A/N: This was a Friday Free-For-All post on Twilighted a few weeks ago. The idea for this came to me after watching the Runaways movie. Male rock stars are notorious for enjoying the "Rock Star life," why shouldn't we women get to as well? ;)
Big, big thanks to Sweet Dulcinea for beta work! Hopefully she's recovered by now ;)
I stood with legs spread, sweat dripping from my wet hair down my face and my fist raised in the air. The last dirty, grinding wail of Rose's guitar reverberated throughout my body, pulsing and electrifying every single nerve, tingling my skin and rattling my spine. I let it soak in and permeate my soul one last time. Goddamn I felt so fucking alive, it was the biggest high, the best fucking orgasm you could ever have.
It was rock n' roll baby.
The sound faded and mixed in with the loud cheers and catcalls from the crowd as I crashed back to earth.
There was absolutely nothing like playing music and playing it live in front of crowds of people who loved it as much as you did.
But when it was over . . . it was time to play.
I let loose one last wail into the microphone and then followed my girls off the small stage.
We were an eclectic foursome –Rose was the tall, sexy blonde bombshell of the band and every guy in the joint usually lusted after her. She was a bitch on wheels and played her electric guitar like she was a dominatrix bringing every string, every chord, under her submission.
She and I had formed our band, Belladonna, back in high school. We struggled for several years while other members of the band came and went, none of them with the heart or determination that we had. We thanked our lucky stars when we finally found Leah, on bass. She was tall and lanky, with bronze skin and darker hair that she usually wore short, in a messy pageboy. A full-blooded Native American, she moved to L.A. from some reservation up north in Washington State, I think. She was a no muss, no fuss kind of gal and barely wore any make-up. She could also be quite a bitch, but unlike Rose she was more of the sullen, quiet bitch. She could kill with just one look, but if she needed it, her tongue was sharp and her words could cut like a razor blade. But she was the best damn bass player we'd had yet—it was amazing the sounds her long nimble fingers coaxed out of that sexy bass guitar.
It wasn't long after we found Leah that Alice joined the band, on drums. Alice was definitely . . . well . . . different. When she walked into the audition, we all just kind of stared at her, puzzled. She was this tiny little sprite with short black spiky hair and she smiled . . . like, a lot. Hell, she even giggled. We grudgingly let her play, thinking we'd be polite and just give her the old "thanks, don't call us, we'll call you" line. Then she stepped up to the drums and our mouths literally dropped open—that tiny little girl could beat the shit out of those skins. She was in without question.
And then there was me, Bella Swan. I was the singer and played rhythm guitar occasionally. I was average height with long, mousy brown hair that hadn't been brown since junior high when I discovered how to color my own hair. Currently it was black with magenta streaks throughout. Playing rock and roll and being in a band was all I'd ever wanted to do since I could remember. I lived, breathed, bled rock and roll . . . and all the naughty perks that went along with it. Yeah I was pretty much the band whore and I was pretty damn proud of it.
Rose had been pretty wild in her early days; she'd fuck anything that wore pants and had a dick. Until we met Emmett. He became our manager and it wasn't long before they became pretty much a steady item. Surprised the hell out of me, but they seemed pretty satisfied. They were very well matched, both with very healthy libidos. I was worried he'd pay more attention to her than the band, but Rose really keeps him under her thumb. She makes sure he always takes care of any band business before she lets him into her pants.
After Alice joined the band, Rose and I had some concern if she and Leah could get along. After all, the rhythm section of a band has to work seamlessly together and
well . . . she and Leah were such opposites. I feared night after night of explosive fireworks between those two. And two weeks later, after a gig, I walked in on fireworks all right–Leah and Alice half-naked, kissing and moaning and all over each other. They've been together ever since too, although they were not exactly as monogamous as Rose and Emmett. They were not shy about their "more the merrier" preferences, often bringing other women into their bed. Usually they seduced a female groupie into joining them if they saw someone they both liked. Hell, even I joined them one night in a warm haze of way-too-many Jaeger shots. And I have to say those ladies know what they're doing; it was one of the best fucks of my life.
So, with two couples in the band, that left all the hard cocks and hot groupie-sex . . . to little ol' me. And believe me I took full advantage, (hence my title as "band whore"). I loved sex—hot, sweaty, clawing, biting, fucking sex. I also bored easily, so I rarely ever kept any guys around for repeats. But that was the beauty of being in an all-chick rock band—guys drooled over that shit and were practically lined up around the block begging. I was never in short supply.
