“Not so shy anymore, are we?” His voice was muffled, and I felt the words inside my core. It made my want for him trickle right onto his tongue.
I felt him moving behind me. My body began to spasm as he fingered and sucked me with his mouth, the new position allowing him to be deeper and rougher than before. And there was another thing that made it hotter than anything I’d ever done. The slight humiliation of having my butt wide-open for him to see. I just found the whole thing out-of-this-world hot, but that’s what you get for messing with a rock star, right?
Alex moved more quickly, more urgently, and I chanced another glance at him when he was busy biting my clit and inserting a third finger into me, my loud moans making him far too high to notice what I was doing. I found him thrusting into my bed, still in his jeans, dry humping it to oblivion and back. I was so consumed by getting off, it hadn’t once occurred to me he was in need of a release, too.
“Alex,” I whimpered when my legs finally gave in, and I collapsed on the bed. He withdrew his fingers, pressing his mouth to my slit and sucking all my juices like it was water in the desert. I came hard on his face. It took me a few seconds to realize what country I was in—Russia—and what time it was—one in the morning—before I turned around to stare at him like he’d broken me. He was still in his jeans and shirt, his back to me, sitting at the edge of the bed and lacing the boots he must’ve kicked off when we started fooling around. I jumped and crawled on my knees all the way to him, placing a hand over each of his shoulders from behind.
“That was…”
“I know,” he finished for me, and I nuzzled his neck, smelling myself on his hot breath. Why was it such a turn-on? Because I was everywhere on him. He smelled of my sex and my lavender and rosemary shampoo. I put my lips to his jaw and sucked. “You need to stop completing my sentences for me.”
“Why? I always get it right,” he said dryly.
I stood up and walked over to grab my bottle of water, taking a slow sip. I stared at him from the other side of the room. I was still naked. The bob of his throat told me he noticed. I didn’t want him to leave. Not before I got him off, too. His eyes raked over my body, sizing me up. When he opened his mouth again, the world faded, and he was the only thing clear enough to see.
“Don’t start what you’re too scared to finish,” he said.
A dare.
“I will finish, Alex. And so will you.”
A promise.
I took a step toward him, feeling brave. He liked what he saw, and he had a hard-on the size of a salami to prove it. His glazed-over eyes warned me he needed nothing more than a few strokes to explode in delirious pleasure. I wanted to take him to the same place he’d taken me. I wanted to take him to heaven.
“Do you make a habit of eating girls out for forty minutes and leaving without any reciprocation?”
His Adam’s apple moved again, but his eyes remained cool and dark, scanning me coldly.
“I haven’t eaten a girl out in a year,” he admitted, his eyes traveling down to my core before he licked his already slick lips. “And I never give without taking.”
I sat beside him, not feeling half as weird as I should have, considering I was oh, so very naked.
“I’m more than willing to give.”
He grabbed the back of my neck and jerked me toward his face. I thought he was going to kiss me, but his mouth traveled past mine to my temple. He put his lips to my ear and hissed, “Kiss my cock through my jeans, Stardust. Show me how hungry you are for it.”
I erected my spine, waiting for him to fall down to the bed so I could straddle him. He didn’t move from his spot. Reluctantly, I got down on my knees in front of him and prodded his legs to make myself some room.
“Told you I’ll get you on your knees willingly, Bellamy.”
I blushed. He used my last name as a weapon, and it worked. I didn’t like to be called that. It was at that moment I decided to stop calling him Winslow.
When my head was leveled with his groin, I put my lips to his zipper. I pressed close-mouthed kisses all over his groin, my pulse quickening in my neck. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t even look at me. In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’d turned on the TV behind me and was watching something mindless. The only proof he was with me in that moment was the way his chest moved above me with uneven breaths.
I opened my mouth and licked his jeans, kissing his clothed groin eagerly, finding myself rocking back and forth. What was wrong with me? I’d never been that forward with a guy before. I wrapped my lips around his shaft and moved them up and down, tracing the size, width, and the curve of his penis. I could smell him, his penis, and that made me elated with need. The feeling confused me. I’d never wanted to go down on a guy before. I thought it was gross. Maybe even dirty. And Alex wasn’t even my boyfriend. He wasn’t my anything.
