To Catch a Falling Star (41 page)

Backstage is a circus. Just as I’ve seen on movies and documentaries. A groupie with a pass resting on top of her silicone boobs measures me with her eyes. She discards me with a snobby pout. A platinum blonde gives me a friendly smile. Though her beauty and mile-long legs make my inside quiver in jealousy, I like her demeanor. There are men that, from their appearances, just stepped out of a magazine photo shoot.

I try to process the surroundings. A man carrying a video camera bumps into me and continues on his path without apologizing. The chaos increases as we approach the band members’ area.

This is Tarry’s world. I’m uncertain whether I like it. It’s certainly fascinating and alluring, but I can smell a lifestyle of drug abuse and promiscuity burrowing underneath smiles and haute couture outfits.

Though only minutes have passed since the concert ended, the room is packed.

“Tarry instructed me to take you to his changing room,” Brat says.

As we cross a large ample room, I see Tarry. My heart skips a beat. He has his arms around a tall blonde. I stop in my tracks. Brat looks at me with inquisitive eyes. Then he follows my stare. Tarry must sense my presence. His eyes glance my way. Both his hands slide down to the girl’s waist. He gently pushes her away and peels her arms from around his neck.

My relief is destroyed when the girl follows his gaze and her eyes meet mine. It’s Nola. For a moment, I recognize a scornful look. But she smiles and her hand moves over her large and pregnant belly as if she’s dusting a trophy.

The flooring beneath my feet crumbles. My heart drops to a dark place in my soul.

“
Ma cherie
, what a pleasure.” Her plumped lips smile.

Tarry takes a long step, closing the gap between us. “Mel, I, um…”

“Finally, you decided to join us,” Nola interrupts Tarry. She strolls toward a paralyzed me, and a petrified Tarry. “Pity you’re not wearing the police uniform, but we can improvise.” She places one possessive hand on his shoulder and the other hand traces one of the tattoos on his chest.

“I, um, I’ve got to go.” My chest heaves and my breathing feels restricted. I spin on my stupid heels and spring aimlessly down the long hallway, dodging the groupies.

“Mel, wait,” Tarry says.

“
Mon petit
, wait.”

“Cut it, Nola.” Tarry’s voice fades behind me. My vision is blurry. Aimlessly, I zoom through the long gray hall.

“Mel, please.” Tarry grabs me from behind. Both his arms snake around my arms and he pulls me toward his sweaty chest. People stare and a camera light flashes.

Tarry drags me toward a closed door, he opens it, and guides me inside. He closes and locks the door behind him. Inside is pitch black. We remain silent, neither one dares to move. I hear his ragged breath. He still has his arms tightly around me.

“Mel, it’s not what you’re thinking.”

I hear desperation in his voice.

“Don’t say anything, Tarry. Please, just make me yours…” The unbidden tears blur my eyes and flood my face. I spin and desperately pat my way through the darkness, tangling my fingers through his hair. I pull him to me.

Tarry’s tongue enters my mouth with a sweet assault. My body trembles. The smell of his sweat and the heat of his body make me dizzy from desire. Tarry grabs my leg and squeezes my ass, pulling me against his erection. I moan and grind my aching core over his jeans.

“I love you. I need you, Melody,” he says with sharp ragged breathing. He puts my other leg around his hip and pins me to a wall.

“Oh, Mel, no underwear, good girl,” he says and squeezes my bare behind. “I have thought about your gorgeous ass every fucking minute.”

“Fuck me, Tarry. Fuck me hard and deep.” I moan, biting his skin and stroking my tongue on his neck. My nails scrape his muscled back.

He frees his erection and pounds inside me. A loud cry escapes my throat. My nails dig deeper in his skin.

“Fuck, Mel. It’s so fucking hot inside you.” He thrusts again.

I arch my back and meet each thrust, riding his dick and enticing him deeper and deeper inside my core.

Tarry swirls his hips languidly only to follow with a sharp thrust. Oh, how I missed the fullness of him inside me. He sets a pace and we synchronize to our perfect tempo. I feel the sweet tension building up inside my belly, his raw and firm cock touches every part inside me. Release finds me, shaking me to the core. As my body quivers and trembles under the waves of pleasure, I sense Tarry’s dick jerk inside my core as he finds his relief.

My mind goes quiet. The only thing that exists is our blended sweat, our entwined breaths, and us. We are silent as we descend from our high.

“Now take me home and make love to me,” I whisper when my breathing calms.

Tarry remains inside me. As usual, he is still hard. He reaches for his phone in the back pocket of his jeans. “Brat, gather security and escort me out of the building.” He is silent as he hears Brat saying something, then he snaps. “I don’t give a fuck. I’m leaving. Now.” He hangs up.

Tarry lowers me to the floor and adjusts my dress. He fastens his pants and holds my hand possessively.

A tap at the door indicates Brat is ready for us. I run my fingers through my mane of untamed curls.

After Tarry opens the door, I realize we’ve been inside a janitorial closet. The flashes, clicks, and whirring of cameras unsettle me. I hide my face behind Tarry’s naked back. Brat and another suited man shield us.

“Hey, Tarry! Is she the girl who has you smitten?”

“How about Nola and your baby? She just told us she is carrying your child. Is it true?”

Tarry puts his arm around my shoulder and I bury my face in his naked chest. God, I hope Mom and Dad don’t see this before I can talk to them.

How did this happen?

A team of security guards guides us into a corridor where the media are not allowed. We climb down the stairs and go through what appears to be a service area. A black Mercedes with an open door waits for us.