We'd really put our all into tonight's performance and now that it was over, we all collapsed on the couches in the back stage area. The room was very familiar to us; we'd been playing a regular gig at the Whiskey for almost six months now. It was on that very stage that we played tonight, that we had finally caught the eye of an A&R person. One week later we were signed to an actual record contract. Granted, Volturi Vinyl was just a small indie label, but their owner, Aro—sleazy though he seemed—was very excited about us. It was probably a little like selling your soul to the devil, but we wanted
more . . . so bad we could taste it.
Our album was starting to make noise on some college and alternative rock stations, so Aro was sending us on tour—headlining, no less. Probably all small clubs, but still, we were going on tour. Our very own fucking tour! All the years we'd been struggling were finally paying off.
Tonight was our last show at the Whiskey. Tomorrow we were packing all our shit up and heading out on the highway. But tonight the booze was flowing and we were on a high, celebrating. Tomorrow we'd be hurting, but hell, we could sleep it off on the bus.
~ b ~ B ~ b ~
The scraping of plastic on asphalt was screeching in my foggy brain like nails on a chalkboard. No wait . . . worse than nails on a chalkboard.
"Jesus Christ, Jasper, could you be any fucking louder?" I growled.
Jasper was an arrogant asshole and also our sometimes-roadie and guitar/drum-tech when we'd take the occasional short trip out of L.A. for a show. He wore tight band t-shirts and faded jeans and had this swagger about him. He'd be leaning back against a wall, swirling a toothpick between his teeth and just staring at us perform with such a jaded and bored look on his face. But he did now his shit when it came to instrument tuning. So naturally it made sense, I guess, that Emmett had hired him on for the cross-country tour. At the moment, he was—loudly—loading our amps and other equipment into the trailer.
"Yeah well, sweetie, I don't see you waving any magic wands and making this shit magically load itself into the trailer, so I guess you're going to have to put up with a little noise. Maybe you shouldn't have partied so hard last night, Miss Rock Star." Jasper was normally a man of few words, doing his job and looking down his nose at us, so the snarky reply he'd just given was rare. There were a handful of times I'd think he was staring at me with this predatory look in his eye, but then he'd open his mouth and something like that last statement would come out and he'd just piss me off.
Before I could come back with a smart-ass retort, something heavy banged me in the back, making me stumble forward. I whirled around, rubbing my head.
"What the hell . . . !"
A tall skinny kid with wild hair and heavy black-framed glasses let go of the tall equipment case he was wheeling and practically tripped over himself to apologize to me.
"Oh my God! I'm s-s-so sorry, Miss Swan, I-I-I didn't mean . . . I mean, I didn't know you were there . . . are-are you okay?"
I pulled my large sunglasses down my nose to get a better look at him. I finally recognized him as this nerdy guy who usually came to all our Whiskey shows and stood off to the side in the crowd.
"Jasper . . . ."
Before I could even finish, Jasper was already answering me as he rushed by without even so much as a glance my way. "Aro gave me permission to hire a second roadie for the tour. I can't do everything myself all the time."
And he hired this guy? He barely looked strong enough to lift a guitar case.
The nerdy guy nervously wiped his hand on his jeans before eagerly offering it to me.
"I'm Edward Cullen. I-I-It's such a tremendous pleasure to work f-f-for you Miss Swan."
Still looking at him, I just pushed my shades back up my nose, ignoring his hand as I turned and headed for the bus.
"Just watch where the hell you're going, Edmund."
"Edward . . ." I heard him call out after me. Whatever, dude. All I wanted was to get on the bus and collapse into sleep.
~ b ~ B ~ b ~
Thirty hours, two nights in hotels, and five hundred forty-nine bathroom and fast-food stops later, we finally made it to Chicago, the first show on the tour. We were so pumped, but we were also nervous. Well, at least I was. The other gals seemed fine, but I couldn't shake the butterflies. The tension and exhaustion from the bus travel, the pressure of needing to be better than great—I just couldn't get it together, something felt . . . off.
Detroit, the next show, was the same. I kept flubbing things on stage, earning me dirty looks from the girls, and I was holding back in my performance. It was so fucking frustrating. I was Bella Swan, rock goddess of Belladonna; I was NOT some timid little flower. I do not back down, I am not intimidated, dammit.
Next up, Cleveland. I hid out in the dressing room during the pre-show stuff. I was antsy and nervous after the first two shows, and I didn't want to see or talk to anyone.
It was while I was sitting there in front of the mirror that I found the first note. I reached into my make-up bag for my eyeliner and a piece of paper was curled around it.
Get your head out of your ass, stop being a scared, little girl and get up on that stage and grab em' by the balls. Bring them to the fucking edge until they're panting and begging for more.
And wear your black fishnet stockings and those thigh-high boots. The girls will all be moaning and the guys will be so hard they'll be jacking themselves off on the way home tonight thinking of you.
