Nocturnes (22 page)

Russian. Fuck if that doesn’t make me even hotter for her.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t see the guy who did this to you. I’d have shoved the neck of my guitar so far up his ass, he’d be strumming a dominant seventh sharp ninth chord with his tongue.” Jimi Hendrix would be proud. I draw her closer and kiss the bruises, one at a time.

Her smile crashes, and she covers her breasts with an arm.

“Don’t hide from me, Eve. I’ve seen the real you, and she’s beautiful. I’m looking at her right now.” I smile and nuzzle her ear.

She looks down and frowns, but she moves her arm aside, and I get the full spectrum of the beauty and pain that makes her who she is. It’s enough to make a grown man cry.

I lay her on the bed and trace her physical outlines with fingers and tongue. Starting at her head, I spread out her hair like a great black halo. She giggles when my fingertips circle her eyes, travel down her nose, navigate her lips, and slip down her neck. My tongue takes over at her breasts, drawing liquid lines around the mounds and skipping up to the peaks of those dark pink buds. Her arms remain at her sides, though she seems to be having trouble keeping them there. She jerks and stiffens every few seconds, then relaxes and smiles.

I continue my oral exploration, circumnavigating her belly button, back to the glistening pussy asking for another bite. A long, deep lick is all she gets, and I pull a cock-rousing gasp out of her. Goddamn, this rabid boner is about to sprout arms and legs and storm her cunt on its own if I don’t hurry up. But I force myself to take it slow and finish the job I set out to do—map her body. So, onward I travel, down long, slender, muscular legs to the arches of her worn feet—the only part of her that’s not in mint condition, aside from her recent marks. I’ve always heard dancers have ugly feet. Guess it’s true.

I tag a bulging vein with my tongue. Here’s where she laughs out loud and gently kicks at me.

“Stop it, Rax. My feet are really ticklish.”

I grab one. “Like,
really
, really? Or just a little really?”

I run a knuckle along the sole from heel to unpainted big toe, and she squeals. “Please don’t…please…” Hysterical giggles cut off her words as I lay waste to my goddess’s feet.

By the time we end the wrestling match, tears streak her cheeks from laughing so hard. She sits up and pulls me on top of her, pretending to be serious, but failing miserably.

“Now I know your weakness,” I say against her lips, then dive in for a quick kiss.

She arches her back, suffocating my chest with hers. “You do. I’m ruined.”

My dick nods between her legs. “I love being the bad guy.”

“I love—” She cuts herself off with a sudden bite to the lip. “Make love to me, Rax.”

Goddamn it. That look. She’s trying to kill me with that look and the words she won’t say. It’s actually a relief. I can’t deal with love if that’s where she was going. Can’t. Do. It.

I roll off her and fumble through my discarded jeans pockets for my wallet. I retrieve a rubber and put it on. She pushes me to my back and vaults onto my hips. That intimate space between her legs opens, giving and stretching as she lowers herself onto my cock. I love how her pussy unlocks and blossoms like a flower’s petals, heavy with dew.

Listen to me, getting all poetic with a woman.
She
does this lame shit to me. I blame Eve.

With a grin, I nudge my cock deeper, then pull back. Deeper, and back again. On the third thrust, I’m all the way in, and fuck, it feels good. She moans loudly, licks her lip and fondles her beaten breasts while I plug her. Soon, she’s moving with me, not just meeting my lunges, but challenging them to a duel.

Eve takes control, and I’m no longer fucking her. She’s fucking me. Thrusting like she’s got a dick of her own and something to prove. Or a chip on her shoulder.

Skin slaps skin as she rides me hard—the cylinder to my roaring piston. The bed creaks in a fast rhythm. The headboard smacks repeatedly into the wall as she bounces on my lap. Gonna put a fucking hole in the drywall if we’re not careful. I beam a huge grin at her. That’s my girl.

She seems to enjoy the control she holds over me, but I have control issues of my own. I flip her to her back, maintaining our vital physical connection and settle my elbows on either side of her. “My turn.”

My hips cut loose with a rapid-release sex twerk, cruising along at 140 thrusts per minute. I smooth her mane, crash her lips, and stare into the aqua pools in her eyes. Her legs curl around mine, clamping me in place.

