In Deep Waters: Cruising The Seas Part 11

With that, Zi was gone and Hana slumped back on the bed.

She nearly fell asleep, but her growling stomach made her feebly work the straps of the harness loose. She didn't know why Zi had run off so quickly. They could have talked for a bit.

Evie was waiting at the dining room entrance. "Fun time?"

"You bet. I left her a broken woman."

Evie arched one eyebrow. "She and her friend went in just a bit ago. She looked like she had fun. You look like you're going to fall over."

"No way." I can't let Evie know, Hana thought desperately. When she'd gotten up to put the harness and toys in the bathroom for cleaning while she took her shower, she'd realized the pink one they'd started with wasn't on the vanity where she'd set it after deciding to switch to the larger one. It had been moved to the bed. And left on the bed where she'd been laying while Zi had f.u.c.ked her. No way could Evie know that she'd been f.u.c.ked by her own toy. "In fact, check out the brunette over there. The short one with the short hair and the tight little body. Bet I can bag her by ten."

Evie rolled her eyes. "Don't you ever get enough?"

"No." Things might be a little off-kilter at the moment, but that fact remained constant. "I'll never get enough."

Chained Melody Radclyffe "Great set, Reo."

"Yeah, we rocked," I said, grinning at our drummer, Lila.

"You coming back to Sophie's to party?"

"Gotta pa.s.s tonight," I said, upending the bottle of Evian and draining it before securing my Stratocaster in its case.

"If you don't get what you need," Lila said, giving me a come-f.u.c.k-me look, "stop by later. We'll be up until whenever, and I promise to take good care of you."

"I dream of it."

She was teasing, so was I, and we both knew it. I handed my guitar off to our equipment tech, the only person who ever handled her except me, and climbed down from the stage. I managed to sidestep the four obviously drunk girls who were waiting for me in their crotch-high skirts and skimpy stretch tops that showed every pucker in their nipples. I deflected one's hand just before she grabbed my crotch, tossed another one a quick grin, and called to the third over my shoulder, "I'll catch you later, babe, promise," as I fled to the darkest section of the bar that ran along one entire side of the nightclub.

I don't drink while I'm performing, not anymore. As I slid onto the barstool, I reflected on how things had changed. I didn't need to get high any longer to settle my nerves or get in touch with the sound. Five years ago I wouldn't have believed how sharp and clean the beat could feel inside me when there was nothing to blunt the edges, the music slicing through me, drawing blood so effortlessly I didn't feel the pain through the pleasure. Five years ago there were a lot of things I wouldn't have believed.

"Hey, Reo. Vodka rocks?" Marcia asked.

"Yeah, and the sooner the better," I told the bartender, a pet.i.te blonde with a punk haircut and a mouth I couldn't look at without thinking of her lips locked around my c.l.i.t. Big surprise, my c.l.i.t twitched right on cue-I had so much adrenaline running through my system after a gig I usually needed to drink myself down or f.u.c.k off the energy, with or without help. Fortunately, being a band member in a roomful of d.y.k.es is like being a hunk of red meat tossed into the lion's cage at the zoo. Everyone wants a piece and is happy to fight for it, which is why I woke up a lot of mornings with bite marks on my neck and scratches down my back and no memory of who put them there. Once upon a time, anyhow.

While I waited for my drink, I checked out the few people still hanging at the bar-most had headed off to party or f.u.c.k or both-and tried not to stare at Marcia's a.s.s. I met Marcia the first time Chain Maille, the band where I played lead guitar, worked a cruise. At the time, spending a week or so stuck on a ship had seemed like a crazy idea, especially not knowing what land of audience we'd get. We're a rock band-lots of raw guitar, angstly lyrics and angry s.e.x. When I thought of a cruise ship crowd, I pictured a bunch of married-with-children couples who had finally managed to squeak out enough time and money for a vacation, singing along to Anne Murray and slow-dancing-not exactly our kind of audience. Turned out, Marcia wasn't the only pleasant surprise on the first cruise. There were some of those couples, sure, and who would've guessed how wild and crazy married-with-children lesbians could be without the kids, but there were plenty of single, or not-so-single, hot and hungry d.y.k.es looking to get laid, too. After the first set we played, I'd walked backstage and Marcia had been waiting. She'd said, "s.e.xy guitar," and I'd said, "s.e.xy body," and yanked her in for a deep-throat kiss. Then she'd gone down on her knees and blown me right there.