…I know I will be.
I looked around the empty room warily. Where had this note come from? And how did it get into my personal stuff?
It couldn't have been one of the girls, why would they leave me an anonymous note? We were certainly never shy about telling each other shit. Besides, from the last sentence it obviously had to be from a guy. Not that many people had access to the dressing
rooms . . . could it be someone from the venue? Nah—from the first part of the note, it sounded like someone who had seen the other two shows, someone who knew what crappy performances I was putting in. That only left someone traveling with us on the tour. Mentally I ticked them off in my head . . . certainly not Emmett, he never looked at another woman aside from Rose. Our bus driver Sam stayed away as much as he could from the venues and the shows. When the bus was parked, he usually was sleeping; he'd never even seen us perform.
That left the guys in the band that was opening for us. They called themselves Kwoli, an Indian word for "wolf" I think. There were four of them—Jacob, Paul, Seth, & Jared. They seemed to be decent guys, I just didn't know them well . . . they were still possibilities though.
Just then Jasper and Edward walked by the doorway, Jasper cussing Edward out for something he'd forgotten. I snorted. I hadn't even thought to put Jasper & Edward on my list. Jasper was automatically out—he acted like he could barely tolerate me and hell, I don't think he gave a fuck what I wore. Edward . . . he should have been an automatic "no" as well, but something told me to keep him on the list. The note didn't sound like him at all, but how did that saying go—it's always the quiet ones. Maybe there was someone bolder lurking underneath that shy, awkward exterior. My mouth curled up into a smile and I licked my lips as I went back out to the bus to get my stockings and boots.
Whether it was my wardrobe or the note, I rocked the whole crowd that night. I taunted and teased and gave them everything they wanted. It was actually one of the best shows I could ever remember having.
"Rawr, Bella, what got into you tonight? You were a wild woman out there. Just in time too; you were starting to worry me."
I threw a pillow from the couch at Emmett.
"Hey don't throw shit at me, you know it was true. If it got any worse I was going to have to tell Aro and he was not going to be happy to hear his talent was sucking balls every night."
Of course , I knew it was true, but I wasn't going to give Em the satisfaction.
"If I was sucking balls every night I would be a much happier gal. Em."
~ b ~ B ~ b ~
After the show that night I had hoped to snag some time with Edward in the bus, but—as he had every night—he went straight to his bunk and went to sleep.
When we got to Pittsburgh, I was again hanging out back in the dressing rooms when I found another note, this time with a single rose.
Goddamn woman now THAT was more like it. You had everyone in that room salivating and screaming for you. I got so hard watching you stalk the stage in those skin-tight leather boots. I could imagine the coolness of them wrapped around me, the scratchiness of your stockings rubbing my hips as I fuck you so hard and so deep, you scream and shudder and come . . . and come . . . and come.
Tonight, black and red corset and red leather mini-skirt. I'll be watching.
Jesus fucking Christ! My heart was pounding and I was wet just from reading his words. Edward, you are one dirty, dirty boy.
I headed off in search of him. Unfortunately, he was hard to catch because Jasper had him constantly running around unpacking and setting stuff up. I grabbed a water bottle from the backstage area and sauntered over to him.
"Edward, you've been working so hard and you're all hot and sweaty, take a break." I held out the bottle of water.
His eyes widened and he glanced behind him before setting down the case he was carrying and coming over to me.
"Um . . . t-t-thanks Miss Swan, t-t-that's very nice of you."
As he tipped his head back and took a long drink from the bottle, I pushed my body closer to him, backing him against the wall. I ran my finger slowly down his chest and rubbed my calf up and down against his leg. His eyes grew even wider and he nearly choked on the water, sputtering and spitting it everywhere, including me. Ugh, okay we'll ignore that.
"Do you like what I'm wearing, Eddie?"
"Uh-uh . . . um . . ."
Just then, Jasper hurried by wheeling a large equipment case.
"Edward! Get the hell away from her and get back to work. She'll eat you up for breakfast and spit you back out before you even get your pants off. Swan, stay away from the poor guy."
I whirled around, fuming. "Fuck off Jasper!" This gave Edward enough room to squirm out of my grasp. His face was beet-red and he was moving his lips but no sound was coming out. He stumbled backward over the amp but managed to right himself in time. He grabbed it and started wheeling it in the direction of the stage as fast as he could.
I just shook my head. That Jasper was such a dickhead.
~ b ~ B ~ b ~
Boston.
You are such a fucking tease. Watching the way you straddle that mic stand nearly made me come in my pants. I imagine that tight skirt hiked up your hips as you ride my heavy, hard cock, rubbing your wet pussy all over me. I reach up and pull the laces from your corset, freeing your beautiful breasts for me to kiss and suck and devour until you are begging and moaning and pleading with me to stop . . . or perhaps begging for . . . more?
