Noah

She touches my sticky face and smiles. Then she squats and licks, her tongue cat quick. It's a sexy little tickle, and I can't help wondering what it tastes like to her.

Does it taste as good to her as it does to me? Visceral, salty, real?

My jeans are like a tourniquet squeezing the life out of my dick. I don't remember ever being this hard. Eating her out was supposed to be a way to blow off steam, but all it did was build up more pressure in ye olde blue balls. My taste buds are still singing when I wrap her in my arms and push myself up from the balls of my feet, so that I'm standing us both up at the same time.

Nobody knocks a second time, and I'm confident we're alone again, but she wouldn't know my staff the way I do. She's undoubtedly concerned about being overheard.

So I breathe the words into her ears to let her know I'm here for her and her alone. “I'd love to get you alone. Really alone.”

She squirms a little, not to get away, although that's what I fear for a minute, but to breathe back into my ear. Her breath tickles. “I'd like that too.”

I kick the crumpled panties underneath some random shelf, and she takes the hint to leave them there in the supply closet. Her skirt's short, but it's long enough, and I don't want those sweaty cotton skimpies covering up her treasure. Not now. Not anytime, really, but especially not now.

I put a finger over her lips and then over my lips, a promise to be quiet. Then I open the door a slow, silent inch to peek out.

As I expected, nobody's standing there. In a little while, they'll text my phone, but that's only in an emergency, if I fail to take the hint that we need to get moving.

“Time to go, little girl,” I say.

She takes my hand, and it feels so small in my big hand. So soft. My own hand is calloused from the endless hours I spend every day playing guitar. I've got no time for people who think playing rock is only about knowing three chords, and she can feel it in the ridges of my fingers and palms.

“Noah Hammond.” There's wonder in her voice, as if she's tasting the syllables of my name.

“Madison.” I realize I don't know her last name. My staff knows it. They know everything from checking her driver's license.

I won't lose her.

Why is that even a consideration? Use 'em and lose 'em is what rock stars do. We want to lose them. No strings. No sex hangover. Just hit it and quit it.

For some reason, the very idea makes me uneasy tonight. Fine. I won't think about it. Now is most definitely not the time to think about shit that makes me uneasy.

There's an elevator somewhere, but I don't bother to look for it and neither does she. It's nice, walking down and down endless steps hand-in-hand like this.

Like ordinary people. The way people do when they date instead of just hooking up.

Holding hands.

Walking.

Going down steps for no better reason than it's something to do together with that feeling of anticipation shooting between the two of you.

My dick is hard enough to slice bread. My jeans feel like they're sticking out in front of me for miles. I'm hard, I'm aching, and I want her so damn bad, but I don't want our moment to end too soon.

I want our moment to be more than just a moment.

We're on the first floor, and I'm looking around to remember where the VIP exit is, and then Madison stops walking. Just comes to a dead stop right there in the middle of the hall.

“I should maybe tell you something,” she says, and then all four of my bodyguards seem to be closing in from all four directions. Before she can say whatever it is she wants to say, we're surrounded.

“Let's get you out to the car,” says Nailgun.

I think about it later but, at the time, everything's happening too fast. Suddenly, we're in the back of the limo with a bucket of champagne and four bodyguards. The driver has the partition up, so at least he's not eavesdropping on the scene, but you couldn't call it a private place.

Madison smiles at me over her flute of champagne but the moment has passed. Whatever she intended to tell me, she isn't going to tell me now. My people have a way of whisking me and the girl into a fancy hotel suite, and their practiced efficiency probably isn't conducive to making her feel like indulging in too many intimate confessions.

Las Vegas Boulevard. Neon lights. A glittering hotel tower. A gold elevator guarded by large men wearing guns and frowns. Nobody's going up the VIP elevator who doesn't belong.

The elevator has a leather bench in it. I pat the bench, and she sits down next to me.

“It goes high enough that it takes long enough that we need to sit down?”

The question tells me she's never been on a VIP elevator with a bench in it before. It's sweet. Almost innocent.