That first trip, the club was packed for every one of our shows, and that b.l.o.w. .j.o.b was the first of many memorable backstage moments. Now, five years later, the cruise was a regular twice-a-year gig. Marcia was still tending bar, but she wasn't blowing me anymore. Only thing was, my c.l.i.t-hard and aching and totally mindless-hadn't gotten the message, which was why I never stayed for more than one drink after a set.

"Here," Marcia said, handing me a clean white bar towel. "You're dripping on my bar."

"Sorry." I glanced in the mirror across from me and saw that my hair was plastered to my forehead and the back of my neck in thick, black strands. Rivulets of sweat streamed down under the neck of my black, fine-mesh metal T-shirt. I whipped a hand through my hair and mopped my face with the towel. When I checked the mirror again, Darla, the cruise director, was standing so close behind me I could feel the stiff b.a.l.l.s of her nipples rubbing my shoulders. My nipples tightened in response, the tips sc.r.a.ping the inside of the metal shirt and sending a shock to my c.l.i.t with every breath. Like my c.l.i.t needed any more encouragement. f.u.c.k.

"Hi, Reo," she purred, sliding her arms around my middle and raking her fingernails up and down my bare belly. My shirt stopped just at the bottom of my ribs so the metal wouldn't scratch the back of the Strat when I played. Good for the guitar, bad for me at the moment. f.u.c.k, I was wired.

"Hi, Darla. Careful, I'm sweating up a storm."

"You can drip on me anytime," Darla said, sc.r.a.ping a nail along the rim of my navel.

I grinned into her green eyes in the mirror and tried to hold still while my stomach muscles writhed beneath her fingers. This was the third night in a row she'd let me know she'd like to work me over. The tip of her moist pink tongue skimmed her pouty lower lip, and I imagined sucking on that tongue while I palmed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and rolled her pebbly nipples between my fingers. She skimmed her fingers under my shirt and over the bottom of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I must have jerked, because she got a hungry look and leaned closer, her full, round t.i.ts flattening against my back, her breath hot on my neck.

"I bet you'd taste sweet." She rimmed my ear, and I felt it between my legs, felt the flat of her firm, hot tongue lapping up my come and whipping the underside of my c.l.i.t. "Going to let me find out tonight?"

"Can't," I said, stopping the hand that was wandering toward my crotch. I grabbed the vodka that Marcia handed me and gulped gratefully, hoping the alcohol would do its job and take just enough edge off my hard-on so I didn't explode in my pants. That's not quite how I planned to end the evening. "But I appreciate the offer."

Darla sighed good-naturedly and looked around the rapidly emptying bar. "I don't see anyone waiting for you, and I've been sooo patient." She ground her crotch against my a.s.s and whispered, "There's only so many times I can make myself come wishing you were f.u.c.king me before I just have to have some of the real thing."

"My real thing isn't available," I said, "but I'm sure you won't have any trouble finding some that is. Maybe like that tour guide I noticed swallowing your tongue while I was playing?"

"You're so not fun," Darla complained, mercifully abandoning my stomach and moving her hands up to my shoulders. She dug her thumbs into the tight muscles there and rubbed her body against my back like a cat. "You're really not going to go to bed with me?"

I sighed at how good her hands felt and shook my head. "I'm really not."

Marcia wiped down the bar, watching us with an amused expression. "Got a hot date waiting, Reo?"