Dammit! I rubbed my thighs together desperately. These erotic notes were driving me insane; if I didn't get some relief soon I was going to explode. Much like how I faltered on stage at the beginning of the tour, my sex life was faltering a bit as well. I'd been so concentrated on getting my performances right and then these notes and trying to figure out who they were from, I hadn't had time to attend to my "needs." That shit stopped tonight.
After the show I immediately took off with the first hot guy hanging out at the backstage doors, Garrett, I think his name was. He turned out to be some peace and love stoner who could barely get it up, but with some heavy coaxing from my mouth we eventually managed to get the job accomplished.
Feeling a little less on edge, I turned my attentions back to Edward, convinced he was my horny secret admirer. New York to Philadelphia to D.C.—I tried every which way I could to get some time alone with him. I saw him standing off the side of the stage watching us every night intently. Several times during the show I would lock my eyes with him, wetting my lips between words, or bending deeply while wearing one of my short skirts. Glancing back at him, it was easy to see how I was affecting him—his eyes would go wide, he'd tug at his shirt collar, his Adam's apple visibly bobbing as he swallowed hard. But I couldn't get him to make the first move. He was so bold in his notes, which by the way, had mysteriously stopped. I finally managed to get him completely alone on the bus one afternoon and, on the small couch, completely attacked him. He looked like a baby deer in headlights and I almost thought he was going to run away again, but he eventually calmed a bit and was very obviously enjoying things. I was straddling him, rubbing insistently against his erection and pressing my breasts into his chest. He threw his head back and let out a moan, but before we could even get clothes off, we were cock-blocked again by that son-of-a-bitch Jasper, who came calling for Edward to help him with something. Edward jumped and ran out of the bus so fast, I fell off his lap and onto my ass. Jasper poked his head in the door, his eyes dark with fury.
"I thought I made it clear for you to stay away from Edward," he hissed between clenched teeth.
Still rubbing my ass, I growled back at him. "Edward can do what he wants, it's a free country. What is he, your little bitch?"
Jasper narrowed his eyes at me but didn't say another word, slamming the flimsy bus door so hard the whole bus shook.
Hmmm . . . maybe I'd touched a nerve. Did Edward and Jasper have a little thing going on the side? Though by Edward's "hard" reaction to me, he sure didn't seem gay. . .
~ b ~ B ~ b ~
Atlanta. Another note, finally.
You've been a very, very, bad girl lately. I want to reach under your skirt and rip those lace panties off you and smack your ass until it's pink and throbbing. And I have a feeling you'd enjoy that wouldn't you?
Wear these tonight with that naughty little plaid schoolgirl skirt. Flash me your delectable ass and I'll know your answer.
A hot tingly sensation spread over my ass and I squirmed a little just reading his words. I wasn't experienced with a lot of S & M-type play, but I was definitely aroused at the thought of the note-writer's hands on my ass . . . even if I didn't know who he was.
With the note was a pair of see-through black silk and lace panties.
While I definitely wore provocative clothes on stage and had no qualms about exploiting my sexuality as part of our music and image, I had never specifically stripped or showed off any undergarments or skin while on stage. That night, however, I made sure I gave little teases throughout the show—moving my hand up my thigh and lifting an edge of my skirt up for a little peek, or pushing the waistband of my skirt down just enough to show the lace edge of the panties. Finally, during the last song, at just the right moment, with a coy look over my shoulder out into the audience, I lifted the whole back of my skirt up high enough to show off my whole lace and satin-clad ass. The whole thing lasted maybe five seconds, it was really quite harmless. Still, the crowd went crazy; there were more cheers and jeering than on any other show so far. I'd never been an exhibitionist, but a thrill went through my whole body knowing he was watching. I found myself excited that I had (hopefully) pleased him.
It had been another stellar show, again, one of the better performances of the whole tour and I came off stage flushed and on a huge high. The girls and Emmett weren't quite so pleased, however, trying to question me and figure out what the hell I was doing. I just shrugged them off, feigning that I was just experimenting, trying something different. Emmett told me in no uncertain terms that I could not do that again, or else I'd be finding myself in jail for indecent exposure. I knew he was being overdramatic—hell, hadn't Madonna been performing in her underwear for years? I wasn't planning a repeat performance anyway; that one had been special, only for him.
Of course, coming down off such a high to an empty hotel room was not so exciting—it was damn frustrating. I still didn't know who he was. Technically, I probably should have told Emmett about it as soon as I got the first note. I mean, in reality he could be some creepy sex-crazed fan-stalker. But the notes turned me on too damn much, his erotic words got me off and I was aching for more.
