Two weeks later, after another trip to the hospital (this time for Shades, who “bent” his penis when Letty coasted down a slide on a school playground in the middle of the night with her mouth open for a blowie that went extremely wrong), the members of Killer Buzz Float join Banging Betties and a slew of other popular bands on the Get Your Rock Off Tour in Dallas.

Naturally, nothing over the last fortnight has gone as planned.

Turns out Eliza Guns, the guitarist for Banging Betties, is none other than Shades’s ex-wife, who recently appeared at our bus door with a baby in tow. Apparently conceived around the last time he was with her, the kid looks like Shades, has green eyes like Shades, and is therefore probably a direct descendant of Shades.

Letty is not pleased with Shades.

Nor is she pleased with Eliza.

Or me for bringing KBF on tour with Eliza.

Letty’s just fucking pissed off at the world.

It’s also been fourteen days since I last spoke to Lizzie. I didn’t call her like she’d asked. Passive aggressive? You betcha. I hope it drives her crazy that I still refuse to dial her number. Disobeying her request is one of the few scraps of dignity I hold over her, though, I’ve thought of nothing but baring my ass for her flogger and possibly engaging in some double-ended-dildo-sex.

Tonight could be the night.

Heading toward the venue to speak with one of the organizers, I stop at the sound of Letty’s angry voice.

“What the fuck ever happened to music?” she rants from among the throng of buses.

Shit. What’s she doing now?

I drop my cigarette (yes, a real one—sue me) to the blacktop, step on it, and pick up the butt. The cigarette’s corpse gets a burial at sea inside my nearly empty coffee cup, and a stick of gum goes into my mouth. I clop across the parking lot where tour buses commiserate like a herd of ancient steel elephants, primping my hair along the way.

Lizzie’s around here somewhere. The giant pink bus with winged, back-to-back Bs told me so. It arrived this morning, and so far, I’ve found three excuses to pass it. No sign of the woman I hope will fuck me up tonight, though. Damn it.

I round the corner and stop my hand on its way to clutch my chest. Lizzie and Letty stand toe to toe, nagging each other’s air space, hackles raised and teeth bared like two pit bulls about to throw down in a ring showered with hundred-dollar bills.

I had dreams of the two of them becoming bosom buddies, exchanging halves of heart necklaces, and trying on each other’s clothes. Should’ve known they’d be more like a cat and an electric eel trapped in a garbage bag. I feel my face fall and force a smile to drag it back up.

“Letty. Good.” I close quickly and keep my attention on her. Can’t look at Lizzie for fear of inadvertently spilling every secret she and I ever shared between the sheets. “I see you’ve met Lizzie.”

“We haven’t been properly introduced.” Letty might as well be munching a mouthful of iron-fortified chewing tobacco. She looks like she’s about to spit screws. “You wanna do the honors, Mom?”

The tension between them is thicker than the oil flowing from the nearby East Texas Oil Field. It pours over me, ruining my hair, my makeup, and the thousand-dollar suit I bought specifically to impress Lizzie.

In this corner, wearing cinnamon-scented perfume and a hot-pink strap-on, narcissist, sexual Dominant, and filthy-dirty lesbian, Lizzie Smith prepares to battle the domineering, over-the-top, filterless singer, Letty Dillinger, on the Get Your Rock Off stage. Two will enter, but only one will leave.

“Lizzie Smith, meet Letty Dillinger.”

Letty’s chest puffs out, almost bumping Lizzie’s. I drop my hand between them and nudge Letty back. “Now, girls.”

Please, Letty, act right, you fucking idiot!

Even if I weren’t hot-to-trot for Lizzie, I’d beg Letty not to fuck up this gig. The potential return on the touring investment is tremendous, both financially and strategically. Killer Buzz Float simply has to make and keep nice with the other bands. It’s all about connections. KBF kisses the Betties’ asses a little, and the Betties are sure to put in a good word for us when bigger opportunities present themselves. If we play this right, the band could end up on a late-night talk show.

“Oh. So, you’re Rock ’n’ Roll’s messiah!” Recognition flickers behind Letty’s eyes, and she shakes a finger at Lizzie. “The one who’s ‘gonna bring musical salvation to the unbelievers who haven’t found the light at the end of the pop metal tunnel.’” She makes air quotes. “Isn’t that what you said in the Rolling Stone interview? Fuck, you’re a veritable Jesus Christ Superstar. With ovaries. Forgive me as I fangirl. What an honor to tour with you.”

