SailtotheMoon (4 page)

With a sudden movement he spun her around. She would have
fallen if he didn’t have such a good hold of her, but he held her tight. “So
let’s fuck.”

He reached out of the shower, opened a small cupboard and
found a condom. She tried to follow his mood. “Is that one of your riders?”

“You bet. Condoms in the bathroom and the bedroom.” A wicked
grin accompanied his words before he kissed her again. This time it was a
blatantly sensual, sexual kiss, exploration and desire, his tongue mimicking
what he’d soon be doing to her below. He slid his hands slowly down her back,
tracing her spine with one finger until he reached her buttocks. Curling his
hands around them, he made an appreciative noise into her mouth, a hum that
added and intensified their kiss. Fuck a duck, Zazz was humming to her.

She was losing touch with the man from the stage and getting
to know the man beneath, in more ways than one.

She roamed her hands greedily over him, enjoying every swell
of muscle and ridge of bone, trying to memorize it all. She wanted more and she
wanted it now.

He lifted her without seeming effort, his muscles accommodating
the extra weight smoothly, bunching in the natural movement. She should know,
she had her hands on his shoulders when he did it. Lifting her legs, she curled
them around his waist without him having to ask her, bringing his cock pressing
urgently against her stomach. If she shifted, he’d be inside her.

He broke the kiss, his eyes alight with pleasure. Leaning
her against the wall beside the shower head gave him a free hand, enough to
sheath himself. She watched that meaty goodness get enclosed. It seemed wrong,
somehow. She wanted it bare, even though she knew it was the height of
stupidity to even think it. But she let the thought linger in her mind,
disappear like a wisp of smoke, as she looked up and met his expression.

Hungry.

His cheekbones stood out starkly in relief, his face taut
with tension and anticipation. Holding her securely with one hand around her
waist, he had enough space to reach down and part her pussy lips. He exposed
the pink flesh, now darkened, evidence of her desire for him.

“Sweet,” he murmured. “Bet it tastes sweet too. I’ll find
out later.” As he shifted her with expert precision, his cock met her clit. They
watched. Sensations coursed through her at the firm pressure of his fingers on
her labia and his cock pushing against the bundle of nerves at the top of her
cleft.

Then he slid his cock farther, through the crease. “Now
that’s what I call a happy trail,” he said. It seemed appropriate, although
she’d always thought the happy trail referred to the darker hairs from a man’s navel
to his cock. She wanted to trace his with her tongue.

He pushed in a little bit. His broad cock head breached her
pussy. It contracted around him in instinctive reaction. She clutched him, kept
him there. He growled again, deep in his throat, then pushed a little more.
“Shit, that looks good,” he murmured, as if to himself. He drew her closer,
pulling her body nearer to impale her on his rigid shaft.

Laura left reason and coherence behind as useless
impediments to her pleasure. “Oh shit, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” was all she
managed as he took her and took her, so deep. Pressing her shoulders against
the wall gave her the leverage she needed to bear against him. Then his growl
turned feral as he gritted his teeth and fucked her.

His first withdrawal and thrust slammed her against the
tiles, gave her the chance to push back, to work him deeper. As if unable to
stop, he hammered into her, drilled her against the wall. Laura reached for his
shoulders and held on, though she didn’t realize she was laughing until he
said, “Funny, is it?”

“No, yes, oh fuck. This is so good. Why shouldn’t I laugh?”

“Yeah, why not. Let’s see if I can make you scream.”

He could. Half a dozen strokes and she was screaming his
name. She convulsed wildly against him, her body bucking, her pussy spasming in
contractions that milked him, made him throw back his head and shout her name.

Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined she could be
naked in a shower with Zazz, and he’d yell, “Laura!”

Oh, okay, maybe yes, the BOB-induced wildest dreams. But she
couldn’t have imagined this. This was far beyond anything her rabbit could
produce. Warm hands holding her thighs, her ankles crossed behind his back, and
the sight of him, every muscle tensed, and a most unmusical sound coming out of
his throat now.

He pushed her against the wall, pressed his forehead to hers
as they rode the aftermath together.