"As a matter of fact," I made a show of checking the time in the neon pink clock over the bar as I finished my drink, but I knew exactly what time it was. "I do."

I stood, kissed Darla on the cheek as she slid onto the stool in my place, and headed back to my cabin. My c.l.i.t was still stiff, but now it ached not with frustration, but with sweet antic.i.p.ation.

Road trips are h.e.l.l, on both of us. Five years and it still hasn't gotten any easier leaving her for even a few days-let alone a few weeks. I never thought I needed order in my life until I met her. Until her, I thrived on playing guitar until three a.m., partying until six, f.u.c.king whoever I stumbled out with, and-sleeping until two. Then getting up and starting all over again. My life had been an inferno of music and s.e.x and I'd been burning fast.

Funny, I didn't meet her on the road. I met her in a business meeting right after the first cruise, five years ago tonight. The band had finally gotten a contract offer, and we needed an entertainment lawyer. Alana was the attorney. Ten years older, sophisticated, beautiful and smart. I sat in her office staring at her full, ripe mouth and her sleek legs crossed oh-so-casually-and showing just a hint of thigh. While trying to catch a peek at her cleavage beneath the expensive silk blouse, I didn't hear a thing she said about percentages, rights or agents. All I wanted to do was push her back into her posh leather chair, shove her Armani skirt up to her hips and f.u.c.k her until she screamed. I left the office with the rest of the band, walked around the block by myself after begging off a victory drink or ten, and went back.

"Did you forget something?" Alana asked when she answered the door herself.

I looked past her and saw that her secretary was gone and most of the lights were turned off. She was closing up.

"Yeah." My voice-the voice me and my three best friends were betting our futures on-came out hoa.r.s.e and thick.

"What's that?" she asked, reaching back to release the clasp that held her midnight black hair coiled at the back of her neck. It dropped in thick waves around her shoulders as she reached out and flicked a short polished nail over my nipple. I grabbed her wrist and pushed through the door.

"I forgot to tell you how much I want to f.u.c.k you."

"If you do," she gasped, her teeth already on my neck as she dragged me to the floor, "you'll have to get another lawyer."

"You can give me a referral later," I groaned, sliding my hand up her skirt to cup her hot, silky s.e.x. I shoved die flimsy barrier away and the next second I was in her.

And that's when everything changed. I f.u.c.ked her, and she f.u.c.ked me back, and when I came to my senses-sprawled in the middle of her thick Persian carpet, her mouth sucking my breast and her fingers still twitching inside my pulsing c.u.n.t-I knew I wouldn't be f.u.c.king anyone else, ever again.

She had a high-powered job she loved, and I needed the music like air. I needed to travel, and she couldn't always get away. I needed to rock, and when I did, I needed her.

I let myself into the cabin, poured myself another inch of vodka and sprawled on the sofa in the sitting area. Then, whispering a prayer to whatever genius figured out wireless ship-to-sh.o.r.e satellite transmission, I called Alana.

"Happy anniversary, baby," I said when she answered.

"Happy anniversary, lover," she replied in her rich, creamy voice. "Are you back in your cabin?"

"Uh huh. You in bed?"

"Mmm. I took a nice long bath and then slipped between our nice cool sheets. I've been lying here thinking about you up on stage, hot and sweaty and dripping with s.e.x."

"The hot and sweaty part is right, at least," I laughed, absently rubbing my free hand over my belly.

"I've seen you perform, remember?" she whispered. "How hard is your c.l.i.t right now?"

"Hard enough to cut gla.s.s."

"Mmm, I'll bet. Did you come after your set?"

"No," I said through gritted teeth, because just the sound of her voice had my c.u.n.t pounding like mad.

"How many girls were waiting to get you off?"

"Only a dozen or so."

She laughed, the warm, throaty sound she made when she was about to take my c.l.i.t in her mouth. "And you waited, with a hard-on that bad?"

