Hey Girl (Turn it Up #9)

Chapter 14

14

CHRIS

F ucking Tatiana has gone too far. I don’t know how the hell she got past security tonight, but even after they hauled her crazy ass off they’re not getting a big tip from me. And the things she said to and about my sexy and amazing woman pissed me right the fuck off and I was seriously just about to snap out of my terrified stupor and give her the what for if my baby hadn’t sprung into action herself.

I’m proud of her, but feeling like quite a dipshit.

As I sit on the edge of my bed trying to think of a way to redeem myself for not coming to Rebecca’s defense sooner, a slender pair of arms come around my neck from behind, one of her hands gripping the water bottle I gave her as she leans in close to my ear and burps.

Fuck that’s hot.

“So, my sexy, Thor-looking rockstar…” she slurs. Uh oh. “When are we getting down to business?”

Is she dry humping my back? I’d be so turned on right now if I wasn’t feeling like an impotent failure.

“Baby,” I drone out. “You’re not well enough for that.” I regretfully inform her and don’t mention that I’m feeling a little sheepish that before I could defend her honor tonight she beat me to the punch like a chihuahua with a Doberman complex. That’s my issue, not hers. “Drink some more water, sweetie,” I tell her gently, tapping the end of the bottle and her arms disappear, followed by the sound of water glugging. The empty bottle goes flipping past me and hits the far wall. The mattress thumps behind me.

I turn to find sweet Rebecca flat on her back and wrestling with her top.

“Um, sweetie? What are you doing?” I ask cautiously. If it’s what I think it is, this is not good.

“I’m ready to leave Virginia, baby!” She caws from inside the lace that is wrapped around her face and arms. “Tonight is the night! Let’s do it!”

“Oh… babe…” I groan. “That is… that is not happening tonight,” I run a hand down my face. Oh my God her boobs are on display in a lacy black bra, all pushed up together and perfect for motor-boating.

“Why?” She continues to squirm out of her top, and God help me, I grab the bottom hem and peel it upwards; at this point it’s easier to take it off her then try to put it back on. Only she takes that the wrong way. “That’s the spirit!” She cheers pumping a fist in the air from her laid out position. “Now hit me with your custard launcher!”

“No babe,” I sigh, turning towards my walk-in closet. “Not when you’re not sober.”

“But that’s the perfect time!” She counters as I pull one of my t-shirts off its hanger. “I’m not nervous!”

No, she is not. She’s revved and raring to go but it’s not the version of her that I want to make sweet love to. As fun as it could be having her let loose and go buck wild, there will be plenty of time for that.

“Some other time, baby” I coo as I return from the closet and try to put the t-shirt over her head.

“Quit trying to dress me when I’m trying to get nekkid,” she says the last word in a seductive rasp but I persist and pull the shirt down over her. “I wanna play with your pump action yogurt rifle!”

“In the morning, I promise,” I tell her. “Tonight, we’re going to cuddle.”

She pouts, but obligingly crawls under the covers when I pull them back, and after some more squirming and shimmying pulls her jeans out from under them and chucks them on the floor.

Not one for falling asleep as early as one a.m., I ditch my pants and slip in beside her before reaching for the remote. I put on the TV to entertain me for however long I’ll need before I finally pass out and pull Rebecca into my side.

Her eyes are closed as she rests her head on my chest, mumbling something about bashing her beaver before finally drifting off.

Rebecca

God in Heaven. That was the best and worst night ever.

Chris wrote me a song. He sang it to me. I conquered several fears, and I did it like a boss.

Blowjobs went down like a milkshake…blowjobs came up like Swamp Thing. I have a vague memory of Chris holding my hair back while I roared into the toilet.

I think he gave it an 8.7.

Now I’m dried up and hollowed out with a headache the size of Cleveland but I’m in a rockstar’s bed, so there’s that.

Well, any insecurities I may have had leftover from when Chris rifled through all my baggage and threw each one to the wind were obliterated by my antics last night. At this point I could probably zipline naked through his backyard with my hair on fire and not have any doubts he’d still want me after.

