Текст книги "Wicked Beat"

Автор книги: Olivia Cunning

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She crawled forward after a moment and turned around. “I bet I taste good,” she said. “What do you think?”

“I know you taste good.”

She sucked her cum off the head of his cock. He could feel the beginning pulsations of orgasm at the base of his dick, but he couldn’t attain the release he so desperately needed.

“You’re right. I do taste good,” she said. “Would you like to watch me eat out another girl?”

He thought about his answer carefully, because he, like most any guy, had fantasized about watching two sexy girls get it on. But he, unlike most guys, had witnessed it more times than he could count. He’d loved the experience every time but had no desire to see Rebekah’s sweet mouth on anyone but him. Not even another girl.

“No,” he said after a moment.

She seemed surprised by his answer. “I thought that would be your ultimate fantasy.”

“You and me alone. That’s my ultimate fantasy.”

She smiled. “Oh, naughty boy, when you say things like that, I want to fuck you even more.”

“Have I been punished enough?” he asked breathlessly.

“No.”

She peeled her panties off and spread out before him on her back again.

This time he could watch her fingers rub her clit and disappear inside her silky pussy over and over and over again. It took her forever to come, and when she finally did, he figured she’d let him off the hook. Nope. She kept right on pleasing herself as if he didn’t exist, and his needs didn’t matter.

“Rebekah!”

She lifted her head. “What?”

“Can I come now?”

She glanced at his cock and licked her lips. “Damn, you’re swollen,” she said, “but no, not yet.”

She retrieved one of her vibrators from the side table drawer.

When she plunged it inside her pussy, Eric’s entire body went taut.

“This is too cruel,” he muttered.

“You didn’t think punishment would be fun, did you?”

“Yeah, actually.”

“So this isn’t turning you on? I thought you liked to watch.”

“Yes, it does, and I do, but I’d rather participate.”

“I don’t remember reading that in your essay.”

“I don’t remember writing anything about restraints and butt plugs and cock rings either.”

“That’s true. Okay, I’ll remove one thing. You choose.”

“Arm restraints. My shoulders are starting to ache.”

He breathed a sigh of relief when she climbed from the bed and started unfastening the restraint on his left arm. His shoulders weren’t really aching, but if his arms were free, he could put an end to this ceaseless torment. When his arm came free, he resisted the urge to grab her. She surprised him by removing his other wrist cuff and then squatting down to free his ankles too.

“Why are you releasing me?” he asked as the last restraint fell free.

“Because your naughty teacher can’t wait any longer. She wants you to fuck her now.”

He picked her up and tossed her in the center of the bed. She laughed until she saw the intense expression on his face. He climbed on top of her and plunged deep with one hard thrust. Her pussy had never felt hotter or tighter. He thrust into her hard and deep, finding that if he ground his hips, it moved that plug in his ass in ways that made him quiver inside.

“Oh God,” he groaned, having never experienced this level of pleasure. It felt like he was coming, but the feeling never abated.

Instead, each gyrating thrust intensified it. Made him feel like he was coming harder. And harder. How?

Still thrusting, Eric unbuttoned Rebekah’s sexy little suit jacket and shoved it open. Finding his progress impeded by a white blouse, he ripped it open and grabbed her breasts. Pushing them together, he tried to fit them both in his seeking mouth, bra and all. Rebekah arched her back and reached behind to unclasp the garment. She fought with her clothes, trying to get naked. Watching her thrash around impatiently fueled him to thrust faster.

“Oh God, Eric. Your cock is so huge.” She managed to get one arm out of her suit jacket and blouse. She grabbed his hair and pulled.

He winced in pain. Fucked her harder.

“Pull my hair, Eric.”

When he complied, her body buckled, and she came. He shuddered as he tried to come with her, but the cock ring held his release back. His vision blurred as pleasure coursed through him and then receded enough to let him keep going. “Oh dear God, thank you for inventing the orgasm.”

Rebekah chuckled. “I second that.”

“And the cock ring.”

“Hallelujah!”

He continued to plunge into Rebekah’s spent body until his next orgasm gripped him. This one was hard enough to make him spurt despite the tight ring around the base of his cock. He almost passed out, it was so intense. He clung to his woman, crying out in bliss, and then collapsed on top of her, breathing hard from his exertions.

She trailed a lazy hand up and down the sweat-drenched skin of his back. “Has my naughty boy been sufficiently punished?” she asked, kissing his shoulder tenderly.

“Ask me that again in an hour.” He snuggled his face against her neck. “Right now, I can’t even move.”