“All right, that’s enough of your cock tease. Take it out.”
I undid his jeans, maybe a little too quickly, because I heard him chuckling above my head.
“Put it in your mouth.”
“I’ve never done it before,” I muttered, more to justify it to myself the moment I screwed it up.
“It’s not rocket science.”
“Don’t be crude.”
“Don’t stall. You said you want to suck my cock. Now’s as good a time as any.”
I covered some of his shaft and sucked. Maybe half of it. There was still more skin I couldn’t reach, so he took my hand and curled it around the base of his dick.
“Squeeze.”
I clutched it, and he closed his eyes, looking tortured. A beautiful prince giving in to the moment. It inspired me to squeeze even harder, sucking on his hot, silky flesh and moving my mouth up and down. He pushed inside me, slow at first, but steady enough so that his tip touched the back of my throat. I gagged, my eyes burning with tears. He grabbed my shoulder and yanked me on top of him, so that he was lying on the bed and I was still sucking him off, naked, but on top of him. His fingers grazed my damp slit again, and I purred into his cock, which made it jerk in my mouth. Rapture. Euphoria. Stars in my eyes. No one had ever told me sucking someone off could make you feel powerful, rather than degraded. I felt like I owned Alex in that moment, and the feeling was…priceless.
I pumped my hips into his hand, wanting more, sucking him off eagerly. He grabbed the back of my head and changed the pace, going faster, and deeper, and so much rougher than I’d ever imagined it could be. He was propped up on one elbow, watching me, and the position made his abs tense with every thrust he made into my mouth. He retrieved two fingers coated in my warm juices from my pussy and pinched my clit with them, playing with my arousal and rubbing it along my slit now.
“Ohhh,” I cried, which made Alex shut me up by driving even harder between my lips.
“Remember it’s my turn to take? The only thing you should be given right now is my spunk down your throat. Everything else is a bonus, and you’re definitely not allowed to make demands.”
Bossy jerk. Yet there was absolutely no way I could stop what I was doing. I felt him jerking inside my mouth, and he scooted up quickly to lean against the headboard, keeping my head on his crotch by fisting my hair.
“Fuck, yeah. Suck me good, Stardust. You’re a natural.”
Thanks…I guess. I did like the idea of taking control and being able to give him what he needed.
“I’m coming.”
It was a warning, which I appreciated, but I kept my lips firmly on his cock as he came in spurts. His cum was warm and salty—sticky—coating my tongue and teeth. I groaned, sucking every drop, until Alex let out a deep sigh and dragged me by the hair to look up and sit on my knees. He looked nonchalant and unflustered as ever. Other than his cheeks—stained in pink—he looked completely normal.
“You swallowed yet?” he asked, patting his back pocket and producing a cigarette pack.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, only I could. It was classic Alex. I
still had some of his cum in my mouth. It was too thick to swallow in one go. I shook my head.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered.
I did. He lit up a cigarette—no doubt taking a small pleasure in making me wait—then pushed my bottom lip with his thumb, cigarette in mouth, and watched his cum drip from my lower lip to my chin. It was filthy and mortifying, and…hot. He swiped his index finger over my tongue and rubbed some of his cum on one of my nipples, and we both watched my body reacting to his touch, blooming into goose bumps, my nipples pebbling like little rocks.
“Pity I can’t keep you,” he said around his cancer stick.
“Who said I want to be kept?”
He put his palm on my cheek and squeezed, a sad look in his eyes. “Who said you had a choice?”
“Congratulations, eejit. Jenna is officially going to kill you.” Blake slammed me to the door the minute I stepped into our room. Even before I got in, I had a feeling I should’ve stayed at Indie’s and burrowed into her scent and heat and sweet, innocent existence. The shit with Blake and Jenna was getting old. Like it wasn’t enough my soul had been gangbanged by a bunch of Suits on a daily basis, I also had to answer to them every time I fucked up on stage.
