Desire coursed through him, hot as the singing wind. He could, he really could, toe the edge of some kind of crazy-beautiful abyss. Touch mysteries. Play at the border of magic, live vicariously through Helen, taste taboo along with her sex.
Wasn’t attraction, chemistry between two people, ultimately witchy?
Wasn’t he a fucking artist, a songwriter and musician suited to draw inspiration from the swamps of Dionysian murk?
“Can you get here in the morning? Ticket is on me, of course, and I could pick you up at the airport.”
“Let me text Lisa and ask if she can sub for a few more days. But yes, I agree that I should be close by for this finale show. Can I text you in a second?”
Warmth spread through his chest, making its way down to tighten his balls. He glanced back at his bed, a California king dressed in hotel whites and navy pillows. He’d never brought a woman into this brand-new bed, the one he’d bought as a replacement after catching Kris screwing some photographer between their wedding sheets.
What a perfect opportunity to christen the new bed with Helen, lay out the luscious witch and slide into her body. Take her. Claim her, in all of her power and glory and beguiling enchantment. His cock plumped. Was this what the history books meant when they spoke of men being bewitched? If so, sign his name on the applicable line.
“Hurry up.” His voice was bestial. He practically growled.
This horny, alpha-male side of himself came out around Helen. Whether the inner beast turned him on or frightened him or both, he couldn’t say, but goddamn the novelty thrilled. He longed for Helen, body and soul.
“Or else what?” She popped off her taunt, her dare, without a moment’s hesitation.
He smirked at the rocky slopes beyond his property. Brian Shepherd could play. He could peacock, strut, release the macho. Albeit a bit in jest, a self-aware experiment, but that didn’t make it any less fun.
“Or else when you get here I’ll punish you. Tie you to the bed and pleasure you until you scream my name. With a healthy dose of ‘yes, maestro’ mixed in.”
“Not bad, not bad. You should write that down.”
“Perhaps I will.” He stood up straighter, thoughts bouncing between Helen in his bed and making music in his home studio.
He’d fuck her in the studio, if she was game. Bend her over the couch, shag her up against the wall of the sound booth. His skin tingled, excitement spurting through his veins. A groan slipped out before he could stuff it.
“Are you looking forward to seeing me? Cause I’m willing to bet there’s a drumstick in your pocket.”
God, she could be so shameless. He loved that about her. She was unrepentant where he was uptight. Helen gave him permission to release reins, to free the stallion and charge. “Nice Mae West reference. Suits you. And what do you think?”
“Yes. I think yes.”
“So get your affairs in order and get your sexy self to California.”
“Yes, maestro.”
He sucked in a breath and adjusted his fly. “Quit teasing.”
“Why would I do that? It’s too much fun.”
He moaned. Yes, she’d reduced him to a nonverbal shaft of male lust, a phallus, a caveman.
“I’m hanging up.” His head swam, his swollen erection claiming all of the blood.
“Same. I’ll talk to you soon. See you soon.” Christ, her voice. Rough yet smooth, silk stockings ripped off of spread legs under red lights. The phone clicked. Brian stood there for a second, worked up and dazed. He hissed out a breath and fanned his forehead.
His phone blooped with notice of a text, the device vibrating in his hand. Helen sent a thumbs up. Pulse bumping, he went online, bought her a ticket, and texted her the flight details.
Sure, he had an assistant to take care of administrative matters, but this chore fell into the category of something so important he’d do it himself. She texted back with another thumbs up and a red lipstick kiss.
Gaze on those puckered red lips, Brian walked back into his bedroom and latched the sliding glass doors to the deck. Those lips, those lips. How would her lush pout feel wrapped around his knob, licking and sucking? God, he needed her so bad. Had to have her. Craved her, the heady sensation of losing himself in the wet heat between her legs. His tongue had been there, but not his manhood. A travesty.
Brian locked his bedroom door, grabbed a tube of hand lotion off of his dresser, and saw to his urge. He stroked himself at a fast pace, images of Helen’s face and naked body in all sorts of sexual situations forming a dirty movie.
Right at the end, he used two simultaneous images to bring himself home. One, Helen bouncing on top of him. Two, Helen kneeling at his feet, disheveled and sweaty after a good fucking and multiple orgasms. Eyes closed, mouth open, and tongue out, she prepared to accept a face full of his offering with gratitude.
Yes, he had filthy, politically incorrect fantasies sometimes. So sue him. Fantasy number two delivered the payoff, and he erupted into splintering relief. Climax ebbed, leaving him hollow, because he had no Helen to cuddle and stroke and bask with in the mellow afterglow.
But piss off, sadness and moping. She’d be in California soon. He checked his phone, ensuring he hadn’t imagined the text. Of course he hadn’t. The little bubble with the thumbs up and lipstick kiss remained. He picked up the mobile and planted a lingering smooch on the screen. Laughing at his foolish heart, he threw the phone on the mattress, tugged his underwear and pants over his hips, and sauntered to his master bathroom.
As he cleaned off, he took stock of the space, chuffed as he admired his spoils. Elegant yet tasteful, all sleek lines and chrome accents. The shower was a modern glass box,
