This is fan fiction. Though the characters involve real people, this does not recount real events. The rating on this story is NC-17. If you are not 18 years of age, please do not read!
H A R D E R T O B E A G E N T L E M A N
p a r t s o n e - n i n e
© Radiantbaby, 2003
* * *
There he was, crumpled in the corner, a mix of muscle and lank. Waves of smoke pillowed up from him as he sat on the floor with one knee pulled to his chest and the other leg splayed out before him.
You could faintly hear Iggy Pop’s “The Passenger” playing below the chattering conversation in the place. It was in this place that I watched him from across the room, his head leaned back against the wall, sucking on a cigarette. His knee rocked – almost exaggerated – back and forth to the music, emphasizing the tight cherry red pants pressed against his sex.
I was intrigued by him.
Would you say I was a fan? Well, it certainly was difficult to avoid his band these days, not only with everyone touting them as “saviors of rock”, but being a bit of journalist myself. Therein laid a bit of the problem – how was I to approach him? As a fan? A journalist? Perhaps as a fellow musician?
I chewed on my lip, mulling over the possibilities, almost losing myself to my own thoughts until I realized…he was looking at me too.
I could see his gaze below his mop of black hair, shyly giving me a once over and then looking away and then looking back at me again. A small smile crossed his lips and a light blush colored his cheeks. It was only for a moment for then he looked back down at the floor, taking in a deep drag of his cigarette, and closed his eyes again. It was enough though to settle it, I had to meet him now.
I took in a deep breath and then I pushed my way through the people, through the gobs of hangers-on packing the hotel room after-party (not that I was really so different, I suppose). I found it odd that few people were even speaking with Jack or even Meg. It was as if they were to be “hip” and not there for the band. Leave it to me to break the mold, I suppose.
“Spare a cig?” I asked, squatting down in front of him, pulling the hem of my black dress down in the back.
His eyes fluttered open, his face first taking on a look of surprise and then softening into a smile.
“Of course,” he said in a low, sweet tone.
He pulled his pack of Marlboros from the entwine of his sleeve and tamped them on his palm. He then slowly pulled out one and then held it out for me. I was feeling rather fresh that evening, so instead of simply taking it from him with my hand, I leaned forward and took it between my lips. I then leaned back again on my heels again, praying that I would retain my balance in such a critical moment, and asked, “Got a light?”
“Of course,” he smiled again, almost sheepishly, my recent maneuver causing him to blush again.
He pulled out his lighter, almost staring at my lips as he lit the flame beneath the cigarette between them. I sucked in for a moment, and then blew out the initial breath of smoke.
“You’re Mickey Hyde, right?” he asked, surprising me with his recognition.
I chuckled, hardly able to contain my bemusement, “Why, yes, I am.”
He looked down for a moment, wringing his hands nervously, and then back up at me. “I love Eyes Wide.”
I shifted to sit next to him on the floor, “Hmm, color me impressed. You know Eyes Wide then?”
“Yes,” he seemed to perk up a bit, his eyes now glinting, “I have quite few 45s, actually – The Publics, The Aces, The Snags, Lolah…and, of course, Gordo.”
Surprisingly, he not only knew my name, but he also knew of my label, labelmates, and my ex-band, Gordo.
Now it was my turn to blush.
* * *
The phone’s ringing startled me early that next day. I rolled over to pick up the receiver, trying to focus on the clock to determine what time it was. It read .
“Good morning. I…didn’t wake you, did I?”
It was Jack.
I know that it probably sounds terribly cliché, but Jack and I had spent most of the previous evening’s after-party deeply immersed in conversation. It seemed once we made it past the preliminary, awkward icebreakers, we were able to both speak pretty comfortably with one another. We spoke mostly of music, then a bit about film and various other topics. Perhaps not too exciting for the average Joe, but, hey, I was with Jack White – I certainly was not complaining.
In the end, we were finally interrupted by people wanting to pull him this way and that, so we hesitantly said our goodbyes. I remember giddily leaving the hotel and walking down the street to make it back to my car when I’d heard someone’s voice calling behind me.
“Mickey! Hold on!”
