Hot Summer Lust (11 page)

“You’re number one on the billboard charts.
Every
song on your latest album has hit the top ten. Both your debut album and your follow-up have gone platinum.
You’ve won three Grammys. The song you wrote for the City Lights soundtrack got nominated for an Oscar and the role you played in the movie – as
yourself
– was greeted with critical acclaim.
Both your tours sold out to record crowds
.
As if that’s not enough, you were voted Sexiest Man of the Year by People magazine and were featured on the cover of
the Rolling Stone not once this year, but twice.
Tell me, Elias Hayes, where does the magic come from and where can I get some?”

I’m sitting here in this studio being interviewed by a semi-famous douchebag radio host whose one and only claim to semi-fame is that he’s a semi-famous douchebag radio host.

I’m in a foul mood.

And it’s a stupid question. How the fuck am I supposed to answer that?

It’s his gaffe, not mine, so I wait it out.

“What’s next?” he says.
“Another movie? Another album? Both?”

“I have another tour coming up, and I’m working on a new album
,” I say.
The headlines and the fucking twitterverse will blow up with news about
my surliness or some bullshit if I give short, terse answers.
I know this.
I’ve made that mistake before, more than once.
Even so, I can hardly
bring myself to care.
I barely slept last night. I
should
have slept. It’s practically the first night – not practically, it
is
the first night I’ve slept
alone
after a show since this whole circu
s started. I ended up kicking
a bunch of groupies off my bus and locking the goddamn door. Trevor went ballistic but fuck him. My bass player’s a maniac and a party animal: there’s nothing new. It’s not something that’s ever
bothered me before.
But it’s bothering me now.

Usually I don’t care that they’re all over me. Groping me and playing with my hair.
Sitting on my lap and begging for it.

Usually I
like
it. Of co
urse I do. What red-blooded male wouldn’t enjoy the fact that he can take his pick of dozens of women each and every night?
One, two, three at a time, even. They don’t fucking care. They
stalk me and write me letters and camp outside my door.
A
t first I thought it was goddamn
Christmas. But after a while, that shit starts to get old. The facelessness of it all. The undeniable fact that they want you for your money or your fame or some part of you that they’re hoping will rub off on them. It’s the stardust they want.
The hope that you’ll take them along for the ride. Then they cry and plead and stalk you even more, after the fact. Once they get a taste they go even crazier.

Some days it’s enough to make you feel weirdly, utterly alone. Like you’re in the middle of this ravenous swarm of vampires who won’t rest until they’ve feasted on every part of you and there’s nothing left but a pile of bleached bones.

I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.

Actually, I know
exactly
what the fuck is wrong with me and the whole thing is pissing me off.

That naïve little farm girl with the wide eyes and sun-kissed
face.
With the white-gold hair
soft as silk.
With the voice that could break your fucking
heart. A
nd the body that could make you lose your goddamn mind.

Why her? How is it that
she’s
gotten under my skin when so many others have tried and failed? And so goddamn easily. I have
movie stars
coming on to me. I’ve had rock divas and heiresses undress in my dressing room before I even knew they were there.

I shouldn’t be so goddamn
hooked
.

It’s like some kind of crazy magnetic pull.

I can literally think of nothing else.

I want to get the fuck out of here, jump in my Shelby and drive straight back to my house –
where she’s waiting for me
– at two hundred
miles an hour. I want
it so bad I can taste it.

“Well, come
on
, do
tell
,” says the douchebag.
“
When will the album be released?
Is it a departure from what you’ve done so far, or are you sticking to the magic formula?”

“I never really know where the direction of the music will go until I sit down and write it. The songs pour out of me and I go with it. I feel it, I don’
t overthink it.” What the fuck? I
sound like a pretentious
asshole
.
I would never say something so vapid and ridiculous.

The problem is, I can’t think.

I’ve got other stuff on my mind.

What if she’s not
there
? What if she gets tired of waiting for me and
leaves
?
I know what I’ll do.
I know where she lives.
I’ll go to her window. This time, I’m sure as hell not going to leave her sitting there on that fucking bench with her moonbright eyes and her soft pink nipples and her skimpy little nightgown that’s just asking to be ripped to shreds
.
This
time, I’ll scoop her up and carry
her home with me. Straight to my bed where I plan on
licking every inch of her creamy skin before –

“Sing a song for us, Elias.
Could you do the newest single, right here in the studio?”

I’m relieved. I’m better at singing than talking.
We can fill in the rest of the airtime with a few songs.

I save it. The interview was stilted and awkward. But I’m singing to
her
, and it’s one of the best acoustic versions I’ve ever done. They all clap and the phones are going crazy so I agree to take some questions from fans.

The first chick breathes out her question. Her voice reminds me of putty and desperation. “Will you marry me, Elias? I love you so much.”

I laugh and say sure, but in my heart I feel almost stricken.

What I want to say is this: Sorry, honey. I’m fucked, I’m a mess, and I’m taken.

Once I get her out of my system,
I’ll be fine.
Once I fuck her, I can cure this little addiction and move on.

She wants it. I could have fucked her already, there on the rock, yesterday.
She was practically
begging for it. Now I wish I had. Maybe then I wouldn’t have this hard-on that’s become a goddamn permanent fixture. I’m so hard it hurts.
I’m so hard I feel like my lust is leeching into every part of me, reaching deep and greedily into dark corners of my goddamn soul.