Luckily, she didn’t seem to mind that he was squashing her beneath him. “Eric?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re going to keep seeing each other even when we’re not on tour, right?”

“Of course.”

“Do you live in LA?”

“I’m kind of out in the country actually.”

“Really? Can I come visit you?”

He was almost asleep, so he spoke without thinking, “I’d prefer if you just stayed with me the entire six weeks.”

“Okay,” she agreed immediately.

“Okay?” He lifted his head to look at her. He figured she’d protest. At least a little.

She smiled and nodded. “Make sure you bring all our costumes.

I plan on working through your entire essay and then giving you some new things to fantasize about.”

Chapter 21

Eric pushed the button to open the garage and waited for the door to lift. He glanced at Rebekah, unable to wipe the smile off his face. He’d always believed in luck, just not his own. And now, with this woman in his life, he felt like the luckiest man in the world.

“I’ve got to ask,” she said, straining to look at the house through the window. “What’s with the Pollyanna house and the white picket fence?”

His heart sank. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s great. For someone’s grandmother. But you’re a young, hot, very hot, single-but-taken, hot, did I mention hot, man.”

He laughed at her description and then shrugged. “I liked it, so I bought it.” He’d always wanted to live in a big Victorian-styled house with intricate woodwork, a huge porch, a picket fence, and a tire swing in a big oak tree, so when he’d found this place, he had to buy it. Not that he was home often. Not that it didn’t remind him that he had no one to share it with. Not that it wasn’t frivolous and huge and expensive. But he had hoped Rebekah would like it as much as he did. He wasn’t sure why that was important to him.

When they pulled into the garage, she gasped. He followed her gaze over his shoulder. “Is that a ’ Camaro?” she squealed.

She didn’t like his showcase house, but liked the rusted out, beat-up muscle car that wouldn’t start. He had to chuckle. “Yeah.

That’s my next project. After I finish the Corvette.”

“Let’s get to work!”

She climbed out of the car and went to inspect his tools and the spare parts scattered across the bench along one wall of the garage.

“You have every part imaginable here!”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure what I needed, so anytime I find parts for this model, I buy them automatically.”

Rebekah opened the Corvette’s hood and peered at the engine.

“I can’t wait to get started, but the engine’s too hot.”

Was it possible for this woman to be any more perfect? He didn’t think so. “Let’s take your stuff into the house,” he said, dropping a kiss on the back of her neck. “Are you hungry?”

She looked up. “Not really.”

“Horny?”

Her grin made his heart stutter. “Getting that way.”

Eric grabbed his duffel bag and Rebekah’s overnight bag out of his trunk and unlocked the door between the garage and the kitchen.

She stepped inside and looked around the huge kitchen with its white cabinetry and chef-sized appliances.

“You don’t cook, do you?”

He shook his head.

She smiled. “How many bedrooms does this place have?”

“Why don’t we try them all, and you can count them?”

“Six?”

“Seven,” he admitted.

“There’s something I’m missing here,” she said, wandering farther into the kitchen and setting her purse on the pristine slate countertop at the breakfast bar. “It looks like Martha Stewart lives here.” She examined the bowl of fruit on the counter.

“You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that. It’s a spectacular house. Just not what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

She laughed. “I dunno. That you live in your mother’s basement?”

Eric grimaced.

She misinterpreted his pain for insult. “I’m sorry. You’re probably a millionaire or something.” Rebekah snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. You inherited it from your great-aunt Edna.”

He shook his head, unexpectedly sad that he didn’t have a great-aunt Edna to inherit from. Rebekah crossed the room and snuggled against him, craning her neck to look at him. “What’s the matter?”

He shook his head again. He’d never felt lonely in this house until now. And for once, he wasn’t even alone.

“Why don’t you give me a tour?”

He guided her through all three stories, showing her his storybook house with its perfect furnishings and its perfect decor, and for the first time, recognizing his house for the fantasy it was.

She was sufficiently impressed and even insisted that she loved the place. They ended up in the huge family room filled with the musical instruments he owned.

“Can you play all these?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Really? Why so many?”

“I like them all.”

“Eric?”

He looked up but stared over her head.

“I thought we weren’t going to lie to each other,” she pressed.

“It’s not a lie. I do like them all.”

When she didn’t say anything for several minutes, he lowered his gaze to meet her eyes.

“I just realized I don’t know anything about you,” she said.

“You know all the important stuff.”

“I don’t think so. This house, it’s perfect—like a fairy tale—but there’s nothing personal here. Where are the pictures of your family?

Your memories?”

“I don’t have any.”

“What do you mean? Do you have amnesia?”

