SailtotheMoon Read online

  Fuck, he was in trouble and he didn’t only want her now, he needed her.

  In their room, he kicked the door shut and then slammed her against it. He plastered himself against her and took her in a kiss so intense, he doubted they’d ever come up for air. And he didn’t care. He thrust his tongue deep, then opened his mouth wide, taking her, letting her take him. She did with a voraciousness that matched his own. They were so suited, it didn’t make sense.

  Life didn’t make sense. It never had.

  They’d left his guitar in Chick’s room, the first time he’d let it out of his sight for a long time, but he didn’t care. He could always get another one. He couldn’t get another Laura and she wouldn’t be in his life much longer. She had two possible futures, and neither of them included him. He had a future that involved extensive travel and he wouldn’t make her his accessory. She deserved so much more than that. He saw her with his father and knew nobody could have that level of dedication and not love their job. She had worked so hard to get him with his father, and the genuine care she gave him probably kept him going. If she took Chick’s offer, he’d have her on the small theater circuit, making her reputation and, as he knew, a reasonable living. He had to keep going with Murder City Ravens for his sake and the other band members. At the moment they belonged together. In the future, who knew, but nobody ever did. Zazz was allergic to long-term planning.

  Desperation filled him to make the most of the short time they’d have together. He held her, felt her heat, ran his hands over her body, caressing her, savoring her soft skin, her slender body, curved in all the right places. He had to taste her. As if they hadn’t made love a few hours ago, his body responded with a voracious hunger. His cock hardened fast, pushing against his fly.

  He reluctantly finished the kiss, dropping a few gentle caresses on her lips before he could bear to leave them. “So sweet,” he murmured. “You, my angel, are the best. The cream.” He began to sing to her, the first verse of one of his father’s favorite songs, You’re the Top. She laughed, the vibration making her skin tremble under his lips. He kissed her neck, flicking out his tongue to taste her skin. He made up his own variations, calling her the spice in curry, the raspberry in peach melba. She laughed more, but laughter stopped, or rather paused, when he concentrated on taking off her clothes.

  She wore a blouse today, white, crisp. He liked it so he took care unfastening the buttons. That had its own appeal, revealing her skin bit by bit, allowing him to kiss the pearly flesh as it became exposed. Her breasts swelled above her bra, pale pink today. Pretty. It had to go.

  He had her out of the blouse and bra while she was dealing with his T-shirt, pushing it up to expose his chest. She kissed him, dragged the shirt above his head so she could toss it away. She tongued his tribal bracelet, making him feel every line, every trace of the tattoo. Never had the ink been so fucking sensual. She had her finger on his little cat, pressing and teasing, but he had his mouth on her nipple now, sucking and licking as if he’d starved for her. Which he had.

  “I need you now,” he whispered against her skin, knowing she’d hear him. If she didn’t, she’d know what he said.

  “Me too.”

  The rest of their clothes followed quickly and he had to pause to kick off his jeans. Fucking parallel cut. He’d get boot-cut next time. Easier to discard. His underwear followed, the perverse tighty whities he wore sometimes because someone had told him they were uncool. He’d fucking make them cool, he’d thought, and then found the fuckers actually comfortable.

  They lay on the floor now like a discarded dream. Nothing mattered more than getting inside her. He’d had the presence of mind to snag a condom from his jeans pocket and he made use of it now, groaning when she insisted on helping him. “You’ll make me come like a horny teenager,” he murmured, but she laughed.

  “I doubt that. You want inside me too much.”

  When had she become a siren? Now—standing naked in front of him. Her dark hair swung around her shoulders, her eyes sparkled with excitement. The perfect example of a nymph luring a man to his doom. Or his fate.

  He lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He wanted her badly. No, he wanted something else first. To know every part of her. He glanced around, saw the chaise longue in the corner of the room and crossed to it with a few strides. She hung around his neck and waist, sat when he lowered her.

  Reaching behind his back, he tugged at her legs, urging her to unwrap. She did, watching him closely. He grinned and touched his lips to hers, spreading her legs wide so he could see the glistening center of her heat. Her pussy was wet, but he wanted it wetter.

  His first taste made him moan. Desire had a flavor and this was it. Almost indescribable. He’d take it, make it his. Write about it, maybe. He sucked her rigid little clit, curled his tongue around it and it was her turn to moan. Her hands, pressed against the dark-blue upholstery, tightened. She scrabbled, trying to grip, until she lifted her hands and held on to his shoulders, kneading with all the rhythmic motions of a cat. Her knees pressed against his sides and he went in for more.

  Opening his mouth wide, he kept her clit in his mouth but licked the rest of her, sliding his tongue down her crease, collecting her juices and reaching her opening. Then he went in for the kill. When he leaned closer, sucked and kissed her, she squirmed, but held on until he felt her tense, her whole body going into meltdown as she screamed. A flood of fresh juice rewarded him, temporarily quenching his thirst for her.