I ratchet my eyelids open and immediately learn an important life lesson for a contact lens newbie: don’t sleep with the damn things in. My eyes are dry and itch like they jumped out of my head and rolled in pollen. And I can’t see the blurry pink cylinder being waved in my face for shit. What the fuck is that?

“Morning Mouse,” Chris’s voice sweet talks and both hands go to my head to keep my brain from exploding out of my skull.

“Eh…” I grunt. “Not so loud.”

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I saw you’re awake and brought you a couple goodies.”

“Start with the pink thing,” I grumble.

“This,” he starts and I hear the crack and hiss of a can being opened, “is BLAST’s Raspberry Resurrection!” He changes his tone. “It’s one of their lower caffeine doses, and it’s got electrolytes,” he whispers his sales pitch.

The idea of sipping something fizzy does sound appealing.

“Thank you,” I whisper as I accept the cold can.

“And…” He says in the same salesman tone, “I brought you this!”

I see something white and beige swinging in my field of vision.

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s Iggy in a Turn it Up t-shirt,” he informs me. “Duh.”

“Awww, Iggy…” I drone out affectionately and hold my arm out so that Chris can tuck him into the nook. I’m feeling better already as he reclines on his elbow, settling in next to me.

“I have to tell you though, Iggy got a little too friendly with me while I was doing naked yoga earlier -,”

“Naked yoga?” I cock my head up to regard my blobby boyfriend.

“I’m trying to rechannel my energy for our relationship,” he says with exaggerated attentiveness. “You can’t be the one making all the changes. And greeting the morning sun while naked and pure is surprisingly Zen-like. Anyway, I think Iggy was mistaking my wang for another naked cat, and now he’s giving come hither eyes to my junk. So I might have to stop manscaping.”

So he is still thinking of sleeping with me. Also, what the fuck? It’s too early for this shit. Although I supposed, I’d love to usher the big fat elephant out of the room sooner rather than later so I can get on with laying here while I try not to die.

“Speaking of… that, I seem to recall offering up my womanhood on a silver platter last night. How mortified should I be, on a scale of one to ten?”

“Negative seven, baby,” he softens his tone. “Believe me, I wanted to. But we only get to do our first time once,” he proceeds thoughtfully.

“Have you been reading poetry after naked yoga?”

“Only on Pinterest. My point is, I want you to remember every moment. Plus, be of sound mind to give consent and all that.”

“Oh.” My heart feels warm and fuzzy at that. At least I’m pretty sure that’s what it is. If I have to ralph again, I’m going to be very upset. “How did you lose your virginity?” I ask, surprised that I don’t feel anxious or insecure, just curious.

“To an angry kitten in the back of my van,” he rattles off casually and a spray of Raspberry Blast comes sputtering out from between my lips. “Not that kind of kitten you adorable moron,” he says affectionately while dabbing at my chin with the collar of his t-shirt I’m wearing. “I’m talking about the Aussie Girl punk band.”

Oh. The Angry Kittens.

“But that’s a whole other story,” he says, wistfully. “In an anthology far away.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Anyway, why don’t you lay back and give the BLAST a chance to do it’s magic. I’ll be downstairs.”

My eyes drop shut as if there’s weights attached to them.

When I wake up I’m not sure how much later, I find myself surprisingly refreshed and send up a prayer of thanks to the BLAST gods as I pull the covers back.

After wrestling with my contact lenses and rinsing out my poor eyeballs, I pop in a fresh set, and still clad in Chris’s t-shirt and my Underoos, I wander down the stairs of his expansive pad. While finding him is my goal, I take a quick detour to the kitchen to chug a bottle of water I find in the fully stocked fridge. I’ve visited Chris’s house a few times over the last few weeks, but we usually hang out at mine because he wants me to be comfortable. But I do remember the way to his pretty fly finished basement where I can hear the very faint beats of a drum kit floating up the stairs. When I reach the plush carpet at the bottom of the stairs, I see him through the large picture window, closed off from the rest of the basement space.

