Billy Jeffers: Rockers of Steel (6 page)

“There you go, Madison. A nice two for one special.” He pulls out as he reaches around and pulls me up on my feet then turns me around as he sits on the edge of the bed. “Now, open up wide and make it good.” He takes my hand in his and guides the strokes.

Mesmerized by its size and the two orgasms received by one Billy Jeffers, I stroke him as I sink to my knees. I would love to tell him how perfect he is, but I won’t.

“Mouth, Madison, I’m not gonna last much longer,” he groans.

I take him in my mouth completely, his head tickling my tonsils. With my mouth full of him, I look up.

He looks so tormented and vulnerable, just like he makes me feel all the time.

“Fuck, fuck, Madison, I’m gonna—”

I let his cock fall from my mouth with a pop, and then with every ounce of strength I have, I stand and quickly pull up my dress to cover my tits back up.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Goodnight, Billy,” I snap as I all but run out of the bedroom, then out the door.

Afraid he will come after me, I take the stairs, barefoot and sated. I run down four flights and nearly fall twice.

I push the door open and enter the lobby, straightening my dress and running my hand through my hair, trying to make sense of it. I walk with my head held as high as possible out the door.

I slide into my car and realize I didn’t lock it. Then I realize that I must have left the keys in his apartment. Banging my head on the steering wheel, I sigh before reaching over and opening the glove box.

“Thank God for spares.” I laugh as I start the car. Then I laugh harder and harder as I pull out of the parking lot.

When I come to a stoplight, the laughter turns to tears. What the hell did I do?

I reach up and turn on the radio, seeking a distraction, a sad song. One about a more dejected person than myself.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I groan as if someone is going to hear me complain. “Fucking Bieber.”

I want to grovel in self-pity. I want to cry big, wet tears that only come during an ugly cry, and this fucking song is ruining it for me.

My knee bounces to “Love Yourself,” and of course, I begin to sing along.

This is now the anti-Billy song. It will play in my head while I hold it high in the air and walk into the office tomorrow.

At home, I undress in front of the mirror, expecting to look different. Things changed for me tonight. For the first time in my life, a man wanted me. Even in anger, there was a deep, dark, and raw need in his eyes that couldn’t be confused for anything else. I have never seen it before, never felt it before. It will leave a scar.

I turn and look at my ass because, as promised, I still feel the sting of his hand. The red mark on the left cheek and the one on the right both point up and outward. I study them. They could be angel wings or maybe even a heart. They will fade, but the memories won’t fade as quickly.

I think about the words he used with me and how degrading yet incredibly hot they were. It was like he thought he was teaching me a lesson … with his dick. God, his dick is beautiful. I try to remember the others, but I can’t. Billy’s big dick overshadows them.

I cringe when I think about him smirking when I let it slip out that he was so well-endowed. I hope he was drunk enough not to remember that part. Hell, I hope he wakes up and doesn’t remember a damn thing.

I think about his lips, his hands, his touches, both pleasurable and painful.

My head spins as I wash the makeup off my face and then brush my teeth. I consider showering, but I smell like him, and he smells so good.

I walk out and grab an STD T-shirt, one with all their pictures on it. Billy is on the far left, his hoodie on and up. It has always been my favorite picture of him. He looks the most relaxed in it, like he is a carefree, wild rocker and not an uptight, righteous ass.

His ass, Christ on a cracker, it is beautiful.

I lie down in bed and stretch my limbs, wondering what it would feel like to have a man in bed who actually fucks like he did: all pent up feelings and emotion, loss of control, and then pure and unadulterated reckless abandon unleashing on you. Then, after it was all over and both bodies were spent and sore, rubbing out the kinks until you both fell asleep in a beautifully tangled mess.

I grab my body pillow that I may have named after him and lay it beside me. I wrap an arm around it and squeeze it.

Someday, I will have that. Someday, a man will look at me and touch me with the passion Billy exuded tonight; except, it won’t be an angry, resentful passion. It will be two lovers tangled.

I close my eyes and picture how that would feel, but all I see is him and the moments he looked at me with hunger. I open my eyes and silently scold myself for that.

It was a fuck, and a drunken fuck at that. It never would have happened if two people didn’t need to unleash hatred toward each other.

How stupid am I?

I need to sleep off this feeling and wake up tomorrow, continuing to despise him, because I know damn well he will despise me. Although, he’s always trying to correct me, acts as if he is teaching me manners, or just seems like I am a bother. Just like he did last night.

I throw outfit after outfit on the floor of the closet. The ones I want to wear are ones that will hide me, shield me from feeling vulnerable. They would all make me look weak. When I run into Billy today, I don’t want to look weak. I want to look strong, confident, sexy, and unaffected by what happened between us.

I grab the pale yellow T-shirt dress that is almost too short and pair it with gray leggings and gray boots. I turn to look in the mirror when I am dressed and start to put my hair up. But then I lean in, hoping the mark is on the bathroom mirror and realizing it’s not. It’s on my neck.

