Throb Page 8

  “Baby...you’re feeling tense, are you okay?” asked Jason, his voice still silky and steady, but I could tell as he softened his grip on my flesh he was worried.

  “I guess I just have a lot of stress.” Well, it wasn’t a complete lie, but I didn’t want Jason to know quite yet what was going on in my mind.

  Keanne was never going to be able to compete with this, because Jason had made time, when he had none, whereas Keanne had time for everyone except for me.

  I knew that after the New York trip, I’d have to make a decision, and that it was no longer a choice between dating Keanne and dating Jason, but between letting this thing we had, as fucked up, messed up, and complicated as it was, to continue or not.

  “Babe?” asked Jason.

  “I feel great,” I said, and it was true: it was as if a large weight had been lifted off of me the way we’d lifted box after box up the stairs. “Can you do my legs?”

  “Of course,” he said, and he sounded more relaxed as he lowered himself onto the bed as he rubbed my legs, sealing each inch with a kiss from the ankles up to the crux of my thigh, but no further. With every kiss, he pushed the pajama bottom legs up an inch, but they were stuck, bunched around my upper thighs like shorts.

  “Are you sure you want to stay in?” I teased, still hugging the pillow.

  “Definitely,” said Jason, lifting his lips from my leg to answer, even as he kept rubbing them with strong downwards motions.

  “That’s too bad,” I said, turning over. I took his chin in my hand and guided it up so that he was forced to look at me as I moved to get back on my back.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather...eat out?” I purred. He blushed as I continued: “I’m in the mood for something...big.”

  “You mean – ” he started, but I cut him off with a quick kiss.

  “That’s right, babe,” I said as I moved to be on my side, switching my body’s position so I was in the sixty nine position with Jason. I pulled his boxers down and towards me. The way his cock popped out, erect and glazed with precum, I wanted to make a joke about “fast food”, but instead, I took the head of his cock into my mouth and started to suck.

  Jason didn’t need further instruction. He took the waistband of the pajamas and shimmied them down to my knees, along with my underwear. I spread my legs slightly to allow him access to my nethers and he pressed his face in greedily.

  From our upside down angles, taking each other in was foreign and almost awkward at first. I’d never taken a dick from this angle or had myself taken this way before, but the relationship Jason and I had was kept fresh because we took risks like this, trying new things without prejudice or fear of making mistakes. I wasn’t about to let something stupid like inexperience get in the way of our pleasure.

  As Jason’s nose pressed into my entrance, his tongue still enamored with my clit, I gasped, Jason’s dick going further down my gapping, slackjawed mouth. The moan I would have let out was muffled by his cock, and the vibrations went through his throbbing shaft.

  “That feels so fucking good, Becca,” he said, lifting his mouth up from my sex for only a second.

  I tried to answer him, but my mouth, still filled, couldn’t let out a coherent word. His shaft continued to throb as he let out a moan of his own, traveling down his tongue and into my body through my clit.

  With every moan we made, we pleasured the other, making them moan in turn. It was like a pleasure engine, each moan multiplying the pleasure we had from one another, because each moan was stronger than the last. The stronger the moan, the greater the vibration, the greater vibration, the better the pleasure, and the better the pleasure, the stronger the moan. Each time I felt his vocals vibrate into my clit or my entrance, I let out my own beautiful music, playing his dick like a flute, like an oboe, like every woodwind and every brass instrument. The orchestra of our love making was a tender but powerful baseline, composed only of the sounds of our mouths on the instruments of our bodies. The only applause was that of the sheets rustling around us, the only whistling that of the wind outside the window.

  “Jason, I’m so close,” I told him, and he started to press into me with his tongue harder, but I kept my mouth off his cock and started to rub it with just my hand instead, feeling the veiny meat throb in my hand.

  Jason didn’t need further instruction, forcing himself off of my pussy as I kept him in my hand, keeping him ready and hard. He pressed his fingers into me as we shifted so I was back on my back and he was on his knees, ready to join into me. Pressing down on my lower walls with his fingers, he pulled them out as he pushed the head of his cock in, my natural moistness mixed with his saliva to form a wet highway to pleasure for the both of us.