I stopped and turned around to see Jack sprinting towards me, his face a bit red and his hair even more disheveled than it often is.
He stopped before me, putting his hands on his hips, hunching over slightly to catch his breath.
“Can I…” he panted, “call you sometime?”
I remember the fluttering in my stomach when he’d asked me just as clearly as when I’d heard his voice on the line the next day.
“No, you didn’t wake me…well, at least not really,” I cooed.
Why was he reducing me to a star-struck teenager with the mere cadence of his voice?
“I’m sorry, should I call back later?”
His voice had a nice husky tone that morning, perhaps it was how he always sounded at such an early hour, but I liked it.
“No, no, of course not!”
“Good,” he chuckled, “because I wanted to talk with you early.”
“Yes, you *are* calling me rather early. I thought rock stars were never supposed to get up before .”
“Hmm, well, today we have a day off in the city before we pull out tomorrow and I wanted to get a few things done.”
“Like…perhaps asking you to lunch and maybe to the Oscillators show tonight?”
My heart nearly stopped, my brain finally starting to awake and realizing I was speaking on the phone with Jack -- *The* Jack White – and now he was asking me to lunch.
“Yes, that would be great. I *love* the Oscillators.
“Wonderful! So, where would you like to eat? I can meet you at your place if you’d like, pick you up and all that.”
“Ah, such a gentleman, and you don’t even have any idea where I live.”
“A gentleman, well, perhaps not a much as I might like to be. I am just a good ole’ Catholic boy at heart,” he laughed.
“Hmm, yes, I have been there as well. Did parochial school and the whole bit. Catholic school girl dresses and saddle Oxfords….”
“And now you’d graduated to black Dickies nurse dresses and cute Mary-Janes,” he said, referring to the outfit I’d been wearing the previous night.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
* * *
If he was harried at all when he arrived on my doorstep several hours later, I would have never noticed. When I opened my door, he simply stood there with a sweet smile across his lips, his fingers grasping a road map in one hand and the other behind his back. He was wearing a pair of black slacks, black creepers, and a black and red striped shirt. I wondered to myself if he always wore his signature colors or if perhaps, because he was expected to wear them so much, those were the only colors he owned. I nearly verbalized my query, but was quieted, much to my surprise, by his presenting me with a rather large sunflower with the hand that had been hidden behind him.
“Hello…wow, thank you!” I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks. I knew I was blushing.
His eyes glinted a bit, his smile widening as I took the flower from him. “It’s not much, but a good thank you.”
“Thank you?” I questioned, stepping back and leading him into my flat.
“Yes,” he stepped in past me, looked around the room for a moment and then back at me, “for the good company.”
I swatted him and crinkled my face up at him, “Good company? Oh…okay…”
I shut the door behind us and then lead him to the couch. Once he sat down, he leaned forward and grabbed a magazine off the coffee table and started to flip through it fairly quickly. “Yes, good company,” he replied, still looking down at the magazine, “I get bit bored with the same old thing. No one challenges me anymore, its all ‘Yes, Jack. Whatever you want, Jack. Let me kiss your ass, Jack.’ At least you give me a run for my money.”
“I suppose so,” I chuckled, raising an eyebrow at him while he still flipped quickly through the magazine and then picked up another and did the same thing. Was he nervous?
“Sure you do,” he said, his eyes still fluttering over the media before him, “if I remember correctly we got into quite a few good arguments last night.”
“Arguments? Those were just debates. Besides everyone knows that Metal Machine Music was a piece of art…” I snickered, knowing I’d hit on a nerve from a musical “argument” we’d had the previous evening.
He looked up at me, his eyes wide, but his lips twitching into a smile he was trying to suppress. “Art? Art? I don’t know about that. Lou took a bad turn there.”
“A bad turn? More like a revolutionary turn,” I countered.
Sure, it was nearly intolerable to listen to, but it had made a difference and besides, with its electronic bent, I knew Jack wasn’t going to agree. He was actually fun to get all riled up.
He tossed the magazine back on to the table. “That’s it, give it back,” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting a bit.
“The flower. Give it back,” he replied, obviously still trying to suppress a laugh.