“Son of a bitch!” I pull my hair back down and plug in my curling iron. “Hair down today.”

I reach into the makeup drawer and grab foundation to try to cover the purple hickey on my neck. Covering it isn’t going to work, though. Lessening its darkness is all I can do.

“Damn you, Billy!”

After spending way too much time on my hair and covering Billy’s bite marks, I look at the clock. I’m an hour behind my normal schedule and not happy about it.

I unlock the door, walk into the office, and nearly jump when I see Billy sitting in the reception area, looking as if he hasn’t slept.

“Good morning,” I say, forcing my head high in the air as I walk by.

“Got a minute?” he growls behind me.

“Nope, I’m sorry, but I don’t. Jessica will be here in about thirty minutes. You can make an appointment with her.” I keep walking, and I am pretty damn proud of myself.

He catches my elbow and spins me around. Facing him, I jerk my elbow away, but he grabs my hand and places my keys in them.

“I think these belong to you.”

“Right, thanks.”

I start to turn.

“Wait just a fucking minute. We need to talk.”

“No. No, we don’t.”

“Madison, I was out of line last night.”

I shrug. “We’re two consenting adults, so I don’t see a problem.”

“I’d like to ask that you don’t say anything to Tallia until I have a chance to talk to Memphis.”

“Are you fucking insane!” I gasp. “Is that why you gave me a hickey?”

“Nope. No, I’m not. I want him to hear it from me.” He looks at my neck and smirks.

“Holy shit, Billy; why not just grab the conference room and do a three-way call with my parents while you’re at it?” I snap.

“So you don’t plan on telling your best friend—”

“Tell her what, exactly? Do you think we sit around and talk about you?” I look at him with disgust.

“Oh, please, like you don’t.” He rolls his eyes.

I lean in and whisper, “There’s not much to tell.”

“Right, you came”—he holds up two fingers—“twice.”

“Oh, that’s right, but you didn’t.” I smirk.

“It’s good to see you haven’t changed, Madison,” he sneers. “You’re still a little bitch.”

“You think last night would have changed that?” she cackles in my face.

“I gave you what you’ve been begging me to give you for a year, so I thought maybe you could relax a tad now.” I try to sound calm, but it certainly doesn’t come out that way.

“How about you stick to strumming that guitar of yours? Clearly your sense of reasoning is lacking.”

No one can push buttons like she can, and now, after last night, it seems to be worse.

“I wasn’t looking to be a fucking guitar player. I’m a college-educated man, Madison. The only reason you and I even got together like we did was because I was drunk. You know it, and I know it.”

“Well,” she feigns shock, “far be it for my uneducated ass to argue with you and your
four year degree
that you clearly aren’t using.”

“Right.” I can’t help smirking. “You are absolutely right.”

“Good, at least we can agree on that,” she huffs as she turns and walks away, and I let her have the last word because it really doesn’t matter.

My head is pounding. I am hungover as hell. And to top it off, she intentionally sways the peach as she walks away, no doubt to drive me mad.

I swear I have blue balls, and I swear I should drag her into the bathroom and take it out on her right now.

“Little brat,” I mutter under my breath, and she stops.

Fuck, I don’t want her to know she gets to me. Girls like Madison feed on drama like a fucking vampire sucking the life out of its victim.

She doesn’t turn around; she simply raises her hand and flips me the bird.

I turn around, not trusting myself at this moment, and storm to the soundproof recording studio.

I know damn well what’s happening here. With my father avoiding my calls, Angel’s suspicions seem very legitimate, and I am busying myself with nonsense.

I pull out my cell and send another text to my father.

I’m going to fly in tomorrow. We need to chat, and you don’t seem to want to return my calls
.

I hit send, sit at the keyboard, and wait for whatever the hell is going to happen.

I start playing “Moonlight Sonata.” I love the way this sonata begins. The first part is adagio, like slow foreplay for the ears. I close my eyes and let my fingers dance across the keyboard, wishing I were home in front of my baby grand. The second movement, the pace is allegretto—brisker. I become consumed, always have. It’s the build. The third movement, nothing is held back. It’s vigorous, climatic, and an explosion at the end.

“Perfect,” I sigh as I sit back and open my eyes to see dark hair escape my view.

I jump up and scramble to the door.

“May I help you?” my voice booms after her.

She stops and turns around. “Yes, I’m trying to work. Will you close the damn door next time?”

“Does music bother you, Madison?” I snicker.

“That song sucks.” She scowls.

“Well, it wasn’t a song; it was a sonata. Although, I’m sure Beethoven would understand your confusion.”

She walks toward me, hands on her hips. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Son of a bitch,” I say quietly when her eyes meet mine, and I see it too late—her glazed-over, worked-up look. “How long did you listen?”