  “Jason, I’m so close,” I said, pulling close to him and wrapping my legs around him, forcing his dick up into me. My hips started rocking involuntarily.

  “I know babe, so am I,” he said, his dick throbbing and twitching inside of me, in a way it could only do on its own, when it was ready to explode. I kept letting my body do its own thing, because it knew what I needed more than I did right now. It knew how to pleasure itself and to pleasure Jason, and I wasn’t about to interfere with evolution, with nature.

  As my walls started to clench and increase their pressure on Jason’s shaft, I pulled myself all the way up, so that our torsos were touching, my breasts against his pecs, my chin in the crook of his neck. The next moment was seconds long but it felt like my life had been put on pause.

  As Jason pulled away from me to kiss me, I looked in his eyes and saw pure joy, pure bliss, pure contentment. Our lips met like crashing waves against the beach, fighting to erode whatever barrier remained between the two of us, and as his tongue entered my mouth, his cock throbbed desperately for the last time.

  As my grip around him increased, as if he was an anchor line and I was a kite in danger of flying away, so did my walls around his shaft, with increasing rhythm and power. I didn’t just need his cum in me, I needed it inside of me, and there was only one way my body could ensure that happened: by forcing it up into me with my own powerful orgasm, made more pleasurable by the fact that I had climaxed at the same time as Jason. Jason’s cum warmed me from the inside, the way that his kisses warmed me from the outside, pressing his heat into me and my heart.

  And then, in a second? It was over. My arms and legs, suddenly tired, fell to my sides, but Jason kept his grip on me even as he untangled our limbs gently, placing me on the bed and pulling a sheet over me, over us.

  “So, are you going to Club Grit this weekend, now that you’re not part of Omega? It’s going to be awfully lonely without you there to keep me company,” he teased. “I might just have to resort to serving bottle service, just to get the free conversation.”

  “I’m...actually going somewhere this weekend,” I said.

  “Oh, are you visiting your parents or something?” he asked, brushing a lock of hair out of my face.

  “No, I’m going to New York,” I said, avoiding what he was really asking about.

  Pressing a lock of hair behind my ear, he asked, “Are you going with friends or by yourself?”

  “It’s for work,” I said, hoping he’d get the clue.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah...”

  “So, you’re seeing Keanne?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Becca, it’s your life, not mine.” He put one of my hands in his and gave it a squeeze to let me know he wasn’t mad at me, but I wasn’t so easily convinced.

  “Jason, do you have a problem with me seeing him?”

  “Becca, it’s really not a big –”

  “Don’t you finish that sentence, don’t you dare, Jason. Obviously, it’s a big deal for you, and obviously, you have an issue with me seeing Keanne. I don’t know why, though,” I said, frowning.

  Jason rolled his eyes. “Really, Becca? You have absolutely no idea?”

  “Maybe if you told me, I’d k
now, what about that?”

  “You want to know what I think, Becca? What I really think?”

  “Yeah, I do,” I said, looking at him seriously.

  Jason looked up at the ceiling and so did I, not really sure what to do. We kept our hands locked though, not squeezing, not playing some stupid game with our fingers, but just keeping them together. Finally, Jason broke the silence. “I’m always going to be here. You can hold me on retainer, using me for a fuck whenever Keanne’s not around, because guess what? He’s never going to be around. He’s just going to keep using you, the way that he uses the other girls he’s been with. You think that to him, you’re different?”

  “Yes, I do,” I said with a laugh.

  “Well, you’re not. You’re not different, to him, and it’s not because you’re not special. You are, Becca, but he’s too much of an egotistical asshole to realize it. He’s sneaking around with you like you’re something to be ashamed of, when you’re not. You’re worth so much more than him, Becca,” he said with a sigh.

  “Like what? Don’t try to push Keanne out of my life when you’re the one who’s kept me as a friend with benefit.”