Even though I’ve seen him perform plenty on my phone screen, and in person last night, seeing him now, I’m in awe. It’s a phenomenon how all of his movements are deliberate, yet without hardly any thought or effort. I know he’s jamming out relying on pure muscle memory, but damn if his talent isn’t a turn on. He’s burning off energy, yet he couldn’t be more relaxed.

He’s shirtless, with a sheen of sweat making his tattoos shine and glisten, making my lady bits shrug and ask, what hangover?

His head bobs from side to side with the beats, and when his green eyes catch mine, he gives me a relaxed smile, tilting his chin at me. God that’s sexy. Shifting his sticks to one hand, he reaches over to some kind of sound system in the corner behind him and makes an adjustment before turning back and jerking his head, motioning me to come inside the small cubicle.

Turning the knob and pushing through the door, I’m greeted by some background music that’s turned down low, but is unmistakably “One” by Metallica.

“Hey cutie, how’s your head?” Chris holds out an arm for me to come sit on his lap, and my heart damn near explodes inside my chest. Once again, I’m in disbelief that this is actually my life.

“Fine,” I tell him softly as I sit gingerly on his thigh and let my arms settle around his neck. “Playing along to the Metallica?” I ask rhetorically.

“Well, Lars is a respectable idol, but I actually have a whole mix of rock classics loaded up, minus the drumlines.”

“So, like karaoke for drummers?” I lift an eyebrow.

“Just like that,” he nods affectionately. “Backup vocals too, in fact, if you’re sure your head is okay, I’m taking requests,” he gives my earlobe a gentle nibble and another zing shoots between my legs.

“Come Together by the Beatles?”

He drops his forehead to my shoulder briefly before looking back up at me. “Girl after my heart. Ringo is in my top five,” he shifts me slightly while he reaches over, searching for the right track. I move to get off him when he holds me fast with his free arm. “Where do you think you’re going, come here,” he shifts me with both arms so that I’m straddling him, my bare legs draped on either side of his waist.

Oh my god, fuck me.

No, seriously…

Chris’s arms go around me, a stick in each hand as the song starts. His hands and forearms start rapidly tapping out the intro on the tom-tom followed by a flick of the cymbal, before repeating it again. But his eyes are locked on mine, our faces not even inches apart. I’m the last person on earth that should be considered an expert on foreplay, but I know without a doubt, this is it. I also know there’s no one else that does it like this.

He falls into a steady groove, getting me more worked up by the second, and as he approaches the bridge and the rhythm gets more intense, his whole body gets into it, and I find myself bouncing in his lap. God, if I have another dry orgasm without even getting my panties off I’m going to die.

I’ll die happy, but I’ll still die.

If Chris has done anything for me, it’s forced me out of my comfort zone, out of passivity, and into action. Into actively reaching out and grabbing life by the balls. So I shift my hips a little, lining his rock hard cock up with my lady business just right, and watch his eyes burn with enjoyment of my slightly awkward, unpracticed, but no less enthusiastic actions.

Emboldened, I lean forward and take his lips with my own, trying to imbue the kiss with every ounce of lust I feel. I pull back, and…

Oh, wow.

We’re beyond words now.

This is it.

His eyes remain locked with mine as he carelessly throws his drumsticks over his shoulders. While they clatter somewhere behind him, he lifts me until I’m sitting on one of the larger drums, on the curved side of it, and kisses me like he’s trying to devour me. His tongue strokes mine, and he tastes so good that a little moan slips out of me, vibrating in my throat.

The sound seems to light a fire under him, because he yanks my t-shirt up and over my head, throwing it to one side. I gasp when his fingers hook around the gusset of my panties, and…holy shit…he rips them clean off.

I’m naked.

And I’m not afraid.

I feel vulnerable just leaving the house. Talking to people I know. Being introduced to strangers.

But right now, bare ass nude on a drum kit in front of my rockstar, I don’t feel like Rebecca the mouse. I feel powerful. Confident.

Free.

