Pure Iron (25 page)

“Yes,” she breathed, beginning to pant already.

He turned her around and drew up her skirt. Then he lifted her to the countertop and sat her on it. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her lacy panties, he pulled. Sonia braced her hands on the countertop so she could lift her hips as he drew her panties down her legs and let them slide to the floor. His hands skimmed back up her legs, stroking her inner thighs. She felt moisture rush to prepare her for his possession. Mick’s hands traveled higher to play with the plump outer labia.

“Unbutton your dress,” he ordered.

With shaking hand, she did so and opened the bodice of the dress. His gaze latched on to her breasts, which felt heavy and swollen with need. The nipples were already tight, pressing through the lace of her bra. He bent his head down to lap at them through the stretchy lace as his thumbs penetrated more deeply. She moaned and wound her fingers in his hair. She whimpered during the seconds it took him to withdraw his hands, yank open his jeans, and shove them down to mid-thigh. He took another few seconds to stroke himself to steely hardness.

“Tell me you want this,” he growled against her breast.

“Yes. I want you.
Please
,” she obeyed and spread her thighs wider to accommodate him.

He stepped forward, aimed the long, thick length of his erect penis at her vagina, and pushed slowly into her body. Flesh swollen and sensitive from recent, vigorous use yielded reluctantly. He paused to allow her body to accommodate him without undue discomfort, then pushed forward some more. He paused, pushed forward, paused, and pushed forward, inch by slow inch, until he was fully seated inside her body. Then he drew back until only the fat tip of him remained embedded. Sonia’s hips bucked. He rolled forward. She moaned and he moaned with her. After a few slow strokes that stoked both their passion, he increased the pace, slamming into her with such force that they both grunted. A few minutes later they found simultaneous release, his semen boiling from his testicles and her hot cream squirting over him.

Knees weak, he leaned his forehead into hers. Their hot breaths mingled as they panted. Their wordless companionship was broken by the sound of thick drops splattering on the kitchen floor.

“Oh, God,” Sonia groaned, face flushing with embarrassment as their mingled fluids dripped from her body.

Mick pulled his softening dick from her and released a small gush of milky fluid. Sonia averted her gaze.

“I love seeing you filled with my cum,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “I love filling you.”

That blush just got brighter.

He took her chin in his hand and brought her head around, tilted her face upward, and pressed a kiss on her swollen lips.

“I love you,” he said. The pitch of his voice was low, the tone fierce. His intense expression seemed to sear her soul as he stared into her eyes. “I know you worry, baby, but you don’t have to.”

Her doubts welled up and she blurted, “But there’s so much temptation and we’ll be apart for so long.”

“Only you,” he insisted. “Yours is the only body I want to sink into, the only mouth I want to kiss. You are the only woman I’ve ever cared to wake up to in the morning. You’re more than an amazing fuck, Sonia. You’re the other half of my soul.”

Perhaps his words shouldn’t have reassured her or made her melt into his arms, but they did. Then she gave him a greater gift than her willing and welcoming body: “I trust you, Mick.”

He gathered her in his arms and hugged her tightly. “I won’t let you down, sweetheart.”

With a soft kiss on the tip of her nose, he released her and grabbed a handful of paper towels. He wet them down and gently cleaned the sticky evidence of passion from his wife and then from the floor.

Tossing the soiled towels in the wastebasket, he said with real regret, “I have to go now.”

“I know,” she said, feeling teary and emotional. She forced a smile. “I’ll see you tonight. Knock ‘em dead.”

With a nod and a small smile, he grabbed his overnight bag, violin, and guitar—the instruments in their protective cases—and departed. Determined not to worry and “borrow trouble” as her mother would say, Sonia put herself to work. By the time she left for the evening show, the condo gleamed and smelled fresh, laundry and ironing were completed, and the crock pot sat patiently on the countertop, prepared to provide a hearty, delicious meal late that night.

“You’re late, man,” Kris grumbled when Mick joined the group.

