My Rockstar's Secret Baby

by Jamie Knight

  There wasn’t really time for that though, there were really only three options for his load to go. In my pussy, up my ass or on my back. Being the sweetheart he was, Ragnar chose the path of least harm.

  I’d never felt cum on my back before. It was new if not entirely unpleasant. A bit sticky, but also since and warm. Without a word, Ragnar went to get a warm, damp towel and wiped me down.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem at all,” I assured him, blushing.

  Truthfully, a nagging voice in the back of my head had been screaming at me since the first time, wondering why I’d never stopped him and demanded he put on a condom.

  And yeah, it was probably stupid, but it all came down to that innate feeling of trust. I felt safe with him.

  “Good,” he said, kissing the back of my neck. “Are you hungry?”

  As far as after sex questions went, it was on the odd side. Though I couldn’t say I wasn’t hungry, so it was also surprisingly appropriate.

  “Yes,” I said, still wrestling with the slight oddness.

  I didn’t know if it was metal heads in general, or just a fluke with Ragnar that let him ask about food right after cleaning the cum off my back. Maybe it was just a guy thing, food and sex.

  Helping me back into my borrowed outfit, Ragnar zipped up his jeans and strolled into the kitchen, like he hadn’t just fucked me six ways form doomsday.

  I had a bit more trouble with the walking but managed to make it in, anyway. The most wonderful tingle still sparked in my pussy, even long after his withdrawal.

  Ragnar really knew his way around a kitchen. Not too surprising, considering it was his kitchen, but I grew up with the sort of old school guys, my dad and granddad particularly, who would have needed a recipe to boil an egg.

  Ragnar seemed to have no such issue, moving with the controlled grace one would expect from an experienced drummer.

  For a second, I was convinced I could hear a beat as he cooked.

  “Do you like fish?” he asked me.

  “Sure,” I said, certain whatever he made would be amazing.

  The cod sizzled in the bed of melted butter, making my mouth start to water, and that was before he started adding the spices.

  For a second, I wondered I maybe he’d gone out and caught it himself. Seattle was a port city after all, but it didn’t seem likely, unless he had a fishing boat secreted somewhere. Either way, he sure knew how to cook it.

  “Old family recipe?” I asked, as he set the plate before me.

  “Yes, actually. Passed down through my father’s side. Drink?”

  “Sure, what have you got?”

  “Water, juice, diet soda, some leftover mead.”

  “Mead? Like actual, drink of the gods, mythological mead?”

  “Not mythological, but the other ones,” he chuckled, “I usually only drink on special occasions and never when I’m on the job.”

  “Very wise.”

  “It’s hard to play well smashed, just ask Varg.”

  “Varg?”

  “Our guitarist. He thinks it makes him play better. Stig, he’s the bassist, and I actually had to record him once and play it back before he would believe us. He still drinks when possible, just not to the point of losing his coordination. I think it might partly be stage fright.

  “Dutch courage?” I asked.

  “Exactly. He’d never admit it and would probably clock me if I ever even suggested it. Thinks he has an image to uphold.

  “Don’t we all?

  Stuffed with fish and mead, feeling on top of the world, Ragnar put the dishes in the sink, before coming up behind me. Putting his hands on my shoulder.

  “Ready for bed?”

  My heart swelled. I’d been hoping he’d ask me to stay. “Absolutely.”

  My gentle giant lifted me from the chair and held me close. I half expected him to start rocking me to sleep. Instead, he headed for what I assumed was the bedroom, as I pressed my face to his chest, breathing in his scent.

  Setting me down on the edge of his big bed, he pulled my shirt up over my head, as I lifted my arms to help. Then, he took off my jeans and panties.

  I really thought he would start touching me again, but instead, he tucked me up under the blankets. Taking off his own clothes, he joined me in the bed, staying on his own side. I was the one who cuddled up to him, which he didn’t seem to mind at all.

