Nashville SEAL: Jameson: Nashville SEALs (27 page)

“No, honey, I don’t do that. That’s for when I’m on stage.”

She had removed his shirt and was working on his belt buckle, then undid the buttons at his fly.

“Couldn’t we pretend you’re on stage here?” She slid his pants down, allowing a red fingernail to travel up the side of his thigh afterward. He wondered if she was going to laugh at the fact he preferred wearing red, white, and blue boxers, but she merely inserted her delicate fingers inside the front opening and squeezed his cock. “If I was really nice to you?” She dropped to her knees, leaned forward, and put the head of his penis in her mouth and sucked, rolling her tongue over him, as her mouth pulled him deep inside her.

It
was
really nice, as she’d promised, and he sent himself a warning, feeling like he might prematurely burst and come in her mouth, ruining his plans for the evening. “I just sing on stage, darlin’, but I’d be happy to sing you something special tomorrow night, if you stop by the show.”

“What kind of a woman inspires you to write such a beautiful song? And it’s so sad, but I love it,” she mumbled, as her tongue played with his tip.

Jameson had had enough. He didn’t intend to talk about anything that had to do with him or what made him do things. He wanted to fuck her, had wanted to fuck for the past four hours, ever since the encounter with the little blonde in his dressing room. Now, he regretted not fucking her because he was almost too aroused. If they played much longer, he wouldn’t achieve the satisfaction he was seeking, for both of them.

He grabbed a condom he kept in the nightstand, pulled her to the bed, and lay back against the pillows, his erection so thick it was nearly causing him pain.

“Let me,” she whispered as he opened the packet. Her fingers smoothed the ribbed plastic over his cock, raising one eyebrow as she did so. “I like the way you prepare.”

“Always, darlin’.”

He brought her up on top of him, massaging the lips of her sex with his fingers, pulling aside the elastic and sliding her over his hardness until he hooked himself at her opening. Her knees at the sides of his hips, she arched back as she rose up. Then he grabbed her hips and forced her down on him.

Her long sorry moan was achingly sweet, telegraphing her need and the satisfaction of having him deep inside her. He helped her body move up and down on him, each time arching his own hips to receive the depth of her warm channel. She bounced as he impaled her, her full breasts kissed by warm, pink knotted nipples she squeezed herself.

He could smell her arousal through the sweaty heat they were making, flesh slapping against flesh, as he tried to give her more than she could handle. Yet she wanted more.

He was going to explode when her muscles began a rolling wave, milking his cock. He pressed one thumb down against her clitoris where they were joined, and she unraveled.

He tossed her onto her belly, roughly spread her knees apart, and lapped her juices from behind as she shuddered and convulsed in front of him. Her salty taste nearly had him spilling, so he grabbed a pillow, inserting it under her belly and raising her rump up at the perfect angle, plunged in deep, and held. Catching a breath, he pulled back and then rammed inside again, holding. She melted beneath him, totally conquered, releasing and clamping down on him.

He bit the side of her neck, her shoulder. She dug her nails into his thigh, so he spanked her. Her muffled “Oh” drove him crazy. He reached under and rubbed his forefinger against her nub, causing her to bounce and shudder until he’d wrung her out. His seed flowed, the satisfying release taking him over the threshold into a dream state.

He was lulled to near sleep with the sounds of her heavy breathing. At last, they rolled to the side, and he buried his face in the hair at the back of her neck, and in that perfumed forest, he began to fall asleep. He was fairly sure he’d never slept with her before. He didn’t always remember faces, but he remembered bodies. Still, the routine was as familiar as if they’d been partners for years, like a memory was trying to surface he’d long tucked away. Maybe he was remembering the lady from North Carolina who had become the standard bearer for him.

Just before he allowed himself to let go and tumble into the deep satisfying rest he needed, he heard the faint knocking on his hotel room door.

‡

H
eather was a
fragrant, fading memory, having left in the early morning hours. He noticed on the way to the elevator that she slipped something on the fourth finger of her left hand when she didn’t realize he was looking, just before she safely tucked herself behind the elevator doors.

He figured half the women he slept with were married, about to be married, or about to be divorced. Those ladies were probably a bit safer for him, to be honest. He’d enjoyed himself and hoped she did, too. There wasn’t any expectation of a future meeting, and that worked just fine for him.

Early morning was one of his favorite times of the day. Alone at last, naked and satisfied, resting in the sheets with their lingering combined perfume. Sometimes, he’d stay up and write songs or pick on some chords he was working on. His confidence was fired up. He told himself this was a good thing; that he took away as much as he gave in these exciting encounters. There was nothing better than to feel he’d satisfied a woman’s fantasies. Nothing better than to be the
object
of her fantasy, even if it was only for one night. Well, sometimes, two or three. Those were some of his best memories.

He remembered that one particular little lady from North Carolina he used to wonder about. It happened when he first came to Nashville. Clean fresh face, pretty smile. Their lovemaking was slow and arduous, and after all these years, he still remembered how she cried when she came beneath him. He didn’t want them to cry, but her genuine tears made him feel oddly powerful. Making love to her made him feel healthy. It was nice when that happened, and it wasn’t often that way with his girls, not that it wasn’t pleasant.

He just never had to go home with some of the girls like his friend, Thomas, did. Jameson attracted the hotties. But Thomas always had a bit of a grey cloud hanging over his head, a little sadness, so his choices were limited. He used to laugh, “Jameson, I’m still going to bed at two with a ten and waking up at ten with a two.” It made him smile that even Thomas was able to find someone to spend the night with. It was hard being alone, being on stage every night, and then being alone afterward.

