Chapter 6

Chelsea breathed a sigh of relief after hanging up the phone with Gracie. It was almost noon, and it took the girl two hours to get back to her after their initial conversation at around ten that morning. At first, Gracie was not keen on listening, and she had to do some convincing that Reid requested her. Chelsea couldn’t blame her. They hadn’t spoken before, so she had to be careful.

“It’s one of the hotel staff,” Gracie said. “Apparently, he needed the money, but Reid has to promise not to get him fired, or I could get fired.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Tell Reid to call me, ASAP, okay?” Gracie said.

Chelsea could not get a good lock on Gracie’s voice. The line seemed static at all times, and her voice sounded hollow. She got the feeling that Gracie was trying to mask her voice from being detected.

Chelsea was still not pleased. After hanging up, she made her way down to the lobby, deciding to hang around the dining area for a while. Gracie said the guy who dropped off the photo was caught on the stairwell security camera of the news agency. He’d met with a reporter named Carl Benson. She described him as around eighteen, tall, lanky, and curly black hair.

She needed to know how he got in the room. These suites were private. Other than the occupants, only the hotel management would be able to access the rooms. It still didn’t rule out a possible ‘mole’ in the band.

About an hour went by. Her phone rang three times since and a text message came in while she waited. She knew they were all from Reid, but she ignored them. There would be no rest for her if she didn’t solve this. Gracie had made her promise not to get the youth fired, so she would not report it, but he did need a warning.

She was about to give up and return to her floor when she saw someone fitting the description enter the dining area and begin to clean the tables. She put on her best smile, straightened her glasses on her nose and smoothed her bun on her head. She paused, looking down at her ankle length flannel skirt and short sleeve cotton blouse before moving off.

“Hello,” she said to the youth. He didn’t appear to hear and continued buffing the table with a soft cloth. “Hi,” she said it loudly.

He turned and eyed her and went back to his task. She tapped him on his shoulder, and he straightened and turned.

“Can I help you miss?” he asked, his baby blue eyes cruising her from head to toe.

She could see that in order for him to take her serious, she had to get to the point. She cleared her throat and straightened her back, gaining about an inch in the process. She raised her chin, looking directly into his eyes.

“I know it was you who sold that photo to the press,” she kept her voice steady.

He narrowed his eyes and asked, “Who are you?”

“Chelsea … Chelsea Downing. Assistant to the manager of Colt Montgomery,” she tried not to flinch as she said it.

The boy turned red, then pale, and perhaps a little bit blue. His face took on a terrified look, and he stared with his mouth slightly open. She waited a few seconds to hear his reply, but nothing came from his mouth.

“What have you to say for yourself?” she asked, trying to make her voice stern.

“I’m sorry, I needed the money. Please don’t get me fired. I have a sick brother at home,” he gabbled.

“How did you get in there?” she asked.

His eyes darted round the room before he answered. “I saw them come in, and when I was on the 23rd floor that morning, I noticed the suite door was ajar.”

Chelsea doubled her fists at her side in frustration. “And you just mosey on inside, just like that?”

“Yeah, please don’t get me fired. I promise I’ll do anything,” he said, throwing the rag on the table and grabbing Chelsea’s hands. “I can’t lose my job.”

His eyes were pleading with moisture in the corners as if he wanted to cry. She felt sorry for him. “Okay, but you be ready to do anything I ask,” she said, and he nodded. She pulled her hand away, leaving him looking embarrassed. “What’s your name?”

“Ben … it’s Ben.”

“Okay Ben, it’s your lucky day.”

* * * *

Colt picked up the remote for the AC and turned the temperature down. It was nearly two in the afternoon, and he hadn’t left the room all morning. He was restless, and the bedroom felt stuffy. He didn’t give a rat’s ass what the paper said, but the look on Chelsea’s face as she read the article bothered him. He wasn’t certain what it was. Was it disgust or shock?

Her face, especially her eyes, kept emerging before him. They would present themselves in his vision at the most unusual times. He’d see her in the shower, in the mirror, and when he closed his eyes to sleep. What the hell? He was seeing her emerald eyes even now.

Angrily, he yanked the thin white cotton sheet from off his naked body, then sprang from the bed. Might as well take a shower, in order to face the rest of the day, he figured. His cock was erect as usual. He looked down at himself with a snicker. It seemed it was always on alert. No matter how many women filled his bed, he was never sated. He wondered if something was wrong with him.