“No!” I pleaded, leaping up and jogging into the kitchen. “I have to put it into some water anyway,” I called out to him through the dining room.
“Okay, you can keep it. As charity,” he called back to me.
“Oh thanks, kind sir.” I grabbed an old bottle, filled it with some water and then snipped the end of the sunflower before putting it in the bottle. I then put it on my dining room table.
“Now that is art,” Jack said, leaning over the back of the couch and pointing at the bottle and the flower on the table.
“A still life?” I smiled back at him, making my way back over to rejoin him on the couch.
He had picked up a magazine again while I was in the kitchen, but now he seemed to have absentmindedly rolled it up with hand.
“That’s not a weapon, is it?” I pointed to it, sitting next to him.
He looked at me confused for a moment and then down at the magazine. “Oh!” he exclaimed, seemingly surprised, loosening his grip so that the magazine sprang open and landed on the floor at this feet.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered, quickly picking it up and putting it back on the table, smoothing it out flat with his hand.
I laughed, “It’s quite alright. I’ve read it. You can have it, if you’d like.”
“Um,” he blushed at bit, his hands now settling in his lap, “Thanks.”
* * *
We made our way out to the parking deck to get to his car. I offered to drive, but he vehemently resisted and denied me. “I made it alright here, I should be fine otherwise,” he’d said. “Besides, that wouldn’t make me much of a gentleman, now would it?”
At the far end of the lot was a blue Acura Integra. “Here we are,” he said, walking around to the passenger door to open the door for me, “It’s just a rental, but it does the job.”
There was a copy of a local music paper, a pack of cigarettes, and two CDs scattered on the seat. He reached in, picked them up, and tossed them in the backseat, motioning for me to sit.
He then walked around to the other end and joined me in the car. “No, this is not bad at all,” I said, looking around the car.
“We usually travel around by bus all the time, but since we have a full day and a half off, I asked for a rental. I usually like to look around the city I am in. The record company tends to not mind accommodating me.”
The engine cranked and music filled the car. “The Kills,” Jack said, pointing at the stereo, before he turned the volume down a bit. It had been on rather loud.
“Great band,” I smiled.
He popped a cigarette in his mouth and began to drive out of the parking lot. I directed him to a local diner that I really enjoy and, on the way there, we discussed various independent music, his unlit cigarette flopping up and down between his lips as he spoke. He actually didn’t light it until we parked at the diner and did so completely nonchalantly. It was almost comical, as if he often forgot to light the cigarette in his mouth.
Several hours and cigarettes later, we found ourselves in a smoky bar, applauding and cheering at the end of the Oscillators show. I’d had a few beers myself; mainly to try and quell the insistent nerves I felt just being around Jack. He did not drink anything himself, though, just simply chain-smoked one Marlboro after another.
“What a great show!” I exclaimed to Jack, grabbing onto his arm. My world was beginning to spin a bit.
“Yes, it was,” he smiled down at me, patting my fingers wrapped his forearm.
I giggled, the last beer I had beginning to take more effect than I would have liked. “Do you need to sit down?” he asked, his lips almost pouting.
“No…um, yes,” I confessed, letting him lead me to a nearby couch.
The place was loud with chatter and packed with everyone moving about and mostly either making their way to the bar or out the door to leave. Jack was watching a bunch of the people walking around once we sat, his hand now covering mine that was still holding his arm.
“Jack?” I croaked out.
He looked back at me, his eyebrow raised a bit. Strangely, at that moment, he seemed to almost be so incredibly in focus with everything in the background suddenly becoming a bit blurred. Both my heart and stomach lurched for a moment, before I found myself leaning towards him and pressing my lips against his.
They were a bit wet and so very soft and full. The best part about them was that he did not move them away from my fresh advance, instead I felt the soft cup of his hand on the nape of my neck and his fingers massaging my hair. I felt both the shy touch of his tongue against my lips and his hot mouth open more fully to mine as the kissing became more passionate.
I moved my hand to his chest, slowly running my finger down the center, across his belly, stopping at the snap of his pants. I began to fumble with it, trying to unsnap his pants, until I felt his other hand pull mine slowly away, lacing his fingers in mine.
