I trace the tip of my tongue up each of her lips to her clit, rolling it between my lips and sucking on it, listening to her moans and sighs like cues from a band, playing her pussy like a classic melody on a new instrument. I reach a hand out and press it against her shirt, kneading her tit, her nipple hard against my palm. She grabs my hand and holds it against her, scratching at my fingers with her guitar-player’s nails.
Her moans get higher and her scent hotter when I start to tongue-fuck her, her thigh muscles tightening around my stubble in rhythm with the licks. I hold off, always a little less than she feels she needs, keeping her on the edge, stoking up the heat before the release.
“Fuck,” she gasps. That’s the only word she’s able to get out, and when she clenches my hair in her fist I know it’s time. I work two fingers between her wet lips, two fingers longer and harder than most men’s cocks, two fingers that always find the right button.
Hitting the perfect spot is easy, and Haley’s body throbs and hums under my hands like an orchestra, a musician in everything she does. Moans and purrs from the depth of her soul guide me there, the song reaching its high-pitched crescendo when she starts moaning ‘Yes’ at the ceiling. Again and again, drawing out the word until it becomes a sigh, a fade-out. My work here is done.
I stand up in front of her as she struggles to get her breath back. She watches with a knowing smile as I lick the taste of her off my lower lip, and then smooth out my shirt.
The post-glow lightness is broken by the sound of a door shutting in the house. Haley roughly pulls her panties and jeans up before smoothing out her hair in the vague reflection of the partition glass.
“I was thinking,” Josh starts saying, before he’s even entered the studio, “maybe we should try another song?”
Haley and I turn and look at Josh, wondering if we left any evidence. I notice Josh’s eyes dart quickly to my hair, and I run my hand through it casually.
“No,” I say, glancing at Haley and realizing just how big and round and beautiful her eyes are when she’s scared, “I’ve got a feeling things will go a little better this time.”
“Okay,” Josh shrugs as he takes his seat again. I smile at Haley as she leaves to go back to the studio, then sit beside Josh again.
“I’ve known a lot of musicians who couldn’t hack it in a studio,” Josh says, once she leaves the room. “Good ones. Great ones. But they just couldn’t play without the right audience, feeding off the energy of a crowd.”
Through the glass I watch Haley sit on the stool again, put on the headphones, and pick up her guitar. Just as I’d hoped, something is different now. The smart, sarcastic shine in her eye, the calm earthiness of her movements. She looks like a girl who can take on the world again.
“Can you hear me over there?” she asks.
Josh pushes the button. “Perfectly. Ready when you are. I got a good feeling about this one.”
“Me too,” Haley says, and I can tell she means it.
This time Haley doesn’t need deep breathing. She takes a second to clear her throat, and starts. Her fingers move over the guitar strings skillfully, and it responds with a bed of beautiful, dynamic notes that cascade gently throughout the studio. When she opens her mouth her voice soars. Innocent as a girl, confident as a woman. Pure emotion, the sound of someone letting go.
“Holy shit,” Josh drawls, before she’s even at the chorus, “this is fantastic. What the hell did you say to her?”
Haley looks right at me as she sings. A smile in her eyes that seems to help her get the words out.
“It wasn’t what I said that helped her.”
Chapter 8
Haley
“It’s catchy, it’s got great lyrics, a good groove – it’s got hit written all over it,” Brando says, gulping the last of his beer down, slamming it on the bar, and ordering another with ease. It’s the kind of club I’d never go to in a million years. Tables and booths that look way cleaner and more expensive than the usual dive bars I usually drink – and play – in, surround a central dance floor, where you can barely see the people with all the expensive suits and jewelry flashing all over the place. Ordinarily, I’d feel like a nun at an orgy entering a place like this, but being around Brando is like being in a bubble, where nothing can touch you, and everywhere is home.
“I know, but it’s acoustic,” I remind him.
“So?”
“So acoustic songs never get into the charts.”
Brando laughs and leans in slightly. Any other guy as big as him and it would feel intimidating, but with Brando it feels protective, warm, enticing.
“Quite a role reversal,” he smirks. “You telling me that I’m not being commercially-minded enough.”
I look down for a second and giggle a little, before looking back at him. When he’s in this kind of mood it’s next to impossible to keep my eyes away from his.
“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me,” I say.
“Well you’re definitely having an effect on me.”
“Who do you think’s getting the worse deal?”
Brando laughs breezily.
“Well, if I become an A & R guy with some integrity, I’m pretty much finished. And if you end up as a sell-out, you’ll end up as soulless as—” his face drops as he notices something in the corner of the club, a cloud passing over his face and wiping away the spark in his eyes, “her.”
I search for a clue in his eyes before turning around to see where they lead. Somewhere between a sea of black-suited bodyguards and a crowd of people who seem to fade to grey in her presence, I see her. Lexi Dark. Her pink, latex dress standing out from everyone and everything around her, as if she’s somehow more solid, more real. A Technicolor girl in life’s black and white film. Always the radiant smile, the demure pose; so brilliant that it frustrates you to only be able to see one side of her at a time.
I spin back around to Brando, who’s gazing at her like a widow at a gravestone.
“What’s the deal with you and her?”
“I made her.” Brando looks like he’s in pain as he turns around to face the bar, staring at his beer as he talks quietly. “She was mine. My singer. My girl. My everything. Then she burnt it all down and left.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Brando look anything less than supremely confident. Something about the brief glimpse of vulnerability makes me want to do something, anything, to soothe the hurt written in his expression. It’s so strange that I’m almost afraid to ask, “What happened?”
Brando takes a long, slow sip of beer.
“I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”
I place a hand on his broad shoulder, rubbing softly. I can almost feel the heat of the pain inside him. I think about saying something soothing, changing the subject to something lighter, maybe even flirting with him a little more to distract him – but if there’s one thing I know about men, it’s that sometimes they just need a moment alone.
“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” I say. “Be right back.”
“Sure.”
I take a little longer in the bathroom than I need to, standing in front of the mirror, teasing out my curls and checking my teeth for remnants of the pasta Brando and I shared before coming to the club.
I hear a latch close, except it doesn’t come from the cubicles, it comes from the entrance. I feel a cold chill down my spine, as if something – or someone – just sucked out all of the atmosphere from the room. I know it’s her before I even turn my head.
Lexi Dark.
She stands in front of the door, one hand on her hip. Her red lips projecting a dark control. She looks like a moving magazine cover, every inch of her body always in perfect alignment. I stare at her and wonder why people bother traveling halfway around the world to see breathtaking sights.