Hot Summer Lust (9 page)

Fuck it
. I’m getting
carried away.
Get a goddamn grip, Elias
, I’m thinking. I help her, grabbing her shorts from where I’d tossed them in the grass.
The bikini’s a lost cause, unfortunately.
She’s standing there, still naked. She’s covered in my cum, practically from head to toe. I experience such a rush of caveman-like satisfaction at this, it’s insane. Like I’ve marked her as my own by coming all over her naked body. Just seeing that makes me hard
again
.

Jesus Christ.

It’s like she’s reading my mind. She sidles up to me, brushing her
lush breasts against my chest. “I guess I better wash off a little,” she smiles at me, weaving her fingers through mine.

Holy
hell,
I’m fucked.

I hear voices in the distance, like Vaughn’s
talking to someone. That
asshole
. He’s not alone. I gave him strict instructions not to tell anyone where I lived. The last
thing I need is the goddamn paparazzi setting up camp outside my new house,
already. It took them all of a day to swarm
the entrance of my Nashville apartment, which is annoying as fuck.

The other thing that’s annoyin
g as fuck is this: if I take Sadie back to the house with me, Vaughn – and whoever’s with him – will see her. They’ll see her
wheat-colored hair and her blue
eyes. They’ll watch her, in her little je
an shorts and her tank top – which she’ll have to wear with nothing under it since I ripped her bikini to shreds.
They’
ll see those unbelievable breasts and the way her nipples poke through the fabric of any top she happens to be wearing.

She’s standing knee-deep in the water, splashing handfuls across her breasts and stomach. She’s leaning forward and I can see her wet pussy between her long legs
. I pull my shorts on, shoving my rampant hard-on in, somehow, willing it to
go down.

Damn it.
There’s no way in hell. Not with her little ass wriggling as she washes herself
. She leans all the way forward to pick up her shirt.

I’m going insane.

All I want to do is fuck that sweet little pussy until she screams. I want to hold her down and slide my hot, bursting cock into her, and fuck her so hard and so deep she cries and comes and begs for more as I fill her with my hot cum.
I want to possess her and own her
.

Even so, I’m relieved when she says, “I better get going. It’s getting late.”

We’re dressed now but I
feel almost panicked. If Vaughn walks over this way, he’ll see us. But I don’t want to let her go, either. The thought of waiting until tomorrow to see
again her is almost unbearable. And I remember now why Vaughn’s here: I have a show tonight, in the city. I’d forgotten about it.

I’d forgotten about everything except Sadie and her face and her hair and her body.

Then I have a radio interview tomorrow morning, I remember.

“Sadie,” I say. “I won’t be around tomorrow until later in the afternoon.”

“Oh. Do you still want me to work?
I can just let myself in
if you do.”

“Sure.
Whatever you want to do.
” I hear the urgency in my own voice. “I want to see you tomorrow. Wait for me. Don’t
leave ‘til I get home.” Goddamn it, I sound like a lovestruck teenager. But I don’t fucking care. I want to hear her say it.

“Okay.” She smiles and I can feel it in my chest, like a tight, heavy longing. “I’ll wait for you.”

I kiss her. I touch my tongue to her soft lower lip. She’s so new at this, she
kisses with her mouth closed. I open her lips with mine, dipping my tongue into her mouth.

She pulls back, laughing lightly. She lets her hand slip from mine and I watch her wave as she walks away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she chimes in that sing-song voice and I think I’m about to lose my mind but I force myself to stand there, to let her go.
You’ll see her tomorrow, you fool.

I am so fucked.

Tonight, I’m half wrecked and half enlightened
. It’s a weird mixture. Everything looks a little unworldly, like the earth shifted on its axis this afternoon
or something. The trees look greener. The steamy, humid air feels sublime on my skin. Invisible music seems to filter right out of the day and into my head. I have so many ideas. Tunes, coming together. It’s the most amazing feeling.

I’ve figured something out: stellar orgasms change a person. They just do. Not only that, but stellar orgasms delivered by someone as beautiful and
hot
as Elias Hayes
transform
a person. It’s true. I don’t feel like a prim, proper sc
hoolgirl anymore.
Not that I ever really did. But now, I’m sort of walking around in a haze of realization. And of simmering, hundred-proof desire.

Now that I know what Elias can
do
, with his eyes and his hands and his body, it’s all I can think about.

I
understand
things. I get what they were trying to protect us from. Ourselves and all our rich, crazy, flawed and beautiful desire.

I want him because the minute he walked into my life,
a light switch turned on. Everything flooded with color. My body woke up. And the music in my head got louder
. I no longer
feel like I’m simmering with motivation; now, I’m
on fire
with inspiration
.
Spilling with it.
I want to use all that, tune into it, then get the hell out of dodge.

Because here’s the thing: I figure if I’m planning on writing songs for a living, I need to know what it all
feels
like. Lust, sex, love, heartb
reak, all of it.

Lust: check.

I hear the soft sound of my own laughter as I walk along.
Damn.