My throat falls arid at Letty’s ballsiness and superior tone. This tour just added an extra zero to her bank balance. If she doesn’t check her ego, she won’t live to spend it.

Letty offers her hand to shake, but Lizzie turns to me instead, disgust graffitied all over her face.

“Are all of your clients this ungrateful for an opportunity to tour with the number six band in the country?” Lizzie demands.

Way to kick off our highly anticipated reunion, eh?

Turning my head so Letty can’t see my face, I flash Lizzie my best beaten-puppy begging eyes with hopefully lifted brows.

Please don’t take offense. I’m sorry she’s being a twat. I’ll look for a muzzle tomorrow at the pet store.

I push Letty’s hand down and guide her away before she ruins the last glimmer of a shot at getting some from my girl crush this evening. Or ever.

“You’ll have to forgive Letty. It’s been a long drive. She gets carsick. We’ll see you tonight.”

Ushering Letty toward the bus, I throw an “I’m so sorry” look at Lizzie, who stands with hands clasped to her hips in a white-knuckled grip, watching furiously after us.

Fuck.

“That bitch flat out insults me, and you kiss her ass?” Letty demands in a hushed tone, her legs tangling along the way. “What the fuck is up with you, Jillian?”

She knows. Goddammit, Letty knows.

“Have you ever considered growing a little tact?” I fire back. “You’d be amazed at how far it’ll get you.”

“No, I haven’t, and you never complained about my lack of it before.”

When I recover from the brief shock of Letty’s complete blindness to a pretty much universally-agreed-upon worldview, I lock and load six rounds of whoop-ass into my Smith & Wesson .44 Wisecracker and aim between her eyes.

“You were never on a tour this big before. I suggest you cultivate some now, so when the stage lights come on tonight, your attitude will smell freshly douched, and the security on your sarcasm will be as tight as a virgin’s pussy. I expect to hear you quoting motherfucking Emily Post lines at the after-party. Understand?”

Letty’s feet screech to a halt, and she whirls on me with a disco-fabulously arcing finger half a foot from my face. “Whoa. Hold the fuck up. Did you hear what she said to me? She said we hit the big time because of them. Not our music. Not our passion. Not our dedication to our fans. But because they deigned to let us join their precious tour.”

I expected her and Lizzie to butt heads, but I didn’t think the friction would burn so hot. I grudgingly give her a one-time pass, considering the hell she’s been through lately with Shades’s ex and kid showing up. “Letty, I get it. You’re upset about the baby—”

“The baby?” Her cheeks burn red with the fire of a million supernovas. Her lips tremble. “This has nothing to do with the fucking baby. She insulted our music. She insulted The Rock!”

I wince at the screech on the tail end of her tirade. Okay, maybe the baby was the wrong argument to pursue. Let’s bring it back around to egos. Surely, Letty understands that concept. She’s the queen of hubris.

Though, come to think of it, Lizzie’s the queen of narcissism.

God, I suddenly see why they’ve both puffed up like two prairie chickens with something to prove.

“Killer Buzz Float is the new kid on the playground here,” I say gently. “Banging Betties are just trying to maintain a pecking order. It’s all a bunch of hot air. Leave it alone. It’ll work itself out. Trust me.”

“I do trust you. That’s what bothers me. You, of all people, know where I’m coming from. You said you believed in us, in our music, yet you’re defending some twat you’ve never met before because she has more fans than we do?”

I wrestle free of her disbelieving gaze and search for anywhere else to park my eyes.

“Wait a minute. You have met her before, haven’t you?”

It’s all I can do not to blurt out the truth, but I manage to keep my pie hole shut.

Understanding seeps into Letty’s face, fanning red from her eyes down to her chest. “She’s a lesbian. And you got the hots for her!”

Damn Letty for being so perceptive. Grabbing her wrist, I continue toward the bus. “Come on. You need to get ready for the show.”

She barrages me with nagging questions the rest of our short walk “home.” When did you meet her? Isn’t she a little young for you? Did you do her? How long has this been going on? I answer nothing.

