Pulse: BBW Contemporary Rock Star Romance (2 page)

Ron stood completely still, a tall spire in an ocean. The look on his face betrayed him. A gentle nodding of the head indicated enjoyment but the look on his face was all jealousy. He saw the way his girlfriend watched the curious movements of Ian, the exotic lead.

And the drummer moved so fast that you couldn't be sure he was even there. It was as though the band had employed a rapid wave of light instead of a human. He banged his head and smashed his sticks against the kit with masterful speed, a voodoo curse putting him under some unknown spell. He held the rhythm perfectly, and the swift roll of the double-kick echoed into the night sky far beyond the open-air stadium.

Alyssa stood still for a moment. She planted her heels into the ground and steeled against the throbbing weight of the crowd to swallow down both drinks and toss the empty plastic cups aside. In the intervals between the jumps of the man in front, the one with the afro, she saw Callum shredding away.

Ian writhed about the stage in a fervor, his mannerisms akin to Jack Sparrow on bath salts. Saliva sprayed from his lips like rain over the microphone. But behind him Callum stood coolly, calmly, eyes closed and lower lip bit. His head bounced and grooved, the notes he was hitting seemed to reverberate through his body before they even reached the amplifier. He gave Alyssa the impression of a guru who decided on a whim to grace the crowd with his presence. He kept up with the insane pace of the music without appearing as though he tried. There was a reserved appreciation in his eyes as he looked out over the throng of fans. He dug the vibe, but he wasn't letting it get to him. Alyssa had never felt so excited, so mesmerized, in her life. “Ian's cool,” she whispered to Jane, “But are you seeing that guitarist?”

Jane gave Alyssa a quick grin. She looked briefly at her boyfriend, who was distracted, and came in close again. “I know where he's staying tonight,” Jane said.

“What? Really?”

Jane nodded, tutting at the cigarette between her lips. Slack-jawed, Alyssa looked to Callum and then back to her friend.

“He's at The Vine,” Jane said. Alyssa gave her a puzzled look. “You know, the hotel on sixth?”

“Oh!”

Jane returned her attention to Ron as though she'd never said a thing, cuddling into the tall and motionless man's chest. From the alcove between his torso and his tightening arm, Jane gave Alyssa a suggestive nod.

The song wound to a close and the crowd cheered. Ian wiped sweat from his brow and slapped a hand against Callum's shoulder. The lead-guitarist smiled.

“Thank you,” said Ian, “Thanks. It's good to be here, we've been looking forward to this show all tour.” The crowd lost it. There were wolf-whistles and throat-slicing shouts. The thrashing bodies in the pit came to a standstill, each of them puffing and panting and patting each other on the back. The rhythm guitarist plucked an ambient tune as Ian caught his breath behind the mic. “It can be a bit crazy,” said Ian, “Traveling from city to city, seeing hundreds and thousands of faces each night. But you know what, Crucible of Lucifer has the best fuckin' fans in the world.” Still more yells and whoops and screams.

“I'm serious,” he spat to the left of him, “Serious. Everywhere we go we meet people who love what we do, love us. And we love ya's too. Honest to god, we're all strangers to each other but we're here for the love of the same thing. And there's a real trust there, a knowing. We're clicked on to the same frequency, man, I love it.”

A homogeneous muttering spread over the audience. People nodded and talked and laughed, each single pocket of conversation mixing into a pleased drone.

“The next song we're gunna play for you lot is a new one, off our upcomin' album. We hope you like it, it's called Cake-face Cadaver.”

The drummer brought his sticks down on the crash cymbals in short, swift bursts. Callum kicked in with a chunky riff, and the song exploded into sudden existence. The pit gained momentum once more and the still crowd resumed bouncing. This second song was meatier, it chugged along with a slightly slower tempo beneath vocals that were, this time, faster and higher-pitched. From the few words, Alyssa could make out, the song seemed to be about a woman who was not the person she presented herself as being. It was obvious that the song was pulled from one of Ian's experiences with a lover.