I slide inside the car, followed by Tarry. Thank God, no paparazzi are following us.

Guessing my thoughts, Tarry says. “The paparazzi are at another exit from where another limo will take the band—and supposedly us—to the after-party.”

I nod in understanding. The car takes off. After a few minutes, we roll onto I-95. A sign welcomes us to Connecticut. This is not how I thought our ride home would be. The humming of the tires rolling over the asphalt is the only sound I hear.

“MEL, PLEASE, BABY, talk to me.” Mel sits next to me, but her mind is miles away. Her back is straight and her hands rest on her lap. I want to touch her, pull her to me, and never let her go.

“Is the baby yours?”

“We don’t know yet. Nola says it is, but we agreed to wait until he is born to do DNA testing. She wasn’t even supposed to be here. We had agreed she would have the baby in France.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since the day we made love for the first time.” I run my shaking hand through my hair.

“And you never told me. You lied to me all this time.”

“I never lied to you, Mel.”

“Omitted information. Same shit, Tarry.”

“We had an open relationship. Nola had other partners. This child might not even be mine,” I say, ashamed to tell Mel about the kind of man I was. I know she is conservative. Though magazines splatter my life across their pages, I had shied away from mentioning many things to her. I know it is stupid. But I feel if I don’t tell her, then it is not true.

“What if it’s yours?” she asks.

“I’ll do the best I can to be a good dad,” I say with conviction.

She is quiet. Her silence is deafening.

“Tarry, if I was not in your life, would you and Nola raise this child together?”

I look away. Mel has a strong character. I know from the moment her question leaves her lips, that I’m doomed in spite of the answer.

I decide to be truthful. “Yes.” I pull her chin so she is facing me. “But I met you, Mel, and I fell in love. There’ll never be another chance for Nola and me.”

Mel closes her eyes and inhales deeply. For the first time since we entered the car, Mel inches closer to me. Her arms circle my waist and she curls in a tight ball on my side. I pull her to my lap. “I love you, Mel.”

“I love you, too,” she whispers. Her warm tears slither down my naked chest, cutting deep into my heart.

We remain together until the driver parks in front of Mel’s house.

“We’re home,” I whisper and inhale her chamomile scented hair. It smells like home.

Mel looks up at me, and a sad smile appears on her lips.

“Where is Ella?”

“At Will’s.”

“I miss her.”

Mel nods and the sad smile returns to her lips.

I open the door and usher her out of the car. The cold air bites my naked chest. Damn, why did I give away my shirt?

I wave good-bye to the driver and follow Mel inside the house. Once in the kitchen, I look around and absorb the familiarity of the place. It’s peaceful. Quiet. The tight knot in my chest doubles its size. I could never live without this peace.

I follow a silent Mel to the bedroom. She lights candles and pulls down the cover on the bed. She stands beside the bed. Without breaking eye contact, she slowly slides the silk dress down her curvy body. No undergarments. I’m instantly hard. She steps out of her high heels and stands naked and vulnerable before me. I just look at her and drink in the beauty of her body bathed in the flickering candlelight.

I kick off my Converses and slide out of my jeans.

We stand facing each other. No words. No touching. Just our eyes doing the talking, but we communicate more than our words can achieve. Mel’s eyes see my soul and expose hers. I feel vulnerable like never before. I welcome the feeling. It’s liberating. Mel’s stare reflects safety, kindness, and passion. Also, it expresses unconditional love. I want to dive inside her and never resurface.

My fingers touch her hair lightly. Her wild curls are in perfect disarray. I caress a curl, lean in, and inhale her delicious scent.

Mel is still. Not moving a muscle.

“I love you,” she says in a pained whisper.

I look deeper inside her eyes. I’ve never seen her so sad, not even when she talks about her deceased husband.

“Dance with me?” she asks.

I raise an eyebrow.

“You’ll provide the music,” she says with the sad smile.

I hold her hand, wrap my arm around her bare waist, and pull her tight against me. My body trembles. I decide to sing “When I Fall in Love” by Nat King Cole. Yeah, I’ve became a cheesy dork.

I lean in to sing in her ear. I sense her body shivering. I guide her through the room. We sway our entwined hips. Mel follows my lead as we dance naked under the soft candlelight.

I sing the English and the French version of the Nat King Cole song. I stretch out the verses and repeat the chorus many times, but eventually the song comes to an end.

We stand in the middle of the silent room.

“Make love to me, Tarry.”

Mel’s lips part invitingly. I kiss her and taste her sweetness. I scoop her off the floor and carry her to bed. With reverence, I place her on the bed and stare at her beauty. I know she wants me as much as I want her.

There is no holding back with Mel. No games, no masks, no pretense. There is a sober and intoxicating mutual exchange of touches, whispers, and genuine emotions. We give it all to one another—body, mind, and soul.

I kiss her face, trailing nibbles, and sucking my way down the generous swell of her breasts. I suck her nipples and Mel’s body moves under me. I travel down to her navel, kissing each inch of her soft skin. Mel’s moans are a perfect melody.

I stare at her pussy. She carries my scent. I know I’m the only man alive to have put a mark on her. My chest swells with possession and pleasure. My lips close around her soft skin. Mel cries my name repeatedly. When I see she is at the brink of pleasure I pull away. Mel moans, “Please, Tarry, please, baby.”

My lips crush hers as she cries my name. I dive deep inside the intense heat of hers. Mel is scorching hot. My dick fits inside her perfectly. I relish the feel of her bare skin surrounding my sensitive cock. I know I will never belong to anyone else. Before Mel, the word soul mates made me cringe. Now it is the only word to define me as whole.