Disclaimer:
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
* *
*
[1]
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.
* * *
[2]
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
“Hello?”
“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.
“Jack?”
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?”
“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.”
* * *
[3]
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.
“What?”
“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.”
* * *
[4]
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.”
* * *
[5]
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?
“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.
* *
*
[6]
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.
“Mickey…I’m sorry.”
“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.
“Why?”
“Just, please, we need to talk.”
“We are
talking.”
He
groaned, “In person, Mickey.”
“Where are
you anyway?”
“
“And how,
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.”
“How…how
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.
* * *
[7]
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?
* * *
[8]
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.
“Welcome
to
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.
* *
*
[9]
“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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