As soon as their bodies had stilled, he drew out of her,
careful to hold the base of his cock to keep the condom in place. Wordlessly,
he drew off the rubber, left the shower to dump it in the toilet, then came
back to her. She stood, legs wide apart to support her still-trembling body.

They washed each other in silence, but he stole a kiss or
two before they exited the shower and found thick, warm towels. When she
wrapped the towel around her hair to blot it dry, he drew her against him, his
chest hot against her back. He kissed her neck. “Mmm, tasty. Now we smell the
same.”

“Lavender.”

“Is that what it is? Baby, in a little while all you’re going
to smell of is me.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed.

His mock indignation only made her laugh more. “Here I am,
biggest rock star on the planet, and all you can do is laugh. What’s wrong with
my deathless prose?”

“First of all, the fight with Mick Jagger should be worth
seeing. Second, nothing is wrong with your deathless prose. You made me cry
tonight.”

“Really? Cool. C’mon, let’s get into bed. Hungry? We can get
room service. They have designated members of staff, sworn to secrecy.” He gave
a sharp laugh as they moved into the spacious bedroom. “Personally I think it’s
all crap, all this security stuff. True, we got mobbed in the States, but this
is Manchester. People here are too cool to mob a hotel room. We’re not a teen
band, so what the fuck?”

She turned to confront him, her back to the bed. “Did you
see the audience tonight? Those two singles have rocketed you into the teen
world. They think you’re cool, banging—”

“Belting,” he finished with a smile. “I might have heard
that. I still think they’re crazy. We sing about doom and gloom and the end of
the world, and they dance and scream and sing along.”

“We understand about gloom and doom up here. And in any
case, your songs celebrate the individual.”

“O-ho, you have been listening, haven’t you?” He pushed her
shoulders and, taken unawares, she tipped backward onto the bed, bouncing. He
landed on top of her, holding his body clear of hers by propping his forearms on
either side of her. “How did we get here?” he asked softly and kissed her.

She wound her arms around his neck and cupped the back of
his head, feeling the soft, short strands of his hair, damp against her palm.
He finished the kiss but stayed where he was, gazing down at her. “I should
have known Manchester girls are the best.”

She gave him a cocky grin. “Why’s that?”

“Oh I spent some time here a while back.”

Did she detect a touch of Manchester twang in his voice?
She’d thought so earlier, but couldn’t be sure, apart from the flat vowels.
Zazz’s biography was patchy. He never used any other name but Zazz, and if
officials who handled his tax and his passport knew his full name, they weren’t
telling.

That was about it. Most people assumed Zazz was a Londoner,
since that was where his career had started. Now she wasn’t so sure, but she held
off asking him. He kept the details of his childhood out of his public profile.
Their relationship, such as it was, was too new for her to press him about
something he obviously wanted to keep private. But she ventured something. “You
know what I’d like?” Her heart was in her mouth.

“Tell me.” He pushed a strand of hair off her face in a
tender gesture that melted her.

“You see, I know it sounds stupid, but I like you. I was
sure you’d blow me away, and when I saw you tonight it was like you were somebody
apart from life, observing it, but I
like
you.” She bit her lip. “Like I
said, I don’t connect with many people.”

“Your family?” He seemed genuinely interested.

“Not really.” It hurt her to confess that. “I mean, I love
them and all, but I don’t find them easy to get along with.”

His mouth twisted. “Tell me about it.” His eyes darkened as
he watched her mouth. “On second thought, don’t.” He didn’t allow her response,
but bent his head to her and kissed her. Her nipples hardened against his chest
and he groaned into her mouth, the sound vibrating down her throat.

Singing, just for her.

With a powerful movement Zazz turned them so she was on top,
still in the kiss. When she tried to break away, he stopped her, pressing his
hand against her head to encourage her to continue the kiss until she’d relaxed
back into him. He felt so good, head to toe in contact with him. For now he
wasn’t anything but a man who wanted her, almost as much as she wanted him.

The kiss lasted an age, so long she was beginning to think
he’d never stop tasting her, enjoying her mouth, as she explored him. Mutual.
Eventually he pushed her shoulders, gently urging her far enough away for him
to speak. His sultry smile told her what he wanted before he said anything at
all. Only close and naked. If a voice could be said to be naked, his could.

