His body was suggesting otherwise and, aware of his dick hardening, he felt her cold hand glide along its length.
“You sure you want me to stop,” whispered Nicole, gazing into his soul with her green cat-like eyes.
“Just stop,” he said unconvincingly.
“Before or after I make you cum?”
“Nicole, please,” began Jake as he tried to ignore her hand gently fondling his balls. “Stop,” he almost groaned.
“Now, why do I get the feeling you really don’t want me to stop?” she teased as she kissed him again.
He felt her hand grasp his dick and begin to rhythmically glide up and down. The remains of the ice cube were in her palm, its icy chill serving to heighten the experience. Surrendering to the erotic moment of pleasure, Jake allowed Nicole to wrap her other arm around his waist and didn’t resist when she began to kiss him behind his ear lobe. Without skipping a beat, she groaned softly as she pressed herself closer to him. They were in such close proximity that he could feel her nipples hard through the pale fabric of her soft chiffon blouse. She slid her hand up and down his hard length, allowing the last sliver of ice to tease his sensitive tip. The instant chill triggered his release and with a low feral groan, Jake felt his hot cum spurt over her cool hand.
“Maybe I should stop,” said Nicole, her voice soft and oozing with obvious lust for him.
Slowly, she withdrew her hand. Keeping her gaze locked with his, she sensuously sucked each of her long slender fingers clean.
“I’m late for my meeting now,” she said with a wicked smile. “You’re a bad influence, Jake.”
Before he could utter a reply, Nicole turned away and headed towards the ladies’ room. Running his hand through his hair, Jake let out a long, exasperated sigh. What had just happened? What had he just allowed to happen?
“Christ,” he muttered under his breath.
The hornet sting was temporarily forgotten.
“What kept you?” challenged Grey when Jake finally felt composed enough to return to the studio.
“Sorry,” muttered Jake as he lifted his guitar from the stand. Glancing into the control room, he saw it was empty. “Where’s Jim?”
“That schoolteacher friend of yours just showed up,” explained Grey sourly. “Right, we’ve wasted enough time. Let’s try your hornet song from the top.”
“Sure. Lyrics aren’t quite finished,” said Jake. “Want to change the last verse.”
“Let’s just see how far we get,” suggested Paul. “I need to head off in a few minutes. Last one, guys.”
Hoisting his book bag onto his shoulder, Jake reached into his pocket for his truck keys as he walked out into the early evening sunshine. He sighed with relief when he saw there was no sign of Nicole’s BMW. Throughout the last hour of rehearsal, his mind had been racing as he’d silently cursed himself for being weak. Unlocking the truck, he swore that it would never happen again and prayed that the others and Lori never found out.
By the start of the third week in the studio, the whiteboard finally had all the tracks listed. There were eighteen song titles neatly and not so neatly written down the left-hand column. It had been a hard slog to fill up the board but, after a few all-night writing sessions, all three members of Silver Lake were happy with the new material. They’d used enough of the files Rich had left behind to reassure each of them that they weren’t betraying him by recording a new album without him. As the days had passed, it had grown easier for them to be in the studio without him.
Glancing over at the door just before lunchtime on Monday, Jake said, “I keep expecting that door to open and Rich to storm in.”
“I hear you,” acknowledged Grey as he fiddled with the tuning of his bass.
“If he was here,” interrupted Dr Marrs from the control room, “He’d be subtly reminding you that this record isn’t going to record itself.”
“Someone’s grumpy on this fine September morning,” teased Grey.
“That’s rich coming from you, Mr Cooper,” joked Paul from behind his kit.
“Gentlemen,” began the producer bluntly. “I need to get this album in the can. Paul, Grey, I need your tracking done by the end of this week.”
“Yes, sir,” said Grey with a salute to the control room window.
“Have we got all the tracks worked out?” quizzed Jake, rapidly trying to think if they’d missed any.
“Yep!” declared Jim Marrs. “And I need the damn things tracked!”
Sensing they’d pushed their luck far enough, Paul said, “Best make a start then.”
“Thank you, Mr Edwards,” sighed the producer. “Jake, get out of there. I’ll call you in if I need you.”
“Fine. I’ll be out back in the rehearsal room.”
Coffee in hand, Lori limped slowly through to her workspace. It had been a tough start to her morning. She got stuck in traffic on the way out to the school, causing Melody to have a meltdown in the back of the car about being in trouble if she was late for class. They had made it to the school with just three minutes to spare and she’d felt like a monster leaving her young daughter in tears with her class teacher. When she reached the daycare centre, Jesse decided he didn’t want to go in. He’d thrown a full-blown temper tantrum as she’d wrestled him out of the car. Fortunately, one of the class assistants saw her struggling and had come to rescue her but not before the irate three-year-old had kicked her in the thigh. By the time she had arrived home, she had developed a large purple bruise and her leg was aching.
With a sigh, she set the mug down on her desk then settled herself in her seat to check her
