To Be Your Last

by Rae Kennedy

  “And...they can’t?” My voice is all throaty.

  “Not usually, no. Most women won’t come without direct clitoral stimulation.”

  My cheeks grow even hotter and he looks like he wants to sink his teeth into me.

  “Oh.” I’m still not sure what he’s proposing. And does he want to do it right now? “So you want to... what? Watch me”—I can’t bring myself to say the word masturbate, even with vodka mostly in control of my mouth—“touch myself?”

  He swallows thickly. “I don’t have to watch. I could talk you through it, help you figure out how you like to be touched, offer suggestions and support. I could do it over the phone if you want.”

  “Col, I—”

  He closes the last inches between us, our foreheads touching. He squeezes my hand, our interlocked fingers, holding on tight.

  “Don’t decide anything right now. Let’s talk about it later, when you’re sober.”

  And so we don’t talk about it anymore.

  I listen to him hum and sing quietly to himself as he gets ready for bed.

  I can’t sleep. I toss and turn and then finally lie awake and watch Colin in the bed across from me. Just enough light seeps into the room from around the edges of the curtains to highlight the angles of his face and his lashes against his cheeks. He hugs a pillow close to his body while his chest rises slowly, perfectly timed to his soft sounds of sleep.

  * * *

  We’re sitting on the bus the next afternoon, waiting for the rest of the guys to check out of the hotel. I’m surprised when Colin hoists me onto his lap. He wraps his arms around my middle and nuzzles his chin into the crook of my neck as I work on a crossword puzzle. It’s so nice and comfortable. I like the feeling of him wrapping me up too much. And the idea that he isn’t doing this for show, that he may like it as much as I do, has me imagining what we would be like if we were really together. Visions of us just like this on a lazy Sunday morning, walking hand in hand as much as possible, tangling our bare legs in the bed-sheets...

  “Gray? Did you hear me?”

  “Huh?”

  “Sixteen across—it’s arctic.”

  “Oh right.” I focus back on the puzzle. “Thanks for the help.”

  “I’m good at helping.”

  I immediately think about what he offered to help me with last night and my face warms. A hand moves to touch my hip and I yelp at the contact.

  “Are you ticklish?”

  “No.”

  But then he squeezes my hip and I start giggling and squirming on his lap because, dammit, it does tickle. He holds me tight with his other arm so I can’t wiggle away. I laugh so hard I snort. He chuckles behind me, making me bounce on his lap and then Joey and Dean climb onto the bus.

  We both look up, the tickling ceased but out of breath.

  “Where’s your brother?” Colin asks.

  “Fuck if I know. I don’t get paid enough to keep track of him,” Dean says.

  Colin pulls out his phone. “We’re going to be late if he doesn’t show up soon.” He lets out a sigh as he hits dial and holds the phone to his ear. Logan doesn’t pick up. “I’m going to go check in the hotel.” He slides over and lifts me off his lap. “Sorry.” He kisses my cheek before he gets up to leave.

  At just that moment, Logan strolls onto the bus, his hair even more disheveled than usual. His eyelids are droopy and the whites of his eyes bloodshot, but he smiles his mega-watt smile and says, “Hey! I’m here!” like nothing is out of the ordinary.

  “Dude, you look like shit,” Joey says.

  “Have you slept at all yet?” Dean asks.

  “That’s why there are beds on the bus.” Logan’s words are a little slurred this time.

  “Are you still wasted?” Colin asks.

  Logan just shrugs. “I'll be fine by show time.” And he meanders back to his bunk, where it sounds like he literally falls into it.

  And he’s right. Come show time, no one would guess he had been anything other than bright-eyed and bushy-tailed earlier. His fingers move magically over the strings and he hits all of his riffs while smiling to the audience.