“Let’s see how independent you are, hmm? Sit up. Do me,
Laura.”

Oh yeah. She’d do him good. First, a tease. She cupped her
breasts, lifting and displaying them as she sat. A strange pride infused her,
encouraged by his one-sided smile. She could get addicted to his smile. His
cock reared between her legs, ready to go again. The sight of it made her mouth
water. So plump, hard, oh she didn’t have the words, and anyway, she wanted
more than words.

She bent to caress it with her breasts, pushing them
together into a cleavage so she could embrace it, if not hide it. She’d need
much bigger tits, maybe F cup or more. But he seemed to appreciate what she
had. Watching her avidly, he caught his lower lip between his teeth before he
managed to speak. “Do you think you could make me come like that? So I could
see it splash on the underside of your chin?”

She hadn’t realized she’d squirmed until he groaned. “Shit,
you look so fucking sexy when you do that. Wriggle again, sweetheart.”

Almost not caring that he’d used an endearment instead of
her name, she did as he asked. She teased her clit with his hard shinbone,
which she was currently straddling, but she couldn’t speak because by then her
mouth was full. Unable to resist the temptation of the most beautiful cock
she’d seen in a long time, she tasted it, and found it good. Amazingly good.
She found salt, heat and a spice she couldn’t identify, but which seemed more
Indian than Chinese, with a touch of Thai. Her favorite foods in one juicy
mouthful.

“Dear fucking God, you do that well.” The expression in his
eyes was pure sin.

She released him with a
pop
to say, “Don’t kid a
kidder, Zazz.”

“Oh believe me, I’m not. You have a skilled mouth, Laura.”

Reassured, she went back to work, but he put his hands under
her arms and drew her back up. “Fuck me, Laura. Not that I don’t love the way
you give me head, but I want your cunt right now.”

Dirty talk had never turned her on. Until now. Her pussy
juiced all over his leg. Without taking his attention away from her, he reached
for the drawer in the night table, dipped in and found a condom. Wordlessly, he
handed it to her. Equally wordlessly, she opened it and enclosed his cock in
the thin latex. Lifting up, using her hands this time, she hovered her
pussy—her cunt—over him and brought them into contact. She swirled her opening
over his dick to moisten it and to tease herself.

So good. When he murmured something and took her clit
between finger and thumb, massaging it, she gave in and sat on him. She didn’t
stop until his balls met her backside and his cock sank inside her as if it had
found its natural home. Which, as far as she was concerned, it had.

She gloried in the opportunity to drive him wild. He
deserved it for driving her insane for so long. The reality surpassed anything
she could have imagined. He filled her completely, thoroughly and every time
she lifted to slam down on him, he stroked her G-spot, driving her to insanity.

His yells of encouragement and pleasure were uninhibited,
and so were hers, wordless but expressive. She shoved her hair back behind her
ears—she didn’t want to miss any of this sight. She let the sensations
overwhelm her, stroke her into absolute and complete madness. But she didn’t
stop. Setting her hands on his chest, she leaned forward and worked harder. She
lifted almost off him and paused to tease his cock head with her pussy opening,
waiting until he gasped, “Have mercy!” before ramming him back inside her.

They both cried out and she came, a rocketing orgasm that
shocked her to her bones, so she lost sense of time and place. But not whom she
was with. Crying his name, she felt his hands clamp around her hips, holding
her steady while she lost her senses. Shivers arced through her and she let her
head tilt back so she could catch her breath, which she was fast losing. The
climax went on and on, and while she heard him murmur encouragement, she
couldn’t make out the words. They didn’t matter. The cadence counted.

At some point he grunted, and his cock, still deep inside
her, pulsed. His thighs tensed, his back arched and he yelled.

He yelled her name.

When he’d fucked a woman, Zazz usually ensured she had a
bite to eat and then got home okay. The food got her out of bed, the chat
gradually distanced them, and then he could suggest a taxi and make a vague
date for the future.