Everyone traveling on our tour had found out about the almost-incident with Edward on the tour bus, and ever since, the Wolf boys had been hanging out backstage more, trying to chat me up. They stood off-stage every night, watching our sets. The night I did all of the underwear flashing, they were staring and salivating like a bunch of rabid dogs as I walked by. I couldn't see any of them as the sexy note-writer, but then again, there was no one else left on my list.
Paul approached me first, after the next show in Jacksonville. We had some drinks, then a few more and then went back to my hotel room. I had to admit, Paul was pretty damn good—intense, a little rough but not more than I could handle. I was sure he was the note-writer, until I made a couple comments about him leaving me notes. He looked genuinely confused and I realized he didn't have a clue what I was talking about. Thank God I think he was drunk enough he wouldn't remember my mentioning any notes the next day.
~ b ~ B ~ b ~
After the New Orleans show I pounced on Jacob. He was a bit of a wham-bam-thank-you ma'am—a little fumbling around, some thrusting, get in, get out and it was done. Except he thought it was fabulous and followed me around like a puppy dog for two days.
Next was Jared, and he was even more forgettable. That just left Seth and well, he was barely eighteen and I just . . . wasn't going to go there. Eighteen-year olds were still too excited with "hey look what my dick can do!" to even have the imagination to come with some of the suggestions my note-writer had.
~ b ~ B ~ b ~
So I was back to square one and as frustrated as ever. And right on cue, Houston brought me another mysterious note.
I know what you want but you're looking in all the wrong places. You can try every dick in every state, but I promise none will satisfy you like mine, none will ever be able to make you scream like mine.
Grrrr . . . motherfuckin' fuck! I growled and crumpled the note up in a ball. If your dick can really make me scream then why isn't it! Where the hell are you? I was so tired of his little game.
Emmett walked in at that moment. "Hey Bells . . . ."
"What?" I spat at him.
"Whoa, Jesus Christ, what's wrong with you?"
I just stared at him sullenly and he finally continued.
"All right well, I just wanted to let you know that there has been a reporter from Spin magazine following along on the tour. They're going to be doing a huge feature on the band. He's been to all the shows, been interviewing fans, capturing the essence of what it's like to be a young band on tour or some shit like that. Anyway, he's going to be joining us on the bus, backstage, etc. for the last few stops of the tour and will also be interviewing each of you gals. His name's Peter."
Ugh, reporters . . . wait did Em just say he's been following us the whole tour? I'd never seen anyone strange hanging around backstage, but that didn't mean he couldn't figure out a way to sneak in and leave me a note . . . or two or three.
"Anyway, this is really important. So be nice, B. And for the love of all that is holy please don't fuck him!"
I rolled my eyes. After my efforts at molesting Edward and then the way I made my way through the Wolf boys, the girls and Em had given me a "stern" talking to—fucking strangers for one-night stands was one thing, but fucking around with the people you were living with for two months made things sticky and uncomfortable.
"I mean it, B!"
"Emmett, I'm not gonna fuck him, I promise."
~ b ~ B ~ b ~
So yeah I fucked him.
I knew it was dangerous, with him writing an article about us and all, but I had to . . . I had to know if he was the note-writer. Considering writing was his chosen profession, and that he'd been along on the whole tour, I was sure I'd finally found my man.
And Peter was . . . definitely skilled. In fact, I let him stay with me through Houston, and Dallas, something I never usually did, but hey, he had to be with us anyway, so I figured why not enjoy the perks as long as I could—unfortunately, he was not my note-writer either. I tried baiting him a couple of times with info he would have known from the notes, but I could tell he didn't have a clue.
By Albuquerque I feigned a headache and sent Peter back to his own bed. Being with him just felt like pretending, as it had been with all the other guys. For a brief time I'd pretend they were my x-rated note writer . . . but it always ended in disappointment.
~ b ~ B ~ b ~
Las Vegas, final show of the tour. I poured as much as I could into that final performance, and thankfully the crowd really seemed to eat it up. Off stage, I was much more subdued, just ready to go home.
We had a big after-party at a nearby bar and even there, I kind of just hung by myself. Emmett and the girls just thought I was bummed that the tour was over and I let them believe that.
I caught Edward staring over at me several times. He seemed more kicked-back than usual, with the tight t-shirts and new, low-hung jeans. I thought about going over to him—I mean, fuck, the tour was done; it wasn't like I could mess anything up if we hooked up now, right? Still, I had initiated things many a time, and tonight I was going to wait . . . if Edward was my sexy note-writer, he was going to have to make the first move.
I was sitting at the bar nursing my beer when Jasper came up to order another whiskey.