  It didn’t make sense. All logic would say we shouldn’t work, but there we were. The connection, as well as affection, between us undeniable. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was just a fling, or if there might be more to it. If we might have a future together, despite our hugely different backgrounds and cultures, particularly if Ragnar returned to Norway.

  I tried not to think about it, pushing all negative thoughts from my mind, so I could just enjoy the moment. Ragnar and I cuddled and kissed and were happy, right up until the scourge of sleep took us.

  Chapter Eight - Ragnar

  The sheet was cold. Where there was once an arm full of my warm lover, there only remained a smooth, cool surface. Like a rink before the first skaters took to it. I wondered if maybe I’d dreamt the whole thing.

  It did seem a bit too perfect. Life was rarely, if ever, so glorious. A lesson I’d learned at a young age.

  There was an odd sensation on my mouth. A sticky wight that called for further investigation by my finger. Fingers which came away smudged with a deep burgundy. Lipstick, like Stephanie had been wearing.

  Okay, not a dream, but she was still gone. Where did that leave us? Friends, lovers, ‘fuck buddies’ as the Americans apparently said?

  Was it a fling, or something deeper? It felt deeper but how reliable was human perception? A whole philosophy textbook of quandaries to unsettle my mind. It really was a wonder I was able to sleep at all.

  Fortunately, I didn’t have much time to ponder. I had to be at the Sanctuary in an hour, and Varg and Stig would be around in just a few minutes to pick me up. At least according to a text I’d received a few moments before. No time for breakfast then.

  I had just enough time to wash my face and throw on clean clothes before the distinctive rattle of the van rounded the corner onto my street. I was relieved to see Stig was driving. Varg had many talents, driving was not one of them.

  “Join the party,” Varg invited, sliding the side door open.

  He was already drinking. The beer cans rattle in as I climbed in the back. A district whiff of lager on his breath.

  “Scale of one to ten?”

  “Four,” he belched, holding up that number of fingers.

  It wasn’t the most impressive gas-based feat I’d ever witnessed. One night, after a small, club gig in Oslo, I saw him burp the alphabet, backwards in both English and Norwegian. Woe betided any well-meaning patrolman who tried to do a DUI test.

  “Good, keep it that way, okay?”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  The fresh can didn’t even make it all the way out of the cooler before it was bouncing off the wall.

  “What the fuck, man?” he demanded, retrieving his assailed brewski, cradling it like a wailing baby.

  “Four is plenty,” I declaimed, in my ‘don’t fuck with me’ tone.

  He gave me his best scary look, practiced and perfected over many years. The only problem was that I’d seen it too many times before. I knew what he was really like, so his attempts at intimidation fell flat.

  “You have no one to impress here, Peter.”

  He flinched slightly at the sound of his birth name. He’d been known as ‘Varg’ for as long as anyone outside his family old remember. ‘Peter’ didn’t sound nearly hardcore enough, so he changed it to the Norwegian equivalent of ‘Wolf’ to try and sound dangerous.

  He seemed to hope it would stop the bullying. It didn’t really work, except to get the attention of the local cops. The more Peter got pushed around the more intense he became.

  Far from drawing him to the dark side, I would die on t
he hill of arguing it kept him from it. Both the band and metal music in general became an outlet. One I was almost certain kept him from doing something terrible were he left to his own devices.

  He’d been collecting weapons before we started Loki’s Laugh, turned into music equipment soon after, selling many of his weapons to afford it. In one memorable case, he traded a Dane ax for his first guitar, a scathed but usable Epiphone Flying V, which we referred to as ‘the ax’ thereafter.

  The parking lot at The Sanctuary was almost empty when we got there, Sven’s wagon the only other vehicle in sight. Apparently, Seth didn’t come to every session, which only stood to reason really, since he had a label to run.

  Were it not for what happened at the wedding, requiring him to drive me in to the session, he likely wouldn’t have been here at all.

