I gasped as his fingers pressed hard against my lips, then slipped over my clit, then back again, in that way that only soapy flesh on flesh can do.
And all the while I could feel his cock pressing against my ass, hard and rigid, sliding against my wet skin.
God, I wanted it so bad.
I turned around and kissed him – and let my hand find his cock. As the hot water sprayed down on us, I ran my fingers in a ring around that gorgeous thickness – up and down, slipping and sliding across the taut skin of his shaft.
Meanwhile his soapy hands had found my ass and were kneading and clutching at my cheeks, with one naughty finger occasionally slipping into my crack and caressing places I wouldn’t want to admit to.
And I liked it.
I ran my fingers under his balls, cupping him, tickling him between his legs, then moving up and stroking him again. I could feel his heartbeat pulsing under my fingers as I gripped him lightly, slowly massaging him.
And then he totally made my college fantasy of him ravaging me in the shower come true.
He pressed against me, forcing my back up against the tile – now warm from the hot water – and positioned his rock hard cock against my clit. Slowly he worked it up and down, slipping and sliding back and forth over the little nub, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my legs.
I moaned into his mouth as his tongue roughly played with mine.
Then he flipped me around so that my face was pressed against the warm, wet tile. He grabbed my hair at the nape of my neck and pulled back, making me feel deliciously feminine and completely at his mercy.
With his other hand he pulled my ass away from the wall and pushed against my inner legs until I opened them wider. Within seconds I felt the swollen head of his cock slide between my thighs and began to push against my lips.
“Condom!” I gasped.
He moved up right against my ear and growled seductively. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” I whispered, barely able to speak, much less think. How could I, with all that glorious teasing – the bulbous tip pushing against my pussy, almost sliding inside me, but not quite entering?
He sighed as though greatly put-upon… and then all the pleasure between my legs disappeared, as did the lovely, soapy sliding of his arms and chest and skin against my back. I heard his feet pad wetly over the tile… a few moments of rummaging in the next room… and then the soft rrrrrip of paper just a few feet away.
I turned around and watched, entranced, as he positioned the latex circle over the pink head and then slowly rolled it down, down, down his erection, until the entire, glorious length of his cock was sheathed.
“I didn’t say you could turn around,” he growled, and lightly pushed me back against the wall, my face pressed against the tile again.
One of his hands grasped my hip as the other hand positioned his cock. Even though I couldn’t see him, I knew what he was doing because I felt his knuckles brush my ass – and then I felt pressure pushing at my lips, parting them, easing in between them. I gasped and cried out all at once as that knee-buckling thickness entered me, slowly but constantly, inch by inch, never pausing, until he had filled me up completely and I felt his thighs against my ass and his cock deep, deep inside me.
I moaned and braced myself against the tiles as his hands circled around my body and found my soapy breasts, fondled them, stroked them as he rocked in and out of me, filling me, the walls of my pussy sliding around his cock like a velvet glove. A very wet velvet glove, because I was dripping with desire, even wetter than the water from the showers as it beat down on my skin, tickled my face, wrapped me in warmth as an even greater hotness built between my thighs.
He began to thrust harder, deeper. I could feel the insane pleasure of his tip sliding over my g-spot, massaging it with every slippery push as his cock slid deep inside me… then almost entirely out, leaving only the head inside… and then rocking inside me again, deep, hard, thick.
His hands trailed down from my breasts until they found my crotch. He began to toy with my clit again, circling it, stroking it, soaping it, the tip of his finger sliding over it – all as he moved within me, his thickness sliding deep inside me, and outside his soapy skin slipping over mine.
