Hard Rocking Lover (4 page)

Chapter Five

The rays of the morning sun served to pull Nicole from the depths of a luxurious slumber awakening her from a dream of an evening as she reclined easy in the arms of her lover.

Shifting her head to gaze upon the whole of his bronzed, angelic beauty, she raised her fingers to touch and outline his carved cheekbones and full, moist lips; smiling as his wide dark eyes flew open to sear her with a loving look.

“So it wasn’t a dream,” he whispered, adding as he flicked forth a sexy tongue to lap her agile finger. “You really are mine now.”

Nicole nodded.

“Last night was better than a dream,” she affirmed, adding as she bit her lip, “I’m just not sure, though, if the dream can continue. I’m sorry, babe, but you heard the way your guitarist talked to me.”

Spyder shook his head.

“If he says one more rude word to you,” he vowed, “I swear to you that he’s out of the band.”

Nicole smiled, but only briefly.

“Thanks for that, baby,” she praised with a nod, “but realistically, you won’t be able to throw out every fellow musician, every fan, and—when the time comes—every snarky music journalist who pokes fun at the fat, ordinary looking girlfriend. I’m a strong woman, sure enough, but I’m not altogether certain that I want to live with that sort of constant scrutiny.”

Spyder thought a moment, then nodded.

“Well, do you think that you might want to live with a regular diet of constant and very satisfying sex,” he asked her, tone matter of fact, “with all of your fantasies and desires fulfilled? And if you like, we could get started on this rigorous schedule of passionate lovemaking. Here. And now.”

Soon a resigned and highly aroused Nicole sank deep into her lover’s arms; losing herself once again in a timeless embrace as they kissed and cuddled in the light of sweet sunshine.

Their arms and legs entangled as they rolled free and wild across the day bed; their mouths colliding and their tongues entwined as her bare breasts crushed his firm, hard chest.

Almost immediately his trim, firm hips gyrated hard and shameless against her own; and even as his long, stiff member flew upward to grace her wet femininity, he cradled her back with a caressing hand—his free hand, meanwhile, disappeared between her legs to caress and open her feminine folds.

Nicole gasped outright as her lover touched and rubbed her enflamed nub; stroking and kneading as he whispered in her ear, “Do allow me to demonstrate, my lady, just why you belong in my arms—and remind you of just what it’s like to be loved by a rocker.”

With these words he pulled her closer than close and surged his magnificent cock to the depths of her soaking wet pussy, their sweat lined bodies writhing and slithering against one another as he danced inside her.

“I love you,” the couple released in unison and on a heavenly whisper; throwing themselves against each other as their lips sealed in a binding kiss.

Spyder continued to knead Nicole’s throbbing clit as waves of pure erotic sensation surged upward to kiss every fiber of her being, causing her to squirm against him as he surged deeper still within her.

Finally and with a resounding kiss the couple came together, their joined bodies exploding in the heat of an incredible mutual orgasm.

Pitching his head back, Spyder whipped his hair gently across Nicole’s breasts as he parted his full, moist lips; letting loose with yet another sonorous, deep-voiced serenade.

And to the ears of a besotted Nicole, this ditty sounded like a surefire hit.

THE END

For your enjoyment we’ve added
a
BONUS STORY

SHADES OF DOMINATION

Alpha Male Romance

By : Kalena Lyons

CHAPTER ONE

It was well past midnight and Laura Kimball was already into her fifth glass of wine that evening. She stared at the still open pack of cigarettes lying on her dining room table and deliberated as to whether or not she needed another one. It had been six months since she started smoking again regularly, having given up the habit cold turkey for the four years she was married to Dan; even though she told herself she was quite capable of quitting again, it was always going to be tomorrow - if not tomorrow, then next week; if not next week, then next month. But for now, being after midnight, she wasn’t in any state to make a long-term decision. She let out a sigh, as she lit up a smoke.

It had been a ritual every Wednesday night for the past four months. A couple of bottles of Shiraz, a fresh pack of cigarettes and the ghosts of her self esteem. She couldn’t tell you why she chose Wednesday over any other night to honor this strange pact, both a conscious resignation and wry celebration of her solitude. Perhaps it was the recognition of having passed the middle of the workweek without strangling her immediate supervisor at Palmer and Hall. Perhaps it was the crude, sarcastic but strangely flattering comment she heard from a carload of passing teenagers one Wednesday night back in March (where she had been granted with the title of “Queen of the MILFs”) that she chose to immortalize as the instigator of her “Me Day.” But each Wednesday night, not even the sounds of the endless mix CDs she made for herself in her early 20s or the boisterous and audible gropings of her upstairs neighbors were enough to deter Laura from her obligations. 

It would be six hours until she needed to get up and face the day. Like each Thursday morning, she would have to face it with the dry, dull throb of a hangover. She knew that it meant tending to the affection-and-food-starved needs of Wink, her four year old Siamese before shuffling off to brew her first three cups of coffee. She knew it meant checking her Facebook to ensure she didn’t drunkenly post or message any hysterical or self-pitying missives; she learned
that
mistake six months after the divorce. She knew it meant, at least this time, finalizing and confirming her itinerary for that weekend’s convention
—a process even more nerve wracking, since it meant sharing a room with Gloria, her immediate supervisor. In Providence,
Rhode Island
, of all places, a city she assumed could be driven straight through in less time than it took to blink an eye. The thought made her shudder, as she poured herself a sixth glass of wine and instinctually refreshed her laptop.