  That was a fact which begged the question of how he’d known I wouldn’t be home and therefore need a ride. It was possible the guys had told him about me leaving, but I had a gut feeling he knew already. He knew that I’d left with Stephanie and would likely be at her place in the morning.

  At least he was being discreet about it. Varg didn’t notice much, particularly when smashed, but Stig was very alert. I doubted Seth told them anything about what was happening, and Stig figured it out for himself. They weren’t giving me as much shit as I would have expected them to, so I doubted they knew exactly who I’d been with.

  Even if they’d seen me leave with Stephanie the night before, there was enough to separate her from the maid of honor they’d first seen her as. I really did appreciate the effort she’d gone through to fit in with the scene, suspecting some involvement from her sister, who was apparently a fan.

  “Just keep playing like you did last night and we’re cool,” Varg said to the floor.

  The session went better than expected. Four wasn’t as bad as I thought and Varg performed surprisingly well. Stig was already over his hang over, and I was stone sober. More than could be said for Sven, but he was a pro and worked right through.

  “What do you think, guys?” Sven asked, looking directly at me as the tracks played back.

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  “Great, let’s break for lunch.”

  Sven had already learned I was the perfectionist in the group, so if I thought it was good enough, it was probably excellent.

  No sooner had the door closed following Sven’s swift exit, than my phone did go ping.

  “That your muse?” Varg teased.

  “Wrong mythology,” Stig observed.

  “You guys go ahead; I’ll meet you back here,” I murmured distractedly.

  Wrong mythology or not, they were right, it was Stephanie in my ear.

  They traded a meaningful look, but didn’t press any further, instead heading off in search of sustenance. Just as long as it wasn’t a liquid lunch, I couldn’t be happier.

  Or so I thought, until Stephanie asked if we could meet up.

  It felt kind of weird being back in Stephanie’s car, driving back to her place in a rush, but there we were. The Sanctuary was a bit out of town, but Stephanie knew her way around, and we were at the building and up to her apartment in no time.

  One thing was for sure. She looked drop dead sexy in both the metal clothes as well as her work wear. It was honestly all I could do not to drop to my knees and eat her out right there in the elevator.

  “Soon,” she promised, giving my hard cock a tender squeeze though my jeans.

  It came even sooner than I might have thought, Stephanie bending over the arm of her couch and pulling her panties down before I’d even gotten the door closed. I mean, I’d told her I was on a tight schedule, but even so, I’m surprised and pleased by her eagerness.

  Taking hold of her hips as she spread her delicious lips with her hands, I partook of her sweetness, running my tongue the length of her pussy lips, first up either side, and then straight up the middle. I started at her clit, and then up towards her pussy.

  After several long, loving licks, getting her nice and warmed up, I burned my face in her sweet pussy, and devoured her delicious sweetness until she wailed with pure joy, her vocalizations muffled by her hand.

  She likely didn’t want to alarm her neighbors. At least that was what I told myself.

  There was reason to believe it. She lived in a pretty high-end area, the residents of which probably weren’t used to ecstatic sex noises at lunchtime.

  Stephanie released a final explosion of pure elation, collapsing against the couch, still breathing heavily. I stroked the small of her back as I waited for her to regain equilibrium.

  “Come here,” she grinned, getting up into a sitting potion.

  Pulling me to her, Stephanie undid my pants on the first try and took the head of my cock into her mouth, closing her eyes with relish as she started to suck.

  Taking a hold of her ponytail, I guided her movements as she sucked me off with gusto, making me cum within minutes, my massive load flooding her mouth. I pulled my cock out her and stroked her back she struggled to swallow it all down, succeeding admirably.

  “Good girl,” I murmured, stroking her cheek.

  She grinned up at me, her beautiful eyes gazing straight into my soul, melting my heart.

  It was like I was overtaken by forces unseen. Getting Stephanie to her feet, I hiked her skirt up around her waist, granting easy access to her well-prepared pussy, Stephanie going along with every step. Including when I put one of her feet up onto the couch, allowing me to slip my cock into her dripping pussy.

