Midnight Blue

“Ohhh,” I cried, which made Alex shut me up by driving even harder between my lips.

“Remember it’s my turn to take? The only thing you should be given right now is my spunk down your throat. Everything else is a bonus, and you’re definitely not allowed to make demands.”

Bossy jerk. Yet there was absolutely no way I could stop what I was doing. I felt him jerking inside my mouth, and he scooted up quickly to lean against the headboard, keeping my head on his crotch by fisting my hair.

“Fuck, yeah. Suck me good, Stardust. You’re a natural.”

Thanks…I guess. I did like the idea of taking control and being able to give him what he needed.

“I’m coming.”

It was a warning, which I appreciated, but I kept my lips firmly on his cock as he came in spurts. His cum was warm and salty—sticky—coating my tongue and teeth. I groaned, sucking every drop, until Alex let out a deep sigh and dragged me by the hair to look up and sit on my knees. He looked nonchalant and unflustered as ever. Other than his cheeks—stained in pink—he looked completely normal.

“You swallowed yet?” he asked, patting his back pocket and producing a cigarette pack.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, only I could. It was classic Alex. I still had some of his cum in my mouth. It was too thick to swallow in one go. I shook my head.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered.

I did. He lit up a cigarette—no doubt taking a small pleasure in making me wait—then pushed my bottom lip with his thumb, cigarette in mouth, and watched his cum drip from my lower lip to my chin. It was filthy and mortifying, and…hot. He swiped his index finger over my tongue and rubbed some of his cum on one of my nipples, and we both watched my body reacting to his touch, blooming into goose bumps, my nipples pebbling like little rocks.

“Pity I can’t keep you,” he said around his cancer stick.

“Who said I want to be kept?”

He put his palm on my cheek and squeezed, a sad look in his eyes. “Who said you had a choice?”

“C ongratulations, eejit. Jenna is officially going to kill you.” Blake slammed me to the door the minute I stepped into our room. Even before I got in, I had a feeling I should’ve stayed at Indie’s and burrowed into her scent and heat and sweet, innocent existence. The shit with Blake and Jenna was getting old. Like it wasn’t enough my soul had been gangbanged by a bunch of Suits on a daily basis, I also had to answer to them every time I fucked up on stage.

I would say that Blake and Jenna acted like my mum and dad, but truth was, my parents didn’t give a shit, and my manager and agent mostly gave a shit about their paychecks.

“Waitrose had it coming.” I pushed Blake away. His back bumped into the opposite wall, his eyes narrowing, honing in on me like I was a moving target.

“Just tell him you like her, Alex. Is that really so hard? Instead of making grand announcements about how she’s yours and you’re the king of the world. You’re starting to sound like Mussolini on steroids.”

“Why is it so important that I tell anyone I like her?” I fumed, galloping toward the minibar and yanking out a bag of crisps. Holy crap, I was hungry. I’d come so hard I’m pretty sure Indie had swallowed enough little Alexes to form an army. “Plus, I don’t like her,” I maintained. Actually, that was a lie, but as I’d said before, lying was second nature. Or a first one. Whatever.

“It’s important for us to know that your sobriety companion meets your expectations.” Blake cleared his throat and added quickly, “To Jenna and me, that is.”

I stared at him like he’d just informed me he was going through a pickle transplant to replace his cock, my crisp mid-air on its way to my mouth. I threw the crisp into my gob and chewed loudly, trying to figure out his game. It was unlike him to focus on Indie instead of the fact I’d walked off stage mid-gig after slamming my foot in the drum kit.

“Are you high?”

“Are you sleeping with her?” he asked simultaneously.

“That’s none of your business. Even if I were, she signed an NDA.”

“That’s not why I’m asking.”

I blinked. He’d never given a damn about any of my babysitters. Then again, I’d never gotten close to a girl after what had happened with Fucking Fallon. Blake leaned over the kitchen nook, running his fingers along his hair, looking skyward. Then he did that big, dramatic sigh. The one I got every time he threw himself a pity party.

“The Halloween event in Paris…we need to be there. Fallon and Will are attending,” he said, his words slow and careful, like he was dripping gasoline into an invisible fuse in my head while I was smoking.

I gave him a flat look. I felt like Rob from High Fidelity, sans the love for pop music. Basically, I was a loser and everyone pitied me, even though I pitied them, too. “And?”

“And I don’t want you to do anything stupid. Like trying to win her back.”

“I won’t.” I scratched the back of my neck. Was it a lie? Maybe. When you lie so much, it’s difficult to distinguish the truth. In retrospect, Paris would be the night when my life changed forever. Indie’s, too. And Fallon’s, the most. But of course, I didn’t know that when I stared deep into Blake’s eyes.

Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat.

“Okay,” Blake said, withdrawing from the nook and walking to the bathroom. It was then I noticed he still hadn’t changed from tonight’s show. “All right.”

I watched his back, trying to figure out what had just happened.

What. Just. Fucking. Happened?

In the end, it was more of the same.

Blake gave me shit about the incident at the gig for days afterward. Jenna highlighted that sentiment by sending me a basket of baklavas when we landed in Istanbul with a note:

 

I dare you to pull something like this again, Alex. No, really. Try me.

 

I played nice with Lucas, but found other ways to taunt him. Mainly by devouring Indigo every spare moment I had in public. We wrote every night in the hallway so we could concentrate on work, then I’d sneak into her bedroom and eat her out on the balcony overlooking Athens, or finger her in a cab on our way back from a gig in Berlin, dry hump her against the wall behind a coffee shop in Milan, and eat exotic fruit off of her naked body in Barcelona. She always had that look on her face when I made her come. Like the intensity of what we were doing stunned her. It was like deflowering her every single day, even though we hadn’t actually had sex. Yet. Yet . But we were getting closer every day. Plus, she’d finally taken a step back from Lucas, and he, in return, remained polite and pleasant to her, not overstepping the red, imaginary line I’d drawn between them.