By the time we reach the cocked-and-balled wheels, the bus is shaking. Seriously, do these people ever stop fucking? This is why I so desperately need a woman in my life. This. This banging. And lovey-dovey shit. The adoring looks. The bodily fluid cleanups I’m in charge of after Letty throws a threadbare towel over her squirt floods. The moans that keep me awake all night. The burning loins dying of fucking thirst …

I inhale deeply to pull my shit together. It takes a couple breaths to refresh the airways. “Get showered, dressed, and fed. You go on at eight. Make sure the rest of them are ready,” I tell Letty.

“Come on, boss. I’ll show you my tits if you tell me what’s going on with you and Lizzie.”

I give Letty my back, but then I think the better of passing up a chance to see her boobs. I turn around, motioning for her to give up the goods. She proudly pulls the shirt up and wiggles her eyebrows at me.

“Not bad.” Actually, pretty awesome. I turn away before I get further distracted.

“Wait a minute! No freebies,” she calls behind me. “What’s up with you and Lizzie? Truth.”

“The truth is nothing’s going on,” I lie over my shoulder. “Not a damn thing. Now go.”

“You’re a bitch, Jillian.”

That, I am.

Certain she flipped me off behind my back, I flip a bird at Letty in return. A disgusted grumble follows.

Fuck Letty.

I have to find Lizzie. Palms sweating, I tamp down the fear battling for control of my confidence and march purposefully toward the Banging Betties’ bus. This is about me and my needs. This is about me finding the happily ever after Letty and the rest of the crew already secured. This is about me and Lizzie.

I step up the pace, eager to get to her. If no one else were around, I’d probably be skipping with a motherfucking basket of rose petals hanging from the crook of my arm, tossing those bitches like goddamn horseshoes at metal stakes.

Clang! Wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am.

Lizzie stands outside the door of her pink bus, smoking a cigarette and pacing like a father-to-be outside a delivery room. For such delicate feet, her footsteps pound the pavement fast and hard. The second she sees me, she throws her cigarette down, huffs toward me, and shoves me to the pink metal siding. Her lips descend on mine, quavering with fury and need and passion. She clamps a fist to my tit and squeezes the fuck out of it. After the bruises finally healed from our last outing together, I’m happy for her to re-stain my skin with washes of blue and purple and angry red. I push further into her grip.

Give it to me. Smack these tits up.

Her kisses aren’t so much kisses as punishments for sins outside of my control.

“You pissed about Letty?” I say between bites.

Her chest pins me to the bus. She tosses a hiked-up knee into the mix, grinding it into my wet crotch. I lift a leg to give her better access.

“That fucking cunt is gonna pay for being so goddamn rude to me,” Lizzie seethes as she gropes and digs and shoves. “Now get on that bus.” She halts the mouth invasion and points to the stairs, her voice full of command, her eyes shot through with lusty menace. “The bunk with the apple curtain is mine. I want you naked with your legs spread and ready to take me like a goddamn lightning rod in a thunderstorm. You got it?”

I swallow the pant building in my chest and nod. It’s only when I climb the stairs onto the bus that I realize we were out in the open where anyone could’ve seen us. Why does the thought make me even hotter for her? Thrill of getting caught? Thrill of someone discovering I’m the pet that belongs to Lizzie Fucking Smith of Banging Betties? Or just plain thrill of her?

Any or all. Doesn’t matter. Lizzie’s going to fuck me.

I stumble down the oriental rug–lined aisle. Neon-pink lights accent the walls, and soft white running lights illuminate the floor. While searching for the apple curtain, I pass the huge kitchen complete with microwave, espresso machine, fridge/freezer, large cupboards, bar, seating for four, and a bottle of Dom Pérignon chilling in a bucket of half ice and half water.

Thick curtains cover all bunks with side snaps to keep the outside world from peeking in. Everything is color coordinated in red, pink, black, and white. Like our home on wheels, the Banging Betties’ bus has seating areas in front and back, but these couches are roomier and more comfortable with supple black leather and puffy pink pillows piled everywhere.

Stairs. The bus is a double decker. I can only imagine what else is up there. But I’m too distracted by the apple curtain I spy to bother sneaking up for a look. I don’t hear anyone else on board, so I assume it’s safe to disrobe in the aisle. After shucking my suit and shoes, I quickly fold everything into a neat pile, slide open the curtain, and lay my clothes at the foot of the bunk, which is an enormous full-sized bed outfitted in luxurious red satin sheets. Naked as the day I was born, I slip past the curtain onto the cool fabric and just … feel.

