Catching London

by MV Ellis

  “Me too. Testing I mean. I normally never take risks, but I do the tests anyway. The last time was just before coming back out on tour, and it was all clear. Glad you’re on birth control though.” I hear the relief in his voice.

  “Yeah, it’s cool, but maybe let’s stick with condoms from now on, anyway, yeah?”

  He nods his agreement.

  Despite my misgivings about him, I can’t ignore the fact that I’m comfortable snuggled into him like this. Encircled in his arms, I feel safe and loved. So much so that I quickly begin to drift off to sleep with the sound of his heartbeat filling my ears.

  “Hmmm… home…,” I mumble drowsily, on the precipice of sleep.

  “What did you say?” Arlo questions gently, but I’m asleep before I can muster the energy to respond.

  ***

  I’m not sure how I manage to wake up so early the next morning, given the way Arlo and I put each other through our paces during the night. I didn’t think it was possible for a guy to keep going for so long without the assistance of a certain little blue pill, but Arlo seems to be hard again moments after coming. His stamina is phenomenal, as is his appetite for going down on me. I’ve been with guys who haven’t given me as much head in our entire relationship as Arlo has in one night.

  I wake to find myself still draped in Arlo. His beautiful tattooed limbs are everywhere, and it’s quite a feat to disentangle myself without waking him. A few times, just as I think I’m free and clear, his thick thighs press down on me, or he snakes his arms tighter around my waist, trapping me in place. I should wake him, but he looks so serene that I can’t bring myself to. I eventually manage to slip out of his possessive embrace and begin retrieving discarded items of clothing from around the suite.

  It’s only then that I notice how trashed the place looks. Apart from the clothes strewn everywhere, a few lamps have been toppled, the bedclothes are in knots, there are cushions scattered far and wide, and the plates and other debris from our late-night room service order are piled on a tray next to the bed. I giggle to myself; we’re upholding the rock star tradition of wrecking hotel rooms, but it was the two of us out of our minds with lust, not the usual drunk or high party antics.

  Once dressed, I ride the elevator down to the sumptuous reception area, this time taking the time to look around. The hotel sticks to the traditional tenets of luxury: heavy fabrics, warm tones, ornate cornices, rich woods, and in the reception area, marble from wall to wall. Through the revolving doors I see grand columns I don’t recall from when Arlo and I hurried past the day before. As I walk out into the chilly Parisian morning air, it occurs to me that I don’t even know where I am, so I turn and make a quick mental note of the name on the façade—just in case I lose my way.

  I feel strange strolling the streets of Paris just after dawn. It’s almost like a walk of shame in reverse—it’s the morning after the night before, I’m wearing yesterday’s outfit, I crept out of a man’s room at first light, my hair is a mess, and I’ve got panda eyes from sleeping in my makeup.

  The big difference is that this wasn’t a one-night stand, and though I do have doubts, I’m not full of the usual regret that most girls are the next morning. However, having spent the night screwing and being thoroughly screwed by Arlo, I do want to get some space from him, to clear my mind. I sure as hell can’t think straight when I’m near him. Taking a walk alone seems like the best way to try to get my head straight without the distraction of six foot four inches of the most fuckable man I’ve ever encountered clouding my judgment.

  It’s kind of nice being out this early in Paris, too. Apart from the refreshing, cool dawn air, I’m loving the sleepy vibe of the city before the day truly gets underway. Although I’m not sure where I am—and am not concerned enough to pull out my cell phone and check Google Maps—I enjoy walking aimlessly, seeing where my feet take me and drinking in the amazing architecture. It’s such an inherently beautiful city that even the most mundane buildings (by Parisian standards) are gorgeous and ooze history.

  Several times I wander into little parks and sit on a bench so that I can lose myself in thought without ending up under a truck or street sweeper. This time I pull out my phone and stick the buds into my ears—I always think better with a soundtrack. I can’t decide on an album that fits my mood, or the matter at hand, so I go for one of my dance playlists. It’s the perfect choice, but it really makes me ache to dance.