Many men found themselves a woman who could satisfy them. As for him, he didn’t think that was possible. No one, two or even three women could fulfill his need, which seemed deep. It wasn’t for the lack of trying; he just figured it was impossible.

He walked to the bathroom and stepped into the shower, adjusting the water temperature to his liking. He lathered his hair, running the bar of hotel soap over his rigid torso and chest. He continued to scrub his skin with the soap using his bare hands while the water trickled down his body. His hands moved in jerky motions over his neck and chest as his mind flicked back to the previous night. He then came back to the wee hours of the morning before settling on the newspaper.

Chelsea’s face flashed before him. “Fuck, she’s everywhere!” he swore under his breath, gripping the bar of soap, which slid through his fingers.

He ignored the fallen soap and closed his eyes, standing still under the shower, allowing the water to wash away the suds. Her cleavage loomed before him and the figure-hugging dress she wore to the event. He still could not believe the transformation.

As his mind cruised the memory of her figure from her shimmering hair to the three-inch stilettos she wore, a heat presented in the pit of his stomach, and he felt the lurch of his cock. His eyes shot open, and he looked down at himself in frustration.

“What the hell?” he grunted.

His cock continued to swell as he tried to push her from his mind, but in vain. Then, as if on autopilot, his brain took on a mind of its own, and he saw her face clearly. He saw her lips move, and then they were on him. He closed his eyes, shaking his head vigorously. Her picture stayed with him.

The thought of Chelsea’s lips kissing his cock flashed before him. It wasn’t a bad thought at all. He pictured her kneeling before him. That would wipe the smirk from off her pretty face. He jerked his eyes open again. Pretty? Yes, he saw her face without the thick-rimmed glasses she wore. She was pretty.

Without thinking, he gripped his thick shaft in his palm. Lovingly, he began massaging it as the water trickled down his body, running off the tip like a pipe. He saw her cover it with her pouty pink lips, taking it all in.

“Yes, that’s my girl,” he whispered with a low growl. “You fucking prude, I’ll teach you.”

His hands began to move up and down its length in smooth even motions. The sensations running through his member made his balls tingle with delight. He liked the way it felt. He liked the idea of her servicing him on her knees. He continued his fantasy, seeing her taking him in all the way while his hand made a fapping sound coupled with the swooshing of the water.

“Ahh,” he murmured.

He heard her sucking noises in the act of her sliding her mouth up and down his bulging cock. A bolt of electricity ran up his spine at the thought. He’d never felt anything like it before, and it startled him. A spot of heat started to build in his scrotum, travelling up to his belly where it evolved into a burning furnace.

His hand slid in rapid strokes, bringing himself to a place where his entire body became hot. He felt the explosion deep within his belly as his thick white substance shot from the tip of his member, splattering onto the white tiles of the shower wall.

He opened his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to catch the breath he’d been holding. He watched as the water caught his milt, carrying it down the wall, washing away its remnants. He stood there for another thirty seconds while the shocking sensation in his spine slowly subsided.

With a steady hand, he turned the shower faucet off and stepped out onto the mat, pulling the large towel from the rack. With slight trembling hands, he mopped up the water from his skin.

“What the hell just happened?” he mumbled.

He’d masturbated a zillion times in his lifetime, and he’d never felt such intense heat from it. It was as if his body was trying to tell him something.

“I must be getting old,” he concluded.

Surprisingly, he felt calm going into the bedroom and getting dressed. The tension of earlier was gone, and his mind was clear. Maybe she was good for something, he thought. A small smile played on his lips. He finished dressing and headed to the bedroom door. A sound from inside the living room reached his ears, and he hesitated.

Slowly, he pulled the door a crack and peered out. He didn’t want to meet Reid’s anger, not today. In a few hours he had to be on stage and the last things he needed were a lecture and another round with his manager. His eyes darted towards the voices to come to a stop at Reid’s desk.

Tony was leaning over Chelsea’s shoulder. They were engrossed in something in the news. Colt felt his chest tighten at the idea that they were still on about the article. A light sweet laughter caught his ears, and he stared at Chelsea. Her head was slightly back as she pushed her glasses up on her nose bridge while she laughed at something Tony said.