He’d have laughed if he had any air in his lungs. Eric clenched his teeth, flexing a muscle in his jaw until it ached. “I mean, I don’t have a family.”

“No one?”

He shook his head.

“Did they die?”

“What’s with the third degree all of a sudden, Reb?”

“When we’re on tour with the band, it’s easy to think of you as Eric Sticks, the famous and sensationally talented drummer of Sinners, but here, you’re just a man.”

He scoffed. “Just a man, huh?”

“Just the man I love. I want to know more about you, Eric.

Tell me.”

He sat on a piano bench and leaned his forearms on his thighs.

He clasped his hands and stared at his thumbs as he considered how much he should tell her.

She sat beside him and nudged his knee with hers.

“No one knows who my father was. My mom was a junkie. She left me when I was four. She’s probably dead.”

“She left you?”

“Yeah, left me. I was put into foster care.”

“So you’re adopted?”

He shook his head. “No one wanted to adopt me. I got into a lot of trouble. They moved me around a lot—one home after another.

And if they didn’t move me, I ran away.”

Rebekah slid a hand along his lower back. “That explains this house.”

“I guess.”

“But not the music.”

He glanced around at the various instruments he cherished. “I had an inspiring music teacher in elementary school. Music came naturally to me. I think I’m hardwired for it. She saw that talent and encouraged me. I’d have done anything for her praise. She doted on me when I played music, so I became obsessed with it. I was only in her class for a few months, but after that, I sought music. Each time I started a new music class at a new school, I lied about what instrument I knew how to play and picked a new one until I could play everything I got my hands on. Most schools loan instruments to poor kids. Did you know that?”

“They used to. I think a lot of schools are cutting their music programs for lack of funds.”

Eric made a mental note to check on the programs at local schools and offer a huge donation of musical instruments if they needed them. “I don’t think I’d be alive today if it weren’t for those programs.”

“So music was the only constant in your life?”

He contemplated her question. “Yeah, I guess so. Even now, with Sinners.”

She reached up to touch his face. He expected pity when he looked into her eyes, but saw only tenderness. “I want to be a constant in your life, Eric.”

“Are you sure?” He grinned. “I’m kind of a pain in the ass.”

“I don’t think so. Everything you’ve ever done to my ass has felt really good.”

He laughed. Rebekah accepted him. His past. Relief hit him suddenly, and he laughed some more. Eric fell off the piano bench, gripping his stomach with both arms, and tried to catch his breath between laughs. Eventually, he rolled onto his back and looked at the tray ceiling. “This house is pretty ridiculous, isn’t it?”

Rebekah climbed off the bench, snuggled against his side, and laid her head on his heaving chest. “No. It fills a hole inside you. And the car does too. Are you sure you want to finish fixing it?”

“Of course. I can’t wait to see you covered with grease.”

“It won’t make you sad to see it complete?”

“Maybe a little, but that’s where the Camaro comes in.”

“And after that?”

“You pick our next project.”

“I want you to meet my parents,” she said unexpectedly.

Eric’s heart skipped several beats. “That’s a bad idea, Reb.

Parents don’t like me. Not even my own.”

“You’re important to me, Eric. I want to show you off.”

“Trying to get back at your father for repressing you as a teen?”

he teased.

“Well, my dad is a minister, but he’s never been repressive. My mother, on the other hand…” She laughed. “That’s not why though.

I love you, and I want them to love you too.”

Was she seriously offering the one thing he thought he’d never have? A family?

“Okay,” he said.

“Yeah?”

He nodded.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing that I know of.” Thanksgiving was a week away. It would give him time to get used to the idea of meeting her parents. Between now and then, Reb could teach him which fork he was supposed to use for salad.

“We always get together and help serve at the local homeless shelter before our family dinner. Will you come?”

He smiled. He actually enjoyed doing community service. He’d gotten into enough trouble as a youth that it had been required of him several times. Even though he kept out of trouble most of the time in his old age, he still liked to help.

“Sounds fun.”

“We’ll stop by the shelter and sign up tomorrow.”

“I should sign up the guys too. I’m sure they aren’t doing anything important for Thanksgiving.” And they could protect him from Rebekah’s parents, if necessary.

“Perfect. I’ll call my mom right now and let her know we’ll be over for dinner.”

She took her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed her parent’s house.

“Dave!” she said when someone picked up on the other end.

“How are you?”

Eric could hear a bit of Dave’s voice, but not his words. “I can’t wait to see you,” she said. “Can you let Mom know I’ll be over for dinner Saturday evening?”

Eric stiffened. Saturday? Saturday wasn’t Thanksgiving.