It’s hard not to feel intensely smug when he spends a few moments staring at my body with open enjoyment. I feel the path his eyes take like a warm flame over my skin, and it turns my nipples hard as diamonds. Then, as though making up for the time that lapsed while he gazed at me, he pulls a foil packet out of his jeans pocket before yanking them down, his boxers with them, and kicking them off.

This is really happening.

His dick is pulsing as he fiddles with the condom wrapper, and I don’t think I’m imagining the way his hands are shaking. It goes a long way to making me feel better about my own nervousness, to know I’m not alone in it. And the urgency of our need for each other, to have this moment together, is so all- encompassing that it drowns out any traces of doubt in myself, and chases away any lingering jitters about…

Fucking.

Right here on the drums he was pounding just moments ago. Well. My turn for a pounding now, I think, and I giggle.

He pauses putting the condom on his rod, and we have a wordless conversation as his eyebrow lifts. You good?

I nod.

He looks down at his erection self-deprecatingly. Laughing at my wang?

I shake my head and pull him closer to me with my legs, wrapping my arms around his neck and trying to get him to do it, to make me his, but he resists. His eyes twinkle as he drops to his knees, his eyes level with my…

Oh.

His tongue drags up my seam, and my eyes damn near roll back in my head. Who knew this could feel so good? I’ve read it described in romance novels, and it always sounded like it would be awesome, but this is something else. Especially when his tongue tickles my clit, over and over, until I’m writhing and my nerve endings feel like they’re on fire. I can’t control the way my mouth opens in a silent scream, my eyes screwed up so tight I’m seeing colors. I can’t possibly look pretty right now, but I don’t care. This feels too amazing for me to give a shit.

His tongue shoves straight into me, like he’s fucking me with it, and it’s ridiculously wonderful, but not quite as ridiculously wonderful as what he was doing before, so I squirm. “No - do the - what you were doing bef - YES!” That’s exactly what it takes for me to topple off a cliff into a sea of wet, fiery ecstasy.

“Man ALIVE, that was fun!” The way he shouts makes me jump slightly, but I’m too gorgeously strung out to mind. And when he high fives me, all I can do is giggle. “I’m gonna do that again in a bit, but first…” He slithers up my body, serpentine and so sexy I can hardly stand it, and lays me down on the cool floor. “You ready?”

I nod, not even trying to talk right now. I don’t think I could if I wanted to.

“I haven’t done this before…” He laughs, no longer tense, as I lift my eyebrow in disbelief. “I mean, I haven’t taken anyone’s…I mean, popped their…I mean…”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I mutter, and grasp his dick in my hand, and he makes a strangled noise as I pull him towards my opening and impale myself on it. Ow! Fuck. That smarts a bit, and I feel ripped somehow, and full, and…wait a second, that…

I wriggle experimentally, and he slides in further. More burning, followed by a more pleasurable warmth. Again. Again…

“Mouse, seriously…” He winces. “I’m hanging on by my fingernails here.”

“Sorry,” I murmur, not apologetic in the slightest. “What should I - ”

“Fuck,” he breathes, and thrusts all the way. Oh. Good. So good.

He’s breathless now, in the grip of something that’s taken over any sense of control he may have had. His hips won’t stop moving, and while it’s sore, it’s also irresistible. I don’t think I’m going to come again, but I don’t care. I’m enjoying the push and pull of him inside me for its own sake.

“TryingtolastbutIdon’tthinkIcaaaan - ” His face screws up, and then he lets out a huge lungful of breath like it’s wrenched out of him, rigid and shuddering above me. He collapses on top of me, and I have to tap him on the back to lift up because he’s squashing me, but then he covers my face and neck in adoring kisses, and I’ve never been so happy.

“Give me a few moments…and maybe a BLAST or two…”He’s panting and chucking, happy and high as a kite on endorphins, just like me. “We’re doing that again. All of it. And more. How do you feel about - ”

“Yes,” I reply instantly. “To all of it. Anything. Do it again, Tiger Boy.”

And we’re giggling together as we exchange soothing touches, gentle kisses, keeping this bubble of peaceful enjoyment going as long as we can.