Colt noted the wave of hatred directed at his band mate in that instance. He watched them for a few minutes and noticed how Tony looked at her and the shy response she gave him. He wanted to wipe the smile off his friend’s face. This made him step back and shut the door, waiting a few seconds and then yanking it open.

His mood of a few minutes prior was a thing of the past. There was no explaining it. The minute he saw them together, his frame of mind became darker. He told himself that he didn’t care what they were doing, but as he sat on the sofa opposite them, their voices nipped at him. After a few minutes, they were beginning to grate on his nerves.

“You, assistant,” he said in a hard tone directed at Chelsea.

Chelsea’s head snapped up, and her laughter died. Her face slowly became serious as she looked over at him. Tony glowered at him.

“Yes, sir,” she stood, straightening her flannel skirt.

“I need food, but not hotel food,” he dug around his pocket and came out with his wallet where he pulled several notes and handed them to her.

As she took the money, her fingers brushed his. A small volt of electrical current ran up his arm, and he let the bills drop. Chelsea stooped to pick up the money, and he immediately remembered his mental floss earlier. His cock lurched at the memory as he watched her pick up the bills before heading out the door. Absently, he rubbed the tip of his fingers, which tingled from her touch.

“Do you have to be such a jerk to her?” Tony stalked over and stood looking down at him. “I don’t get you!”

Colt waved him away, stretched out on the sofa, closing his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood to be scolded, in the least by Tony. He stayed still for a while, hoping the man would go away. Soon, he heard the front door open and slam shut. He relaxed.

Chelsea called Reid, having no clue what Colt liked. He just told her to get him food that was not hotel food. That was it. What did he want? Deli food, burgers, or hot dogs?

Reid picked up the phone after five rings. “This better be good,” he growled.

“It’s me,” she replied. “Colt is hungry.”

“I suppose the hotel ran out of food?” His tone was sarcastic.

She cringed, grimacing. “He says he doesn’t want the hotel food.”

“There’s a Mediterranean restaurant a few blocks away, get something there and pick me up something as well,” he said.

“Yes.” She smiled, thanking her lucky stars that Reid answered her call.

He hung up before she could ask him exactly what he wanted. She found the restaurant a few blocks away and bought what she thought anyone else would … chicken and rice. She knew Colt ate chicken, and Reid never told her what he wanted. Was she to get for everyone else as well, she wasn’t certain. She got one for Tony, just in case he was hungry. He was good to her, so she wanted to return his kindness. The other band members were at rehearsals or something; she wasn’t sure.

When she returned to the suite, he was lounging on the sofa with one foot hanging on the backrest and the other on the arm. She quietly closed the door, lest he was asleep, and placed the food on the coffee table. She stood for a while and let her eyes wander from his tousled hair on the cushion to his bulging biceps lying across his chest.

When she would have walked away, something compelled her to keep looking. His pectoral muscles were outlined beneath the skin-hugging T-shirt he wore. His chest tapered down to define the chocolate abs she knew existed beneath. She could see them clearly from her memory. There were six or eight muscles … yes … eight, and the V-line that led to his …

“Have you had your fill?” His deep voice startled her, and she jumped, bumping her shin on the low edge of the table.

“Ouch!” she yelped.

Colt swung his feet from the sofa, grabbing the bag with the food, at which time he pulled the Styrofoam container out. Upon flipping the top open, he stared for a long time while Chelsea waited with her breath caught in her throat and her hand on her throbbing shin. She knew he was going to complain. She closed her eyes and waited for it.

“Where’s the fork?” His voice was surprisingly soft.

Her eyes flew open, and she stared. Colt grunted and rummaged in the bag until he found it. She couldn’t move and watched as he tore the plastic wrapper with his teeth before digging into the food. When he looked up at her, her breath stopped.

“I hate people watching me eat,” he said, beckoning with his head that she should scram.

She ambled over to Reid’s desk, placing his food bag there. Her shin still ached from the knock it received. She pulled her skirt up and propped her foot on the chair to take a look. The thing had a red welt that was becoming purple. She’d have to treat it because the skin seemed bruised. Chelsea sighed, mentally slapping herself at her clumsiness. She told herself that she had to wait until later to treat her leg. For the moment, she was at the beck and call of her boss.