“Yeah, and tell her I’m bringing someone special.” She paused.

“Yeah, it’s a guy. No, I’m not telling you who. You’ll have to wait and see.”

She shifted her body to hold Eric down when he tried to get up.

“I’ve got to go. Don’t forget to tell Mom.” She paused. “I love you too.”

“Saturday?” Eric said. “I thought I was going to meet them on Thanksgiving.”

“You’ll see them again on Thanksgiving. You’ll probably see a lot of them. They’re my family, and you’re my guy.”

Oh no, she was using that smile he couldn’t resist. Stick to your guns, Eric. You can do it. Tell her you’re busy Saturday. “I’ve got stuff… to do… on Saturday.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Work on the car!” he said as he fabricated his excuse.

“We’ll work on the car tonight and tomorrow. Eric, this is important. Please say you’ll come with me.”

He sighed heavily. “Okay. I’ll go. But I’m warning you again.

Parents do not like me.”

“Doesn’t matter. I like you.”

She smiled and slid up his body to kiss him. Soon her tender kiss turned deep and passionate. “Did you bring any costumes in the house?”

“Just the rock star one.”

Her breath caught, and he could practically see her inventing a naughty scenario. Dear lord, he loved this woman. He’d never let anything take her away from him.

“Will you play your drums for me?” she asked.

“Why?” He chuckled. “You hear me play them practically every night.”

“Yeah, from the middle of a stadium as part of my job. I want to show you what I want to do to you when you’re onstage playing before a crowd of thousands.”

“You want to do stuff to me when I’m onstage?” He shifted his head to look at her.

“You’re not the only one with fantasies, you know.”

“Tell me.”

“How about you start playing and I’ll show you.”

As if he could say no to that. He climbed to his feet and sat behind his ancient drum kit. The one he’d found in a junkyard in the eighth grade and hid in an abandoned warehouse because his foster family at the time had insisted rock ’n’ roll was the devil’s music. He hadn’t lasted long in that house, but he’d held onto the drums for over fourteen years.

“Did you say your dad was a minister?” Eric reached for his drumsticks.

“You did not just ask me about my dad when I’m thinking about jumping your bones, did you?”

He glanced over his shoulder sheepishly to find her scowling. “Sorry.”

“Yes, he’s a minister.”

Eric cringed.

Rebekah lifted an eyebrow. “You better start looking sexy, or I’m going in the garage to start tearing an engine apart.”

He shed his leather vest and peeled off his white T-shirt.

“How’s that?”

“It’s a start.”

He found the bass drum pedal with one foot and the high-hat pedal with his other. It had been awhile since he’d only used one bass drum. He used three when he played onstage. “What should I play?”

“Something slow and sexy.”

“You know I don’t do slow, sweetheart.”

“Try.”

Since there was only one Sinners’ song that was remotely slow, their ballad “Goodbye Is Not Forever,” he started with that. When Rebekah pressed against his back and let her hands roam over his chest and belly, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the mixture of rhythm and sensation. He soon abandoned the song and let her touch dictate how he thumped the bass, tapped his cymbals, hit the snare, or followed a progression around the various tom-toms in his kit. He usually wailed on the skins as hard as possible, but he kept his pounding to a minimum so it wasn’t uncomfortably loud. Just rhythmic.

Sensual.

Rebekah’s lips pressed against his shoulder. She kissed a path to his ear, matching his tempo with each sucking press of her lips.

Eric shuddered. Mixing his three loves—music, sex, and this woman—stole his ability to think beyond the moment. The rhythm consumed him. He allowed it to rule his current existence.

Rebekah’s fingers found the tiny hoop in his left nipple. She rubbed her thumb over it, tugging it gently with the beat he set.

His cock began to rise, hardening in pulsations that matched the rhythm. When Rebekah drew away, he gasped in protest.

Her T-shirt landed on one cymbal, her bra on his cowbell. Then she was against his back again, the hardened tips of her naked breasts pressing into his flesh. She rocked against him, rubbing her nipples into his back. “I love the tattoo on your back,” she said.

She probably wouldn’t if she knew what the fiery crack in the earth and the demon hand emerging from it symbolized.

Her lips returned to his neck. Her left thumb to his piercing.

Her right hand slid south. She released the top button of his fly on one beat, the next button on the next beat. When his fly was open, she slid her hand into his underwear and freed his cock.

He’d already lost himself to the beat, didn’t think it was possible to feel it more than he already did, but her hand circled him and began to move along his length. Up on one beat, down on the next.

There wasn’t a solitary cell in his body that wasn’t consumed by the rhythm.

