ON Roseanne,” I murmur.
“Brad Pitt on Growing Pains.” Chloe chides.
“Matthew Perry on Growing Pains,” I reply.
“Leonardo on Growing Pains.” Chloe laughs.
“Shannon Doherty on Little House.” I counter.
“No way! Really? I have to tell Nat, she hates Brenda!”
“Well she wasn’t Brenda yet – your turn.”
“Um, Courtney Cox on Murder, She Wrote,” Chloe says.
“Wow. You win.”
“Yes! I want a back rub.” Chloe flips onto her stomach with her bare ass demanding my attention. I glide my hand slowly down her back and smack her ass.
“Hey, you said you would stop spanking me,” she whines.
“I can’t help it, you make me lose control.”
Chloe rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Less spanking more massaging.”
“When are you leaving for Toronto?” I ask.
“Next Thursday, mmm, rub my lower back harder. Don’t forget my show on the twelfth at the bar.”
“I’ll be there. I might bring my idiot friends with me.”
“You can finally meet Nat and Jamie!”
I ball my fists and grind my knuckles into the valley of her lower back. Her moaning increases and so does my erection.
“That feels amazing.” I straddle her legs and continue to massage her back. “So I’m writing a song. I mean, it’s nothing spectacular and I’ll probably never actually perform it – but you inspire me, Adam.”
I collapse onto Chloe’s back and kiss her neck. We’re both physically exhausted, but I’ve come to appreciate these unscripted moments post-fucking.
“Oh yeah? Is it a song about my giant penis?”
“Well, obviously. That’s the refrain.”
“Then your song will be a hit,” I say, closing my eyes.
“Our song,” she whispers.
CHAPTER TEN
Adam Ford
9/12/03
Re: Olives suck
“SO LEMME GET this straight, we’re going to watch a girl sing at a bar? A girl that you’ve been screwing since August. Adam, you’re busted dude.” Pete laughs.
“Busted how?” I ask.
Pete and I walk down Varick Street toward the bar like typical men out on a Friday night – very little eye contact and exactly five paces apart from each other.
“Ah man, I can’t wait to meet your girlfriend,” he sings.
“What? Maybe I want you to experience a little culture instead of a night of PlayStation and porn.” Unbelievable. I really thought out of all my friends, Pete would have the maturity to handle this, whatever this is.
“Actually on Fridays, I play poker. And then porn,” he adds.
We arrive at The Bridge and I shove Pete through the door, slapping the back of his head in the process.
“Be nice, dipshit. Chloe
has a cousin who loves afros.”
Pete pats his blond curls with a smug grin. “Who doesn’t?”
My eyes immediately find Chloe, not because there’s special lighting or a spotlight, she just radiates light. Chloe is sitting on a stool quietly strumming and tuning her guitar. She adjusts the microphone, moving it closer to her mouth. Fuck, I want to be that mic.
“Holy shit, is that her?” Pete asks.
I nod and walk toward the stage. Chloe hops off her stool and places her guitar in the stand, revealing a very sexy bra as she leans over. That bra is for me, the little tease . . .
“You must be Adam Ford, eh?” I look down to my right to find an identical version of Chloe swirling a tiny straw in what appears to be a soda.
“Natalie?” I ask.
“The one and only,” she replies.
Chloe joins us at the table while Pete makes himself comfortable in the chair next to Natalie.
“Hi, lo-ver.” Chloe pecks me on the cheek as I press my mouth against her ear.
“I’m fucking you later,” I whisper.
“Totally,” she says.
I pinch her ass as she turns to face Pete and Natalie. “Nat, this is Adam and his friend . . .” Chloe stalls, looking in Pete’s direction.
“I’m Pete,” he answers, staring at Natalie’s chest. Subtle, you idiot.
“What’s everyone drinking?” Chloe asks. “Technically, I’m a waitress . . .”
“Fuck that! You are a rock star – I’ll go.” Natalie stands, her hands resting on her hips as she stares at me.