Like her.

We're on sixty-two, which gives me enough time to get away with stealing a kiss before the door pings open. Her lips flutter apart, and my tongue flirts around in search of the tender places.

Ping. The door comes open, and we see a marble table with a gold phone and purple orchids on it. Nobody needs the phone, and it probably isn't operational, but it's just there. A kind of decoration. A pretense that this tower dates back to the time before cell phones.

I slide my arm around her slender waist, and we walk together down a long wall with very few doors. Her curvy hip keeps knocking against my flank, a sexy sensation.

My cock is trying to push down my zipper from the inside-out.

She looks around, and I see the minute when she understands the entire floor is a single suite. There's more square footage in that suite than in ninety percent of American homes.

As a humble rock star, I couldn't afford it, except somehow I'm being comped. It probably means the hotel is going to leak pictures of me in their place, the kind of publicity their advertising department can't buy. It's the price of doing business, so I don't worry about it too much. They won't leak pictures of an unknown girl. The privacy laws don't apply to me, a rock star, but they apply to her.

For now, they apply to her. She's pretty enough to be a model and an actress, and I can't protect her from the paparazzi if that's her plan.

But for now, she's safe, and I'm feeling such an intensity of raw need I wouldn't even know how to describe what I'm feeling in words.

“Seems kinda cramped,” she says. A joke.

I chuckle and open the nearest door with a titanium-colored key card. There's a short hall, also lined with purple orchids, leading into a great room with a hot tub in the center of it.

“Want to soak?” I ask.

“Sure.”

There's a silver cart with three silver buckets on it. Ice. Champagne. I pop the nearest bucket and pour.

I know. She's eighteen. Contributing to the delinquency etcetera. Neither of us gives a fuck about that. We need hydration, and champagne's perfect for what we have in mind.

A sip and a tug at some fabric. Another sip and a kiss on bare skin. Another sip and another tug. Bit by bit, and piece by piece, the clothing comes off. Somehow, I'm wearing more than she is, so it takes her longer to get me naked, but I like having her fingers fly across my body when she's already pink and flushed and raw.

All those curves. I want to kiss every square inch. And then I'm doing it, I'm kissing and licking all the sweet pink skin as I expose it.

Her lips nibble me back, and her long tongue indulges in light teasing touches. I can't tell if it's a deliberate tease, or if she's concerned about making me come too soon— a reasonable concern after all this build-up— or if she simply doesn't know how hard to lick and nip.

“Harder,” I say, and her head does bob down low, but even then she uses only the lightest butterfly flutter of a touch to lick at my leaky mushroom cap.

That answers one question. She's deliberately teasing me. She knows exactly what she's doing.

“A soak, you said.” Her eyes dance.

I groan, but I'm also enjoying the tease. There's something about lingering on the edge like this...

Still, in the end, we don't bubble too long in the hot tub because we can't keep our hands off each other and the hot water is a little too relaxing. It doesn't fit the mood. So we tumble out of the tub again and across the carpet. It's thick and lush, almost as supportive as a mattress. Somehow, I'm on the bottom, and I lift her high above me like she's part of my weight-lifting routine and then I pull her back close.

Up and down, up and down, like she weighs nothing. Then I bring her down tight and clasp my arms around her smooth back and silky ass, and that's it, we're grinding, my cock trapped between our bellies.

“Oh, I've got to taste that,” she says. “Got to taste so, so bad.” Her shoulders shrug, and her hips slide, and I let her take control.

Oh fucking yeah, I'm so happy to let her scoot down and down until she's at the right place for her lips to curve around the head of my cock. Her mouth is so small. I swear I can feel every muscle stretch within her deft lips and flexible cheeks. She's curious about the piercing, probing it first with her tongue-tip to shift it.

“More,” I say. “It won't break.”

“It doesn't hurt?” She sounds very young then.

I laugh. “It's the opposite of hurting.”

