Cherry Beats

by Vicki James

  “You want a therapy session, drummer boy?”

  “Please.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  “Goody.” He beamed.

  “After that first kiss in your apartment that night, the first thing I told you was the one thing I swore I’d never tell you: I’d been stupidly in love with you since the moment I’d laid eyes on you.”

  “And I told you that was the sweetest fucking thing in the world because I always thought you’d barely noticed me.”

  I looked up then, feeling the intensity of his penetrating gaze. Presley’s perfectly shaped darker brows were pulled together, creating two little worry lines I wanted to rub away. “The thing is, Presley… you were always meant to be a dream to me. Like the way my brother wants to fuck GiGi Hadid and has posters of her on every wall in his bedroom. You were my fantasy. A fantasy within reach, yeah, but before that night we spent at your place, I never thought I’d ever actually get to reach out and touch you.” I let my finger find the skin of his bicep beneath the water. “But my brain would always be on top of my heart, telling me to just be myself, and you’d be okay with that. I argued with that stupid brain of mine so much, I became a crazy chick whenever you were around.”

  “I liked your crazy.”

  “Sometimes my heart would beat so fast around you, I’d think I was going to die.”

  “I’m just an ordinary guy—”

  “No, you’re not,” I interrupted. “You’re Presley West, the hottest man in the world right now. You’re Paw, the guy everyone at school adored. You’re my high school crush who rocked my world. I should probably feel embarrassed that I’m so beyond help that I don’t even feel as pathetic as I should for saying that because it’s the truth. So, don’t sit in front of me and act like you’re nothing special, rock star, because you and I both know you’re fucking everything.”

  Presley blinked several times, those worry lines never leaving his face as he reached up, a wet hand emerging from the water to pinch my chin between his thumb and finger and tug me closer to him.

  “If all that’s true, why do you regret it?”

  “Because I have nowhere else to go from there.”

  He frowned harder.

  “Everything else is just disappointing and flat. How the hell am I going to settle down with an average Joe, lead a life of domesticity, have kids, work like a dog, and pretend that I’m living the best life possible? I can’t. No matter where I went from you, it was always going to be a let-down. From now on, your ghost will be everywhere I go. Your drums beating on the radio, your face in every magazine, your voice on every TV channel, your shitty, perfect blue eyes slapped on every bus that passes me by. No matter who I have next, they’re going to have to compete with you. How could I do that to the next guy? I can’t. I won’t. I’d rather be pathetic without an audience to play to. And, you know, I’m having to learn to be okay with being that pathetic because you don’t belong to me, Presley. You belong to the world. I’m not the kind of girl who could keep hold of you, be the safety net for when you came home, hold your hand from a distance and tell you it’s okay to let the party girls suck your dick while I’m waiting for you to return from a tour. What else did you expect me to do the morning after the night we spent together? Stick around and hold you back?”

  “I never asked you for a promise. I just asked to see you again, and you said—”

  “I said no because I’d had the best night of my life and knew that if I tried to have one more of those, I’d only end up hating myself for being weak, and hating you for unintentionally ruining my sex life for the rest of forever.”

  He released me, his hand dropping down into the water once again, and his body sagging as he blew out a long breath.

  “All I heard there was a load of bullshit about what happened to your feelings. Not a damn thing about what you did to mine,” he said as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the edge of the tub. “And I thought being selfish was my thing.”

  “I didn’t hurt you.”

  “No?” He huffed out a humourless laugh. “Okay.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You don’t get to decide that.”

  I swallowed, a little lost for words. “Well… I’m sure you’ve gotten over it since. I mean, you’ve been back here just a few hours, and you must have referenced being fucked and sucked about a billion times already. It doesn’t sound like you’ve been pining.”

  “You don’t know shit,” he pushed out through a throaty sigh, his eyes still closed as he rolled his neck from side to side.

  I studied him, confusion creasing my face, my heart racing and swirling around with the tornado Presley always dropped into my chest whenever he was close.

  “Do you know what I need?”

  “What?” I asked quietly.

  “More alcohol.”

  “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

  His eyes opened, and he turned to look at me sharply. There was something there staring back at me now—defiance, maybe. A harsh edge. Something that could have looked like hurt if only I believed what he said.

  “I’ll get it myself,” he said, sounding bored, and just like that, the drumming sensation of the world climbed out of the bathtub, covered in bubbles with his golden skin dripping wet, and he began to walk through my apartment completely naked, leaving me to stare at his broad, muscly shoulders and his tight arse with my mouth hanging wide open and eyes popping like saucers.

  The sound of his wet feet slapping against the floor rang out when he disappeared. I heard him reaching into the fridge and bottles clinking together. He opened a few and began to make his way back to the bathroom. When he reappeared in the doorway, I struggled to breathe. His body was wet and slick, the small bubbles over his pecs dripping down, down, down, down…

  Fuck!

  I snapped my eyes shut and scrunched my face tight, pretty sure my cheeks were turning purple as I forgot how to breathe.

  Presley snickered quietly, and I listened as he walked back across the bathroom, stopping directly in front of me.

  Don’t open your eyes.

  Don’t open your eyes.