I’m almost home. Vaughn cornered me with some sleazy studio executive who’s trying to woo me to jump ship, so I’m later than I thought I’d be. Vaughn thinks we should consider it – the money’s ridiculous – but I told him I need
to think on it. Sometimes you gotta trust your gut on
stuff like this and my gut wasn’t feeling it.

Maybe because I’m not feeling much of anything except this severe problem I’ve got going on.

A problem I plan on solving right now.

I’m driving into my driveway.
I slam the door of my car and walk to the house in ground-eating strides.

I go inside and I know she’s here.

I can feel her.

I can
smell
her. I don’t even think she wears perfume, but she’s in the air. That
fresh, sunny whisper.

She’s not in the kitchen.

I go upstairs and I can hear the shower running.

She’s taking a shower.

I go into the bathroom.

And open the glass door.

I kick off my shoes and
walk into the shower. I don’t care that I still have all my clothes on.
Because she’s there and she’s simply the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Wet and golden and mind-blowing.
I sort of fall to my knees and hug my arms around her and rest my head against her thighs
. I don’t remember ever feeling this
relieved
or this happy.

There’s something about being with her that’s just so damn comforting I can hardly stand it.

This lust is clawing into me, digging deeper than I can ever remember anything digging.
I don’t
want
it to be doing that, but it is.

Her hands are on my head, her fingers gently weaving into my hair.

“Elias,” she says softly and I look up at her. “You’re here.”
      
Her face is perfect. A sprinkling of
golden
freckles. Pale pink lips. Her long, shimmery
hair hangs almost to her hips in dripping coils. Tiny rivers cascade from her breasts like she’s some sort of fucking nymph.

All I can do is sort of stare up at her like a besotted wretch.

“I missed you,” she whispers.

And there, so close to my
mouth
, is her pink, candied
pussy. She’s not just wet from the shower. She’s glistening and
ready
. For me.

Someone help me.

I
have
to do it: I kiss her pussy and just about swoon
with my desire for her.
She’s as sweet as nectar.
My cock is a hot, rigid inferno. This has gone beyond pain into
something else altogether. Need. Passion. Obsession.

Gently, slowly, yet with all the greedy
hunger of a starving man, I eat into her until she’s moaning. She’s got
fistfuls of my hair and I
love
this
.
I’m hers.
I want to be hers.
All
hers.

I lick lower, deeper, but I can’t get as deep as I want. She’s standing, so I turn her around. “Lean over,” I growl and she obeys,
putting her hands on the tiles and
widening her stance to give me what I want. She’s offering herself to me in a way that’s
driving me fucking more feverish
than I already was. She leans forward
and arches her back for me and I thrust my tongue into her pussy as I squeeze lightly on her clit, pulling gently, working her pleasure. I lick her everywhere. My tongue touches the cove of her ass and she squirms but I hold her there, licking in time to the play of my fingers. She comes for me, crying out my name
. I can feel the rippling compressions of her body, the
soft, fluttering rhythm. When the waves calm, I turn her to me.

The look in her eyes kills me. It’s not manic adulation, like I’m used to.
It’s a quiet, vast
tenderness, a beauty that’s the most addictive, dazzling glimmer I’ve ever known.

“You’re so
bad
,” she smiles. She’s pulling my soaked shirt off.

“And you’re so
good
.”

“Will you let me wash you, Elias?”

I let her pull my shirt over my head. “I’ll let you do anything you want to me, darlin’.”

“Stand up,” she says. “Take off your jeans.”

I do it. She sort of gasps when she sees me. How hard I am.
How fucking engorged and painful my life is right about now.
She takes the soap and runs it across my chest, working up the suds. She washes my shoulders, my arms. I just stand there and let her.

She’s washing my stomach.

I’m so close to breaking point I feel like I need to warn her. “Sadie, baby. I’m probably gonna come about twelve times in the next hour or two, just seeing you like this. You have some
crazy effect on me, sweetheart.
I’m not usually so ready to fire away but I’m in agony over here and I’m not gonna be able to hold on to this badboy.”

Control and stamina have
never been a problem for me before.
This
is different. I’m
about to come.
As soon as she touches me, it’ll be all over.

She’s smiling lightly. Her hand
s are little slippery miracles. “I
want
you to come. Over and over. I love touchin
g you. I want to make you feel
good.”

“You are, sweetheart. You are.”

Her hands are on my thighs now. She’s playing me. Avoiding the bullseye, making it last.

Oh, God, have mercy on me.

She cups me in her slippery grip
. She’s
exploring
me, as though she’s spellbound.

Then
, her hands ease over my cock. She slides her soapy fists up and down the length of me. It’s
a fucking agony-ecstasy so extreme all I can do is watch her
.
The ecstasy is gathering,
deep and low. I feel alight with it. Like I’m not just about to come but also about to combust.

“Is
this
all right?” she asks shyly.

I can only groan an answer, and she increases her pace and the force of her grip until I can’t handle it.
A wrecking ball of pleasure erupts within me and I’m spurting hot cum all over her hands and her stomach in thick jolts.
It just goes on and on. I have to close my eyes
tight
and grit my teeth just to deal with it. I have never come so hard in my life.