"Why so glum, Swan? You should be happy . . . this is the last we'll have to see each other for a long while."
I snorted. Jasper and I hadn't had much contact since the warning he gave me on the bus to stay away from Edward. He'd worked with us enough I really didn't have to have much discussion with him on the guitars or the way he set up my mic. So we had pretty much stayed clear of each other as much as possible.
"Well, yeah, thank God for small miracles." I raised my beer in salute and he did the same with his whiskey. Then he just took his glass and walked away. Good riddance.
I stayed for another hour until I felt I could leave without causing too much of a scene (normally I was the one closing down the bar).
Just as I was sliding off the barstool, the bartender brought me a small box.
"Someone left this for you," he said before walking away.
I frowned. What the hell was this?
I opened the box to see a familiar folded piece of paper. My heart sped up. I stared at it for a minute or two not knowing if I wanted to open it or not. I hadn't had any notes since Houston, and now the tour was over. I didn't know what this one was going to say.
Finally I reached in and opened it with shaking fingers.
Congratulations on a great tour. Now it's time to be rewarded. The night is still young, I hope you're up for some . . . fun. I promise it will be worth your while.
You ignored my last note, I hope you haven't grown tired of me. I am dying to see your reaction when you see who I am . . . as you're moaning and clenching around my hard cock. I intend to be buried in you until the sun comes up. Are you ready?
Wait naked in your hotel room, bra if you wish, but no panties and wearing this.
I peeked back in the box. Holy fuck! It was a blindfold.
I looked around the bar. Everyone was hanging out together at a booth and some tables in one corner of the bar. Rose & Em; Leah & Alice and their latest conquest; the Wolf boys, each with a young, skanky groupie under their arm; Jasper was chatting with Peter.
The only one missing was . . . Edward. He was nowhere to be seen. Smirking, I grabbed my box and snuck out of the bar before anyone saw me.
~ b ~ B ~ b ~
Back in my room, I followed his instructions . . . and immediately felt like an idiot. I was lying on the bed, completely naked except for my sexiest lace bra and this motherfucking blindfold. Was Edward really going to reveal himself to me tonight? Or was this just some elaborate joke? What if it had all been a prank? Edward didn't seem like the prankster type. Of course, there was still the possibility that I was wrong and it wasn't Edward . . . what if my note-writer was a crazy stalker? I could just see the headline now — Lead singer of up and coming rock band found naked and blindfolded in her Vegas hotel room, throat slashed.
I shivered trying to force the thought out of my mind. My heart was racing and I had trouble staying still. I don't know how long I lay there, it felt like hours but was probably minutes. I was almost dozing off when I heard the click of the door opening.
My breath caught in my throat and I swallowed hard. I felt the bed dip as he settled on it. My whole body was trembling in anticipation. I heard him let out a low growl. I licked my dry lips and opened my mouth to say something when a tingle of shocking current shot through my body without warning, as his warm, wet tongue licked between my legs.
I reached my hands out as much as I could reach but felt nothing, of course, because he was obviously kneeling between my legs. He swirled his tongue one lap around my clit before sucking it into his mouth and giving a very sharp tug, causing me to cry out. Then he was parting my wet lips, licking up one side and then the other, stroking his tongue in and out, pausing to nibble on my clit. He kept going back and forth between the two motions, the sensation of his tongue on me setting me on fire. I arched my back involuntarily, thrusting myself into his face, desperately needing him deeper, needing more.
Then suddenly he was touching my legs, stroking lightly up and down my inner thighs, causing them to shake uncontrollably. He'd move his tongue up and down and tease my swollen entrance with his fingertips, then back away and replace his fingers with his tongue, moving his fingers up to rub and tug my now throbbing clit. It was an overwhelming onslaught of sensation searing through me and I didn't know how much more I could take.
I was moaning and arching and shaking. "Please . . . ungh . . . please." I couldn't seem to manage anything else coherently. I needed to come so desperately.
I felt his tongue leave me and I whimpered, only to actually scream when it was replaced, finally, with his fingers. He thrust two fingers into me roughly, curling and twisting and stroking in and out in a frenzied motion. My hips were bucking, meeting his fingers, trying to force them even deeper. Finally, his mouth returned to my clit and with a couple strong licks and tugs I was shaking and convulsing and screaming again as the fire exploded over my whole body.
He continued to stroke me until I finally fell back, panting heavily, onto the bed, my whole body limp and shaking. I had never had any man tease me and bring me to any orgasm that hard. I didn't know if it was the blindfold and being unable to see, if it was the secret thrill of not knowing who he was, but I had never felt so aroused and unhinged before.