Already he’d done more with Laura. She felt too good in his
arms for him to want to let her go. What she’d said about not communicating
with people—he found that hard to believe. Before she’d fallen asleep, they’d
chatted idly, and he wanted more. He wanted to talk about songs, the world, the
new Bond film. Shit, everything. Just to talk to her. And keep her in bed,
because either she was amazingly skilled, or they fit together in a good way.
He definitely wanted more of that.

She slept now, her breath hot against his shoulder, and
until a few minutes ago he’d been asleep too, as naturally as if he slept
through every night. He always had difficulty getting to sleep, but not
tonight. He glanced at the bright numbers on the digital clock, single figures
still. He’d slept for four hours straight—a rarity for him.

Murder City Ravens had a week before they had to turn up at
Wembley in London for their first sound check. Would she like to come with him?
A week in the Smoke in a luxury hotel sounded good to him, a holiday to
remember. He smiled into the dark. He could do with a break, and spending it
with Laura sounded even better.

His whole life revolved around his music. He didn’t have
time for anything else. Anyone else. But now he understood how Jace had let
someone in, how Donovan had been beguiled into sharing his life and his hotel
room with Allie. No life for a woman, but those women had made something for themselves.
Maybe Laura could.

Why the fuck was he thinking this way? One night? Shit, he
was only letting her stay in bed because he wasn’t done with her yet. Or that
was what he told himself. He firmed his intentions, remembered why he was here.
Sure, he liked her, but that was all it could be. He’d give her the email
address and set up another one in Gmail, then let the emails accumulate. Answer
a few, maybe. Then let the correspondence become irregular before it faded away.
He didn’t have time for anything but his music.

That was his usual modus operandi. He didn’t like to send a
woman away unhappy. Good PA, Chick said. She’d tell her friends what a nice guy
Zazz was under all the swagger and the gruffness, and the band would get more
fans.

Except he wasn’t a nice guy. He’d never been a nice guy. He
was a shit. He shirked his responsibilities, ran from life and avoided any
involvement with anything but the band. He talked through his music.

He breathed deep, enjoying the scent of fresh sex and Laura.
Another night in Manchester. He’d ask her to stay with him tomorrow as well.
Which she probably would. Manchester made him antsy, reminded him of things, of
places, he couldn’t go back to. Ever. He’d prefer to get away, take her to
London if she was up for it.

She stirred and he paused to murmur soothing words to her,
but she woke anyway. A shame, he was feeling peaceful, ready to drop off to
sleep again. But when he met her sleepy gaze he thought of other possibilities.
Okay, so awake was good too.

“Sleeping beauty,” he murmured before he kissed her. Now was
as good a time as any. “Do you fancy coming to London for a few days?”

Her eyes opened wide then, but he wouldn’t let her speak
until he’d kissed her good and thoroughly. “Why?”

“To hang out. Have a break. Maybe come to the concerts at
Wembley.” He kissed her again, breathing in to take more of her essence,
sharper now as their arousal rose. “We can stay anywhere you like. Doesn’t have
to be the same hotel as everybody else. The Ritz.” He’d been looking forward to
five-star luxury. His previous experience of London had been squats and filthy
apartments in dodgy areas. It’d be nice to have somebody to share it with.
“Hmm?”

“Why?”

“Because I like you. Because we could have some fun.”

He saw her eyes sharpen in focus as she came properly awake.
By then his erect cock was nestling between her thighs, ready for another
round. He’d have her doggy-style, perhaps. She’d like that, and he fucking
loved it.

“I can’t.” She sat up. “What time is it?” After an appalled
glance at the clock, she face-palmed. “I have to go. I work in the morning.”

“You work on Saturdays?”

“Sometimes.”

“Put it off.”

“I can’t. I promised.”

Jealousy streaked through him, uncharacteristic and
inappropriate, but he never denied an emotion. That blocked him from writing
lyrics. The emotion went into his memory bank. “Who to?”

“An old man. Nobody remembers him, but he used to be famous
once. More than that, he’s old, frail and lonely.” She met his gaze, traced a
finger down his cheek, tantalizing him with the touch of her fingernail. “God,
this is hard.”

He wriggled to let her know how hard it was. “Sure?”

