I moaned, fluttered my eyes open. “Mmm?”
I looked down, and saw Lexie outlined under the sheet that was draped over my waist. Felt her hands cradling my balls and cupping my shaft as she went down on me, slow and deep.
“Lex…”
She hummed a negative. Batted the sheet away. Reached up and found my hand, placed it on her head. Pushed down on my hand. Encouraging me to guide her to what I wanted, how I wanted this.
Sleepy, disoriented, already rising to the verge of orgasm, I was helpless to stop, to resist wanting this. Her mouth felt so good and I’d gone to sleep with a painful erection that hadn’t ever entirely faded.
I gave in, and tangled my fingers in her hair, guiding her to slow down, to go shallower, and then deeper. She swallowed around me, gagged a little, and I held still and brought her shallower yet, not wanting or liking the gagging sounds. She stroked me, cradled and massaged me, and I lost myself in her soft wet mouth, gasping and panting as she took me to the edge.
“Lex, I’m gonna come,” I breathed. “Right now, fuck, right now—fuck!”
I tried to pull her away, but she went deeper, and I felt her mouth around my base and her throat around the head and I couldn’t stop myself from coming, from letting loose and I felt her swallow, gulp, her hands both wrapped around my cock as she backed away and pumped me wild and fast and I came again, and she swallowed and her tongue swirled and I felt like I was being ripped apart in the best possible way.
I felt dizzy and faint, light-headed as the orgasm blasted through me.
She didn’t stop there.
Kept her mouth on me, held me in her hands and licked and kissed as I seeped and faded, aching, blissful and spent.
Finally she crawled up my body and rested her cheek on my chest, not saying a word.
And neither did I.
I was conflicted.
That had been one of the best—in fact, the best blowjob I’d ever gotten, including the first one from her that was the only other one even close in comparison. It had alleviated the boiling ache in my balls. It had felt good.
But it wasn’t what I wanted.
I wanted her.
I wanted us.
I’d take blowjobs any day and every day, and thank her with as many orgasms as she could handle. But that was meant to be her way of thanking me for last night, or this morning, or whatever it was. It was meant to stand in for the intimacy she was too afraid to give me.
We couldn’t even have sex without some excuse behind it, because the kind of sex I wanted with her meant more than fucking, more than hooking up. So much more. And she wouldn’t dare let that happen.
So she skirted the issue with oral play that in no way satisfied me, or her. I knew that, but I wasn’t sure she was allowing herself to recognize it.
I wanted to be stronger—to have the courage and fortitude to deny her the oral distractions.
To force the issue.
But I wasn’t that strong.
So I said nothing. Just held her. Let the mountain of unspoken everything and more pile higher between us.
“Myles, I…”
I touched her lips. “Shush, Lex.”
“But—”
“Are you ready to talk?” A thick, telling silence. “Thought so. So just…let it be, for now. Okay?”
“This isn’t how I want things to be, Myles.”
“Me either. I said my piece. Rest is up to you.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“I went after you, yeah?” I touched her cheek, rolled to an elbow and gazed down at her. “I found you. Brought you here. Gave you space. Didn’t push nothin’. I’m here Lex. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
“But if I can’t eventually give you what you want, you will.”
I shook my head. “It ain’t about condom or no condom, babe. That’s the least important thing on the planet to me. It’s about what it represents. It’s about vulnerability.” I held her gaze. Let her see as deep into my heart and soul as she dared look. “It’s about there being an us.”
She had nothing to say to that, and that told me everything.
Moscow.
No matter how I tried, I couldn’t get Lexie onstage—she flat out refused, and became angrier than she’d ever been when I tried to force it. So I let it go.
Moscow was followed by three dates in Germany, and more refusals to perform. I would hear her playing my guitar or her ukulele, knew she was writing new songs, testing out melodies and snatches of chorus, tweaking. I knew music was coming back to her and that she wanted it.
Paris, Barcelona, Lisbon. Some of the most beautiful cities in the world, and I made sure she saw them. We took time away from everything, just me and her in a blacked-out SUV, seeing the sights and hitting little cafes, sipping wine. The shows were all sold out and every single one was a huge success. We were making big bank on this tour and Mick was thrilled.
We haven’t had sex in over a week. I refused to let her blow me instead of being intimate, and she refused to let me go down on her unless she could do the same to me.
It was all falling apart.
She refused to perform.
Hid in the bathroom or sat on the balcony playing my guitar and ignoring me.
Ignoring calls from her mom and sisters.
She was coming apart.
We were coming apart.
It was all disintegrating. Dissolving. Breaking at the seams, crumbling at the cracks.
Prague. Four a.m. local time.
She was asleep. Well, passed out—that’s the other thing: she’s started drinking herself to sleep and I hated it.
But I couldn’t just…leave her here, obviously. Couldn’t and wouldn’t stick her on a plane ride home. On a certain level, this whole thing was nuts. Why was I putting myself through this? Why was I continuing to accept her endless parade of bullshit? Especially now, as she increasingly fell apart.
Because at