Mick shrugged. He wasn’t all that late. They still had a good hour before they were due onstage. He lowered his instruments to the floor.

“Needed to fuck the wife before coming,” Jack commented with a deliberate double entendre. Angelo snickered.

“Sonia will be here for tonight’s performance,” Mick said as he rolled his shoulders. He did not think Jack’s comment deserved the dignity of a response. He yawned.

“Problem sleeping?” Angelo inquired slyly.

Mick gave him a small smile and said evenly, “Nope, no problem at all.”

He pulled the violin from its case and rosined the bow. He drew the bow across the strings, listening carefully, and deftly tuning the instrument. Then he pulled out the guitar and spent a few minutes tuning it. He ran a finger over the B string. It didn’t feel right. He made a quick decision to replace it, pulling a spare from the extras he always kept in stock in the guitar case. As he removed the old string and installed the new one, he asked, “We’re sticking with the same set list for both shows, right?”

Jack shook his head. “If you’d been here twenty minutes earlier, you’d know we changed the lineup.”

“Give him a break, guys,” Davis said, playing peacemaker. “You all are just jealous.”

Mick’s cheeks reddened, but he said nothing. Davis continued, reciting the order of the songs they would play that afternoon. Mick repeated the list, committing it to memory.

“This evening’s list is totally different,” Davis said. “We decided that we’ve got sufficient material not to have to repeat tunes.”

Mick finished tuning the guitar and nodded, withdrawing into himself as the whisper of inspiration began to sing in the depths of his mind.

“I know that look,” Angelo commented.

“Mick’s muse is talking to him,” Davis agreed.

“I hope he can concentrate on what we’re supposed to be doing today,” Kris muttered under his breath. Jack might have been their best singer and he might have been their most skilled guitarist, but Mick beat them all in composing good music. He supposed that he, too, would be distracted if he had something as sweet and luscious as Sonia waiting for him.

He rubbed his nose and told himself to quit lusting after his friend’s wife. Unaccustomed to self-denial, he knew the order would not have any effect whatsoever.

“Let’s go through a quick run-through, guys,” Jack suggested. “We’ll play the first few bars of each song.”

The others saw no harm in a brief review. Jack rose from the sofa and started. “We’ll run out, Davis and Angelo first, then Kris, Mick, and me. Kris, you want to greet the fans this afternoon?” The guitarist nodded his acceptance. “Great. Then, welcome everyone, thank the opening band, and segue into
Centerfold
.”

Kris picked up his spare acoustic guitar and strummed the opening notes of the first song on the afternoon’s set list, a hard rocking, blatantly sexual song that was practically guaranteed to have the audience leaping to their feet and dancing … or fucking in the aisles. Mick didn’t think that was the best tune to open a matinee, which was likely to be populated more by kids than adult, but then, they were in Sin City.

“We’ll go from that straight into
Amethyst Night
,” Jack said. Kris played a few bars. “When that’s finished, you introduce everyone.” Kris nodded. “We’ll play
Diamonds in Heaven
next. Mick, you’re the lead on that.” Mick nodded and hummed the opening notes.

In that fashion, they reviewed their script of the two-hour performance, songs interspersed with short summaries and a bit of patter with the audience.

“I think Kris and you, Jack, should interact more directly with the audience than Mick,” Davis opined.

“Why’s that?”

Davis rolled his eyes. “Mick’s married, remember? Let’s not encourage those sweet, young things out there to throw themselves at him.”

Jack looked at Mick, who shrugged with indifference even though he saw the wisdom in Davis’ caution. His married state wouldn’t matter to the groupies who wanted to brag of having slept with a rock star.

The muted roar of a lively crowd, accompanied by applause, alerted them to the beginning of the afternoon’s performance as the opening band’s drummer struck his cymbals repeatedly. They listened to the music, none of it original to the band, and played competently if not brilliantly. They heard the enthusiasm for the music, but the players lacked the skill to really bring it to life.

“They’ll never make it to the big leagues,” Angelo commented quietly, saying nothing that they hadn’t all already admitted silently to themselves.