  After a few minutes emptying my mind, I begin to get some clarity and make a few decisions about where to go from here. Separating myself from the force field that constantly pulls me toward Arlo gives me the confidence to do what deep down I know is for the best. Had I just rolled over in bed and tried to talk to him as he sprawled naked before me, dick at attention (because when is it not?), I wouldn’t have gotten through the first few words before he jumped me. I’m such a pushover when it comes to that man, it would have been a total waste of time trying to have a serious conversation under those circumstances.

  On the way back to the hotel, I decide to grab breakfast for the two of us. I know we can order room service, but I see a sumptuous deli-bakery, and can’t go past the mouthwatering croissants. Those, along with some artisan jelly, a rich Brie, and some freshly pressed orange juice, and you’ve got my dream breakfast. I may have accidentally grabbed some sweet treats for later on also. When in Rome (or Paris), as they say….

  I tiptoe into the bedroom, thinking Arlo will be asleep—it’s still early, and after last night’s antics, it wouldn’t surprise me if he needed some recovery time. I’m definitely about ready for a nap myself, after my burst of energy and very early start.

  I’ve obviously underestimated his stamina, as he’s very much awake, and chatting on his cell when I walk through the door.

  “Fuck you, man. Will you stop acting like a grandmother for one goddamned minute?” He sighs heavily, rolling his eyes heavenward. “We’re three blocks away at the Saint, not on a one-way flight to Mars. We all have a couple days off, and I intend to take full advantage of them by hanging out here with London and relaxing, away from the three-ring circus over there. Those crazies stalking the place day and night drive me nuts. Not to mention the paps constantly camped outside. You know how tiring it gets to attract that much attention every time you enter or leave the building. We’re incognito here right now, and I intend to keep it that way.

  “So yeah, I’m taking this time to just chill the fuck out. There’s a word for it, I believe, but I can’t quite put my finger on it…. Wait… it’s coming to me… it’s… a… umm... what do they call it...?” I can only imagine how this is riling Luke up at the other end of the line.

  “Ah yes, it’s called a va-fucking-cay!” He bursts out laughing triumphantly, and I can dimly hear Luke’s indignant tone through the handset.

  As ever, I’m stunned by the sight of Arlo. I don’t think I’ll ever get over how out-of-this-world-crazy hot he is naked (or clothed, for that matter). He’s sprawled out over the bed, with only a tiny corner of the sheet covering his manhood, and it’s a glorious sight. I have to remind myself to breathe.

  I’ve never really been into guys with tattoos, yet I love Arlo’s, can’t get enough of them, in fact. They’re so intrinsically part of who he is that I couldn’t imagine him without them. Right now I’m fixating on the dragon that snakes down from his ribs to ground zero. Very alluring….

  So much so that I can’t resist slipping into bed next to him and getting better acquainted with it. Apart from the obvious, I’ve got an ulterior motive for getting up close and personal right now. I’ve discovered that Arlo is hideously ticklish around his ribs and waist, so I decide to have a little fun. I start by straddling him, while simultaneously removing the oversized sweater I’ve been wearing since yesterday.

  I hear Arlo’s quick intake of breath as he realizes that I’m braless. He’s trying to maintain his conversation with Luke while also dealing with me. I’m pretty sure Luke is wise to what’s going on, as
Arlo seems to already be struggling to keep his composure. He tucks the handset between his chin and shoulder, freeing both hands to reach up to stroke my nipples, which instantly stand at attention.

  He’s learned which buttons to press if he wants me to be putty in his hands, but I’m not playing ball right now. I shift backward, just out of his reach, and lower my mouth to hover over his ribs. I haven’t even touched him yet, and just the feel of my breath against his ribs is making him giggle quietly.

  “Look… man. I just. Ummm. I uhhhh… I just want to hang with my girl, without… without you bitches bothering me about stupid crap, walking in like you own the place, and generally irritating the hell out of me.” He’s bracing himself, trying hard not to laugh.

  I’ve been placing butterfly kisses all over his ribs, and am now moving down toward the head of the dragon.