The concoction of sights, sounds, smells, and emotions welling in me create a dizzying effect similar to what booze does. But this is an all-natural high, distinctly different from a buzz. I can tell Eve feels it too. Dots of sweat grace her tough, delicate, flushed skin. Hurried pants trip from her lungs. Our grinding bodies find the same rhythm and dance together until she hits the cusp and clutches my shoulders so hard, her fingernails break skin.

No curses fly from her lips this time. No sounds. Just a dizzying, erotic portrait of her climax that will forever be etched in my mind: lips parted, eyes rolled back, mouth releasing hot vapor against my flesh, and a death grip that screams, “Never leave me.”

The orgasm is the perfect climax to the song, the dance, and everything that brought us together and will soon keep us apart.

“Eve’s Nocturne” is born the moment Eve’s and Rax’s “relationship” dies.

When she finds her breath, she hooks her hands under my armpits and over my shoulders. “That was fucking incredible.”

“Yeah.” I grin. I’ll replay this image of her getting off on my cock for years.

A sly glint sharpens her sex-drugged eyes. “Your turn.”

I push up on my elbows, hovering over her. Suddenly, I’m not interested in sullying our monumental goodbye with a cheap nut bust for the sake of getting off. I’d rather wake up with an acute case of blue balls and this perfect vision of her than feeling like I used her for personal gratification. She deserves better than what I gave Toombs and Jinx. “No. I got what I came for.”

In a flash, her expression shifts from raring to go to slashed and bleeding out. “Well,
I
didn’t. Lay your ass down, and let me take care of you.”

She
wants to take care of
me
? Fuck that. I sit up. “Eve—”

Cheeks rippling, she scoots over and grabs my dick. “I want this.” She gently peels the rubber off and tosses it to the floor. Then she spits in her hand, smears the wetness over my length, and yanks me by the junk into the valley between those ruined tits. I can either obey or lose a very important limb.

Obey, it is.

My balance is off from the vodka and the endorphin high, and now an emotional high hits me out of nowhere. It’s hard to find women who not only have the right sized boobs, but who are also willing to engage in tit fucking. Most of the groupies I’ve banged had fake ones. The dirty bastard in me salivates at the thought of hitting Eve’s, but the one who worships her doesn’t want to demean her. She’s had plenty of that tonight.

Since when did you become Mr. Sensitive?

Since I realized I care about Eve. Shut the fuck up.

“You like tit fucking, Rax?”

I laugh. “Only if you do.”
God, please do.

I grab the headboard to keep steady as she guides my knees around her elbows. Once my dick is aligned properly, she presses her breasts around it, creating a fleshy cocoon.

She stares up at me from her submissive position and darts her tongue to the head of my weeping cock. I jerk. Goddamn it, I could come all over her face just looking at her.

“It’s one of my favorites.” She smiles, cups my balls, and pushes me through those full white mounds. “Well, right after pearl necklaces. You gonna give me some new organic jewelry for my collection tonight, Rax? Or do I have to swindle it out of you?”

That’s when I know I’ve been had. There’s not a submissive bone in her body.

“It’ll be my pleasure to serve.” I ram my cock into her tits in search of the light at the end of their pretty, flesh tunnel. Staring down at the masterpiece between my legs, the shit-eating grin burning up her face, and the tip of my dick edging dangerously close to her throat, I wonder what I did to deserve this. I finally decide she’s worth giving up some of my nastier sexual predilections for, and she throws the nasty back in my face tenfold.

If there was any doubt in my mind that we’re perfect for each other, I’m sold now.

“Fuck them, Rax. Harder.” She greases her palm with another load of spit and smears it with a rough twist over my shaft.

“Goddamn it, Eve, your tits are like motherfucking Kryptonite. They make me weak.”

“So, now you’re Superman?”

“You said it, not me.” I keep plunging. “But yeah.”

“Your cock could teach him a thing or two about increasing productivity.”

“Baby, you say the sweetest things.” I put more hip into the fucking.

She lifts her head and forms a perfect round target with her lips. Tongue flickering over the angry helmet threatening to poke her eye out, she gazes at me through hooded lids. Her body rocks, urging me faster.

Between jabs, she says, “I want your cum…” She pauses for a couple beats, and traces the hollow between two raised tendons in her neck. “Here…” She flattens her boobs around my dick again. “And here.” Her mouth opens, and her tongue flutters, licking the air.