Unlike our bunks, which are stacked two high, this one doesn’t have space for a roommate above. I can sit up without hitting my head in here—hell, I can even stand if I duck a little. Which means there’s plenty of room for a variety of … positions.

Lizzie said if Killer Buzz Float joined the tour, we could fuck whenever we felt like it outside of our respective work schedules. I’m anxious to christen her bed. And to come back frequently to expand our adventures into Domination, submission, and beyond.

Footsteps charge onto the bus. “I hope you’re naked,” Lizzie says with an evil laugh. “I have a little surprise for you.”

My heart clogs my throat. I clench my thighs together. The anticipation is killing me.

Bumping issues from beyond the curtain I dare not slide. Lizzie giggles. The stomp of a foot catching itself to prevent a collision with the floor. Hop, hop, hop. Quiet steps trail toward me and stop right outside the bunk.

The curtain snaps, stealing my breath. Naked Lizzie strokes a familiar pink dildo strapped to her mound. Red locks curled around her freckled shoulders, my personal goddess grins at me. “You ready to get fucked?”

I nod eagerly and lie back, completely exposed. Vulnerable.

She leans over me, her breasts swaying, and plants a sweet kiss on my lips as her free hand finds my cunt and dips inside. I sigh into her mouth and spread my legs for her. Finger banging commences. Pussy honey flows around her digits, and I rock my hips to the rhythm she lays down.

Perfect. Lizzie is perfection made flesh.

“Get Letty under control if you want to stick around,” she murmurs between kisses.

I thrust, hungry for more fingers, the dildo, hell, maybe even a fist. My pussy needs her in me. “Anything you want.”

She pauses and smiles. “Anything?”

I’m so hot, I could almost agree to anal, but I’m not quite ready for it. “Pretty much.”

She rears up on her knees and forces her erect cock between my tits. She stabs me repeatedly, squeezing my breasts on either side of the darting silicone. Then she angles my head downward, pries open my mouth, and fucks it too. The result is a painful tit-fucking-blowjob chased by the teasing scent of her pussy. My mouth waters.

“Let me taste you,” I beg. “Please.”

She stops suddenly, pulls out, and pops my tits repeatedly. I cry out with each slap as the pain intensifies.

Shit, what’s my safe word? I forgot the safe word!

“Safe word,” I mumble through the haze clouding my mind.

Her malevolent grin shakes me awake. “Don’t you remember it?”

Pop! Smack! Bang!

“Oh God, please stop,” I plead.

The word capybara alights like a finger over the doorbell in my mind.

I don’t press it. Not yet.

“A submissive must always remember her safe word,” Lizzie taunts. “If you want a reminder, you’ll have to pay the price. Three strikes and you’re out.”

I jut my chin at her defiantly and shake my head.

Smiling, she scoots back, aims the dildo at my slit, and splits me open. Skin pulls too hard. Liquid flows. I can’t tell if it’s natural lube or—God forbid—blood, but when she pummels my breasts again, I no longer care. She’s fucking me like a caveman fucks a mate. She’s savage and rough. Everything hurts, yet erotic music plays in my head, distracting me from the pain of her repeated onslaughts. It lures my psyche into a safe place I’ve never ventured before—a kind of window between the worlds of the physical and the extreme metaphysical.

I lie still on the otherworldly plane. Her voice, the strikes, and even the pleasure raging for release between my legs are distant, out of my reach. I know what my body endures on the other side, but I’m detached from it. There is only me and the struggle I endure. Lizzie isn’t in the picture despite her obviously being here.

“You like that, you little cunt?” She slaps my leg, wrenching it wider, and rubs my clit furiously.

Between the hypersensitive nub and the slight upward curve of the dildo scraping my inner walls toward the same point on the underside, an orgasm sprouts, grows, and threatens to destroy me. I grab the cool sheets.

“More. Please. More.” My guttural voice belongs to someone else. My eyes roll as I grip the satin.

The thrusts stop, and her dick forces its way into my mouth. I open wide and take it. My pussy’s flavor teases my taste buds. She forces the dick as far as it’ll go, deeper down my throat than last time, while clutching a wad of my hair to hold me in place. Teeth bared, she snarls as she fucks my mouth. I widen the gap, biting the silicone and pulling my lips back so I can breathe, but it’s hard. My skin ignites with fire as consciousness slips.