  He pulled away, her hands sliding down his arms, then he knelt and sheathed himself faster than he’d ever done in his life before. He pushed his cock against her. It entered with minimum resistance. Almost in the same movement, he lifted her legs, draped them over his shoulders and grabbed her hips. He encouraged her to slide down the seat so her pussy was flush with the edge and he could drive them both to madness, then oblivion.

  “Fuck yeah,” he growled, driving deep, his thrusts pushing her backward with each forceful stroke. When she opened her eyes they gleamed, watching him with a wide-eyed wonder, soon replaced by drowning desire, something he knew was reflected on his face. He took her outer thighs in his hands, held her firmly as he stroked inside her. Her breasts jiggled against his chest, her nipples grazed him, their hard points succulent evidence of her need.

  When he kissed her, slanted his mouth against hers, she sucked on his tongue, seemingly eager to taste her orgasm on him. It seemed churlish to keep it to himself. He pulled away, licking and tasting her, not too far, so he could kiss, mouth wide, tongue plunging in counterpoint to his cock. She cried out, held on, gripped his waist to keep her body aligned with his until she held him so tight she took his breath. Her pussy pulsed around his cock as she came again.

  He didn’t hold back any longer. Two was all he could manage to give her right now. It seemed poor payment when he came in a series of juddering spurts, feeling the urge to send every jet deep inside her.

  They stayed there for a minute. He pressed his forehead against hers, their breaths loud in the quiet room. The murmur of traffic outside and the purr of the air conditioner were the only sounds apart from their gasps as they regained their sanity. Then he laughed and kissed her. “It gets better all the time.” He didn’t have to tell her that. He guessed she knew it already, but he needed to tell her, to break the dangerous pause after what was increasingly becoming lovemaking.

  He lifted away, wondering if he could say what he wanted to, knowing he shouldn’t. “Come on, let’s shower. We don’t have much time.”

  Chapter Eleven

  By now Laura knew she’d never tire of watching Murder City Ravens. Every concert sounded different, felt different, and there were so many layers to the performances that she could spend a long time studying them, if she were so inclined. Tonight, the third night at Wembley, she chose to sit alone and tucked her armful of wristbands up the sleeve of her hoodie, a suitably grungy one she’d owned forever. Chick had found her a seat at the front,
to one side, where she could see the band better than most in this huge arena. She sat next to a couple of girls, she’d guess in their mid-twenties. They spent the half hour before the band appeared discussing the albums in detail, and which tracks stood out for them.

  Impressive knowledge of music. Laura longed to join in, but instead, watched the audience and the stage, waiting for the charismatic lead singer to make his appearance. The man who happened to be her lover, and the man she loved. Two very different things. She’d thought he might say something earlier, but he seemed to change his mind abruptly, and since then hadn’t let her close enough to ask him if he was okay. He seemed on edge, even more so than usual when she’d left him for his usual commune with his inner self. She’d collected the wristbands she needed from the assigned roadie and quietly went out to the front of house. She entered the way everyone else did, showing only the wristband that was her ticket to entry.

  The band slipped onstage in the near-dark and took their places. Then, with a flash of bright light that would send most epileptics into a flat spin and a corresponding boom from combined percussion and bass, they were off.

  For the first song, Zazz took his strutting arrogance to the max. He owned the audience from his first note, snatched the mic off its stand to stride along one side of the stage, then the other. Each swagger was in perfect time, adding emphasis to his bitter lyrics about corruption and power. He excoriated anyone going into positions of power, and then soothed them, giving them excuses. Only next to the initial destruction, the excuses sounded weak. As they were meant to.

  With perfect timing they turned to a song of intimacy and tender care, about a man who’d lost a woman after a long-term relationship, lost in a big bed, but unwilling to share it again.

  Note perfect, mood perfect, the concert rocked and sang and seduced. If she hadn’t realized it before, she knew now how hard the band worked to achieve what seemed effortless. An hour and a half disappeared, then the band went offstage, only to return for their first encore.

  Only Zazz returned, and he carried his guitar, the one he’d lent Laura for her audition with Chick. Her heart leaped when she saw it. Now she was just another fan. She absorbed the music like a fan, occasionally grinning at the girls in the seats next to her as they passed comments or yelled when a favorite song emerged.

  Such a privilege to watch this band as often as she had recently.

  Zazz took his time ensuring the guitar was in tune, which, as it was self-tuning wasn’t needed, but she guessed he was centering himself. He had a panel at his feet, a machine that enabled him to sample his voice. He put it on a loop, something that fascinated her, enabling him to harmonize with himself live.

  He lifted his head and gazed out into the audience. “This is a new song. Let me know if you like it, okay?” Mixed cheering and hooting followed. The audience wanted new and familiar, and they hadn’t played their first number one yet. “For you,” he said. Was that the title or the dedication?

  Laura knew. It was the dedication. For her. Fuck, he was playing for her.

  He played a few plaintive chords, creating a tune so exquisite she couldn’t hope to emulate it. Then sang a simple phrase, repeated it twice, “Don’t leave me, stay with me”, before he touched the board with the toe of his black sneaker, sending the phrase into a loop. Over the top he sang a contradictory phrase. “But I need my life and you need yours.”