  Wrapping her in my embrace, Stephanie wrapped her arms around my neck as I lifted her from both the floor and the couch, supporting her further with my hands under her sweet ass, as my sweet lover wrapped her legs around my hips as well.

  Getting her into the perfect position, I slid her light frame up and down, her pussy taking in nearly the full length of my cock.

  As I fucked her, basically in midair, Stephanie nestled her face in the crook of my neck, getting closer to me, and muffling her beautiful wails as I brought her closer to orgasm. I listened closely to the sounds she made, for any indication of pain or discomfort, hearing none.

  Instead, every sound she made evoked a sense of pure, warm pleasure. I got the feeling she’d never done it that way before, which made me surprisingly pleased to have introduced her to something new, if it was indeed the case.

  We reached orgasm in the same instant, and it came up on me so quick that I barely managed to pull out in time, striping her belly with my cum. In fact, I wasn’t even completely sure I had managed in time.

  Now that I would have minded having a baby with Stephanie, if only I were a bit more certain it was more than a fling. But even so, I had to think about the impact something like that would have on her life.

  But it was too late to take it back now, and the cards would fall where they may.

  My stomach groaned as Stephanie drove me back to the Sanctuary. True to her word, she’d only stolen me away for a little while, so it was early enough that the guys wouldn’t be back yet.

  We even had time to stop off for some drive-thru on the way. The look on the server’s face when I asked for a green salad was priceless.

  Chapter Nine - Stephanie

  It was a new feeling. My head was spinning, and my pussy was humming with lingering pleasure as I drove back into town, barely avoiding the Loki’s Laugh van as it came pulling into the lot outside The Sanctuary.

  I’d never been fucked like that before. Either in that lifted poison or with such incredible passion. I loved that Ragnar was so powerful but also so gentle. Able to absolutely dominate me physically, while making me feel so safe at the same time.

  I wanted so much to tell someone, but knew as well as anyone how thorny the situation was. A fact I was reminded of when I saw the Loki’s Laugh van come up the road just as I was turning out of the industrial park.

  There were other businesses there of course, but it was more than possible Varg and Sti
g would recognize me from the wedding. Not the strongest evidence in the world, but enough to shake things up.

  We really did have our own lives, and no matter how connected to him, I felt or how great the sex was, I wasn’t sure how, or even if we could make it work.

  I had my career, which I was dedicated to, and Ragnar had his music and seemed to be the real leader of the band. If I was honest with myself, I was also afraid of being judged.

  Metalheads had come a long way since the 1980s. It was mostly accepted as just another music genre.

  Even so, there were certain prejudices that came with it. One held by myself until very recently. I couldn’t even imagine what people in the metal community would make of me, if they saw what I wore day to day. I had to admit, though, that the clothes Jonna lent me did feel surprisingly good.

  “Morning, Ms. Morris,” Pat greeted, with a tip of his cap.

  “Oh, hey, Pat.”

  Pat cleared his throat, as politely as possible. Taking a glance back, I saw him proper the pen, tapping the sign-in book with his other hand.

  “Right, sorry.”

  “Not a problem.”

  The wall of the elevator met me as I slumped back. Taking a deep breath, I tried to center myself, determined to somehow muddle through. There wasn’t much that needed to be done that day. The big project was our seasonal line, and I had that more or less sewn up.

  I was mostly just waiting for Fawn to deliver the samples. Maddie knew better than to bother me unless it was really important, particularly when I had my grumpy face on, which I was dismayed to find out I did.

  Should I not be happy?

  I’d had a new experience, lunchtime quickies not really something that had occurred to me before. Not to mention what happened during it. It was all such a jumble. I suddenly had an idea of how Jonna must have felt, falling for her boss.

  As though the gods of irony were listening a call came through, I somehow knew it was from Jonna.

  “Hey, little one.”

  “Hey, sis, working?”