“Well, ‘matinee’ means cheaper tickets and a smaller cut—less money overall to go around,” Jack said with a shrug. “They had to hire a lesser band.”

“They’re not opening for us tonight, are they?” Mick inquired.

“God, no,” Kris answered with a short laugh. “We’ve got Lemon Ice opening for us again tonight.”

“Good. They’ve got a future in this business.”

“Yeah, they are good, but they’re not as good as us.”

“No, that’s why they’re the opening band and we’re the feature attraction.”

Kris rubbed the front of his pants with a broad palm and said, “My dick’s gonna be some girl’s feature attraction tonight, that’s for sure.”

“You’re such a pig.”

“Yeah, and the groupies love it.”

Kris’ confidence had merit because his words were true: the groupies did love it. They kept coming back for more, even though he seldom slept more than once with the same girl. But then, Mick had gone through that phase before realizing how intimate and satisfying deeply learning one woman could be. Being apart from Sonia during the tour was going to be absolute hell.

The opening band’s thirty minutes drew to a close. The five men of Iron Falcon walked to the stage, waiting just beyond the curtains. The opening band finished, took their bows, thanked the audience, and obediently left the stage. Their eyes sparkled with excitement and they high-fived each other and slapped one another’s backs.

Iron Falcon waited a minute for the crowd to settle and the emcee to announce them before walking onstage. Having arrived late, Mick carried his instruments with him, gently setting the violin and bow nearby and positioning his electric guitar more comfortably. Grown women and teenage girls shrieked and screamed at the ripple of muscle and the unconsciously sexy way he cradled the instrument, carried it, touched it like a lover. Lingerie landed on the stage.

“Hello, Las Vegas!” Kris hailed the audience. The crowd’s enthusiastic welcome responded with increased volume. A minute later, his fingers plucked audial sex from the guitar strings as his lean hips moved in a suggestive bump and grind while Jack’s velvet voice sang lyrics that melted panties far and wide.

The next two hours proceeded as planned because, however else they might behave offstage, onstage they were consummate professionals. When it came time for the final song, Kris announced, “This afternoon, we’d like to leave you with our music playing in your heads. Mick here wrote a particularly haunting tune for his new wife, Sonia, and I have to say that Iron Falcon is completely in love with this woman who can inspire such beautiful music.”

At his cue, Mick picked up his violin and Angelo picked up his wooden flute. The instrumental calmed the audience, seduced them, and would have made them weep if it weren’t for the deep and quiet joy infusing it. Sighs sounded above the crowd as women and girls dreamed of handsome men paying tribute to them with such auditory beauty. As the notes died away, the audience held its rapt silence. The lights dimmed, the band bowed, and the curtains dropped. The silence held for a few seconds longer, then exploded with wild applause and cheers and shouts for an encore.

Iron Falcon set down their instruments and walked off the stage, their blood and bodies humming with adrenaline and music. They returned to what Angelo had dubbed the “waiting room,” where cold beverages and snacks awaited. The usual crowd of groupies lay in wait for them, rushing forward with smiles and excited squeals and requests for autographs and suggestions of other things. With their usual good grace, the band members greeted their enthusiastic fans and signed paper, CDs, shirts, and even some body parts. Security firmly enforced the “no fraternization” rule and kept the most rabid of fans from following the band members into the waiting room. Mick did not miss seeing Jack and Kris both slipping pre-written notes into the palms of willing women. He knew that those women were instructed to meet them in a hotel room off-property where they’d indulge in a couple of hours’ hot, sweaty sex. Once they’d worked off their energy and excitement, they would dismiss their transient lovers, catch a bite to eat, and return in time for the evening show.

Especially now that he had Sonia, the whole fuck-’em-and-kick-’em-out scenario seemed so horribly sordid. Tawdry. Even cruel. They all knew that many of those temporary fuck buddies thought they were the ones who’d rock the rock star’s world such that he’d fall into love and keep her with him, at least for a few weeks.