He pulled from me, his face still inches from mine. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were dilated, as they looked deeply into my own.
“Not yet,” he breathed, holding my hand a little tighter. “Not yet.”
* * *
I chewed my fingernails nervously as we drove back to my flat after the show. I was beginning to sober up a bit and it was beginning to truly dawn on me what had just happened with Jack. I wanted to kick myself for advancing on him like I had, as if I were some wonton groupie throwing myself at him. And what did he mean by “Not yet” anyway? I wasn’t sure, but I think I had come up with at least a hundred different scenarios before we arrived back at the parking deck for my building.
We parked and he turned off the car and just looked at me. He was backlit from the light outside, so I couldn’t make out any facial expression, only the shadow of the shape of him. We hadn’t spoken at all since we’d kissed and I could feel my heart racing with the fear that perhaps I might have made the worst move of my life.
I took in a deep breath and exhaled, “Jack…”
“I’m sorry, Mickey,” the low, dulcet tone of his voice interrupted me.
Any more words seemed to slip from my mind and not from my lips, my throat had dried up in terror and I was unable to speak any more.
“I hope that you’re not disappointed in me, “ he added, leaning closer to me, cocking his head against the seat.
I could finally make out his face a bit more from the moonlight. His eyes were glistening with the small bits of light and he was chewing his lip between his teeth.
I still could not bring myself to speak. There was so much that I wanted to say to him, but nothing, nothing, was coming out.
“I am sure,” he sighed and leaned back against his seat, “you never want to see me again.”
“Wha-?” I managed to get out. At least it was something.
“I understand you know, I do,” he added, still facing forward.
“What…do you mean?” I asked.
“I really wanted to, I did. God, I did. I just don’t know about now. It’s a bad time. I don’t know. I haven’t let myself…feel…for a long time. Not really. Not for anyone outside of friends and family. And then you. I don’t know,” he stammered, lifting a cigarette to his lips and lighting it.
I tried to read his expression in the quick flickering of the flame, but it was hard to discern. “I don’t understand,” I managed to whisper.
He took in a deep drag of his cigarette and exhaled the smoke out the window.
“I am leaving in the morning. It’s just a bad time,” he said softly, still facing the window.
I swallowed hard, and sighed myself. I thanked him for the lovely evening and then returned to my flat. Alone.
* * *
I wanted to cry about it, but really, what could I do? He was a “rock star” after all. I could only imagine how many people he’d done such things to. I went to sleep soon after I got inside, not even managing to take off my clothes before passing out on the bed.
The next two days passed without much excitement, in fact I was locked somewhat in a bit of a melancholy trance over what was soon to be known, amongst my dearest friends, as the “Jack Incident.”
“You are so much better than that anyway, you would have just been a groupie to him,” they said.
I wish I could have believed them. I found myself playing our conversation over and over in my head. What did he mean by it all? Everything seemed to be going so well and then it was like someone had pulled a switch and it all ended.
I tried to stare at the numbers before me, analyzing the latest inventory records of my releases and attempting to make sure that everything had been properly distributed for the month. My heart wasn’t in it, though. I could barely even concentrate.
The phone rang and startled me. I grabbed it quickly and practically barked, “Hello?”
There was only silence on the other end.
“Hell-ooo?” I asked a bit louder, looking at the caller ID pad for a number, but only saw “Unavailable.”
“I’m. Hanging. Up. Now…” I announced and began to put the phone back on the cradle.
“Wait!” I heard from the receiver and put it back against my ear. “Mickey?”
It was Jack.
“Yes.” I was trying to sound as curt as I could. How dare he even call me?
“Mickey, its Jack.”
“I know who you are,” I replied, still in a flat, curt tone.
“Jack, I am very busy. You have already apologized. Let’s just let sleeping dogs lie, yeah?”
“But I…have to see you,” he exhaled heavily, obviously smoking.
“See me? No thanks.”
“Please Mickey” he pleaded, his voice now shallow and delicate. Still, though I felt a pang of pity, I also smiled to myself that he sounded almost pathetic.