Crucible of Lucifer shook the amphitheater for another hour-and-a-half, rattling the crowd—and their brains—so that, by the end of it all, the patrons walked away with a throbbing headache, ready for a soft bed and a good night's rest.

CHAPTER 3

Outside the gates, Alyssa stood smoking cigarettes with Jane and Ron. They recounted their personal highlights of the show and discussed their impressions of the band's forthcoming album. Alyssa tried to play along like she was interested, but the whole time, she could do nothing but fantasize about naked Callum. On the outside, Alyssa probably seemed to passers-by calm and collected, but inside her, a heat, a fire, grew wild and uncontrollable for that drummer. She wondered what his apartment looked like, particularly his bedroom. Once their smokes were spent, they moved onto the street to head out.

“Let's go to The Vine,” said Alyssa, “Meet the guys.” She tried to sound casual like she didn't care.

Jane's eyes flashed excitement, reading Alyssa completely, but she gritted her teeth. Ron leaned down to whisper something in her ear. She looked at Alyssa with bad news. “You know, I think we're just going to go back to our hotel.”

Alyssa shot daggers at Ron. “Fine. I'll text you.”

“Cool. Have fun!”

Jane and Ron left, his protective arm around her. Alyssa broke out of the masses to hail an approaching cab, and she told the driver to head straight for the hotel on sixth. When the cab arrived, late at night as it was, the receptionists at The Vine were tucked away in the staffroom somewhere, rather than manning the lobby as they should have been. Confident that she had left before the band, Alyssa took her opportunity to sit unquestioned at the couches by the entrance. Looking around the hotel's entrance and lobby where the 20-somethings hung out, she could tell this was the place where people crossed into the shadows of their minds, where they experimented and tried things they wouldn't otherwise consider at any other time. This was the place when the band member's let loose and crossed forbidden lines and did things they didn't mention the next day.

She pulled her skirt as far up as she could, and tugged down on her top so that her apple-round breasts protruded from her tight black top. In the reflection of the lobby window she made sure that her hair was neat and her lipstick intact, and took out her phone to appear occupied while she waited for the rock-star to arrive. She didn't want to seem desperate.

Fifteen minutes later a limousine pulled up in front of the hotel entrance. Out of it stepped Callum, followed by a blonde girl whose blouse was only barely attached to her thin frame. Alyssa's stomach dropped and the same heat filled her angry chest, but she sucked air through her nostrils and straightened her posture. When the lead guitarist staggered through the automatic glass doors, she stood up. Alyssa could see even from a distance that he was sloshed, as his movements were loose and fumbling. The smell of scotch sailed on the air and smacked her in the face. She thought for a moment how disappointing it was to find such a beautiful man in the arms of another woman. Alyssa's gorge rose at the thought, but then her adventurous and kinkier side took over. Maybe Alyssa could transform her disappointment in Callum's behavior into something more.fun. The gears turned in her mind for a while, as she watched Callum approached the elevator. Then Alyssa took a deep breath and started her way over to Callum, almost tripping on her heels.

The girl he had come with stumbled inside and flung an arm around his shoulder to support herself. She was laughing hysterically, but could barely hold her eyes open. The two of them walked towards the elevators, moving right past Alyssa without so much as a glance.

“Callum,” she said in a panic, “You're Callum Redbrook, right?”

The man spun on his heels to look at her. A soft grin spread across his face as he nodded, almost bowing in drunken egotism. The floozy draped herself over him and gave Alyssa a quick look of displeasure.

“I am,” he said.

Alyssa walked over to him, just close enough that he'd smell the perfume she'd just recently re-applied. The scent hit him in the nose and awakened his senses, so visible was its effect. He stood upright and surveyed her figure from top to bottom.

“I'm Alyssa,” she said, “I'm a huge fan.”

“Is that right?” he said. The girl on his arm curled her eyebrows.

“Yeah, I've been listening to C of L for years.” she said.