She goes slowly just the same. A mix of deliberate teasing and her desire to spend the time to study my responses. She sucks a little harder each time, then backs off to judge the result. Her warm breath tickles into my pubes.

“Are you trying to make me crazy?” I ask.

“Maybe.” Her lips let go for half a heartbeat before they shape around my crown again.

I curve my neck up, the better to watch her pretty hair bounce all over my groin. Really, honestly, maybe I am going to go crazy, but what a way to go.

Her cheeks begin to hollow out as she takes more of my length. I'm so tempted to bounce my butt against the carpet, the better to thrust deeper down her throat, but I still don't want to hurry. I don't want this moment to be anything except forever. So I let her set the pace, let her happen to me, let her throat widen and gasp slowly, ever so slowly.

Eventually, her face is stretched over my cock like it's painted on. She's making little gaspy sounds like it's hard to breathe, but if I try to pull back any, she grabs my hips in both hands to hold me in place. Her throat is so tight.

Impossibly tight.

“Fuck,” I say. “I've been holding off but now... it's coming. It's taking me over. I can't hold back anymore.”

I expect a girl that young to spit me out so I can spew all over the floor. Instead, her lips clamp on even harder. There's a desperation to her oral hunger that I've never encountered before.

She isn't doing this as a favor or because I'm a big-ass famous rock star. She's doing it because she wants it. Wants it desperately.

And so do I. Dear fuck, so do I.

“Can't hold back.” I'm practically in tears from the effort. I want the rush to hit me like a train, and that's exactly what it's doing.

Her lips tighten. The entire length of her mouth tightens.

I come so far down the back of her throat that she probably can't even taste it before she swallows. My balls were so backed up that it seems to take me five or ten minutes to finish spewing, and all the time her head keeps bobbing in appreciation. As I grow more sensitive, she relaxes her lips a bit more to let me slide free without irritating the suddenly too-tender flesh.

I've climaxed down to my fucking toes, and I should be completely sated now, and yet...

And yet...

It isn't enough. Not for either of us. It can't possibly be enough. Her head rolls back, and I feel her rubbing her cheek against my groin. I never got more than semi-soft, and now I'm already firming up again.

“You're so big.” Her breath stings my sensitive flesh. “Fuck, I can't believe how big you are. Especially after that...”

“You can't expect to use me up that easy. I want all of you, baby. All of you. All the way.”

Then she's squirming around, and we're face to face. Her eyes blaze, then fill with tears. Hot and shiny, and unbelievably sexy, but I see an emotion in there I don't understand.

I kiss her on the side of the mouth. “What's wrong, Maddy baby? You OK with this? You're so pretty, and your lips were so... velvet. I hope I didn't go too fast for you.”

“I'm just... You're going to be so angry with me.”

“Why would I be angry with you? I would never be angry with you. Tell me what you want, and it's yours. If you want to make love, we'll do that. If it's enough what we've already done, well, I want more, I'm not going to lie, but there's no pleasure in it for me if you're not enjoying it too. It's all down to you, baby. If you want to go home, I won't be happy, but I won't be angry.”

Her cheek dimples when she smiles. “I don't want to go home, but you might want me to go home when you hear the truth.”

I smile too. Somehow, and I'm not sure how, but I know what's coming even before she says it. “I don't want you to go home. You can tell me. Anything. Just tell me.”

She looks deep into my eyes, and she doesn't look away. I'm afraid to even fucking breathe when she's holding my gaze like that. We look into each other like we're gazing into a crystal ball.

Like we're gazing into the future.

Our future.

“I'm so sorry,” she says. “I should have told you this upfront. The thing is, Noah, the thing about me is...”

I can't rush this moment. I have to let her take her time and say it in her own way. But I'm already hugging her tight to me to let her know it's going to be all right.

Her voice is almost inaudible. A soft buzz in my left ear.

“I know I should have said at the very beginning. But I'm a virgin, Noah. I want to do this, and I want to do it with you, but maybe you don't want it. Because it's going to be my very first time.”