Lizzie pulls out and shoves the dick inside my pussy, only to fuck me into oblivion again. The dildo scratches my G-spot just right. My legs hike up on either side to welcome her. Spit runs from the corners of my lips. And my Mistress, my beauty, gazes down at me in a world of her own too. Her eyes glaze with desire. Her white breasts bounce with each jut of her trim hips. A soft smile takes her mouth hostage.

“You wanna come, Jillian?”

I nod desperately. “Yes, Christ. Please.”

“How badly?”

“My pussy aches for you, Siren. I can’t take anymore.”

Lizzie expertly detaches herself from the strap-on webbing, but she keeps the shaft lodged inside me. She drops her lips to my clit and flicks it with her tongue, staring up at me, tongue- and dildo-fucking me all at once. The swell of pleasure threatens to overflow, and my legs fall aside. I surrender.

She stops before I can finish.

“No!” I cry out.

She pulls the dildo from my pussy and thwacks my legs, ass, stomach, and tits with it repeatedly. Wetness splatters. On and on, she tortures me. Smacking my clit, pulling away. Smack, smack, pull. If I were a crier, I’d be weeping hardcore. Instead, I still under her and try to convince my spinning head not to fall for her tricks. But my clit swells, almost as if it thinks the fatter it puffs up, the more likely it’ll be to finish.

Not so.

Endorphins rage in an epic dance betwixt my thighs, ready to take up knives and start a fight with the pain. The duality of the agony and pleasure spawns a brand-new dimension within my sexual armory.

Lizzie dismounts my beaten, ruined body. She strokes my cheeks and gazes at me through heavy lids. “You hanging in there?”

“Yeah,” I manage.

“You’re a strong woman. Just the way I like you.” She smiles and lowers her lips to mine. The kiss makes everything okay. It rescues me from the dark place my soul was heading toward. It brings me back to her.

Capybara. Capybara is the safe word. But I don’t need it. I breathe a relieved sigh.

Lizzie strokes my tender breasts lovingly as our mouths merge into one. She slips her fingers inside me, gliding in and out, but not fast enough to bring me to climax. Just enough to keep me attentive.

When she breaks the head-buzzing lip lock, she says, “Turn on your side.”

I do. She scoots so her head is at my knees. She eases upward, closer, parting her thighs to reveal a glistening wet, bald pink pussy. The scent alone goads my salivary glands into overdrive, but they’re not the only things producing fluid. My channel doth overflow.

Lizzie pushes me to my back, tosses a leg over my shoulder, face pointing toward my feet, and targets her hovering cunt over my lips. Lowering her hips, she drops it to my mouth and simultaneously devours my pussy.

Finally.

“Oh, my fucking God.” Her thighs muffle my voice as I lap at her font.

All of it. I must have every drop of her. I will suck this bitch dry.

Her tongue pries me open. Teeth scratch my clit.

“Christ!” I tense.

She shoves my hips down and slaps my thigh as she dives in for another clit bombing. I close my eyes and mimic her actions. She dips into my slit and wiggles her tongue chin-deep. I do the same, inhaling her rich scent as I go. Our moans fall into a complementary rhythm as we eat each other out in a feast that would make Nero blush.

Our bodies grind into one another. Honey seeps into the sheets, drenches skin, and fills hungry, horny bellies. Between sucks, she pinches my thighs, bites my labia, snags flesh with her teeth. I mentally map where all the bruises will pop up tomorrow, assuming they haven’t already, and I smile over a swallow of another slurp of her.

Fingers probe. Noses tickle. Her moans elicit shockwaves from the epicenter of my clit, radiating outward, and for only the third time in my life, I come. Hard.

All bodily functions aside from this monumental orgasm cease. Muscles paralyze. My mouth freezes.

“Fuck you, Jillian!” She grinds her pussy roughly into my face, waking me up. I put everything I’ve got into getting her off while she does the same for me, and the two of us writhe against each other into oblivion.

I fall for a thousand years.

When I crash into the ground at the end of the bottomless pit, Lizzie topples beside me. We turn in to each other, eyes locked, dipping forward in sync until our lips meet and hold. Her tenderness is a shock to my system after all the violence and pain. Our mouths dance to the same song. Our hearts tap to the same rhythm.

I think I’m in love with Lizzie Smith.