“I need a couple of hours, and anyway, his file’s at my
house.”

“File?” An ominous dread crept over him, tightening his
stomach. Had he made a mistake? Avoided the wrong Laura? He rolled off her.
“What do you do?”

“I’m a social worker.” She swung out of bed and numbly, he
watched her cross the room to the bathroom. “I have to see one of the crew to
discuss his father. Well, I don’t have to, because we’re in touch by email, but
I wanted to persuade him to see the old man.”

He heard the shower start, but any inclination to join her
had died along with his arousal. Real life had come back to kick him in the
gut, as it always did.

She didn’t linger in the shower and came out in ten minutes,
fully dressed. Still looked gorgeous, but he couldn’t take her now. “So who is
this crew member?” He knew the answer before she told him.

She smiled. “James Asaro. You know him?”

“You could say that.” Watching her reaction carefully, he
said, “You already know who he is, don’t you?”

“No. Chick was going to introduce me. He said he had to find
James first and then talk to him. His father has the same name, did you know?
But he prefers Jimmy. Perhaps you know him, he was a musician. Jimmy A, they
called him in his day. His son’s been busy, but I think he’s also avoiding his
father. He sent me an email to say he wouldn’t see him, but I wanted to give it
one last chance. Mr. Asaro wants to see him, and he’s getting frailer every
day.”

With every cheerful sentence, Zazz’s heart sank. “He’s good
at that, isn’t he?”

She watched him, frowning, but said nothing.

“Jimmy’s been dying for thirty years. As long as I’ve known
him. Why didn’t you just
ask
me, Laura?” That last revealed far too
much. He didn’t want to give her anything. Panic twisted his stomach. He’d
almost agreed to meet his dad, in the company of the middle-aged social worker
he’d expected Laura to be. One more reason he didn’t recognize her. But as soon
as they’d arrived at the hotel in the center of town, passing the familiar
landmarks of the huge Town Hall and Piccadilly Gardens, he’d decided not to go
through with it. He wouldn’t meet the social worker caring for his father, he
wouldn’t give her the opportunity of reintroducing father and son. He was done
with that. He could write to her when he was safely in London, tell her he’d
been ill or something. She’d carry on thinking of Zazz and James Asaro as two
separate people. The imperative command ran through his brain, throbbing like a
heartbeat.
Don’t go back, don’t go back.

She must have worked it out, decided to get her jollies
before she broke the bad news over his head. Jesus fucking Christ, how was he
supposed to think straight now? His head whirled, his stomach churned. He had
to get her out of here.

He got out of bed, shamelessly naked. “I thought that other
Laura was you, the one I was dodging at the arena.” Such a fucking idiot. How
could he have let her take him in like this? “I thought I’d seen it all, had it
all. Women who want to fuck me because I’m Zazz. People who want to fuck any
member of the band, didn’t matter which, and I do mean ‘people’. I’ve had them
all, men, women, in any combination you care to name, and none of them fooled
me for a minute. They offered, I took. Why not, when I worked hard to get here?
What do I have to lose?” He snapped his fingers under her nose. “Then you come
along, and like that, I’m gone. I’m a fucking twat. Still, you did me a favor,
brought me down a bit. I needed it, arrogant fuck that I am.” He stalked to the
door and flung it open. “Get out. I’ll have a car arranged for you. But get out
of my sight.”

She stood her ground, but her face was white, her eyes large
in her face. “You’re James Asano?”

“Oh very good.” He applauded. “James, Zazz, haven’t you
lived in Manchester long enough?” He sneered. “Oh that’s right, you’re a posh
girl. Where did you grow up? Chorltonville, West Didsbury, maybe? Not Moss
Side, not Hulme, where roaches ran over your face in the night and your father
screamed in his delusions and all your friends were Gazz, Bazz or Zazz. I’m not
going back. The name’s all I kept.”

He could see when realization slammed into her, as it had to
him a few moments ago. “He’s old. He’s a lifelong addict, and he’s not likely
to come off methadone,” she said. “He wants to see you one last time. He’s your
father
.”