  He continues talking but through gritted teeth.

  “Fuck you, asswipe. Nobody’s whipped, this was all my idea. In fact… London doesn’t even know yet. You errrr… ahhhh… know where I am if you need me, and I’ve got my cell, so you guys don’t need me there holding your dicks while you pee. We’ll see you at the venue on Tuesday for… SOUND CHECK!”

  He booms the words out as I move closer to the tented sheet between his legs, and he begins to really lose his composure. I love it.

  “Why, Mr. Jones, is that a tent pole in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?” I whisper in a faux coquettish Southern belle voice, fluttering my eyelids exaggeratedly for effect.

  “ListenIgottagotakecareofbusiness. Catchyoulater.” He squashes the sentences into two very long and hurried words, and then hangs up—no doubt cutting Luke off midsentence, as ever. I’m having too much fun to worry about that, though. Plus, Luke’s used to his brother’s rudeness so no doubt wouldn’t expect anything else.

  “What are you trying to do to me, woman? Do you know how hard it is to carry on a conversation when I’ve got you straddling me, half naked, kissing my dragon?” He flashes his legendary grin.

  I know he’s on the verge of losing his shit in a fit of ticklish giggles, so I take the opportunity and go in for the kill. I reach up for his ribs at the exact same as my lips reach his dick. Instead of taking it into my mouth, I kiss it tenderly, before withdrawing my affections and proceeding to tickle Arlo mercilessly.

  He groans, I think both from the disappointment of realizing the blow job he thought he was about to receive will not be forthcoming (not yet, anyway), and the frustration of being tickled. Although he’s laughing like a schoolboy, he’s also putting up a pretty good fight, and I know it won’t be long before he has the upper hand over me.

  Sure enough, moments later, he somehow manages to free himself and flip us so that I’m now flat on my back beneath him, and he has my arms pinned above my head. Uh-oh, this spells trouble!

  “What are you playing at, Miss Llwellyn, trying to make me pee myself laughing or something? I thought you were gonna put your lips around my dick, not torture me.”

  His tone is jovial, a hint of laughter lingering.

  “Playing at? Moi? I have no idea what you mean, Mr. Jones.” I try to get just the right measure of confusion and indifference.

  “Don’t give me that crap, Tog, you can’t kid a kidder. Not even when you flutter your eyelashes like that, and make me want to come on the spot. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now that I’m on top—figuratively and literally. I’ve just got to decide on payback.”

  He looks at me quizzically, pretending to mull over his “predicament.” He’s doing no such thing, of course, but I’m distracted by those emerald eyes. My stomach flips, as it always does when Arlo looks at me this way.

  “Hmm… if only I could think of something….” He furrows his brow, pretending to chew on his lip, lost in concentration. “Wait… wait a minute, something’s coming to me….” He speaks very slowly, never withdrawing his gaze. “Aha!”

  His fake “eureka!” moment fills me with dread at what he might be planning.

  “I’ve got the perfect thing.”

  He smiles wickedly while tightening his grip on my wrists.

  “I want to watch you make yourself come.”

  “Huh?” What now?

  “You heard me. I want to watch you get yourself off, pleasure yourself, give yourself one. Whatever you call it, I want you do it for me now.”

  “Okay, no.” My cheeks heat.

  “C’mon, babe, it’ll be hot, and I’ll help you get started, which will be even hotter.” The lust in his eyes sets my libido on fire, and I suddenly warm to the idea.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Arlo slowly eases his grip from one of my wrists, so that we both have one hand free, while he keeps my other wrist pinned to the bed. Using his large newly freed hand, he guides my much smaller one down between my legs. Once there, he bends his middle finger, taking mine with it, curling both of them inside me. I’ve been soaking wet since I walked into the room and saw Arlo on the bed, laid out like every girl’s hottest fantasy.

  “Arlo!” My body jackknifes beneath him as he thrusts our fingers deep inside me.

  The palm of my hand presses down on my clit at the same time, with the perfect amount of pressure. I just about lose my shit right there.

  “Yeah, babe? What’s up, don’t you like it?”