I could feel the heat building and building, the honey-sweet pleasure between my thighs getting hotter and bigger, higher and brighter, out of my control. He rammed and slammed inside me and his soapy-slick fingers slid across my clit, over and over, back and forth, in delicious waves of pleasure that exploded both inside me and out, bringing me up so high so fast that I was screaming before I knew it, the shower water cascading down my face and over my open mouth, my cries echoing off the tile as I struggled to keep myself upright beneath the delirious weight of my orgasm. Somewhere on the hazy outskirts of my consciousness I felt his pelvis slapping against my ass, the vibrations jiggling me deep inside, and then he was yelling, too, bellowing like some wild animal in heat as his hand grasped hard over my pulsing clit and his cock swelled and burst inside me. Then he was slowing down, slower, then stopped. Both our arms were braced against the wall, our fingers splayed out over the tile as the water rushed over us like a waterfall.
After a few seconds I felt his hands against my chest, lifting me up, supporting me, pressing my slippery back against his muscular chest. He used one hand to softly turn my face to the side, and then he arched his head over my shoulder. My eyes stayed closed to the water pouring down over us, but I felt everything, from his cock still hard and deep inside me, to every sensual sliding of skin as our bodies pressed tight against each other.
Then our mouths met softly, sensually under the hot spray of water, and he kissed me for a long, long time.
Our encounter in the shower was a thousand times better than the one from two nights ago.
And in a wildly different way, so was the after-party.
After we got dressed (I insisted on putting on some makeup and changing into new clothes on the tour bus), Derek took me on his arm and escorted me backstage – and into the midst of a couple dozen celebrities. Suddenly I wasn’t the wallflower reporter skulking on the sidelines; I was on the arm of the most desired man in a room full of fame and fortune. Hell, the most desired man in the country. Rappers, rock legends, film stars, TV actors – all of them were looking at me like, Who’s this? A couple of the rappers playfully hit on me, then joked with Derek like they were afraid he would come after them (“Awright man, you know I’m jus’ playin’ – I wouldn’t do you like that, dawg – but daaaamn, shorty is tight”). The older rockers and movie stars were courtly and polite, but the women – especially the younger women, the ones who had probably come backstage with an agenda – threw a lot of cold shoulders my way as they ran their hands up and down Derek’s free arm, and laughed at everything he said.
I felt jealous again – but it was different from the other night. That was a gnawing feeling of deprivation, an ache that I could never belong, that I could never have what I wanted. Now I was on the inside of the circle, just me and Derek, and the others were intruders trying to force their way in. Now my jealousy was equal parts anger that they were trying to steal him, disbelief that they could be so bold to try it right in front of my face, and smug satisfaction that they didn’t have a chance.
You can try all you want, bitch, but I know who he’s going home with.
Everything I just said makes me sound terrible. I know it; I cringe to write it down. I had, even if just for a moment, turned into one of those hoochies from the other night. The gold diggers and players clawing at the king, trying to be his queen.
I could suddenly see why so many beautiful women pursued rock stars, and athletes, and movie stars. I’m sure some did it for the money – but I think it was primarily the fame. The limelight is like a drug. All that attention is intoxicating. When everybody is fawning over the man of your dreams, and you start basking in that reflected glow… it does something to you. It warps the way you see the world. It certainly did for me.
I felt like the belle of the ball – Cinderella on the arm of Prince Charming. Except Prince Charming was all tatted up and wearing sunglasses indoors.
There was champagne – and this time I drank it. There was also whiskey and pot and cocaine, in which I did not partake. But two nights ago the world had seemed cold and sharp-edged and ugly. Now there was a golden haze over everything, and not only was I in love with Derek, I was in love with life.
Somebody else noticed it, too.
Derek got pulled aside by Miles to go speak to some famous music producer, which left me alone – until Ryan walked up, all smiles.
“Somebody’s having a much nicer night than the last time I saw her at one of these things.”
I giggled back. (The champagne was taking its toll.) “A much nicer night, yes.”
“And to think, all of this was made possible by my advice,” he said sagely, in a self-mocking kind of way.
“That whole ‘let yourself go and live a little’ part? Yeah… I suppose I should thank you for that.”
He waved me off, his eyes half-closed, like Ahhhh, don’t mention it.
I smiled. “It was good advice.”
Then, with his eyes still half-closed, he put out his hand and motioned his fingers like More – more – gimme more, the same way Stephen Colbert does when he wants his audience to keep howling for him.