  Do not open your…

  Apparently, when you repeat that three times, it isn’t Beetlejuice who appears, but Presley West’s soap-covered dick.

  I’d forgotten how big he was.

  My thighs pressed together instantly, reminding me there was no way I could forget, begging me to reach out and touch it.

  I swallowed, unashamedly staring right at it when he leaned down and pressed a cold open beer into my hand. Forcing myself to look up, I hitched in a breath from him being so close, and I held it in my chest.

  “Just so there’s no room for any further misinterpretation while I’m here, you should know that I respect you, Cherry, and I’m here because I genuinely missed you. I wanted to see you. I wanted to be near you. I’m here for your company, your quick wit, lack of bullshit, and your friendship, but if at any point you want to suck my dick or take this energy between us under those crisp, white sheets of yours, I am more than fucking ready. Not because I want to get laid by anyone. But because I would give my left bollock to spend another night with you and only you. Understand?”

  I nodded weakly, unable to move or speak a damn word.

  “Good girl.”

  Then he pressed a warm kiss to the top of my head and climbed back into the bath, holding a Peroni in each hand, and by the time I’d regained enough composure to take my first sip, Presley had drained a full bottle.

  Chapter Eleven

  Fine, maybe I’d be the loser today.

  After twenty minutes of us talking about life in general, while he sipped on beer, and I perched my feet on the edge of the bathtub, I’d figured out a bit more about his life, and a lot more about myself. He was closest to Big D in the band, but he admired Rhett, Hawk, and Coops, too. Rhett seemed to be the ringleader, with Big D and Hawk being the clowns, while Coops was the saner,
calmer one to be around. Presley, by his own admission, was the enigma. He lived for the music, not the fame, but he wasn’t going to be the guy who turned his nose up at the opportunity to lead the rock star life, either. It sounded like he drank too much, dabbled in things he wouldn’t admit to, and the women were willing to do anything to get near him. Every time I tried to lead him down a route of conversation that meant him talking about those women, he very cleverly steered it back to the music.

  His passion for the songs made me simultaneously swoon and melt. I could listen to him talk about his time in the band all day, every day. I was a goddamn sucker in love again, giving him any information he demanded of me, and he’d been back in my life less than half a day. Damn drummer demon. And there I was, currently lost in the way he managed to make his raspy voice sound like smooth caramel.

  “Rhett put his vocals over this beat that I’d been playing without even realising I was playing it. Sometimes, when they’re all bitching and arguing over the pettiest of shit, I zone out. I let those fuckers toss around their squabbles while I just kick back with the sticks in my hands. They must have been watching me knocking out this lazy rhythm as I daydreamed about something… probably you.” He lifted his hands out of the water and air drummed the slow beat he was talking about. “Next thing I know, Rhett has zoned in and he’s blurting out these lyrics off the top of his head. He’s got that gravely rough tone that makes it sound like he shouldn’t be able to sing because he’s smoked forty a day and guzzled a gallon of whiskey, but man, can he fucking sing. Have you heard the way he stretches his voice out during the final chorus of Wylde?” Presley turned to look at me, the piercing blue of his eyes making my eyelashes flutter.

  “I adore that song.”

  “Hawk wrote it about this chick he loves but can’t have.”

  “Why can’t he have her?”

  Presley shrugged, staring down at the water. “Same reason none of us can. Life’s taken us on a train ride, and we’re heading places we don’t know exist. How do you take someone rooted back home to a black hole you can’t see and make it sound like a good idea?”

  “Tricky,” I whispered. That was the perfect opportunity to take a quick drink of my almost-empty beer. My arse was going numb sitting on the hard, plastic toilet seat, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going anywhere, and I knew it. “Do any of them have girlfriends?”

  “Rhett makes all the women think they have a chance at being his something special in the future, but that’s just a talent of his. What was it ROCK! Magazine said about him? ‘His voice lasers straight through our panties and plants itself over the g-spot we try to keep hidden, and then Rhett Ryan just keeps touching and touching and touching us until we explode.’”

  “I hate the word panties.” I wrinkled my nose up and laughed.

  “Say knickers to the Americans and they think you’re talking about a fucking chocolate bar.” He chuckled.

  “I’ve never been to America.”

  “No?” He turned to look at me. “You’d like it. They’re wild over there. Everything is done with way more enthusiasm than us Brits. My favourite place is Texas. Goddamn awesome state. All cowboy hats, yes ma’ams,” he said in a Texan drawl that sounded way too adorable coming from him, “and everyone seems real high on life, Cherry.”

  “You think you’ll ever live out there? Mix with the Californians and all that?”

  “Would you miss me if I did?”

  “I can’t miss you when you’re everywhere I look.”

  “Ah, it’s just a phase. The public will remain fickle and move on soon.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “Doesn’t matter anyway. My heart belongs in England.”

  “I’m sure the Queen will be grateful for your loyalty.” I pretended to bow my head and quickly lost balance, almost falling from the edge of the toilet seat. I reached out to grab the tub and burst into a rough fit of laughter, eyes wide and mouth gasping when Presley reached out to grab me, covering me in water and what was left of the fading bubbles.

  “You okay?” he asked, brows high, clearly amused.