I could hear a sucking noise and I moaned when I realized he must have been licking me off his fingers.
The bed was shifting again and suddenly I could feel the heat of his body over me. His breathing was erratic too and his voice was low and raspy as he finally spoke.
"God damn I knew that would be amazing to watch . . . I miss the stockings, and getting to rip your panties off, but watching you . . . come around my mouth and my fingers was better than any fantasy."
I moaned again. His breath was hot and tickled my ear, and smelled sweet . . . like . . . whiskey.
I couldn't take anymore I had to see him. I reached up and fumbled and tore at the blindfold, finally forcing it off. The harsh light hit my eyes and I blinked several times as his face finally came into focus.
Jasper . . .
Jasper motherfucking Whitlock?
"YOU!" I screamed as I started scrambling and shifting under him, forcing my body to sit up. He was just looking at me with this smug little grin on his face.
No fucking way!
I slapped him. I started smacking at his chest with both hands, ignoring his cries of pain. Once my legs were free I curled them up into my chest and kicked his chest hard with my feet, so hard that he fell backward and actually tumbled completely off the bed and landed on the floor, on his butt.
I climbed awkwardly off the bed, my legs still shaky from the intense orgasm he—Jasper— had just given me. My stomach churned at even thinking his name and the word orgasm in the same sentence.
"Ow, Jesus Christ, what the hell, Swan!"
I was shaking with rage, my hands trying to pull my thin, silk robe around me.
"What the hell? What the hell, Jasper! I think I could ask you the same thing!"
We both stood there, breathing hard, staring at each other.
"YOU were the one leaving those pornographic notes for me? What, is this your idea of a sick joke to pull on me?"
Jasper's eyes darkened and his jaw tightened. He was still sitting on the floor leaning back on his hands for support.
"Did that mind-blowing orgasm I just gave you feel like a joke to you? Those notes were the only way I could get your attention, the only way I could keep you interested. And I know they did . . . they teased you and excited you and drove you mad, didn't they?" His voice was low and seductive as he cocked an eyebrow.
"I've watched you for a long time now, all those men you fuck once and then toss aside. None of them could satisfy you 'cause none of them knew what you really needed, what you really crave."
His eyes were locked with mine and my breathing was still uneven. I couldn't seem to look away.
"You need passion, you need attention, you need creativity and you need someone who's not afraid to step up and take control once in a while . . . ." He paused, letting a smirk spread across his face. "Even if you won't admit it."
His comment about control snapped me out of my trance, brought me back to myself. Nobody controlled me. I was the one who said where or when or who; I was the one who was in control when I fucked someone.
I stalked over to him, throwing my robe off and straddled his legs, pushing him down and hovering over his hips. I reached for his cock and grabbed it forcefully through his jeans, drawing a strangled cry from him. It was time to show him who was really in control here.
"Oh I think I still have the control, 'cause I can give you what you want. All those notes were all about what you wanted to do to me, how you wanted to fuck me so hard. Is that what you wanted so bad?"
I clawed at his jeans, unbuttoning them and unzipping them and yanking them off as quickly as I could, pulling his boxers with them. His cock bounced free, hard and thick and swollen. Jasper could only grunt as he shifted his legs to get the rest of his pants off. I grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and shoved upward to get it off of him as well. Then with one hand on his chest for support, I used my other hand to grab his dick and positioned myself above it.
I slammed myself down around him, more forcefully than I probably should have. A gasp of slight pain erupted form me. Motherfuck he's bigger than I realized.
Jasper's hips jerked in reflexive response to my sudden aggressiveness. I watched as he bit down on his lip, struggling to maintain composure. My telltale gasp and hesitation did not go unnoticed, of course. Immediately, his eyes flashed hard and glittering and his lips twisted into that damn smirk again.
"What's wrong, Swan? Am I . . . too much for you to handle?" he leered tauntingly at me.
I glared at him. "Don't flatter yourself."
I rocked forward violently, surprising him yet again and causing his small thread of composure to go completely out the window.
Jasper's head banged back against the floor, his eyes closed.
"Holy fuck, Swan," he hissed through gritted teeth.
Ha! Take that!
I started rocking and grinding on him harder, determined to fuck that cocky attitude of his right out of him. I was going to give him the fuck of his life.
He was moving his hips under me in tandem with my movements. He let out a long, low moan. "Christ Swan, you feel so good."
I was trying to stay focused but every movement from him was sending shockwaves through me and every moan of his was making me wetter and wetter. My hands were still on his chest and I could feel every muscle contraction under my fingertips as he writhed and moved. I'd never paid Jasper much of a second glance before but he was all hard muscle. A tribal tattoo wound down from his left shoulder and around his bicep. I was staring at it when suddenly it started to move.