  But I watch Colin mostly. How couldn’t I? He’s beautiful on stage, under the lights. His voice resonates above everything else—the music, the crowd, the noise. I’m entranced. He throws off his shirt and I watch his muscles move and flex under his inked skin. He’s a work of art—a masterpiece. If someone had asked me to sculpt the perfect specimen, I wouldn’t have even come close to capturing the imperfect perfection of Colin Wolfe. And he wants to...

  I’m having a hard time pushing thoughts of his offer out of my mind. He hasn’t asked me about it. He’s probably waiting for my lead. But I don’t know how to bring it up—not that I’ve decided my answer yet. Fuck, actually I have. I want it. I want him. I know that’s not really what he offered but maybe...

  I’m too nervous to bring it up after the concert.

  Or the next day.

  We’re traveling on the bus anyway. No privacy. I’ll talk to him about it during our next hotel stay. Yes. That will be best. That’s in two more days.

  * * *

  Colin and I set our bags down on the gray upholstered benches at the ends of the matching queen beds. There hadn’t even been enough time to check-in to our room when we got in town. It was straight off the bus to get ready for the show, then immediately after the show to go eat. So even though it’s not too late, we’re exhausted.

  I’ve been on the verge of hyperventilating all day.

  Like, this is it. This is the time I told myself I would speak up.

  Colin casually slings his guitar case on his bed, toes off his shoes, and rubs at his temple like he has a headache. If he has a headache, it probably isn’t the best time to start this conversation.

  “Gray?”

  “What?”

  “Can I ask you—” He pauses, chewing on his cheek for a second. “I don’t know why I’m nervous.” He walks over to me and my heart starts pounding. “Can I play the song for you? I think I finally have it all figured out.”

  Oh. “Of course.” Damn.

  He gets out his guitar, inspects the strings and dials quickly, then sits on his bed while I sit on mine, facing him. He settles the guitar in his lap, and I watch the tattoos on his arms and hands move as he strums. The guitar rhythm is simple but beautiful and I close my eyes to listen.

  Colin starts to sing and I have to open them again to watch. Watching him sing may be my favorite thing on the planet. He makes it look so effortless, changing registers, adding a little vibrato or distortion to his voice to make it extra raspy and sexy. But mostly I love it because when he sings, I can feel all of his emotions, raw and real and deep. It’s like when he sings, all of his emotions spill out of his body, overwhelming the senses, unable to be contained, and they flow right into my soul.

  He starts into the chorus, and I haven’t heard all of these parts yet.

  So here is my heart

  Ugly and bruised

  Broken and abused

  But it pumps just for you

  If you want it to

  Only for you

  If you want me too

  He looks up from the guitar to me, and I realize I’m singing with him as he repeats the bridge and chorus again. Our eyes lock as we sing, “Only for you, if you want me too.”

  He strums the last few lazy notes then sets the guitar down.

  “I like hearing you sing,” he says.

  “Thanks.” I play with the ends of my hair as the nervous energy from the last few days seeps back under my skin. Now would be a good time to bring it up, right? But I don’t know.

  He rolls his neck and yawns. “I’m exhausted. Never sleep that great on the bus. Think I’m going to get ready for bed. That okay with you?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  He lets me get ready first and I sit cross-legged on my bed in my white sleep tank and little pink cotton shorts while he’s in the bathroom. I listen to him sof
tly sing to himself while I fidget with my hands. They’re cold, my head is hot, and my stomach is in knots.

  If not now, then when?

  Colin walks out wearing a thin, soft white cotton shirt and loose-fitting gray drawstring pants. He goes to his bed, throws back the thin duvet and then slides down his pants to reveal tight, black boxer briefs.

  It’s now or never.

  He lets the pants fall to the floor and leans over the mattress, about to slide in.

  “Col—”

  He looks up. Shit, his eyes are so pretty.

  “I, um. Can we talk?”

  He waits expectedly for me to continue. Because, that’s what’s supposed to happen now. How am I supposed to start? He tilts his head and comes around to my bed with a furrowed brow.

  “Everything okay?” He sits next to me on the bed, one leg bent, his knee touching mine, and the other foot on the floor.