Laura tried to avoid looking at the photos on her Facebook page for the umpteenth time, but like the past two hours, simply couldn’t help herself. They were of Dan and his new fiancé Sonia, basking on the beach in Bonaire. Smiling effervescently, drunkenly, romping around the sands like a couple of poorly paid bit models for a tourism commercial. Since taking up with Sonia, Dan had not only learned the finer points of body grooming and cross-fit training, but also appeared more relaxed, carefree and reckless. ‘
Why wouldn’t he?’
thought Laura. ‘
After all, with Sonia’s daddy’s money, he doesn’t have to worry about paying the rent. Both of them can get cosmetic surgery at the slightest sign of a wrinkle. Where does that leave me?
’

Laura got up and examined herself from all angles in the dining room mirror. True, she had put on a few pounds since the divorce—twenty, to be exact—but they seemed to compliment her, giving her a more rounded, sensual physique. Her strawberry blonde hair still retained its hue, even though the ends had been frazzled and arid from stress. If lines showed on her face, they did nothing to detract from the buoyancy of her skin. And her slate grey eyes—if now thick and reddened by smoke and wine—still arched upwards at the corners, giving Laura a sly, feline look. 

True, her job as a Senior HR representative for a national law firm wasn’t as glamorous as the lifestyle of a groomed 26-year old heiress; but she was articulate, cunningly intelligent and possessed of a rapier-sharp wit. At 34, she may not be as young and bubbly as she once was when she first started dating Dan; but she was hardly an old maid, either. Laura was pretty enough, compassionate enough and adventurous enough (in heart, at least) to have her pick of any number of eligible men.
So why have I been drinking wine alone for the past two years
, she thought.

For one, she had resigned herself to the luxury of remaining single. After overcoming her initial skepticism, she ventured into online dating a year after the divorce. It was a move she wound up regretting, since she found herself having to contend with a teeming horde of the perpetually cheating, aggressively creepy and just plain dull. She had needs like everyone else, perhaps even more so. But the few late-night and drunken trysts she spent after meeting relative strangers at a bar left her unfulfilled. The sex was, at best, mediocre—detached of any physical intimacy or connection, merely a rote standard default to friction -passionless, artless, dull friction. It was sweat-stained and humid, perhaps but still—both insensate and ungratifying.

The sole exception—the only possible concession she would have made in those two years—would have been Rick, a patent attorney she worked with side by side. Rick was hardly Laura’s standard physical type; gaunt, pale and almost painfully thin, with a healthy shock of salt-and-pepper hair that was permanently unkempt, he resembled an artist rather than an attorney. Which he in fact was, taking up litigation only in the past ten years solely to help pay for his MS-stricken wife’s treatment. There was a fierce intelligence in Rick, erudition owing to his encyclopedic knowledge of classical Greek literature and philosophy, which he could quote and expound upon from memory alone. Laura admired and respected this eccentric figure, whose brown eyes seemed to burn with an inner torment. But what attracted her to Rick was something unspeakable—a primal magnetism he exuded from each pore, a feral passion she could sense burgeoning under his countless reference books and perpetually furrowed brows. She felt it reverberating in the pit of her stomach, and suspected it was mutual. They had taken to working late hours together, more often than not adjourning to Kelly’s, a nearby Irish bar directly across from their office. Over her proverbial gin and tonic and his proverbial Irish whisky—”
Neat
please, Jim-meh”—they’d shoot the breeze well into the evening, discussing anything from the Philadelphia Museum of Art to their own respectively rocky relationships. He took his marriage vows seriously, all the while admitting that as a man, he also had his own needs; and that where he could once release his frustrations through art, he now no longer even had
that
option.

Laura sympathized with Rick, and felt an even stronger admiration for this man almost twenty years her senior. At the same time, it didn’t do anything to quell her draw towards him. On the contrary, it only fed the flames and she suspected that each time he caught a glance of her pouty lips trembling and her wide-open eyes that the feeling was likely mutual. One night, as they were walking past Love Park at around 10 p.m., she could take it no further. She stopped the taller (by nearly a foot) Rick dead in his tracks and seized him, forcing him to crane his neck down as she kissed him violently, hoping that the force and torpor of her lips would unlock his steely reserve. Her estimate proved correct, for they were soon groping one another furiously, obscured by the trees and serenaded by the rush of the fountain. They leaned back against a tree, their bodies pressed with an urgency that overpowered the both of them. She wrapped a leg around Rick, and pressed him against the tree, knowing full well that they could be caught at any time but not giving a damn either way. Their tongues lolled against one another, and she could feel the entirety of her body—from her shoulders to her calves—grow engulfed in a thin veil of mist.

And then, as suddenly as it occurred, Rick pushed her away.

“I’m sorry, Laura but… I just can’t. Not with Claudia suffering at home. You’re wonderful and if things were different, I… I…”

There was no need for him to finish the sentence. Laura knew. She knew how foolish it would have been, not only emotionally, to act as a proverbial “other” woman, but professionally as well. They both knew that were this to ever make the office rounds, they’d be lucky to even collect severance. Besides, what were the chances of a man as eccentric, brilliant and charismatic as Rick sticking around for the likes of a frumpy HR rep anyhow?

She left that night feeling dejected, but assured. That was nine months ago, and she had only seen Rick briefly in passing four or five times.

She thought of him briefly as she lit another cigarette. She let it smolder, periodically taking a puff.  She finished the last of her wine and closed down her laptop. It was 1:19 in the morning and she had to be up a little over five hours. She fell asleep, as she often did most Wednesday nights, in little more than a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt.