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Authors: Penny Wylder
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already raging, I grab it and sink into the couch. "You sure you can’t make it down this weekend? I’d make it worth your while.”
“I wish. I really do."
"Guess what I'm doing right now?" I growl, rubbing myself harder. The short inhale she makes on the line tells me she's figured me out. "Can you picture it? Me jerking myself off, thinking of you?"
She whimpers; I hear her settling in her chair, fidgeting. “Another time, Drew, I promise, I just have a lot to do. I’m having some problems with a couple of the venues for the next leg. They don’t want to let us in as early as we need, and negotiating that has been a headache.”
I'm frustrated with how professional she keeps things, steering our conversations away from what we both know we want—each other.
“So if not this weekend, when are you coming to visit? You’re my manager. I need to be managed.”
“I’m not sure, Drew.” The soft way she breathes my name is addicting. “We just got settled in our new offices here and I have so much to do, I really wish I didn't. I think hanging out with you would be better, honestly.”
That comforts me, but it doesn't make my dick any less rock hard. "Next time I see you, I'm sticking those excuse making lips on my cock. Got it?"
She's speaking high and tight, excited. "Okay. Yeah. That's—dammit!"
I sit up straight. "What's wrong?"
"Call on the other line. I have to take this, I—I'm sorry! I'll see you soon, Drew!" The click of the line dying is heavy.
I can’t wait to see her again, to get things back to how they were. It had been great and I miss it. I miss her . Fuck.
Loneliness creeps up like a plague.
I can’t work on my music, need distraction. My erection isn't going away, so I slide my pants down and jerk myself off to the fantasy of Lucy bouncing up and down on my cock right here, right now.
The relief is brief and stale.
I ache for the real thing.
Chapter 8
Lucy
I am , in every possible sense of the word, completely and utterly fucked.
Of course, it’s not like I haven’t been fucked for a while now, not like it didn’t all start months ago when I'd gotten completely and utterly fucked by Drew Avery.
At the time, I couldn't have cared less about the condom breaking because just being with him seemed more important. After Drew cornered me a few nights later and dragged me back to his suite for round two, I figured I should probably start on the pill just in case. It really felt too good not to partake, and I’m an odds girl; the odds anything would come of one broken condom were pretty damn low.
It just kept happening, too. Drew would flirt and smirk and press close, and I was lost, so many times over I was lost.
Fortunately, the tour had been about to go on hiatus, so I just had to bide my time, and then, maybe then, I could regain my head. Sex with Drew was good, but we needed to stop, I knew that. I had let him cross the line, had begged him to cross it in the end. It was so bad that we had even fucked in a utility closet near the end of the West Coast leg of the tour.
It was during the encore break, short and dirty against the wall. The moment he came, just after me, he’d put me down, then tucked and zipped, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he strutted out of the closet to finish the show, leaving both of our juices dripping down my thighs. I couldn’t even clean it up, had to go do my damn job and oversee the rest of the show, and the stickiness between my legs was a reminder for the next hour of how far gone I was.
I had lost my head, lost my damn mind I was so wrapped up in him, and I knew it was a mistake even then, but he was like a drug and I couldn't stop . He cornered me every chance he got. I'm supposed to be his manager, but somehow, I'd become his favorite new toy, and the worst part was, I wanted to be.
After weeks of constant sex, the break finally came. The East Coast leg of the tour would kick off after a three-month hiatus, a gap built in to allow
“I wish. I really do."
"Guess what I'm doing right now?" I growl, rubbing myself harder. The short inhale she makes on the line tells me she's figured me out. "Can you picture it? Me jerking myself off, thinking of you?"
She whimpers; I hear her settling in her chair, fidgeting. “Another time, Drew, I promise, I just have a lot to do. I’m having some problems with a couple of the venues for the next leg. They don’t want to let us in as early as we need, and negotiating that has been a headache.”
I'm frustrated with how professional she keeps things, steering our conversations away from what we both know we want—each other.
“So if not this weekend, when are you coming to visit? You’re my manager. I need to be managed.”
“I’m not sure, Drew.” The soft way she breathes my name is addicting. “We just got settled in our new offices here and I have so much to do, I really wish I didn't. I think hanging out with you would be better, honestly.”
That comforts me, but it doesn't make my dick any less rock hard. "Next time I see you, I'm sticking those excuse making lips on my cock. Got it?"
She's speaking high and tight, excited. "Okay. Yeah. That's—dammit!"
I sit up straight. "What's wrong?"
"Call on the other line. I have to take this, I—I'm sorry! I'll see you soon, Drew!" The click of the line dying is heavy.
I can’t wait to see her again, to get things back to how they were. It had been great and I miss it. I miss her . Fuck.
Loneliness creeps up like a plague.
I can’t work on my music, need distraction. My erection isn't going away, so I slide my pants down and jerk myself off to the fantasy of Lucy bouncing up and down on my cock right here, right now.
The relief is brief and stale.
I ache for the real thing.
Chapter 8
Lucy
I am , in every possible sense of the word, completely and utterly fucked.
Of course, it’s not like I haven’t been fucked for a while now, not like it didn’t all start months ago when I'd gotten completely and utterly fucked by Drew Avery.
At the time, I couldn't have cared less about the condom breaking because just being with him seemed more important. After Drew cornered me a few nights later and dragged me back to his suite for round two, I figured I should probably start on the pill just in case. It really felt too good not to partake, and I’m an odds girl; the odds anything would come of one broken condom were pretty damn low.
It just kept happening, too. Drew would flirt and smirk and press close, and I was lost, so many times over I was lost.
Fortunately, the tour had been about to go on hiatus, so I just had to bide my time, and then, maybe then, I could regain my head. Sex with Drew was good, but we needed to stop, I knew that. I had let him cross the line, had begged him to cross it in the end. It was so bad that we had even fucked in a utility closet near the end of the West Coast leg of the tour.
It was during the encore break, short and dirty against the wall. The moment he came, just after me, he’d put me down, then tucked and zipped, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he strutted out of the closet to finish the show, leaving both of our juices dripping down my thighs. I couldn’t even clean it up, had to go do my damn job and oversee the rest of the show, and the stickiness between my legs was a reminder for the next hour of how far gone I was.
I had lost my head, lost my damn mind I was so wrapped up in him, and I knew it was a mistake even then, but he was like a drug and I couldn't stop . He cornered me every chance he got. I'm supposed to be his manager, but somehow, I'd become his favorite new toy, and the worst part was, I wanted to be.
After weeks of constant sex, the break finally came. The East Coast leg of the tour would kick off after a three-month hiatus, a gap built in to allow
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