I definitely recognize Natalie – I’ve talked to her before. At a bar? Work? Nope, it was in line at Starbucks. Weird. “I’ll take a Stella,” I say, rubbing Chloe’s ass.
Pete jumps up from his chair and grins like a dumbfuck. “I’ll help you.” They move through the crowd congregating at the bar where Dennis is busy making a tray of shots.
“So what’s the deal with your cousin? Is she attached – because Pete is relentless?”
“Oh, she has a boyfriend in the Marines. But their relationship is open, in a way. I’m not sure, really.” Chloe sits in my lap and places her arms around my neck.
“I’ll stay out of it. Are you aware of how sexy you look playing a guitar?”
Chloe smiles proudly and then blushes. “I’m not really going for sexy. There’s like a legitimate record producer here tonight.”
“Where’s your friend Jamie? Maybe that’s an option for Pete?”
“Per-haps.” She laughs. “Jamie is so excited to meet you! I must’ve talked about you non-stop for two days in Toronto. You got a lot to live up to, ya know.”
“I never disappoint.”
Natalie and Pete return to the table with a tray of assorted drinks. I take one of the beers and Chloe reaches for a shot. Smirking, Natalie pulls Chloe from my lap. She raises her glass high in the air and winks at me. “Get on her, stay on her. And if you can’t come in’er, come on’er.” Natalie snorts.
Chloe’s eyes narrow as she glares at Natalie. I should’ve known that they would share details – but that will need to stop. They clank their glasses and then throw back the shots. Now normally, girls and tequila are a complete turnoff for two reasons: one, they only do it because they know people are watching and two, the ridiculous faces they make while doing something they don’t enjoy. But Chloe and Natalie look incredibly hot.
“Oh shit, that’s harsh.” Natalie yells, slamming the glass on the table.
Imitating a frog, Chloe asks, “How’s my voice?”
“Like velvet. Now go sing your ass off!” Natalie slaps Chloe’s ass and then sits in the chair closest to Pete. She slides in closer to him and grabs a beer from the tray. “Cut me off after this beer,” she says.
Chloe kisses my forehead, but it’s not enough. I take her face in my hands and pull her lips to my mouth. I kiss her, passionate and deep, ignoring the immature whistling around us. She pulls away and takes my jaw in her hands. We lock eyes, neither one of us blinking. Fuck, I would surrender the world to her. And the way she’s controlling the intensity of this moment is so hot – so hot, I may have to fuck her right now . . . and then she smiles.
“I should fix my lipstick before I take the stage. Enjoy the show, lo-ver,” she whispers. Chloe winks at me before heading to the bathroom. Damn, her ass looks good in those tight pants and boots—
“So Adam, do you go to the gym on 5th?” Natalie asks.
Regaining my focus, I answer, “Nope – I don’t do gyms. I run three miles every morning and play soccer twice a week with this guy.” I nod to Pete and drink my beer.
Natalie tilts her head and chews on a straw. “What about bars? Do you work Downtown?”
Motioning to her neck, I say, “That’s a unique necklace.”
Natalie grasps the star in her hand and smiles. “Thank you, it’s my star. My boyfriend gave it to me.”
As Natalie turns her head in the direction of the screeching microphone, I shake my head discouragingly at Pete’s goofy grin. Pete shrugs his shoulders and moves closer to Natalie. Bastard.
“Welcome! Tonight is the first of many Open Rock Nights at The Bridge. I’m thrilled to introduce a lady we all know very well around here. She curses with the best of ’em, serves a mean cocktail, and is the prettiest Canadian to ever set foot in this tacky bar. So sit back, order some drinks and prepare to be entertained by our resident enchantress, Chloe LeGrange.”
Chloe steps on the stage and kisses Dennis’s cheek. She takes her guitar and straps it elegantly over her shoulder. I watch as she adjusts the mic to rest against her mouth. She’s beaming with confidence as several guys whistle and the bartender pounds his hands on the bar. One of the waitresses clangs a spoon against a metal cocktail mixer while Dennis snaps a few pictures with a camera. Chloe’s reaction is amazing – she can ooze confidence and sexuality with just one smile.