“Rebekah,” he gasped.

“Shhhhh. Just feel it. What your rhythm does to me. What I want to do to you every time you play.”

Man, he would never play without a boner again.

He increased his tempo slightly, so she’d stroke his cock faster.

She followed his lead without hesitation.

Faster.

Faster.

Oh. She moved away abruptly, and his entire body shuddered with unfulfilled desire. He heard her release the zipper of her jeans behind him and the rustle of fabric as she removed the rest of her clothes. He turned his head when she appeared beside him and stumbled over a beat. She ducked under his arm and climbed over one leg to stand before him, beautiful and naked.

He slowed his tempo again and stared into her eyes, wondering what she’d do next. Knowing no matter what it was, he would like it. Her fingers slid into his hair, and she tugged him to her breast. He latched on with his mouth and sucked in time with the beat.

“That’s it,” she whispered. She released his hair and lowered her hands, her fingertips resting against the head of his cock. When she tapped her fingers against his sensitive flesh, his belly tightened with excitement.

“Mmm.” He sucked harder on her nipple.

He released her nipple and looked at her, his eyelids heavy, his breathing ragged. She bent and grabbed his shaft in both hands.

Her thumbs bumped over the rim repeatedly, still keeping time with his beat.

“I want you inside me, Eric Sticks.”

“What are you waiting for?” he murmured.

“Can you keep your balance?”

He grinned. “Only one way to find out.”

He paused in his drumming while she climbed onto his lap, facing him. She wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily. He shifted his, drumsticks to one hand and then grabbed his cock to seek her slick heat. When he found her, she sank down, taking him deep. He wobbled on the little stool, then tightened the muscles of his thighs, back, and stomach to maintain balance. Good thing he was in great shape from all that drumming, or he wouldn’t have been able to hold his position. He shifted forward on his stool a few inches, and she sank deeper.

They gasped into each other’s mouths.

His jeans cut into his flesh, but somehow, that discomfort made him crave the pleasure offered by her body all the more.

Rebekah deepened her kiss, her fingers digging into his scalp.

Feet on the floor, she began to rise and fall over him.

His toe found his bass drum pedal, and he matched her rhythm with a low, steady beat. Instead of hammering out a beat with his arms, he wrapped them around her, drumsticks caught in his fist against her back.

She drew away, staring into his eyes while she made love to him.

He couldn’t look away. Even as he increased their tempo by speeding up the bass drum beat and his release approached, he couldn’t tear his gaze from the love shining from her baby blue eyes.

How had he lived a single day without her? What would he do if he ever lost her? Overcome by emotions, he squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on the pleasure building inside.

“Oh,” she gasped and arched backward as her body shuddered with release.

He held onto her for dear life, partly because he didn’t want to fall off the stool, and partly because he let himself follow her in bliss.

As his fluids pumped into her, he rubbed his open mouth against her collarbone, lost in ecstasy. She went limp against him, and he stiffened his leg just in time to stop them from tumbling to the floor.

A cymbal crashed as the drum kit slid forward and hit a boom.

“Wow,” she breathed. “That was hot.”

He made some incoherent sound of agreement.

“One fantasy down. Five million to go.”

He chuckled. “Only five million?”

“For now.” She kissed his jaw. “Ready to work on the car?”

“Can’t I take a nap first?” he whispered drowsily.

“If you need to. I can work on it myself for a while.”

He shook his head. “I want to help. Just give me an hour or two to catch my breath, woman.”

She tried to climb off his lap, but he held her in place. She relented and snuggled against him again. It was much easier to maintain his balance when she held still, and he wasn’t ready to let her go just yet.

“Eric?” she said after a long moment.

“Yeah.”

“I have to get an MRI the first week of December to… see if I’m still healthy. Will you come with me? Isaa—um, that other guy used to go with me. I don’t like to go by myself. Waiting for the results is really…” she sniffed, “…hard.”

Eric held his breath and nodded. He bit his bottom lip to stop its trembling, his heart clogging his throat. His hand moved to the back of her head to press her closer, so she wouldn’t see the tears blurring his vision. He wanted to be there for her, but all he could think when confronted by her mortality was no. No! Rebekah didn’t really need an MRI. Her body wouldn’t betray her again. It couldn’t.

He wouldn’t let it. Wouldn’t even accept the possibility that she could get sick again. She could not leave him. He would not lose her before she turned a hundred and twenty-three. Or ever. He needed her. Needed her. Not just now. Always. She couldn’t go.

She just couldn’t.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m not strong enough to face this alone.”

And he wasn’t strong enough to face it at all. “Let’s go work on the car.”