“Just, please, we need to talk.”
“We are talking.”
He groaned, “In person, Mickey.”
“Where are you anyway?”
pray tell, do you expect me to go across the
Not that I wouldn’t have, but I felt like making him work a little for giving me two hellish days.
“I will pay for it, I will pay for everything. I just really need to see you.”
“I really am a bit busy, Jack. I am trying to run a label here.”
about this weekend?” he stammered.
“We’ll be in
I paused. It was do-able and, besides, he had certainly piqued my curiosity with his insistence.
“Okay, I can get free on Friday morning, but I will need to be back by Monday morning at the latest. I have a few meetings that afternoon.”
He sighed a deep sigh that sounded like relief. “Thank you, Mickey. Thank you.”
* * *
What was I doing?
It all began to hit me as the plane began its descent onto the runway of LAX. My friends had scolded me for going and I knew that I was never going to hear the end of it.
“He has a girlfriend you know,” Cheryl had said.
“Yeah, Marcie Bolen. She’s in the Von Bondies,” added Zoe.
“I think I remember her, redhead?” I asked.
“Yeah,” they both replied in unison.
“Well, I don’t know. You guys are probably making it out to be more than it is,” I’d said, waving them off.
“We’ll see,” said Zoe.
Yes, we all shall see, I thought, finally exiting the plane and making my way towards baggage claim to meet Jack.
* * *
I waited, mindlessly watching the luggage carousel spin around to retrieve my bag.
“You’re going to hypnotize yourself like that, “ I heard a voice just by my ear from behind me.
I turned to see Jack standing behind me. He was wearing a bit black floppy Rasta hat, its rim pulled slightly over his face. He wore a black Stones shirt and some black corduroy pants. The only hint of red on him was a bit of red on the shirt, a red rose in his hand, and a slight blush to his cheeks. Perhaps he was attempting to be incognito?
As I faced him, I really didn’t know whether I wanted to kiss him or punch him. Instead, I just turned back around and replied, facing the carousel again, “My bag should be here at any moment. Its just easier to check things these days.”
He stepped up to stand next to me, the two of us standing there awkwardly watching the luggage spin around and the people, one by one, getting their belongings. He simply held the rose at his side, not mentioning it. I wondered if it was for me, or if perhaps, it had been and he changed him mind. I decided not to mention it.
A great reprieve, my bag thankfully came round the bend soon after, and I reached in to grab it.
“How cute!” he exclaimed, pointing to my Hello Kitty suitcase.
“Thanks,” I replied, setting it on its wheels, beginning to pull it behind me.
“No, no, no,” he stopped me, taking a hold of the handle of the bag. “I’ll get this and, you,” he extended the rose to me, “get this.”
“Um, thank you,” I said, taking the rose from him and letting him get my luggage. I suppose he hadn’t changed his mind. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he had. I wasn’t being very friendly. I needed to work on that.
We strolled out of the airport with Jack pulling his hat down a bit more and mostly looking down. We actually almost made it to his car without recognition, but we ran into a fan that happened to be on the same parking level.
“Oh my god! It’s that guy from the White Stripes!” she squealed, nudging the girl that was with her.
Jack tipped his hat, but kept walking towards the car, his pace quickening. I rushed to keep up with him. “Sorry girls, we are in a bit of a hurry,” he announced back to them, as we came upon the car, him leading me to the passenger side. This time, it was a BMW.
“Awww,” they groaned, but still just stood there watching us as we settled into the car.
Jack started the ignition, the music again filling the car. It was the MC5 this time. He winked at me for a moment and then began to back out and pull out of the parking deck, the two girls just left standing there waving.
On the lowest level, while waiting in the line to pay to get out, he pulled off the hat, shaking his hair out, and tossed it in the back seat. “Nice to get that off,” he moaned, lighting up a cigarette.
“I was thinking that I wasn’t quite sure it suited you,” I said, watching him. I was still trying to figure out his game.
“It didn’t,” he chuckled, pulling out some cash to pay the attendant, “I borrowed it from one of the crew. He said surely at LAX, I’d get sighted. I didn’t believe him, but I guess he was right. I owe him $10 as well. We had bet on it.”