Her mouth lingers near the mic before she speaks. “So what Dennis failed to mention is my inability to sing anything other than Canadian pop ballads. My playlist goes a little like this: Alanis, Rush, Bryan Adams, maybe a smidge of Barenaked Ladies, and I always close with some Celine Dion.” Chloe’s mouth curls into her seductive smile that drives me crazy.
A few people chuckle as Natalie brings her fingers to her mouth to whistle. “Woo-hoo, sing I’m Your Lady!”
Chloe laughs and shakes her head. “I’m just fucking with ya. Okay, this first song is for a lover . . . of The Replacements.” She smiles for me, and then quickly turns her attention to the neck of her guitar. Chloe’s changing the key – this song was an impulsive decision.
She strums her guitar softly as her voice unfolds the simple lyrics of Skyway. “You take the Skyway.” I’ve probably listened to this Replacements song a hundred times, but now I can actually hear it. Every chord and every word is like a private record just for us . . . she’s remarkable and she’s mine.
“In the skyway.” Upon her last suspended note, silence dominates the crowded room. Chloe looks embarrassed and possibly on the verge of tears, but then she laughs, and the bar erupts in applause.
Chloe bows her head in appreciation while adjusting the mic. “I tend to play how I feel and right now, I feel pumped. Let’s see if this Canuck can rock some dance music on an acoustic!” She strums quickly and picks rhythmically at the strings. “Pump up the jam,” she sings.
Natalie shrieks like a teenager and jumps up to dance. Everyone is having a great time and the fact that Chloe is the one leading the charge – damn, she doesn’t even understand how incredible she is.
“Getcha booty on the floor . . .” the crowd sings in unison.
After she finishes, she stands to take a bow and blows a kiss to everyone in the front row – most of them being horny college guys. Chloe sips a glass of water as she kneels to dig around in her guitar case. I catch a few of the guys talking to her but she just nods politely. She smiles at them, but it’s not my smile, it’s her stage smile.
I take another one of the beers and chat with Pete about our soccer game next week. Natalie moves to the table next to us to talk to someone, so I take this opportunity to address Pete. I don’t like complications and this could go horribly wrong. “Dude, don’t go there,” I advise.
Pete places his arms on the table and smirks. “Fine.”
Up on the stage, Chloe gives an introduction to a song she wrote in high school about a band of gypsies in Paris. The song is quirky and cute, but she manages to make every song sound meaningful.
After she finishes the song and quiets the uproarious laughter, Chloe stands and raises the mic. “How about we open the floor to some requests?”
“Skynyrd!” Natalie shouts, returning to our table.
Pete cups his mouth and yells, “Pearl Jam.”
Sitting in the front row, Dennis suggests, “Stevie Nicks.”
The audience shouts random things at her and she nods with each request. I wonder if she would perform Rainbow—
“Chloe, I love you!” The voice echoes across the noisy bar and hits Chloe directly in the heart. She squints at something behind me and smiles – my smile. “Olive you,” the voice shouts again.
Clenching my jaw, I look over my shoulder to find a guy standing there with his arms crossed, and his eyes fucking Chloe. This isn’t a stranger . . . this guy isn’t just a drunk hanging out in a bar . . . this guy is—
“Jamie!” Natalie shrieks.
Jamie. The artist. Holy shit.
I don’t check out guys, ever – but this Jamie asshole is standing over me with his tattooed arms and only one thing on his mind – Chloe. He smiles at Natalie, glances at Pete and then returns his focus to the stage. I follow his gaze to find Chloe reciprocating the flirtation – like they’re the only people in the room.
“Olive you,” Chloe whispers into the mic. She removes a rainbow-colored pick from the neck of her guitar and brings it to her lips, kissing it while winking at him. She strums a slow melody and the bastard actually sings along with her . . . to her. Oh, this is bullshit.
“You’re the Falls to my Niagara,
The quantum to my leap,
The pimento to my olive,
And the dreams to my sleep.”