He slammed the door so hard it vibrated on its hinges. “You
know what? He’s not my father, not really. He was at a gig in San Francisco and
I got dumped on him after a wild party. The woman said I was his, but he never
had tests done. I was another of his hallucinations, that’s all. When he came
home to Manchester it was as easy to take me as leave me and fill out all the
forms. I pay his rent and for his nurse, and that’s it.”

Her hands clenched into fists. “He brought you up.”

He gave a derisory laugh. “Dragged me up, more like. I ran
away at sixteen to get away from him and fucking Hulme and fucking Manchester.
This place gives me hives. As soon as that concert’s finished tomorrow night,
I’m away, gone. I’ll never come back. Get it? Now fuck off.”

He opened the door again. After a moment staring at his
face, she took a step to the door. “I could bring him here.”

Oh no she wouldn’t. “Don’t you fucking dare. I won’t see
him. Want to see him turned away? I don’t know him, don’t want ’im.” Aware in
his agitation that his native accent was pushing through, he let it. What did
it matter? She knew his secrets. “I’ll carry on paying the money into his
account, but don’t come back, don’t ask to see me. Thanks for the fuck, it was
grand.”

Putting up her chin, she marched through the door. He’d
never see her again. He’d tell Chick to keep her away. Fuck, how could he have
let her get under his skin? Of course she knew who he was, and she’d fucked him
to soften him up.

His mouth twisted in derision. Another three or four bed
partners and she’d be gone. He’d find one to bring back here so he could fuck
her in this bed, although the thought sent waves of disgust through him. Put
enough distance between them, and he’d forget her. It had worked so far. He’d
run far and fast from his father after the last time. He’d come back from the
pub to find his dad had OD’d, and realized he couldn’t carry on like this. Couldn’t
live like this.

He might carry the old man’s name, but only by default. And
anyway, Zazz was enough for most things. Only his tax form and his passport had
his real name, and although one or two people might comment, most had forgotten
his father.

Ten minutes later he was in the shower, heat sending steam
billowing around him in an effort to scald the memories away.

She’d done it, got right through to the part of him he kept
locked rigidly away, a part of his life he never wanted to revisit. But she’d
forced it on him. He found it easier when they’d started talking about other
subjects in their emails. That explained why he thought he’d known her so well,
that she was more than someone to fuck. He did. He knew everything except her
age, how sexy she was, and he’d fucking learned that now too.

And still he fought the tears that the memories of his
childhood brought back to him. From a baby to a child, crying in the night for
the father who’d gone out to score, or who got lost noodling useless riffs at
some pub, or his precious Band on the Wall, or some other fucking place. Then an
adolescent boy, begging for attention. He’d received it, sometimes, and others,
his dad had totally ignored him. Sometimes he’d had more attention from the
whores who’d helped them spend the dosh in the good times. It didn’t help to
know most of it was the drugs and drink. Without them, on those rare occasions
he’d tried to kick the habit, his father had turned into a real parent. Or what
passed for one in a deprived area like Hulme.

As Zazz, he surrounded himself with friends, salted away a
fortune, created all the safeguards he wanted, and it still wasn’t enough.
Would never be enough.

He turned off the shower and swiped a towel over his eyes.
Her scent assaulted him. He must have picked up one she’d used earlier. Swift
as a knife slicing through clean air, anger rose to replace despair. Anger had
always been his friend.

Dropping that towel in favor of another, he dried himself
roughly and went back into the bedroom to find a pencil and paper. If he
couldn’t sleep, he’d work.

Chick knocked at six. He knew it was Chick, because nobody
else would be up in the middle of the night. Six a.m. was the middle of the
night to most musicians.

Chick closed the door, and without asking, crossed the room
to the coffeemaker, making himself busy filling that, and the kettle. He
switched both on. “Tea or coffee?”

Zazz grimaced. “Make it coffee. I didn’t get much sleep. I
could do with the extra caffeine.”

The big man didn’t speak again until he’d set two steaming
mugs of fragrant coffee on the small table that lay between the two chairs the
room offered. He sat in the vacant one after brushing away the pile of crumpled
paper Zazz had thrown there. “You don’t usually make them cry.”