Her voice had gotten just a little bit breathy, her words a little slower. "Are you fingering your c.u.n.t?" I asked.

"Not yet," she sighed. "I'm just holding myself, squeezing my lips a little to make my c.l.i.t nice and fat. Was Marcia there?" a "Uh huh." I loved to watch Alana m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e, stroking and ma.s.saging her smooth c.u.n.t until it was red and swollen and shining with come.

"Did you think about her ... sucking you off? About. .. her soft, wet... mouth around your c.l.i.t?"

"Maybe." I gripped the crotch of my leathers and rubbed my thumb over the bulge of my c.l.i.t. Alana had met Marcia on one of the cruises and had figured out instantly we had a history. She'd made me tell her all about it while I f.u.c.ked her one night, coming all over my hand when I described me leaning against the wall and blowing my load in Marcia's mouth. "Maybe for just a second I thought about riding her face until my c.l.i.t exploded."

"But you didn't, did you?"

"You know the answer," I said roughly, rubbing the leather over my brutally, relentlessly hard c.l.i.t. "You're fingering yourself now, aren't you?"

"A little." She already sounded half-gone. "Oh lover, it feels good."

I leaned back and closed my eyes, listening to her breathing become more and more ragged, watching in my mind's eye as she swept the tip of her smooth, shiny nail back and forth underneath the hood of her c.l.i.t, teasing it until her c.l.i.t stood up stiff and purple. She liked me to lick the head of her c.l.i.t while she played with it. She'd want to come soon. "Do you need me to suck you, baby?"

"No," she gasped. "I need you to... f.u.c.k me... until I... oh G.o.d... I want to come all over you."

"There's plenty of time for that."

"Oh," she whispered, a small, broken sound. "I really need to come, lover. Don't make me wait tonight."

I could faintly hear the slick sound of her hand circling in her c.u.n.t, faster and faster as her hips pumped higher. "Is your c.l.i.t swollen?"

"Oh, G.o.d, yes."

"Is it wet?"

"Mmm, slippery. Slippery and hot." A shaky breath ... a tremulous sigh. "Oh, and it's so hard now."

"Are you playing with it?"

"Uh huh. I have to. I want to come, lover, please. Can I?"

"Yes ... but not just yet."

A whimper. "But I'm so close."

"Then you better stop touching."

"Ooo, no," she wailed. "I can't. I'm going to come so hard. So hard."

She was panting, every breath a little cry.

"But you're a good girl, aren't you? You won't come unless I let you, will you?"

"No, uh uh uh... oh G.o.d. Oh G.o.d, baby. Oh, I'm going to come. Oh. Oh!"

"d.a.m.n it, stop! Stop it right now."

"Oh, please," she screamed, before ending with a choked sob.

"That's it, baby, just breathe." I sat forward, my eyes tightly closed, and willed her to hold on. "That's it," I said soothingly. "Breath until you slide away from the edge." I waited, listening to her pant. "Ready to try again?"

"Yes. Yes."

"Don't touch your c.l.i.t yet."

"I'll be good. I won't come," she begged desperately. "Please. Please let me touch. I won't come."

"One finger."

"Where?" A tremulous plea.

"On top of your c.l.i.t. Slide the hood back and forth with just your fingertip."

Incoherent sounds. I thought she might be crying.

"Feel good, baby?" I asked tenderly.

"Uh huh. Uh huh. I need to jerk off. I won't come. I won't come. I promise. Please. Let me jerk off just a little. Oh, G.o.d, my c.l.i.t aches..."

I laughed. "You'll come. I know you."

"No. No. I promise. I won't. I won't. Oh... oh that's good."

"I didn't say you could squeeze it."

"Don't you want to hear me come? Can I... for you? Don't you... oh, I'm going to come so hard... come for you... you like that... when I... don't you..."

She was babbling. I knew she was losing it and I knew what she needed. "Rub it faster."