  “Yeah,” is all I can manage. I’m still playing with the ends of my hair.

  “You wanted to talk?”

  I nod, trying to keep myself from looking away. We sit. Still not talking.

  Colin breaks into the tiniest smirk. “You want to talk about the other night?”

  I nod.

  “You want to talk about what I said I wanted to do with you.”

  It’s not a question and my face heats and I swallow hard as I nod again.

  “Okay...” He waits.

  My fingers are interlocked and twisting so hard it’s starting to hurt. My pulse is so loud I hope he can’t hear it.

  “You’re going to have to say actual words, Gray.”

  He’s right. I know he is. Okay. Here goes. I am not timid. I can do this. I take a deep breath. “I want to try that with you.” And now, I’d like to bury my face in my hands.

  “I need you to be more specific than that.” He’s leaning in, lowering his voice even though we’re alone.

  “I”—Fuck—“want you to help me have my first”—Holy Mother of Jesus—“orgasm.”

  His smirk turns into a genuine smile, but it’s gone again as soon as he starts talking. “I’d like that too. When do you want to do it?”

  My stomach does a full turn. “Right now?”

  His eyebrows shoot up.

  “If that’s okay,” I add.

  “Yeah. That’s more than okay.” He looks down to where my hands are fisted, down my bare legs and back up to me face. “First thing—you need to relax.” He holds out his arms to me. “Come here.”

  I go to him and he envelops me in his arms. He holds me for what feels like several minutes, warm and firm, his cheek resting against my hair.

  “I want you to know”—his voice is soothing and low—“that nothing we do will to leave this room. Also, I’m going to be telling you to do things, but you’re the one in control. Always. You can say no or tell me to stop, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say in a breathy whisper.

  “Good. Now, how about you lie down? Get comfortable.”

  I scoot up the mattress and he grabs another pillow for me from his bed then helps position it behind me. My heart goes wild whenever he’s near, even when his arm barely brushes mine. The idea of Colin attending to me is too much.

  He sits near my feet. “Take off your shorts.”

  I think I’ve stopped breathing.

  “Leave your underwear on.”

  I hesitate and he puts his hands up.

  “It’s all you,” he says.

  I shimmy my shorts down and kick them to the other side of the bed and settle back down against the pillows.

  “Now close your eyes.”

  I close my eyes and everything goes dark. Everything disappears but the soft pillows under me, the distant, vibrating hum of the air conditioning, and Colin’s hand, lightly resting on my calf. Not in a sexual way, more of a calming way, so I know he’s right here with me, anchoring me in place.

  “How do you like to touch yourself?”

  “I... I don’t know.” I put my hands on my stomach, not sure where to go from here.

  “Do you like your breasts touched?”

  “Yes.” I slide my hands up my sides, over my shirt to cup my breasts. They’re not large but they fill my hands.

  “Has anyone else felt you up there before?”

  “Yes.” I rub over my breasts slowly.

  “Over your shirt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Over your bra?”

  “Yes.” I continue massaging my breasts a little more firmly.

  “Under your bra?” His voice is thick and I continue touching myself.

  “Yes.”

  “Does it feel nice?”

  “Mm hmm.”

  “Do it a little harder,” he orders.

  I squeeze with more force, arching up into the touch, my breathing increasing in speed.

  “How does that feel?”

  “Good.”

  “Rub over your nipples.”

  My face heats at his words but I do it anyway. As I brush my fingers over the sensitive tips, they stiffen under my shirt. I’m sure he can see them and I try to cover my hard little peaks with my hands.

  “You don’t have to be embarrassed about anything in front of me. Especially your body’s natural responses. They’re perfect. Now roll them between your fingers. Yeah, just like that. A little harder. Give a little pinch and tug. Do you like that?”

  “Not as much,” I say, almost out of breath.

  “Okay, good. Rub down your stomach. Spread your legs.”

  Oh. My. God.

  His thumb on my calf moves in the softest of circles. “Relax. Just like that.”

