Pleasure Unbound

The dressing room was locked. I was momentarily stumped, but I remembered there was another one for men. I took his hand and led him deeper into the back, passing the kitchen and backmost hallway,

to the least populated part of the club.

“I’m really liking this scrubbing idea,” he said as I pulled him into the second dressing room, which was as gross as the first, and slammed the door behind me. If he had more wisecracks, they got swallowed in a kiss. I ran my fingers through his hair, pressing his face to mine, then ran them down the length of his body. I pushed him onto the chair, which squeaked when he fell into it.

I kneeled in front of him, the industrial carpet digging into my knees, and opened his fly. I stroked the hardness under his boxers until I teased out his cock. It was rock hard and gorgeous. “You ready?” I asked.

“You are really cute.”

He held his arms out as if to say come at me.

I pulled up his shirt and kissed his stomach, which was hard and tight, down the line of hair, until I got to his base. I put him between my lips, kissed it, sucking the length on one side, then the other, running my tongue up and down the taut skin, tasting the sharpness of it. He took a deep breath. I flattened my tongue against the underside and ran it up to the end, then put the head in my mouth, sucking it on the way out. I tasted a salty drop of moisture on his tip.

I looked up at him as I slid it into my mouth again. His lips parted and he looked straight at me, moving my hair from my eyes. Perfect. I moved down, sliding the whole huge length of him into my open mouth.

“Oh,” he whispered as I took him to the bottom. I moved my head up and down, taking all of him with every stroke, sucking on the way out, rubbing him with my tongue on the way in. I looked up at him again, going slow, letting him see every inch of his dick going in my mouth. I picked up the pace slightly, then gave three really fast strokes. He sighed and thrust his hips forward, jamming himself down my throat. I had him. All I had to do was slow down and tease him so close he’d beg me to finish him.

But he put his head back and looked at the ceiling, groaning deep in his throat. It was such a position of surrender, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stop. I was going to make him come way before he begged.

He was going to have me at his beck and call until sunrise. I didn’t like jewelry that much anyway.

He’d smirked when he’d given me his address and tried to give me directions, but I knew where he lived, give or take. He was up in the park, where the lawyers and magnates play. I remembered Debbie’s edict to just have fun, but the fact I’d failed in my mission to get him to take me to Tiffany rankled. Not that I really had anything to go with the carats I would have made him buy me, but failure wasn’t something I took lightly, especially if it meant I’d been weak.

The valet pulled up with his dark green Jaguar. “Can I drive you to your car?” Jonathan asked.

“I’m in the lot,” I said. “It’s fine.”

He put his face close to mine, until I could feel his breath in my ear. “If you don’t want to go home with me, I won’t hold you to it. We can wait, or we can call it off.”

“A bet’s a bet.”

He brushed his nose on my cheek. “You sure? I can be demanding.” “So can I.”This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

He stepped back and smiled. “Not tonight, you’re not.” He moved onto the curb. “I’ll leave the gate open for you.” He got into the car and drove off. I watched it head down La Brea, swaggering just like he did.

When I went inside, Gabby had already called a cab. I could smell a vodka tonic on her breath, but she seemed relatively sober.

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” I said.

“Monica, you want to go, so just go. I’m tired of being babied.” And that was that. I put her in a cab and walked to my car.

My phone buzzed as I got into my little Honda. It was Vinny. Fucking Vinny.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“Vegas, baby.” He was somewhere loud and unruly, yelling into the phone.

“We’ve been looking for you. The band broke up.”

“I can’t hear you. Listen, Sexybitch, you did a gig tonight at that shithole on Santa Monica?”

“Fron-”

“Eugene Testarossa’s partner was there. Testarossa himself wants to see you. So you text me when you’re up next, and I’ll call him back and he’ll show up. Bang! You’re in.”

“Vinny, I can’t-” “Text me, baby. Love you.” He cut the call.

What an asshole. He goes to Vegas for how long and now he wants his fifteen percent because I got my own gig? Oh no. That wasn’t going to work. I texted him,

-You’re fired-

I was at my car when the phone dinged.

-Fuck I am. You signed a contract-

-The band signed a contract. The band didn’t play tonight. I played solo-

There was a longer pause, and I sat in the driver’s seat waiting to hear back, my night of subservience forgotten.

-Good luck getting WDE to take your call-

I shut off my phone. I wanted to throw it, but I couldn’t afford to replace it when I smashed it into a million pieces. He was right. No one at WDE was going to take a call or email from me. They’d contacted Vinny. I wouldn’t get past the first round of assistants. Their job was to filter out artists. I could sing Under My Skin a hundred more times and never get another opportunity like this.

I think I looked out the window for fifteen minutes, resigning myself to the fact that I had a manager I hated and distrusted, and he was going to take a chunk of money from me from now until I accepted my Grammy.

I started the engine, but I had forgotten where I was going. Then that weight between my legs came back. Shit. I had an evening of wild sex planned with a rich womanizer who liked cute broke chicks. I was worrying about Vinny Landfillian. Fuck him. I hated Los Angeles.

All money and connections.

He can be a valuable friend.

All I needed was a lawyer to unravel that contract, and I was about to screw a guy who must have had a hundred sharky lawyers on speed dial. All I had to do was let him boss me around all night. The pleasure would be all mine.

I put the car in drive and headed east to Griffith Park.

It was wrong. My mother didn’t raise me like that. She raised a nice girl who cared about her body more than her career. I didn’t know who that girl was or what she wanted out of life though. I knew who I was. And the only thing I wanted more than Jonathan Drazen’s body was an agent at WDE.