I would say that Blake and Jenna acted like my mum and dad, but truth was, my parents didn’t give a shit, and my manager and agent mostly gave a shit about their paychecks.
“Waitrose had it coming.” I pushed Blake away. His back bumped into the opposite wall, his eyes narrowing, honing in on me like I was a moving target.
“Just tell him you like her, Alex. Is that really so hard? Instead of making grand announcements about how she’s yours and you’re the king of the world. You’re starting to sound like Mussolini on steroids.”
“Why is it so important that I tell anyone I like her?” I fumed, galloping toward the minibar and yanking out a bag of crisps. Holy crap, I was hungry. I’d come so hard I’m pretty sure Indie had swallowed enough little Alexes to form an army. “Plus, I don’t like her,” I maintained. Actually, that was a lie, but as I’d said before, lying was second nature. Or a first one. Whatever.
“It’s important for us to know that your sobriety companion meets your expectations.” Blake cleared his throat and added quickly, “To Jenna and me, that is.”
I stared at him like he’d just informed me he was going through a pickle transplant to replace his cock, my crisp mid-air on its way to my mouth. I threw the crisp into my gob and chewed loudly, trying to figure out his game. It was unlike him to focus on Indie instead of the fact I’d walked off stage mid-gig after slamming my foot in the drum kit.
“Are you high?”
“Are you sleeping with her?” he asked simultaneously.
“That’s none of your business. Even if I were, she signed an NDA.”
“That’s not why I’m asking.”
I blinked. He’d never given a damn about any of my babysitters. Then again, I’d never gotten close to a girl after what had happened with Fucking Fallon. Blake leaned over the kitchen nook, running his fingers along his hair, looking skyward. Then he did that big, dramatic sigh. The one I got every time he threw himself a pity party.
“The Halloween event in Paris…we need to be there. Fallon and Will are attending,” he said, his words slow and careful, like he was dripping gasoline into an invisible fuse in my head while I was smoking.
I gave him a flat look. I felt like Rob from High Fidelity, sans the love for pop music. Basically, I was a loser and everyone pitied me, even though I pitied them, too. “And?”
“And I don’t want you to do anything stupid. Like trying to win her back.”
“I won’t.” I scratched the back of my neck. Was it a lie? Maybe. When you lie so much, it’s difficult to distinguish the truth. In retrospect, Paris would be the night when my life changed forever. Indie’s, too. And Fallon’s, the most. But of course, I didn’t know that when I stared deep into Blake’s eyes.
Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat.
“Okay,” Blake said, withdrawing from the nook and walking to the bathroom. It was then I noticed he still hadn’t changed from tonight’s show. “All right.”
I watched his back, trying to figure out what had just happened.
What. Just. Fucking. Happened?
In the end, it was more of the same.
Blake gave me shit about the incident at the gig for days afterward. Jenna highlighted that sentiment by sending me a basket of baklavas when we landed in Istanbul with a note:
I dare you to pull something like this again, Alex. No, really. Try me.
I played nice with Lucas, but found other ways to taunt him. Mainly by devouring Indigo every spare moment I had in public. We wrote every night in the hallway so we could concentrate on work, then I’d sneak into her bedroom and eat her out on the balcony overlooking Athens, or finger her in a cab on our way back from a gig in Berlin, dry hump her against the wall behind a coffee shop in Milan, and eat exotic fruit off of her naked body in Barcelona. She always had that look on her face when I made her come. Like the intensity of what we were doing stunned her. It was like deflowering her every single day, even though we hadn’t actually had sex. Yet. Yet. But we were getting closer every day. Plus, she’d finally taken a step back from Lucas, and he, in return, remained polite and pleasant to her, not overstepping the red, imaginary line I’d drawn between them.
Luckily, she didn’t bore me despite Waitrose’s lack of interest in her.
It was probably the fact I hadn’t shagged her yet.