  “Are you serious? I don’t sneak around, Becca. I’ve never been ashamed to be with you, or tried to hide it. I’ve gone out with you for coffee, to the movies, taken you to places that are special to me. I’m not the one that wants to hide what we have: you have. I’ve tried to take this to the next level, time and time again, but each time, you resist.”

  “So what are you saying, Jason? That I shouldn’t go with him to New York? That I shouldn’t take a chance at my dream?”

  “And what is your dream, Becca? Because from what you’ve told me, experience with Keanne isn’t going to help you as a journalist, unless you’re trying to do the whole Hunter S. Thompson thing. Keanne’s not the man you think he is, he’s not different than other people, and his story isn’t important. Yours is.” Jason turned towards me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I looked back at him, and his eyes weren’t angry, like I thought they’d be. There wasn’t a wrinkle on his forehead, not a crinkle on that perfect face. His eyes were just dim, like someone who was disillusioned, and who wasn’t going to play the game we’d been playing anymore. “I’m not going to leave you, though. I’ll always be here for you, in whatever capacity you need me. Whenever you need me, I’ll be here.”

  I couldn’t tell Jason how I felt though, not yet. I didn’t even know whether or not the New York trip would change anything, because the truth was, I knew that this weekend I’d find out if I was good enough to stay with Jason or if I had to break up with him, for his own good. “Let’s just get some sleep,” I said, and I gave him a kiss on the forehead before I turned away from him. He pulled my curled body into his, our bodies one, but unlike Jason, I wasn’t so sure we’d be able to be like this forever.

  Chapter Nine:

  THE CAR KEANNE HAD ORDERED FOR ME TOOK ME PAST THE AIRPORT AND ONTO THE TARMAC, where a private jet was waiting, along with a familiar face.

  Keanne.

  In a black shirt with a dog’s face on it, designer black shorts, and a pair of puffy black sneakers, there was no mistaking him, even before he took off his large, visor-like sunglasses to reveal his warm eyes. His skin was slightly darker than mine, with redder tones, the chocolate to my caramel, but he had the same smattering of dark freckles across his cheeks, beneath his eyes, that I did.

  “A pleasure, as always,” he said, giving me a kiss on the cheek and a hug from the side as the driver and the air stewards unloaded the car’s trunk and carried out my bags. “It’s been too long, honey. You excited for New York?” he asked, drawing me closer with his hand on my lower back and pulling me in. I could smell his expensive cologne. He smelled of peppercorn and bergamot, the latter scent reminding me of Jason, of the way we drank Earl Grey tea together in the morning, with our breakfast, before I’d leave the apartment.

  “Of course,” I said coolly, as if I was being sarcastic, the way that he must be. In reality, my heart was pumping. I hadn’t really left the Los Angeles area since my internship with Keanne had ended, but I’d missed seeing cities that even outshone this jewel on the Southern California shore. New York had been so exciting the last time we went. I imagine it’d be exciting for anyone who went to Times Square and saw the massive advertisements and billboards, but Keanne was the kind of guy that saw his own image reflection in those idolized by tourists.

  Keanne could take trips around the country, around the world, whenever he felt like it. As a college student, I didn’t have those freedoms. I’d had to do assignments early to ensure that I had this weekend free to spend with Keanne, I’d had to make arrangements and tell people where I was going, and I’d had to leave Jason behind. We hadn’t talked about this trip since the night I told him I was going to New York with Keanne, and I hadn’t said goodbye, just left in the morning for class and come back in the afternoon to grab a small overnight bag for the trip, filled with the essentials.

  “Great, I’ve missed having you on my team,” said Keanne as he offered me his arm. I took it and we walked up the stairs to the plane. The interior was resplendent, in white leather with gold accents, and there was already caviar and toast set up for us, with vodka shots. “You’re a Grey Goose girl, right?”

  “You remembered?” I asked, surprised.

  “Of course, remember that night we went to the party in the Hollywood Hills and someone asked if it was Canadian?”

