Just For Now, page 9
“Yeah, baby. Just like that,” I whisper. “Let me feel you squeeze me. Fuck yeah. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”
Eyes still on mine, her lush pink lips parted, she tips over the brink into ecstasy, her eyes losing focus but never closing. And Jesus fuck, that’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
She squeezes me as hard as I knew she would, and I fuck her harder, faster, keeping her going as long as I can until I slam into her and stop, holding myself in place as we pulse together.
Sated and breathing hard, we collapse on the bed in a tangle of sweaty limbs and racing hearts.
Stroking down her body, I wait for her to pull away, certain she’ll be the one to put distance between us first. Halfway hoping she won’t pull away immediately.
I should want her to. This can’t be anything but sex. I don’t have the time or the mental space for more. And experience has taught me that more is very dangerous. The idea of more shouldn’t sound tempting, but with Blaire, it does. Just a little.
Enough that even though I know I should move first. Leave now. Clean up and get dressed and go, I don’t.
Instead I pull her closer, kiss the soft spot behind her ear, and revel in the lazy stretch of her body against mine.
Chapter Thirteen
Blaire
My mind is blank as I recover from that soul-shaking orgasm. When he pulls me close instead of pulling out, that little voice in my head, the one that plays devil’s advocate whether I want it to or not, tries to speak up, but I shush it before it can tell me that post-sex cuddling is a terrible idea. It’s not like I don’t know. But his skin against mine feels too good, and it’s been too long since I’ve just enjoyed myself like this. I’m not going to let the worries I know are waiting for me once Beckett leaves ruin the moment right now.
Beckett eventually rises and discards the condom before climbing back into my bed and spooning me. “You can’t stay the night,” I remind him.
He kisses my shoulder. “I won’t,” he promises, his voice a low rumble against my back. And I vow to stay awake even though exhaustion pulls at me. Tours keep a grueling schedule, and I’ve gotten spoiled with Cataclysm’s longer than average stretches of time off. Beckett doesn’t have the same need for space, it seems. Or he’s never insisted on it, anyway. But since he’s a solo artist with contract musicians as backup, I don’t suppose he gets the same sense of everyone living on top of him as my Cataclysm guys do.
In any case, he certainly doesn’t want space now. And the way his hand glides up and down my side, moving in long, languid strokes, is nothing short of hypnotic. The exhaustion, the soothing caresses, the aftereffects of a mind-bending orgasm all combine to knock me out faster than benzos with an alcohol chaser.
When I wake up in the morning, he’s gone, but there’s a note on the hotel notepad on the nightstand. Don’t worry. It’s 3 am and I’m leaving now. Thanks for celebrating with me. B
With a smile, I rip the note off the pad, snapping a picture of it with my phone before tearing it up and throwing it away. No need to leave evidence behind for anyone to find. Even keeping a picture of it might be risky, all things considered. But I doubt anyone would try to hack my phone or my cloud account unless word got out about us, and at that point, having a picture of a note from Beckett would be the least of my concerns.
But that’s all the time I have to reflect on the note, my feelings about Beckett, and whether he intends to repeat last night’s performance—the one in my bed, of course. I’m quite certain he intends to repeat the success of his stage show. It’s time to load up and head to the next stop. And I fully intend to find anything and everything I can to keep me busy on the way, which isn’t hard to do.
The truth is, I don’t want to examine my feelings about last night. It was fun. I’d do it again if the opportunity presented itself, and I’m leaving my soul searching at that.
He made it clear that he doesn’t want something serious or long term. And neither do I. I mean, yeah, my boys are all pairing off and finding happiness and making families. And some part of me would like the deep connections that I see them forming. But I’ve known since I was a kid that the trappings of settled life don’t appeal to me. I chafed at the restraints every time I stayed with my aunt and uncle while my parents were on tour. I hated it. The monotony of waking up in the same bed every day, going to the same places, doing the same things.
