Page 4 of Hot Shot Rock Star
Breathing heavy, he pulls from the kiss, and he scrapes out some incoherent words, giving me the push to go for my prize. As my hand strokes him hard and fast, I push him back and straddle him like I was a born gymnast. He takes my arms and holds me as I move his cock, circling it around my pussy, making my nerves jump and weep with need.
Our eyes are locked, both of us in that fully aroused, edge-of-nowhere, and beyond-reason place. May as well call it heaven on Earth. It’s as close as I’m ever going to get to the real deal, but I’m happy with that. Except my unicorn hockey boy Ben, well, I think he’s going all the way to the real place, leaving me behind in the black dust of my tainted soul.
I slam down on him, taking his shaft all the way inside me, hard and fast as I cry out with the invasion, the exquisite slaughtering of every nerve ending along the way making me throb.
“Fuck.” He yells the word, loud, and clamps his hands on my hips. “You’re out of control, babe. You’re—”
“Who gives a fuck what I am?” I pant the words. “Enjoy the ride, fuckboy.” I am out of control as I pound up and down like I’m in a rodeo, bucking wildly despite his hands clenching me. But he can’t fight the need any more than I can as his hips come up off the mattress and his jaw tenses. I hold my breath as his love-filled eyes get taken over by that dark, glassy look of needy lust, and he seizes up, letting go of that last shred of decency, and loses everything, all his calm, rational dignity in thrust after thrust of shooting cum and loud, guttural moans that sound like my name.
My name. As I ride and take in everything he has, his creamy juices running down my thighs, my heart nearly stops seeing the pain mixed in with his pleasure and I wonder why, where it comes from, and I know it’s from me even as I sputter around for something else, even as my pre-orgasmic high slips.
“Jazzy you’re so—”
“Don’t say it. Don’t say whatever you were going to say. I know I’m bad—” He reaches up and pulls me in and flips me under him so fast and hard the words get knocked back so far I don’t know what else I would have said.
“You don’t say another word.” He glares at me with his love fully intact and leaving no room in his face, in his eyes, for pain or reprimand. “Not until I give you three giant orgasms. At least.” I laugh, even as tears leak from my eyes.
“You’re such a unicorn boy, you know that? Irrepressible.”
“That’s what she said just before the bed broke.” His line. His favorite line. Something he picked up somewhere in some bawdy, godawful locker room in a no-good, nowhere hockey town no doubt. But it makes me laugh, and he kisses my cheeks, sucking up my tears, scraping my skin with his bristly face and I don’t care because I love it, love the harsh feel, deserve it, need it.
“You’re relentlessly cruel with your dorkiness,” I say, smiling as he lets his hand wander down to my pussy casually like I might not notice until it’s too late, like he’s being a bad boy of some kind, as if he ever could be.
“I’ll give you relentless. The kind of relentless you’ll never forget,” he rasps as his fingers find their mark in the space between us, wet with his cum and my juices. He strokes up and down, over the folds, edging around the bundle of nerves that’s plump and pulsing, waiting for him. But he doesn’t touch it, not even when I squirm, because his fingers are quick and I’m frantic, but not as deft as he is, and I never will be. In this moment I want to kiss him for being him, so much better than me at everything, and I want to claw his eyes out for it, to cry because I don’t deserve him, and I’ll always wonder when he’s going to realize that too.
He shifts on top of me, raising himself and looking down in my eyes as if he’s reading my soul. He has that expression, the one that says don’t you dare go there, like he always gets when I get sullen and no good for myself. And he always brings me back. Maybe someday we’ll make love without my alter ego showing up, trying to spoil the show. And I wonder fleetingly if banishing that dark side is part of what turns him on, but it doesn’t matter.
Without saying a word, he plunges inside me, and it’s gone. All that’s on my mind is him and loving him and being part of him like this as he tenderly and not-so-tenderly moves in and out, hitting the spot he knows inside me again and again as I cry out his name and spiral up and up, tighter and tighter, until I burst into pieces. And he catches every one of those pieces of me, holding me, loving me, kissing me, and whispering in my ear how rare and sexy and precious I am as he puts me back together, word by word.
* * *
“I don’t knowhow many orgasms I had, honestly, but what makes you think you gave them all to me? Maybe I’d have had them without you.” He laughs, light and airy, almost giddy as only a unicorn boy could do.
“It would still be me, because you’d be thinking of me.” He’s right and I laugh back, catching whatever he has and not caring how fucking vulnerable I am right now because there’s not a safer place in the universe than in his arms.
“Marry me, Jazzy. Let’s go to City Hall and get married tomorrow before I leave for my next road trip.”
Boom. Whatever safety I thought he gave me disappears. He covers me with his body, his forearms bulge as they hold most of his weight off me. But his warmth envelops me, and his words wash through me, leaving a shiver behind. It’s not the first time he’s asked, but it’s the first time he’s suggested a rush job, and I don’t know if I should laugh or run scared. I feel both urges pressing me as I stare into his heartbreaking face, his strong, stubbled jaw I want to stroke and lips I want to eat. My tummy flips with the fresh affirmation that he belongs to me.
And then it tumbles around with gut-wrenching fear of what that means.
“Who’s the crazy one now?” I try to joke it off, knowing I’m slicing into him with my evasion. But I can’t give him anything else. I have no answer. And the truth? The truth will cut into us both.
“Don’t do it, Jazzy.” He rests his forehead against mine, his voice soft, and I want to weep at the sadness. “You know I’m serious. I don’t want assholes like Hal Walker thinking they can—”
“Youdon’t, Ben. Don’t bring Hal into this.” He lifts off me with such quickness and violence that an instant freeze quakes my body, and I clutch at thin air to keep him and his warmth and strength. He rolls to the side and then sits on the edge of the bed. His withdrawal is so complete it scares me. This can’t be the push that goes too far. It can’t be. I scramble and push myself against his back. He turns his head and stares, catches my face with his hand, trapping me there in a stare down.
“Do me a favor tomorrow. Fire Walker. Do whatever you need to do to get out of the contract. We’ll get someone else to rep you.” His words scare me like a knife aimed at my heart.
“Don’t ask that. Anything but that. Hal’s an ass, but you can trust me. You know you can.” We stare at each other, and his eyes speak volumes. He’s not so sure if he can trust me. Anger rises, but it has no place to go because he stops my heart with the bottom line that he owns me. He owns that organ, and he should know it.
“You know you can trust me, Ben. Tell me.” My words come out angry because anger is my go-to emotion in an emergency, and whenever Ben is challenging me, it’s an emotional emergency because I need him to live. And I need my singing and my independence just as much. “I can handle him.” He shuts his eyes, lets me go, and stands. He heads to the bathroom.
I use the temporary reprieve to take some breaths to calm my heart, to talk myself off the edge of crazy. When he comes back to me, my heart rate is calmer, and I force myself to speak into his silence.
“I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t want to lose the chance of a lifetime to have my singing dreams come true. Dreams and ambitions I never knew I had because I was so lost in the muck of my past.”
“I would never ask you to give up your dreams, baby. But don’t pin all your dreams on Hal fucking Walker—”