Part of me is addicted to Elias, yes. But a bigger part of me is addicted to
myself
. I love what he does to
me
. I love how he makes me
feel.
What I want to do
is immerse myself in all his glory
, to take everything he’s willing to give.
So I can experience to the deepest depths what it means to be free and young and alive.

I’m going to see him tomorrow. And I know just what I’m going to do.

My house is in sight now. Dusk has begun to color the sky.

Momma’s cooking dinner and Daisy’s on the phone. I can tell who she’s talking to by the way she’s curling her hair around one finger, giggling at the things he says. Trevy must’ve finally called back.

I go into my room. There’s no sign of Frannie and I remember she had the afternoon shift today at work. I pick up my old
guitar.
I remember the day Daddy bought it for me, the very same day I sang him h
is favorite Elvis song.
He took me down to the thrift store, where they always have a few second-hand guitars, and he bought me one
for ten dollars.
He told me I had the sweetest voice he’d ever heard and one day he just knew he was going to hear me sing at the Grand Ole
Opry.
I was eleven years old. Even then we didn’t have the money for singing lessons but I sang
solos in the choir at school and there was a piano
in the side room of the St. Mary’s chapel where they used to let me play. There, they’d only allow us to sing hymns. But when no one was around, I taught myself. When I did
manage to get into Nashville every now and then, I’d collect old song sheets that
sold cheap in the music stores. Everything I could get my hands on from bluegrass to country to hillbilly to rock ‘n roll. I’d memorize them all and play them over and over until they were in me. Until the songs began to take on
curled, subtle little differences that were all mine.

I grab a piece of paper and pencil, and walk out to the bench where Elias sat.
I wonder what it would be like to play with
him
. To sing with him. Maybe one day I’ll ask him if he wants to.

The songs pour out of me, one after the other. Out of that guitar and onto to those pages. Pure songs, original and layered, melodic and catchy.

All about him.

It’s hot summer and I’m walking to his door.
Will he love me.
Will he come back for more.

I sit there, immersed. I tell Momma not to worry about me, that I’ll be in later on.
The house goe
s quiet but the night is alive.

Where will this road lead us and where will it end.

I write and I strum, until I have them down: the first three songs of my new album.
The one that’s going to take me all the way to the stars, I can feel it.

Hot summer lovers. Hot summer night. The touch of his hand, so true and so right.

Then Frannie’s home and Momma calls me inside so she can lock the door. As I lay in my bed, I can still hear the music in my head.

Tell me where this road leads us and where does it end.

My show sold out weeks ago.

They all sell out. People camp on the streets the night before the tickets even fucking go on sale.

I’m in Nashville. I’m at a concert hall called The Blue Note that can hold around a thousan
d.
I usually play bigger venues, but Vaughn books these smaller shows
every now and then. Some fans prefer them.
I
prefer them. Sure
, there’s something mind-blowing about forty thousand people screaming your name, but the smaller shows have an intimacy to them that makes you feel the vibe in a different, more personal wa
y. You can see their faces. You can
smell the energy. There’s an immediacy to it that’s raw and real.

There’s a goddamn party going on in my dressing room
. Trevor, my
bass player, brought a whole bunch
of chicks along and I can’t think. Usually I’d be into it. I’d be laughing right along with them.

Tonight their laughter is abrasive.

One of the girls walks up to me and sits on my lap, weaving her arm around my neck
.
She has long red hair and is wearing a very abbreviated cowgirl outfit.
She’s moving. Barely grinding her ass against me. On any other day, I might have enjoyed it.
I
would
have enjoyed it.
I’
d have let her get me hard, then taken her into some empty room and fucked her. She obviously wants it. I can feel her heat and I know she’s wet for me. She starts kissing me, holding my face between her
hands.
My reaction is bizarre but I have to move.
Her cheap perfume is gagging me.
I lift her off me as I stand up and walk over to the corner, where my guitar is sitting on its stand.

Something fucked-up is happening to me.

That didn’t even turn me on. She’s not an ugly girl. She’s got nice skin and thick red hair. But I can’t do it.

All I can think of is
her
.
Her
hair and
her
skin.
That blond silk and that
naked golden beauty in the sun.
The way I’d come all over her open mouth, her full breasts, her smooth stomach.

Damn it.

I want to do it again. Now. I want to see her. I want
her
to be the one
sitting on my lap, kissing me. Getting me hard. I want her to be the one I take into some empty roo
m. But no. With her, I’d
take her to a five-star hotel. Give her champagne.
Make her laugh. Then
make sweet love to her all night long until she can’t remember anything but me and how good I make her feel.

Fuck.

I try to
think about the songs. I go through the playlist in my head
and tune my guitar
.
I have twenty-seven guitars and each one of them has its own sound. Every show, I choose carefully.
Sometimes I play each song with a different guitar.
Tonight the choice was easy, and there’s only one. It’s a Taylor Dreadnought 110 that plugs in.
It’s the guitar I took to Sadie’s house last night. The one I played when I first heard her sing.