I need excitement. Adventure. And projects to keep me busy. So much so that I invent them if no one gives me any. My checking up on everyone else’s job as a PA is a great example. PA work isn’t that challenging, once you learn the ropes. So I found other things to occupy my mind. My continuous trolling of Kendra and Ava’s exes, is another one. I’ve already gotten Ava’s ex fired through my machinations and keep tabs on where he’s applying to make sure he’ll never get another teaching job again. And Mitchell … well, he’s too fun to follow on social media and leave scathing reviews and comments on all his attempts to drum up new business. I can just imagine him turning red faced with every one star review I leave anywhere and everywhere. All from different accounts, of course. And since I travel constantly, I don’t even have to worry about any of the comments coming from the same IP address.
So instead of focusing on Beckett’s prowess in bed—and wondering when or if I’ll ever get to experience it again—I throw myself into acting as normal as possible. No one needs to know what happened between us. Especially if it doesn’t ever happen again. Which is possible. I fell asleep before I could find out what his plans were. And while I’m happy to be in the driver’s seat in my sexual relationships, I’m not in a position to make demands with Beckett. I’m his employee. And it’s not like with Cataclysm where I worked with all of the guys. He could fire me all on his own. No one else needs to be consulted.
Aaaannnd that’s another thing I’m not going to dwell on. Though in the end, I guess it doesn’t really matter, since I’ve always said this is a temporary gig. All the same, I’m going to do the best job I can and come up with more ways to make this tour shine.
This time when I answer the late night knock on my hotel room door, I’m not fresh out of the shower. I showered immediately after dinner, needing to wash the grime from the road from my pores. Plus, I’d considered the possibility that Beckett might come knocking, and I didn’t want to be smelly and gross from sitting on a tour bus all day.
When I open the door, Beckett’s got his hand propped on the top of the door frame and sways closer to me, his dark eyes sweeping over my body and making me tingle, just like always. “You’ve been ignoring me today.”
Peeking around him, I grab his free hand and pull him inside once I’m satisfied that no one’s watching. “I have not.”
He crosses his arms and looks me over again, his eyes heating when he sees I’m wearing essentially the same thing as last night. Different colors, but same articles of clothing. It’s what I wear to sleep, and I was getting ready for bed. If Beckett happened to come for a visit, well … he didn’t seem to object to my choice of PJs last night. I saw no reason to pick something different.
And with the look in his eyes now, I’m not sorry I didn’t stay in my normal clothes.
“You barely said two words to me. You offered no additional suggestions for guerrilla marketing tactics or information on the winners of the tickets and backstage passes for the show tomorrow night.”
My heart rate spikes in alarm. “I gave that information to Kelsey. Did she not pass it on to you? I specifically told her to give it to you right away.”
Dropping his arms, he closes the distance between us. “She gave it to me. That’s not the problem. You usually do that, though. You don’t delegate when it comes to me. You’ve always handled me yourself. But instead you spent all day buried in your tablet or talking to Joey or Kelsey. Never me.” He pauses, his eyes skating over my face, down my body, and back up again. “Are you embarrassed? Regretting last night?”
I shake my head, and tension that I hadn’t noticed leaks away from his shoulders and the tight set of his jaw. His lips pull up in a relieved smile. “Good. You had me worried.”
“Why would you be worried?” I mean the question to come out glib and teasing, but there’s a breathless, sincere quality to my voice that I can’t deny. What is he wanting from me, specifically? Tour fuck buddies? I’ve been down that road before. In the short term it was great. But in the long term …
Well, I ended up lonely and ready to run away and jump on the first opportunity that presented itself. Namely, here.
Do I really want to do that to myself again?
Unaware of my internal turmoil, Beckett slips his hand behind my back, his thumb caressing lightly over the soft cami before slipping underneath to brand my bare skin. “Because,” he murmurs, his face drawing closer to mine, “if you were having second thoughts, then I wouldn’t be able to do this anymore.” With that, he seals his mouth over mine, his tongue immediately delving in and thoroughly exploring me.