“You’re in the big league, now. And so professional,” I teased, mocking his voice, “’Sorry girls, we are in a hurry.’ You are such a heartbreaker, you didn’t even sign an autograph.”
“A heartbreaker, huh?” he replied, raising an eyebrow and glancing over at me as he drove. My heart sank a little. If only he knew. “I just wasn’t in the mood, I guess. I have too much on my mind.”
“You can’t turn fame off, you know. It will turn off on its own in time, but not usually by your choice. Those kids, they are harmless, they just want a piece of you, that just want to know that you are real.”
“But they should now I am real by my songs,” he said, getting a bit excited suddenly, waving his cigarette in the air to emphasize his point. “They shouldn’t need much more of me.”
“Aw, Jack. You know that is only half the story. They need more. I don’t blame them really. I’d want to meet you too. In fact, I did want to, and so I did.”
“And you saw how real I could be…” he sighed, his tone becoming a bit more melancholy. “Did you like what you saw when you finally saw the truth, Mickey? The truth can be an ugly thing.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” I answered.
Was I ready to have this conversation yet?
* * *
We pulled up in front of the hotel – The Mondrian on Sunset – having remained pretty silent throughout most of the way there. Our initial conversation still hung in the air, simply floating between us like the remnant smoke from his cigarettes. Both of us obviously wanted to say more, but our reservations stayed us. I wondered to myself if he was as terrified as I was.
“Thank you,” Jack told the valet, tipping him and then leading me into the hotel, still pulling my suitcase behind him.
Once through the door, I was immediately captivated with the architecture. It was surreal, with subtleties of light and gold shimmering all around us. I didn’t have much time to take it all in though, for as soon as we walked through the lobby, we were quickly approached by a group of people who were clearly fans.
“Jack! Jack!” they exclaimed.
I saw him awkwardly reach for his head, almost as if he meant to pull his hat down, but then realized he’d taken it off and it was still in the car.
They quickly crowded around us, shoving various gifts and White Stripes ephemera at him. Jack indulged them, though, signing their wares and taking a few photographs with them. He also engaged in brief conversation with a few of them, while I simply hung back, letting him have his “moment.”
It wasn’t long before he nodded towards me, though, and said, “Well, we really must be going.”
The remaining fans all turned towards me as if seeing me for the first time. I smiled sheepishly at them and they, well, they pretty much just glared back at me.
“Come on then,” he then said, taking my hand and leading me towards the elevators.
Thankfully an elevator arrived quickly. I found myself cringing a bit as I could see through the closing doors the fans madly whispering to one another and pointing at us. It all gave me a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Jack simply smiled down at me, still grasping my hand and it swinging between us slightly. “So, I was thinking, once you got settled in we could grab a bite to eat? I mean, I’m sure they fed you on the plane, but…”
“No, that would be great,” I interrupted him.
It was strange; it was as if nothing had happened in the hotel on the way to the elevator -- or at least nothing interesting. He had reacted entirely different about those fans than the ones earlier. He was certainly changeable in his moods. Jack White, Man of Mystery.
Once off the elevator, he led me to his room. It was a rather swanky suite at the end of the hall. “Nice,” I commented, as he used his keycard to get us inside.
“Yeah, I guess,” he sighed, placing my suitcase against the wall in the front room.
“A BMW and all this? Who’d you kill?”
“Oh, just the mainstream,” he laughed, plopping down on the couch. “I left a few drawers open for you in the room if you need to unpack.”
“Thanks,” I replied, moving to put my suitcase in the bedroom, watching him relaxing on the couch, his head laid back.
“They are the ones on the left,” he called out to me.
I was wondering for a moment why he had suddenly stopped being so chivalrous. My question was answered, though, when I turned on the light in the bedroom to see the bed covered in rose petals and vases of other roses dispersed throughout the room.
I turned to him, “Jack, you shouldn’t h--….”
He stopped me with a deep, passionate kiss. In fact, it was so deep and sensual, I almost felt my knees buckle. Whatever the reason I was there, I decided at that moment to go ahead and throw fate to the wind and let the tides take me where they may. I knew if anything, things were certainly going to be interesting.