“Good for you,” spat the floozy, tugging on the guitarist's neck, “Let's go.” She wanted Callum to herself, and Callum turned back toward the elevator. In a slight moment of panic, Alyssa tilted her shoulders back and pushed out her chest to accentuate her breasts. Callum was undeniably aware of them.

“Hold on,” he said to the woman strapped to him, then looked to Alyssa, “If you're such a big fan, what's your favorite song from the EP?”

She paused for a moment. The woman laughed at her. “Requisite Retribution,” she said.

Callum looked at her with a raised eyebrow. He shook the blonde woman from his shoulder and stepped closer to Alyssa, peering for a moment down her top as he absorbed her beautiful scent on her neck.

“Well done,” he mumbled, “Well done.”

“Callum, let's go. I've got wild things to show you,” said the blonde woman, tapping impatiently at the elevator button.

“And who signed us after that EP, do you know?”

“Black Festival Records,” Alyssa said.

“And the first album we released with them?”

“Hell Harmonic.”

Callum chuckled to himself. He turned to look at the blonde woman who was watching for the arrival of the elevator. “She's pretty good, this one,” he said to her, “Pretty good, don't you think?”

The woman scowled at Alyssa and turned away again.

“I'd say,” Alyssa threw an arm around Callum's shoulder and rested the other hand on his hip, “That I'm a better fan than she is.” Her face came very close to his now so that she was breathing softly into his ear.

“You might be a better fan,” he said, “But seems to me that girl's a better fan, you know?”

Alyssa bit at his earlobe playfully. “Don't be so sure.” His eyebrows raised involuntarily. His hands came to rest around her thin frame. Her smell intoxicated him, and the nape of her neck brushed against his lips and stirred nervous energy between his legs. “Forget her, I want you to take me,” Alyssa said.

With wide eyes, Callum looked from Alyssa to the blonde and back again. “How about both?”

“Not a chance!” shot the girl by the elevator.

Alyssa smiled. She ran the small tip of her tongue up his neck to where his ear began. “Make your choice, one or the other.” His jaw tightened, he inhaled sharply through closed teeth. The blonde by the elevator was perceptibly unhappy, and her drunken fury washed away any attractive feature about herself faster than a cigarette butt swept into a storm drain.

“Let's go,” he said, letting out a mischievous growl that surprised Alyssa. This guy seemed a little immature.

CHAPTER 4

They entered the elevator and left the blonde in the lobby, pouting and disheveled. When the elevator dinged and they had reached the top level, the doors opened straight into Callum's penthouse apartment. The place domineered a three hundred and sixty degree view of the city. Alyssa didn't notice because she was too busy making out with Callum. The two were all over each other with passion and fire. The deep crimson on her lips smudged onto his own mouth and stained red the exposed parts of his face above a gallant beard that shone almost gold under the hallway lighting.

In a feverish embrace, they moved past the entrance and toward the sofa, where she fell on top of him, grinding her hips against his in unbridled anticipation. He tugged the black top from out of her red skirt and pulled it over her head. She tossed it aside and the dull orange of the lounge room lighting drew lines on the delicious curvature of her breasts. She gnawed on his collarbone and removed his shirt slowly, admiring the way that beads of sweat accentuated the stark lines of his abdomen. He was tattooed from neck-to-toe, swirling images of skulls and rum bottles and scrolls inscribed with ancient lettering. Alyssa ran her tongue down his torso towards the buckle of his belt.

“Hold on,” he said with a hand on her shoulder, “Let's have a drink.” She sat up and saw the private bar by the giant windows that cornered the skyline into a neat canvas. He slid out from under her and walked over to it, taking a couple of tumblers down from the shelf.

“What do you drink?” he asked.

“Vodka orange?”

He nodded, mixing her drink and pouring himself a scotch on the rocks from a fifty-year-old decanter of Dalmore. She traced him with a feline gaze as he returned to the couch with the drinks in hand, passing hers over then falling back into the plush leather couch to sip at his own. “A bloody good show,” he said, raising his glass.

She tapped hers against his. “A bloody good show,” she said.