Why was I thinking I might not want this? Of course I want this, consequences be damned.
I know I can keep my heart out of a sex-only relationship. Maybe I didn’t do that successfully with Aaron, but I did with Mason. And Beckett isn’t Aaron. He’s older. More experienced. Not a wounded boy who just lost his dad, unmoored in the world and seeking direction, pricking my desire to patch him up and hold him close until he doesn’t hurt anymore, which was how I ended up falling for Aaron.
No, Beckett’s all man who knows exactly what he wants and how to go after it. He needs me to fix the tour and make it run smoothly. To help with marketing. To do my job.
He doesn’t need me to fix him and make him all better.
Which is good. Great. Because while I tend to do that for the people I care about, no one bothers to do that for me. And I’m getting tired of everything being so one-sided.
With Beckett, I do my job, I get paid.
And now we give each other orgasms.
All arrangements are mutually beneficial. There’s equal give and take and no need for involving messy emotions.
Feeling more settled, I rub against him, pushing my tongue into his mouth. He growls in approval, his fingers digging into my back, his hard dick pressing into my belly.
I want it. Inside me. Right now.
Yanking his shirt up to his armpits, I ball my hands into fists and push hard against his chest, forcing him back a step. He looks down at me in surprise, but quickly catches on and pulls his shirt off, my hands going to the button and fly of his jeans while he tosses his shirt aside.
His breath hisses through his teeth when I shove my hand down his pants to find his dick, needing to feel it. Get acquainted with it.
Yeah, I touched him last night. Gave him a quick squeeze and a lick before rolling on the condom. But I didn’t get to really explore.
I let go long enough for him to pull my top off, my breasts bouncing free, but before he can do more than slide a finger under my waistband, I drop to my knees and take him in my mouth.
“Jesus fuck,” he growls, one hand going to my hair.
Sucking harder, I yank at his jeans with my other hand, wanting more access to him. He helps, pushing his clothes down to his knees, revealing soft dark hair covering his thighs, the thicket between his legs. I stroke his balls with my free hand, cupping them as I bob my head, enjoying the way they’re already drawing up tight.
It’s hard to smile with a dick in my mouth, but I manage the best I can. Because this is power, right here. On my knees, mouth full of cock. But I hold his manhood—his orgasm—in the palm of my hand. Swirling my tongue around his head, I look up at him, the tendons in his neck straining, his jaw clenching as his dark eyes glitter back at me.
“God damn that feels good. Your mouth is fucking amazing.” His voice is full of wonder.
Pulling him out of my mouth, I offer him a real smile. “Oh, I know.”
He growls when I suck him back in, his hips bucking against me like he wants to fuck my mouth but is holding back. I could suck him off in almost no time from how ramped up he is already, but instead I play with him—leisurely licks, short, hard suction, slow, slow bobbing—all the while watching him through my lashes, taking in every quiver, every twitch, every groan of pleasure. Reveling in all of it.
His breath hitches, and his hips buck again, just a little, like he can’t help himself, and my lips tighten in another cock-filled smile. “Dammit, Blaire. Are you going to torture me like this for much longer? You want me to fill your mouth? What are you playing at here?”
Sitting back on my heels, I slowly work him with my hand while I pretend to think over his questions. “Maybe I should suck you all the way off. Then you’ll be able to go for longer later.”
His eyes flash. “You don’t think I can last as it is?”
I shrug, batting my lashes at him. “You’ve been on the verge of coming for a while. No. I don’t think you’ll last much longer.”
Apparently Beckett doesn’t back down from a challenge, because the next thing I know, he’s grabbing my wrist and hauling me to my feet so he can toss me onto the bed, where he immediately spreads my legs and starts to eat my pussy with unbridled enthusiasm.