Though, let’s be honest—it’s not exactly like I was charming her into a fucking Shakespearean love story. I was certain a big part of the reason why Stardust could stand the sight of me was because, the morning after the Moscow gig, Howard Lipkin, one of the biggest attorneys in Los Angeles, had bailed her brother out and dragged him back home to his wife and kid. Craig was on house arrest, and that made Indie feel pathetically content. Like he couldn’t possibly fuck up from the comfort of his home. Which, from experience, was bollocks, because both my parents were unemployed and had managed to damage Carly and me just fine, even though their arses were forever glued to the sofa, watching EastEnders and Jeremy Kyle into the afternoon—is there ever anything more depressing than watching daytime TV? I thought not, and I still do.
Barcelona was our last stop before we took a week off in London. Technically, I had a gig at the Cambridge Castle on Friday, but that was the extent of it, and the Cambridge Castle was my home field.
Barcelona was a turning point. It was a turning point because it was the place where I stupidly thought it’d be a good idea to walk into a British hipster coffee shop and grab some black coffee and English breakfast for my entourage. Should’ve known nothing good ever comes out of trying to be considerate.
Indie was up in her room, probably sewing The Paris Dress. Blake was loitering outside the shop on his goddamn mobile. With my beanie, Wayfarers, and head down, I knew I wouldn’t be recognized. It was the kind of place that would play Nazi propaganda before playing someone who managed to break onto the Billboard list, so I doubted they’d even recognize me. I was Satan to them. Suits’ Satan.
I took in the deep blue and pale pink tiles of the shop, the people in flashy blazers and thick-framed glasses and women in trendy petticoats. The breeziness of their lives. They looked so grounded. Like they had the virtue of gravity working in their favor. Me, I felt loose. Tied to nothing. Not to people and not to objects, other than Tania. I just floated through life, and the worst part was, drugs and alcohol had actually been one of the only constant things in my life. I stood in the queue. No one recognized me. It was a relief caked with worry. There was always a gnawing anxiety that nibbled at my ego whenever people overlooked me.
Was I still big?
Was I still famous?
Was I still worth it?
Was my career going downhill?
Cue to wanting to throw up my own soul for giving a fuck.
The queue was draggi
ng. That was fine. I didn’t have anywhere to go. I thought about Indie. How we only hooked up at night. During the day, I acted like I couldn’t be bothered with her, and she acted like I exasperated her. It was only at night when we peeled our masks and our clothes off that life became bearable.
There was a row of flat-screened TVs plastered above the counter. One had the menu, the other played the show GossipCave. Menu, GossipCave. Menu, GossipCave. Bright colors and bold fonts. Showbiz programs are like junk food, so beautifully wrapped. The volume was quite high, and my eyes drifted up despite my best efforts. A bunch of millennials and a gay bloke in his mid-forties were swiveling on neon chairs in their cubicle-style, ultra-futuristic office, the floor-to-ceiling window behind them exhibiting L.A. in all its Botoxed glory. They were talking so animatedly, you’d think they were discussing the Middle East conflict.
“Do you think there’s going to be a showdown?” The older man in the Polo shirt and impeccably styled hair rested his elbows on top of some guy’s chair. All the reporters and editors nodded enthusiastically.
“Oh, absolutely,” a blond, malnourished girl exclaimed. “There’s no way around that. Alex Winslow is unhinged. I mean, he’s definitely cooking something delicious, what with the snippets from his ‘Letters from the Dead’ tour.” She clapped her hands together excitedly, brushing her tongue over her glossed lips in a way that was calculated and overtly trying and not at all like Stardust’s nervous gnawing. “But Winslow is still every inch of the reckless rock star we know. Like two weeks ago, when he attacked his drummer. He’s definitely going to let Will Bushell and Fallon Lankford know how he feels about them.”
“Apparently, he didn’t attack the drummer. There were severe sound issues and he was just frustrated. He was later photographed hugging Lucas Rafferty outside the hotel,” a guy chipped in.
Right. About that.