  “I think I need to lay off the beer. I’m not a hard-core rocker like you.”

  “Funny. I remember you rocking very hard.” He wiggled his brows, and I quickly slapped him with my free hand.

  “Knock it off.”

  “I would, but I have too much fun making you blush,” he whispered smoothly, twisting in the bath and leaning over the edge of the tub until our faces were only a few inches apart. “You’re not even a little bit tempted?”

  “By what?”

  “Me.”

  “Been there. Done that.” I blushed again. “Got the T-shirt.”

  “You still have it?”

  I sleep in it almost every night, but please don’t ask to see it because it’s so faded and worn now, I’ll have to admit what an obsessive bitch I’ve been and that will really take away my last shred of self-respect.

  “Somewhere.” I shrugged.

  The tension crackled between us. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could resist him. Nobody had ever made me feel the way Presley could with just one look. That kind of attraction was rare. When I’d described it to my best friend Molly, she’d sighed dreamily and told me that she’d searched the four corners of Tinder to feel something so potent and tangible, only to come out empty.

  I wasn’t a big believer in many things. Fate was just an excuse people used to explain why other things hadn’t worked out in the past. Destiny was nothing more than a stripper’s name. And soulmates sounded like the work of the marketing department at Hallmark. But when Presley was in front of me, awakening everything that had remained hibernated for so long, I started to believe in something out of our control. Something like sparks or past lives or, dammit, destiny.

  “Can I stay here tonight?”

  “Okay,” I whispered.

  “Really?”

  “I only ask one thing.” I leaned closer until our lips were only a breath apart. “When you go this time, stay gone.”

  His face fell.

  “Please… let me at least try to move on.”

  “I might just have to stay here forever then.”

  “I don’t think so.” Closing the distance, I pressed my lips to his and stayed there, gifting him with a soft kiss that granted him nothing but a warning: I wasn’t the same girl he’d taken home that night.

  Despite that warning, the sensation of the kiss flooded me, leaving me light-headed and desperate for more when I pulled away.

  Distance. I needed distance.

  “Time for me to go.” I cleared my throat.

  After collecting the empty bottles scattered around the bathroom, I left him in peace, calling out over my shoulder as I went, “The towels are in the unit under the sink. Don’t take too long. I’m making chilli. You need to eat before the alcohol rots your stomach. No arguing. My home, my rules.”

  Then I went into the kitchen, threw the bottles in the bin, and let myself breathe for a moment. Gripping the kitchen counter, I pressed my entire body weight onto my hands, closed my eyes and dropped my chin to my chest.

  “Can I take a minute,” I panted against his mouth as he ran his hands up and down my spine. I was practically riding the knee he’d wedged between my thighs.

  “Now?” he groaned.

  “Please…”

  His eyes opened slowly. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I assured him. “I could just do with a, erm, minute.”

  “Bathroom break?”

  I nodded.

  “Grr,” he growled, quickly pressing his lips to my neck one final time before he set me free, spun me around in the direction of the small corridor, and slapped my arse firmly. “End door, down there. And you’d better come out wearing those leather trousers, Cherry. Don’t cheat me out of unwrapping you. My house, my rules.”

  He was a master at commanding a woman without making it sound like an insult.

  I foun
d myself rushing through the whole process. After using the toilet and freshening up as discreetly as possible, I went to wash my hands and was just about to readjust and fluff my hair when the door burst open.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I asked him, spinning around and planting my arse against the edge of the sink.

  Presley stalked towards me. “You were taking too long.”

  “I’ve literally been one minute.”

  His eyes fell to my legs. “Thank fuck you kept those on.”

  I pressed my lips together to bite back my laughter.

  He slid in front of me and gripped my arse cheeks firmly before hoisting me up on the sink and stepping in between my parted legs.

  “Can we start touching each other now?”

  “I’d like that,” I whispered, letting my head fall back as he trailed kisses down my neck and chest. His thumb tugged down the edge of my bra, and before I could even prepare myself, his warm, wet mouth was around my nipple, his tongue flicking harshly before sucking the sting right out again. That jolt of ecstasy struck the pit of my stomach, making my clit practically sing with excitement for what was about to come—literally.

  Turning his attention to the other nipple, his thumb brushed the one he’d already assaulted, tenderly bringing it back to life with a concerned caress while his tongue tortured the other with promises of more.

  “Fuck.”

  “Soon,” he rasped.

  Dropping his hand, he grabbed hold of mine and placed it over his rock-hard cock straining against his jeans.

  I didn’t need his instruction or permission. As soon as I felt the hard length of it, I wanted it in my bare hands. I popped the button on his jeans and carefully unzipped him before I pushed them down to reveal his white Calvin Klein boxers. Presley’s mouth never stopped working my tits into a frenzy. I was already a sweaty, panting mess, and he hadn’t even undressed me. Running my hands over his ridiculously firm arse, I began to slide his boxers down.

  “Let me see you,” I panted breathlessly.

  Presley’s mouth was wet and agape when he looked up at me through hooded eyes and leaned back. I could have exploded the second the air hit the moisture on my nipples, and a low, wanting moan escaped the back of my throat.