she nearly
knocked me over.
“This really is the last one,” Robbie shouted, his deep
voice booming above the noise of the crowd. “Because you’ve been so amazing
this evening, here’s one more song.”
The audience roared.
“Any requests?” he asked, plucking the microphone from the
stand and holding it out to the sea of people.
“ Party Animal !” the girl next to me screamed. “ Party
Animal , sing Party Animal !”
“ Jenny , sing Jenny again,” hollered the lady
on my right. “Sing Jenny .”
“I can’t hear you!” Robbie yelled, cupping his ear and
stretching the microphone out farther. “What do you want? Tell me.”
I struggled to decipher an overwhelming request through the
mayhem of song titles hollered out.
“S trawberries and Screams ?” Robbie asked, standing
upright and grinning. “You want Strawberries and Screams again?”
“Yes, yes.” My two neighbors yelled with new enthusiasm. “ Strawberries
and Screams .”
The guitarists picked up the first funky lines of Strawberries
and Screams , a record that had been played to death on UK radio and was
obviously still a fan favorite. It wasn’t one of mine. Hearing Robbie sing
about making love to a redhead with pale skin and fruity nipples made my skin
itch and my jaw clench.
“Excuse me,” I said to the girl who’d jostled me. She took
no notice so I pushed past her into the aisle. I’d had enough.
I trotted down the steps and walked into the deserted
corridor. I could still make out Robbie’s voice filling the stadium, swirling
around his crowd the way it used to swirl around me. The beating music vibrated
into my soul, dragging a deeply buried memory to the forefront of my mind.
I stopped and leaned back against the cold wall. Dropped my
head into my hands and braced my knees. I was at the mercy of my mind’s eye,
and like flicking a switch I was suddenly there again.
Robbie’s face hovered over me and the gorgeous scent of
his naked skin enveloped me. He ducked and murmured hot words into my ear. Hot
words that spoke of how he felt and exactly what dirty deeds he wanted to do to
me. My heart fluttered and a flush of tickles traveled over my scalp as his
warm breath shimmied across my neck. He shifted his weight, his long, naked
body solid and lean as he pressed me into the mattress in his small bedroom.
“Jenny,” he murmured, sliding his hands between our
bodies as his legs eased mine apart. “Jenny, Jenny, it’s only you, always you.”
His fingertips created a tingle across the flesh of my
stomach. His touch was so delicate, so full of love. I loved him too, my heart
was swollen with it. He kept moving his hand over sensitive skin as his kisses
headed lower down my neck and trailed across my breasts. He touched my intimate
folds of flesh, separating them and searching out my clit. I thought I might
burst with desire for him, with my need to become part of him, fade into him.
I let out a small moan of longing as he left my clit and
pushed into me, filling me, claiming me with his fingers. But it wasn’t his
fingers I wanted. I wanted more. I squirmed, searching for his erect cock. Desperate
for him.
“Patience, Jenny,” he said with an amused lilt.
But Robbie was not a patient man, and the next thing I
felt was the smooth, round head of his cock pushing into my wet channel. He
always got it just right, slow and steady while I stretched around him. I
groaned and hunted for his mouth, plunged my tongue in to find his as I locked
my ankles at the base of his spine.
My palms traveled over the smooth, soft skin of his
shoulders. His body was so perfect, so strong and so amazingly in tune with
mine. He upped the pace, shoving in and out as I clung to him with all my
strength. My breath caught as the blinding pleasure of the orgasm he created
deep within me flooded my veins and strummed my nerve endings. In a tsunami of
ecstasy, we came together, crying out, clinging to one another as though our
lives
Cheyenne McCray
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James Lincoln Collier
Ashley Pullo
B.A. Morton
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D Jordan Redhawk