I gasped again as I felt Jasper's warm hands suddenly grab my ass. He started moving me, lifting me up and down on his cock, and the friction was like striking a match over, and over . . . and over. The heat that was building between our two bodies was too much. My arms buckled, causing me to lean farther over him, my hair falling down and tickling his chest. He let out a loud growl and I heard myself moaning and panting in time with his thrusts.
Jasper was quickly moving me faster and faster, lifting me up farther so that he was almost completely out of me, then sinking me down until I slammed against his hip.
Fuck, he felt so good. I had to bite my lip to keep from saying it out loud, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
I was so lost in my own little haze that I was slow to notice when he lifted me completely off him and onto the floor beside him.
"What the . . . !" I sputtered.
He was still panting heavily but he stood up and then reached down and grabbed me, throwing me over his shoulder.
Hanging upside down I started pounding on his back with my fists. "Jasper, fuck you! Put me down!"
He threw me down on the bed, his eyes dark and predatory. He spread my legs and dove between them, circling and teasing my clit again with his tongue.
"Jasper! Fuck!" I screamed, arching as I gripped the bed sheets.
He didn't spend much time there though, quickly moving up my abdomen. He started licking and kissing and sucking on the skin just above my pussy.
"This . . ." he growled, "This is mine." And he proceeded to suck and bite the skin, leaving what would be a prominent mark there tomorrow.
When he was done he crawled up my body. He completely ripped the tiny strip of material holding my bra together in the front, releasing my breasts. He licked around both breasts, kissing and sucking and biting my nipples.
"Jesus Christ," he breathed, "So motherfucking perfect."
I was such a writhing, livewire mass of need at this point, I couldn't speak. My pussy was still throbbing from what we'd started on the floor and not finished, and the attention he was showering on my nipples was just throwing fuel on the raging fire.
I started clawing and scratching at his shoulders and back.
"Ah, you like that don't you." He shifted his body again and spread my legs farther.
"All those men you fucked, all those men you were hoping were me, none of them could make you feel like this."
And suddenly he was plunging into me again, rocking me back and forth, pushing himself so deep. I arched to get him even deeper, gripping him with my thighs as I moaned and gasped helplessly. I felt the tightening, the pulsing, the explosion of sensation. My resolve was barely hanging on. There was still a small part of me stubborn enough to try holding back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of giving me another orgasm. My body was not in agreement however.
Jasper reached down, rubbing my swollen clit roughly. "Fuck, Swan, give it up already," he hissed between heavy breaths. "Now . . . ." His breath was hot in my ear and set off one last explosive tremor all over my body.
I screamed his name over and over as I clawed his back, drawing blood this time.
He hissed at the pain and let out a loud growl as I felt him swelling and exploding inside me, pumping into me a few more times before completely stilling himself. The muscles in his arms were straining from holding himself above me and he had to pull out and collapse on the bed next to me, his chest sweaty and heaving, as he tried to catch his breath.
My body was so limp I felt like I was floating, as if I'd taken some kind of drug. I was trying to comprehend everything that had just happened, that I had just had the most amazing sex of my life with Jasper, but all my thoughts were hazy and difficult to string together. My eyes were heavy and they would not stay open.
~ b ~ B ~ b ~
Mumbling into the pillow, I slowly felt my body waking up. As I stretched a little I felt the sore muscles. Damn, I thought. My arm was stretched above my head and as I moved it I heard a strange clanging noise.
Clanging? I lifted my head from the pillow to see my wrist handcuffed to the headboard.
What the fuck? My eyes continued across the bed to the head of messy blond curls next to me.
Jasper. It was all coming back to me now, images flashing through my brain. The nerve endings in my pussy started waking up as well at the memories. Fuck. But I didn't remember any handcuffs being used.
Under the sheets I kicked Jasper's leg with my foot.
"Jasper! Wake the fuck up!"
I kept kicking till he finally groaned and shifted around to face me.
"All right, all right woman, geez, why are you always kicking me!"
"Jasper, why the hell am I handcuffed to the headboard?"
He looked up and smirked with that maddening lazy grin of his.
"Jasper!" I hissed.
"Oh yeah." He reached up and started undoing the cuff, rubbing my wrist before letting it go. To undo it he had to crawl on top of me, and once he freed my wrist he didn't move.
"I handcuffed you because I didn't want you sneaking off and leaving once you woke up and realized where you were or what we did last night."
His blue eyes darkened as they stared intently into mine. "I told you I am not going to be one of those guys you fuck and leave before sunrise."
My eyes widened as he bent down to kiss me. Before I could protest, his fingers were suddenly between my legs, teasing and touching and making me wet . . . again.
Fuck.