* * *
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he breathed heavy against my neck as his lips moved there.
“Me…neither…” I confessed, leaning my head back to expose my neck to his kisses.
He wrapped his arm around me, pulling my body tighter against his. I could feel his arousal against my thigh, causing me to become even more turned on myself.
“I need you, Mickey,” he moved his mouth to nibble on my earlobe. “I need you, now.”
I almost crumpled in his arms, his caresses affecting me considerably. I let him lead me backwards towards the bed and he laid me down after brushing some of the rose petals to the side. The sweet scent of roses filled the room, but it was the smell of his heat that kept my attention more. He was kissing me passionately, perching himself above me. I simply wanted to touch him everywhere, but I found myself almost frozen in my own throes of pleasure.
He moved to look down at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes and a sly smirk across his lips. He winked at me and then slid down the length of my body, until he’d slid off the bed before me and settled on his knees on the floor. He pulled my body closer to the edge of the bed, so that my legs draped off the side, and began to slowly caress my calves with his fingertips, kissing them with little butterfly kisses.
I moaned, squirming a bit on the bed from the pleasure, and then squirmed even more as he lifted the flap of my skirt and began to caress and kiss my inner thighs as well. He was a terrible tease, giving so much attention to my legs, but then only hinting at any attention to my aching sex between them.
I groaned in frustration, my own need for him spiking quickly. “Jack, please,” I whined.
“Please what?” he asked in a fake, sing-songy, innocent tone, nuzzling his nose into the soft silk crotch of my panties.
I gasped. “Pl-please,” was all I was able to get out.
“Hmm, I think I like you like this,” he purred, peeping back up at me and now lightly rubbing his fingertips where his nose had just been, “all vulnerable and beautiful.”
I leaned back into the bed, arching my back against his caress. He was truly driving me crazy. A part of me wanted to fight the effect that he was having on me, but I was too far gone by that point. I was literally in the palm of his hand.
He smiled at me and then resumed kissing my thighs, now moving his fingers to run along underneath the inner elastic of my panties, lightly touching the sensitive flesh beneath. The man certainly knew what he was doing and he was driving me into a complete state of frenzy doing it.
Finally, he wrapped his fingers around the waist of my panties and pulled them slowly down. I closed my eyes and, for a moment, all I felt was his hot breath against me, until I felt the soft nuzzle of his tongue press into me. My world began to almost spin.
I grabbed his mass of black curls, pulling him against me as he culled the pleasure stronger and stronger from me until I felt the curl of my toes and the tightening of my muscles in that exquisite release of climax.
He remained before me for a short time longer, still lazily lapping at my swollen flesh, before he moved to lie next to me on the bed. He nuzzled against me, kissing my neck and shoulder as he straddled my thigh, lightly rocking his hardness against it. It was too much. I had to take action.
I shifted, grabbing his shoulder, and pushed him backwards against the bed so that I was now perched above him. He growled, his eyes now a bit widened in surprise. I straddled his thighs, grabbing desperately at his shirt to pull it off, rubbing myself against him as I did so. I then quickly unsnapped his pants and shifted enough to slide them down. My actions weren’t slow and sensual as his had been. He had stirred something primal in me, and that part of me needed to be satiated.
He moaned, whispering my name, as I lifted myself over him and then let him penetrate me. I began to move above him, my animalistic side driving me atop him furiously. He bent his knees slightly, pushing up to meet me with his own deep thrusts. He felt so good inside me; I just wanted him to fill me completely.
He moved his fingers to manipulate me while on top of him, stimulating me quickly to another climax. It wasn’t difficult to get me there - he kept repeating my name over and over in a sexy, guttural tone that sent sparks through my entire body. Mickey. Mickey. Mickey…
Soon his own body tensed and he grabbed tightly onto my hips, lifting himself high off the bed.
“God,” he groaned, his breathing staggered, rising quickly in quick bursts, “Oh, God.” And then he collapsed back against the bed. “God.”
N A V I G A T I O N :
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