Jameson and the little girl from North Carolina had spent a whole week together one time when he got booked into one of the gigs in Charlotte—the last time he saw her. She had stayed out of sight in the corner of the front row, didn’t seem to mind when other girls threw themselves at him. He had tried not to search for her in the shadows, wondering if she saw what the other ladies were doing. Embarrassing themselves. If she had objected, she didn’t say anything about it afterward.

She had even introduced him to her parents, whom he had a hard time facing, but she insisted. They had never talked about getting married, just a few lovely days together. He had peered into her father’s eyes and told him, non-verbally, that he wasn’t going to do his daughter any harm. He could tell by the way they shook hands that the man believed him. He preferred to think that he’d sent her halfway to heaven during those days. Her parents’ horse farm had been a wonderful rendezvous for them when they’d gone to Europe that one spring. The fields of flowers, tasty wine, and picnic baskets full of home-baked goodies were just some of the memories he had. He lived the life most men could only dream of. Did she remember him? He wondered.

Of course she did.
They all did. His Facebook page was filled with friend requests, both old friends and friends wanting to be more, and women he’d bedded who were now married or in the process of divorce. He had to be careful accepting some of them. Didn’t want to give them the wrong impression. He had to stop accepting the midnight instant messages, too. They stalked him. There were the occasional husbands who asked him to give their wife a thrill they felt they could no longer give. These were good men who had been injured or lacked confidence or just wanted to do something for their wives because they loved them. Jameson understood this, but never agreed. He just couldn’t knowingly take what wasn’t his to take. And then there was that model from Florida who wanted him to sleep with her fourteen-year-old daughter.

“I know you’ll be gentle with her. Make her first time memorable.”

There wasn’t any kind of money or favor that could make him do that. It had nothing to do with how sweet the little one was, or how scared, or how he knew he could please her, give her something she’d dream about forever. It had to do with his own honor and integrity.

These requests were becoming more urgent and more frequent. That was the part of the fame that was beginning to take its toll.

He slept in
late, ordering a big breakfast and lots of coffee. He read the paper, listened to a CD a friend had given him, and padded around in the white robe left by the hotel.

He practiced for about an hour, then took a nap, and woke up in the late afternoon, taking his time to prepare for his show. He returned phone calls and checked his email and Facebook accounts. There was a message from Blondie.

Sorry I missed you. I’d like to be part of your plans for this evening if you’re available. No worries, if not. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.

She signed her name,
Karen
.

He was happy she didn’t show her claws or accuse him of standing her up. It was wise she didn’t mention it and let him know her interest was, if anything, stronger. That was always so attractive in a woman.

The crowd was
even larger this evening. One of his band members had been stopped and tagged with a DUI so a newbie base guitarist was brought in. The kid looked hardly eighteen, but he was obviously a virtuoso. Jameson knew that most of the guys in his group were talented enough to go out on their own some day. But for now, they were the club band, working with artists who didn’t have their own entourage. They were there to make him look good and make the customers stay longer to buy more drinks.

Making hay while I can.

The music business was fluid. Back-up singers and musicians would one day become huge country stars. It was random and rigged. There were lots of things one had to pay attention to, but the break-out was still sheer luck. Lady Luck was usually on Jameson’s side these days, a luscious broad of a gal so generous with her assets and her gifts. So while he was waiting, kneeling at the altar of her fair smile and golden touch, the ride was real fun. Better than he deserved.

He saw Blondie front and center, and when their eyes connected, she made her way back to the bar. Thomas was there on his usual perch. He’d not been Jameson’s warm-up tonight because the club owner was trying to promote a new girl group. Sipping on his third drink, or more, he sidled up to Blondie, and Jameson noticed she gave him the cold shoulder.

At the end of the first set before break, he gave the crowd one of the songs they’d come to hear, his new anthem,

Hope you find what you’re looking for

Maybe this time you won’t come up short…

He studied her swing on the stool, her impossibly long legs and tight blue jeans flaring out at the thighs and hips as she crossed and uncrossed her legs. Her red boots matched her lipstick. She’d gone for a siren look when he preferred the innocence of the night before better, but it didn’t matter. She was appearing hotter on the stool as he sang, and that was always a good thing. The more heat she radiated back to Jameson, the drunker Thomas acted. His old musician friend was sitting next to someone he’d never have a shot at in a million years. It was just the luck of his hand. When he was young, he hadn’t spent his years wisely. Now that he was older, he couldn’t reclaim those days or repurchase his dignity. It was all gone.

Jameson made a mental note to spend some time with his old friend, whose hair was allowed to grow longer and whose eyes were looking wilder.

At the break, Jameson wasn’t surprised when Arlen poked his head in.

“You up for the little fan-girl moment, boss?”

“Red boots?”

“Just like you like ’em. Red boots, blonde hair. Nice chest. The works, I’d say.” Arlen gave him a wink of admiration. “You certainly know how to get ’em. I think she’s the one from last night, but I wasn’t lookin’.”

Jameson tossed back his drink and set his guitar down, but didn’t stand. “Sure you weren’t.” He winked at his former Marine bodyguard. “Send her in.”

She was obviously working hard tonight not to be forgotten. Everything was exaggerated. Her shirt was unbuttoned dangerously deep. Her cheeks blushed bright reddish pink, her lips full and bright red. Even her nail polish was red. She leaned against the dressing room door and looked like the perfect kind of eye candy he needed for the night. He’d be hard again for the entire second set, for the second night in a row.