  “And I made a fool out of myself, and talked about how it was French,” I said with a laugh as I took the shot quickly. It was sour but fruity. “Le Citron? Classy, Keanne.”

  “Well, it’s that sort of smarts I need. You’re always coolheaded and intelligent, even when you have a drink in you. That’s why I need you on this trip,” he said, taking some of the caviar and putting it on a small toasted cracker before popping it in his mouth, not dropping a single precious egg.

  “It’s my pleasure,” I said with a small smile as I served myself some caviar as well. I hadn’t had any since I’d last seen Keanne. As the salty bubbles burst in my mouth, releasing their strong juices, I closed my eyes and smiled, involuntarily. Keanne let out a heart chuckle.

  “When was the last time you had caviar, babe?”

  “With you, of course,” I said. It was true. Although Club Grit was nice, it wasn’t as great as the places Keanne went, where bottles of alcohol went for thousands of dollars, where all the women weren’t only gorgeous, but accomplished too. Keanne’s lifestyle made the one I had at UCBH look rather, well, boring. It wasn’t like any of the other girls were jet setting on the weekends, no matter how rich their daddies were.

  This was the lifestyle I’d left behind, the lifestyle of jet setting and of luxury foods, of not worrying about things that seemed trivial when flying thousands of feet into the air, like money.

  On the way to New York, Keanne filled me in on the weekend’s plans. We’d get into New York on Saturday morning, go to a few business meetings, and get back by Sunday night. Keanne’s next album was ready to drop and a few magazines were bidding for exclusive pics of the music video that accompanied the predicted hit single. Neither the video or the single had been released yet, except for a small clip that had gone viral because of a leak.

  Keanne took a nap on the plane and so did I. We both needed our rest if we were going to play hardball with the magazine publishers. Behind the scenes pictures of Keanne’s music video could command a high price from a good magazine, better than some low-res cell phone selfies taken by a staffer. No, something taken by Keanne’s entourage’s photographer would go for at least a few million dollars. To be dealing in millions of dollars seemed crazy, but Keanne’s appeal transcended things like race, class, and gender. The right magazine could use Keanne’s star power to increase their readership by leaps and bounds. By the end of this trip, Keanne’s pictorial would be sold, and the issue wasn’t “if” but for “how much”.

  A limo was wait
ing on the tarmac when we landed in New York around two in the morning. It took us straight to the hotel: the Waldorf Astoria. Bellhops were ready, when we arrived, to take our bags to our rooms. Keanne’s Louis Vuitton luggage set, in its understated checkered pattern, half the squares the color of his skin, the other half the color of mine, was more resplendent than my plain American Apparel overnighter in all black. We were ushered into a private elevator, which made no additional stops, just passing floor after floor until there were no more floors to pass.

  We were literally at the top: Keanne had booked a penthouse room. Or, to be more accurate? Keanne had someone book it for him. I don’t know what sort of accommodations I’d expected from Keanne: maybe we’d stay with a friend of his, maybe we’d get a cheap motel that he’d trash in an impromptu party. I didn’t expect the “Royal Suite” to be so, well...royal.

  Keanne held the door open for me and when I entered, I gasped. It was like something out of rococo France. The entire room was done in shades of mint blue, gold, and black. Heavy beige and turquoise drapes were moved back to reveal sheer white panels. There were was a large black grand piano in the corner, as well as two sets of sofas and coffee tables. The floor was beige with a gold pattern, except in the center, where a pink bouquet of roses was painted over a sky blue oval.

  This was it: this was our Versailles, and although Keanne was King, what was I? Was I a courtier or was a Marie Antoinette? “There’s two rooms,” said Keanne, as he entered, closing the door. “Pick the one you like best.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course, really.” I didn’t need to be told twice. The first room I checked was the “Duke’s Room”, with gold and pastel yellow walls, a large tapestry above the bed, and plain all-white sheets on the bed, softer than anything I’d touched shopping for dorm bedding or experienced when sleeping from hotel to hotel with Keanne last summer. It was nice but I had to see the other room before making a decision.