Hell fucking yes.

The coil in my balls tightens to the brink of snapping. I slow my thrusts to enjoy the moment a little longer.

“Don’t you fucking stop. Give me that cum now. Put it in my mouth and on my tits. Put it everywhere.”

Done. I spring a leak, and thick white fluid snaps out like venom from a spitting cobra. I point it in her mouth, on her cheek, neck, breasts, back up to her chin. She laps at the lines, almost as if playing a game to see how much she can catch.

“Uhhh…” I grind out between my clenched teeth, squeezing the last few droplets from the head and shaking them onto her flesh.

While she busies herself with wiping up my splooge with a finger and carefully cleaning the digit off with long, calculated licks, I fall on top of her and snag some of the cream on her nipple. I dip my mouth to hers, swirling the jizz around her sated tongue.

We melt into one another, mind, body, and soul, glued together by a mouthful of sin, a head full of alcohol, and a heart full of goodbye.

Side A: “Born to Run”

“I guess this is goodbye.” Standing next to Eve’s doorway, I’m riddled with a bunch of goddamn emotional bullets, bleeding out feelings, and losing warmth at an alarming rate. And the returning withdrawal shakes aren’t helping. My stomach is a roiling ball of molten lead.

“Yeah.” I can’t read her expression. She cut me off from that sacred, hidden paradise we shared only a couple hours ago, changed the locks, and threw away the key. I wonder if this was all just part of her act. She got a grand out of me since we met. Maybe she felt guilty for taking my money, and she resorted to handing me a freebie to make herself feel better about it.

I’d rather stick to my other theory. She’s afraid of commitment, and neither of our lifestyles is exactly conducive to that kind of shit anyway.

“You could…come with me.” Stupid and schoolboyish, but it’s worth a shot. I think she and I could make
something
work. Compromise. Maybe.

I’m grasping for anything.

Sadness seeps into her eyes, darkening them. She serves up a fake smile I don’t buy for a second, and leans into my mouth for a soft, lingering kiss. “You’re a good guy, Rax. I like you a lot. But I have dreams to follow, and right now, you’re standing in the way of them.” She brushes a wisp of hair from her cheek. “A nice diversion, but still…a diversion.”

Visions of a man wearing rubber pants and suspenders, gutting fish at the market infiltrate my vision.
Slash, rip, splat.
The truth hurts, but whatever her reasons—genuine or invented—I have to respect them. No way I’ll jeopardize her job further than I already have.

I don’t know what else to say. I twist the knob and open the door, vowing not to return. This is twice I’ve left her. Three times would make her another addictive habit I can’t afford. We have to make a clean break, which means I can’t go back to Nocturnes, either.

“Thanks for the memories, Eve.”

If she says anything in reply, the sound of the door shutting mutes it. I pull out my flask as I drag my ass down the street. I swiftly finish off the contents.

It’s a hell of a lot easier to swallow the sweet lies spouted by this booze than to taste the bitter truth of uncertainty. Yep, I’ll stick with liquor. It’s kinder on the nut sac than pussy.

I should write this philosophical shit down. Hurts like a bitch, but it might be decent fodder for a song.

Continuing toward home—what a joke—I scribble more emotional diarrhea into my notebook. Maybe someday I’ll do something with all the shit in here. Like burn it.

After a long walk, I trudge into the house and hit the shower. I clean up, get dressed, and meet my bandmates in the kitchen for breakfast. They’re all chipper and excited about recording today. I feed them the fake smiles I know will make them happy. I chat with Toombs about some guitar strains we’ve been trying to hammer out. It’s one big happy fucking family at the Killer Buzz Float mansion.

La-dee-fucking-da.

Our time at the studio wears on until the wee hours. Big breakthroughs happen, that fucker Griff is all twatty smiles and yes-man nods, and excitement I pretend to be a part of fills the stuffy space. As long as I keep the hidden stream of vodka flowing, my fingers make miraculous art on the canvases of strings and frets.

What I wouldn’t give to be making art with Eve like we did last night.

The truth is, the liquor might be keeping my hands steady, but the open wound in my heart is pouring all of its blood into my guitar. I close my eyes, and the rest of the band disappears. These notes, these songs—both upbeat and pensive—belong to Eve.