  He’s teasing me, in more ways than one, as his finger keeps working in and out of me. He leans down so that his lips graze my earlobe, and whispers coarsely into my ear, “That’s it, babe, let yourself go. I’m gonna take both my hands away. Carry on as though I’m not here.”

  As if I could ever be unaware of his presence. The sound of his voice alone has my arousal peaking. Plus, since we met, every DIY orgasm I’ve had has been courtesy of a fantasy about none other than the same Arlo Jones who’s urging me to flick the bean right now. Despite my reservations, as he gently removes his hands I’m compelled to continue what he’s started. My body is on autopilot, doing all the things that are guaranteed to get me off, though I resist the urge to close my eyes and fantasize about Arlo, given that he’s right here in front of me.

  I bring my newly free hand down from above my head to caress my breasts. My nipples, already hard with arousal, become harder still with my touch. My other hand is still between my legs, as I slowly circle my middle finger in and out. I keep my palm pressed flat against my clit, and the constant pressure quickly has me hovering on the brink of orgasm.

  Arlo is still astride me as he reaches down to slowly stroke his pulsing erection. The sight turns me on even more now than it does in my fantasies. I slip another finger inside myself and begin turning my wrist faster, feeling my orgasm drawing nearer with every move. I arch my back and press my hand down harder against my clit. A groan slips from my lips. Arlo’s hand moves faster and harder up and down his length too, his pace matching mine. It’s as though we’re having sex together but separately. Watching his hand move, I’m easily able to imagine him inside me, filling me to the hilt. God, I love that feeling.

  Arlo speaks, startling me.

  “What do you fantasize about when you get yourself off?”

  “You.”

  His question catches me off guard, and I answer truthfully before having the time or wherewithal to edit my response. Shit. I can’t believe I just said that. The word hangs heavy in the air.

  “Yeah, I figured.”

  Of course he did. The arrogance of this man never ceases to amaze me.

  “Tell me exactly what you think about.”

  “What? No, Arlo.”

  “You know I want to know everything about you, Tog, especially what gets you off. Besides, what’s the big deal? We’ve fucked just about every which way, I’ve gone down on you, you’ve sucked me off, and swallowed. Too late to be coy now.”

  Okay, so he’s got a point there. Damn it, I hate it when he’s right. It happens often though—Arlo’s got a sharper mind than he likes to let on when he’s doing his temperamental rock star thang. />
  “Umm… just… stuff like….” I hesitate, still not sure I can go through with this.

  Fuck it—here goes nothing!

  “K. We’re at a restaurant with the rest of the band. I’m wearing a skirt, for once, but I’ve got no underwear on. You’ve got your hand under the table, inside me. We carry on the meal as normal, but the whole time, you’re fingering me until I come. I sit there, keeping a straight face, chatting and eating, even, while I come all over your hand.”

  Arlo groans, clearly liking what he hears. I’ve exposed this much now, so I might as well go full throttle.

  “Or you’re performing, and I’m at the side of the stage, doing my ‘camera-wielding pussy’ thing. You see me out of the corner of your eye, throw down your guitar, stalk off the stage and fuck me in the wings on top of the road cases. There are people wandering around everywhere, the crowd is shouting and screaming for you to come back on stage, but neither of us gives a fuck. All we care about is getting ourselves, and each other, off.

  “We come, and it’s like there’s nobody else in the room, or in the world, except us. But of course there’s a stadium full of people wanting their share of Arlo while I get my share.”

  Arlo groans again, slowing his hand, and squeezing just below the tip of his cock. He’s close but holding back.

  “Or we’re at 12AM Mass, and we get into an argument about something or other. You storm into the office, and I go after you. We have words, and somehow end up screwing. We have hot, angry sex on your desk. We do it from behind, and it’s rough and raw. So hard it hurts, but I fucking love it. You’ve got my ponytail, yanking me backward onto your dick until we both come. Hard. Just as we do, one of the staff walks in on us. I’m slumped over your desk, and you’re collapsed on top of me. We both have our underwear around our ankles.”