  I let my knees fall to the mattress, spread wide on the bed.

  “Touch your pussy.”

  A jolt pulses between my legs.

  “Over your panties, just like that. Just to get the blood flowing to the right places. How does it feel? Is it getting warmer?”

  “Uh huh.” My panties are silky under my fingers, warmth seeping through the fabric.

  “You’ve done this before?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to slip a finger under your panties?”

  “Mm hmm.” My voice comes out almost a whimper. I slide a finger under the edge of my underwear to find myself already swollen, slick, and oversensitive there.

  “Take them off.”

  My eyes shoot open at his words. He’s sitting, almost hunched over, his gaze hungry on my body, his eyes almost black. He looks at me, taking shallow breaths.

  “Here.” He pulls back the covers so I can get under them. “I don’t need to see anything. This about you, not me.” He pulls the covers up to my stomach. “Now, take them off,” he says again, in a gentle but firm tone.

  I wiggle them down under the covers, careful to stay covered. It’s weird, even though I’m under layers of bedding and he can’t see anything, just knowing that he knows makes me sweat.

  He sits back on his heels and his thick erection is clearly defined, bulging in his boxer briefs.

  “Are you touching it?” he asks.

  I slide my hand back down between my legs and nod. I rub over my mound as I watch Colin watch me. It’s simultaneously hot and awkward. I don’t really know what I’m doing. What if this doesn’t work and then he’s disappointed I didn’t come?

  “What’s going on, Gray? Are you getting embarrassed again?”

  I shake my head no. “I just don’t know if this is going to work.”

  “You’re thinking too much. Only think about sexy stuff. What turns you on?”

  “Turns me on?”

  “Yeah. What makes you horny?”

  Luckily, I’ve been flushed this whole time so he probably doesn’t notice this new wave of heat blooming in my cheeks.

  “Tell me. It can be anything, as boring or as kinky you can think of. I won’t repeat it or judge. I used to beat off to my mom’s sewing pattern books.”

  “Really?” I try to stifle my giggle with little success
.

  Colin is unamused. “This is about you, remember? Tell me something.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “There’s got to be something.”

  My eyes flicker down to his boxers again. My mouth opens in a little oh at the sight of his cock, even larger than before straining under the black fabric.

  He notices my gaze. A coy smile touches his lips. “Do you like that I’m hard for you?”

  Mayday! Mayday! My entire neck and face is going up in flames. I don’t even know what to say.

  “You know that it’s for you, right?”

  I look up at him, my heart beating wildly as he leans over me on his hands and knees.

  “Does it turn you on, knowing that you turn me on?”

  I turn him on? A surge of heat blooms between my legs at the thought.

  “Yes.” It’s barely a whisper.

  His smile grows at my response—it’s devious and sexy. He pulls his shirt off and tosses it to the floor and the sight of him, stripped before me, is glorious.

  “Get your fingers wet.”

  “Huh?”

  “Lick them. It will feel better.”

  I take my hand out from the covers and bring them to my lips. They smell of the musk of my arousal and while I don’t find it unpleasant, I don’t really want to put them in my mouth either. Should I wipe them off first?

  A tiny chuckle comes from Colin’s chest. “You don’t want to taste yourself?”

  I shake my head and crinkle my nose.

  “Okay, just try spitting on them. Unless...” He brings his fist up to his mouth and bites his knuckle.

  “Unless what?”

  He shakes his head. “I told myself this was going to be only about you. I wasn’t going to touch you.”

  “Tell me what you were going to say. Unless what?”

  He lets out a breath. “Unless you want me to lick them for you.”

  My whole body clenches at the thought. “Do you want to...lick them?”

  His eyes are dark with want. “Yes. I do.”

  He wants to taste me? I hold my hand out toward him and he takes it gently. He slowly runs a flat tongue over the pads of my index and middle fingers. Then he takes the tips into his mouth and closes his eyes before sucking on them. It sends shivers down the length of my spine.