He ramps me up, only to hold me on the edge for what seems like hours. Too damn long. “Please please please,” I beg, the word an unending litany as he gets me so close that I’m balanced on the knife edge right before coming, and then slows down, backing off, giving me long, slow licks and matching strokes of his fingers. I whimper, plead, beg, shameless in my desire for an orgasm.
Lifting his head, he grins up at me, his mouth and chin shiny with my juices. “If I let you come now, will you stop teasing me? And disparaging my stamina?”
I nod frantically, happy to agree to anything as long as he stops torturing me like this. “Yes, yes, yes!” The last word is a scream as he dives in and doesn’t stop, liquid pleasure pulsing through my veins, sparks dancing over my skin as my pussy clamps down on his fingers, my whole body convulsing with the power of my orgasm.
Holy shit.
Chapter Fourteen
Beckett
“Holy shit,” Blaire mutters as I kick off my pants and climb over her, condom in hand. A satisfied grin covers my face as I kneel between her splayed thighs, rolling on the condom so I can get inside her.
She’s been killing me tonight. Sucking me. Jacking me. Joking that I couldn’t last long enough for her if we fucked immediately.
Ha.
Truth be told, I probably would’ve blown the minute I got inside her if I hadn’t taken the time to eat her out. Edge her. That was part retribution for the teasing and commentary and part necessary time for me to back away from the edge. I needed that time.
Because the second truth is that it’d take too long for me to get it up again if I came in her mouth. At forty, my refractory period is longer than it was in my twenties. And I don’t want a blowjob from Blaire like she’s some groupie getting me off in a back room before a show.
I want to fuck her. Hard and often.
While whatever this is between us isn’t serious, she’s definitely more important to me than a random backstage blowie.
She clenches and gasps when I fold her legs back and slide into her hot, wet pussy. God, if there’s a heaven, it’s this right here. Determined to make this last as long as possible, I move slow, dragging my cock out and sliding back in at an agonizing pace. It’s torture, but the best kind.
Her eyes open and focus on me, still glazed and dark with arousal. “You’re a sadist.”
With a laugh, I shake my head. “No. But you claimed you wanted this to take a while. So I fully intend to fuck you till you come again. Since you just came, we’ll have to start slow to work you back up to it.”
She groans, doing her best to push her hips against me, encouraging me to pick up the pace, but she can’t move much with my hands holding her thighs back and her feet hitting my shoulders. “You don’t need to move that slow,” she whines.
I do, but I’m not going to tell her that. If I move any faster, this’ll be over before I wring a second orgasm out of her. And I’m not having that. Not after she doubted I could last long enough to make it happen already.
But maybe it won’t take as long as I thought to get her all worked up. I’m not sure if it’s the fact that I’m holding her down that has her gushing again already or if she’s just that responsive. Either way, I’m not complaining. She’s the best fuck I’ve had in way too long. The only fuck, for that matter. I’ll make it my goal to keep her satisfied and coming back for more.
Groupies lost their appeal a long time ago, and most of the time it’s just easier to take care of myself.
But with Blaire, I won’t have to do that as long as I play my cards right. I keep her satisfied, and I get my own satisfaction too. Everybody wins here. No dealing with potentially crazy stalker chicks that comes with groupies, and none of the emotional manipulation that comes with an actual relationship. And Blaire, who obviously has a ravenous sexual appetite, gets her needs met without having to risk contamination from roadies or randoms on the road.
See? Win-win.
Her pussy ripples around me, and I take that as my cue to speed up. Just a little. Enough to make her squirm and beg for more. And I love the way she squirms. The breathless way she begs. The way she welcomes me into her body without excuse or shame or ulterior motives.
Letting go of her thigh, I bring my thumb to her clit, circling it just like I watched her do last night. More gasping and squirming, and I pick up the pace, watching her reactions, angling my hips so I hit her just right. This time I don’t hold her on the edge, because I don’t have the staying power for it. I want her to tip over so I can follow her into the abyss of pleasure yawning in front of us.