  Oh God. She’d dreamed about Zazz writing a song for her, had even imagined it once or twice in the past, but not like this. Not opening their dilemma for everyone to hear and comment on. She felt naked, stripped to her skin, and his lyrics made her even more raw. Why hadn’t he told her he was doing this? Was this what it was like, being with a man like Zazz?

  Except there was no other man like Zazz. This was what he was. In a way he had warned her, by telling her how he wrote his songs, that he drew on his own experience and tried to make it universal. But he could only do it by flaying himself alive, being unflinchingly honest.

  He didn’t want her to go, but his less sentimental side knew she must, knew they wouldn’t last if either of them gave up on their dreams. So they had to part.

  The girls next to Laura were in tears, dabbing their eyes with tissues, trying not to smear their mascara. Only Laura stayed dry-eyed, because what he was saying went beyond that.

  He built on the uncertainty in the next verse, looping the phrase “No way out, got to part” over the first. It wove and swerved, one phrase coming, then the other, the volume and intensity subtly alternating. Then he added more.

  Impossibility led to speculation and despair, because while one life was on hold, the other could blossom. In a different direction.

  He wasn’t asking her anything, or expecting it of her. She wasn’t even sure it was about her, because the situation worked for so many couples, the old saying about ships that passed in the night.

  He’d broken her heart and made her realize how many other hearts were breaking from the same dilemma. Just Zazz—James—and his music and twelve thousand other people. And her. The song ended with each thread slowly melting away, leaving the original refrain, “Don’t leave me, stay with me”.

  Then darkness and silence.

  A pause followed, the one so rare every performer strove for, but rarely achieved. The utter silence of all those people absorbing something astonishing.

  Applause, then the lights went up to reveal the whole band again, and they sang another new one, Anticlimax, the one the band had been working on recently. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she wasn’t the only one. He had her guitar slung around his neck now, all six strings in place, but he’d roughened them, and they were the old nylon kind. He only played it at the end of the song, and he was right, it added the tinge of poignancy he’d searched for. Perfect. But the song wasn’t about them, it was about the failures in life, and the way the soul kept striving despite that.

  After that, Zazz went into swagger mode for their first huge hit, the one the crowd was waiting for.

  Numbness held her in her seat, made her hold her pose, afraid if she moved she might break. Even more people would know what he meant once the song hit the internet. Zazz told them their bedroom secrets before she was properly aware. He’d let her go, she’d let him go, and they’d live with the knowledge they’d lost something that might never happen again. She was sure she didn’t want it to. Once was enough, and the experience would tear her apart.

  Her dream had become reality, only it wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare.

  *

  After the show finished, Laura left with the rest of the audience. She meekly climbed the steep stairs and left via the double doors at the top, past security provided by the arena, not the band, so they didn’t know her. She had money and plastic, enough to get a room for the night at some anonymous hotel. She’d go to the band’s hotel the next day when they were at the sound check. She could pack and get home, forget everything and try to live her life anew.

  She couldn’t do this to him.

  Her conscience screamed at her that she couldn’t repay his honesty by cowardice. Like Zazz, she had to raise her head and go on, face him and talk to him. She couldn’t hurt him that way and she couldn’t sneak off into the night. She had no doubt he’d try to contact her. Or that she’d tell him it had been nice, she had to go home on an emergency, excuses that he’d pretend to believe.

  No. No lies. When they parted, as they must, they’d do it as friends.

  Unless…unless she accepted Chick’s half-offer, threw away everything she’d worked for so far and started anew. In her late twenties, in a business that worshipped youth. She had no illusions, and Zazz had taught her another lesson tonight. Only the best would do. Only that level of perfection would satisfy her.

  She wandered around the big area outside the auditorium. Thronged with promotional stalls selling T-shirts, buttons, mugs. She even spotted a tattoo artist offering to engrave the band’s name or images as a permanent sou
venir of the evening. Even more amazing, people were lining up to get it done. She watched the crowd shoving to get to the bar or, with plastic cups brimming, trying to get away without spilling too much. At those prices, the beer would be as precious as gold dust.

  Hands in pockets, she strolled around the area, as much as she could in the crowds. People were talking excitedly, and if she heard “amazing” one more time, she might scream.

  Right now Zazz would be heading to the press room. She should go, show him she was there for him, although after that song, she didn’t know if she could, or how much longer she’d feature in his life. Pity all this shit was so complicated.

  Heading for the auditorium doors, now firmly closed, she saw a security guy. She dragged her bands out from her sleeve and showed them to him, and he told her the way to the nearest backstage entrance.

  A discreet door right at the end of the selling area. People gathered here, hoping to get in. Some were getting access, because the areas were zoned, and some could get in and progress no farther. She showed the guy only the pass she needed to get into the first part and kept her head down, unwilling to draw attention to herself.

  She had to pass through to another area before she found one of the band’s security people and not the arena’s. He recognized her and barely glanced at her wristband before he let her in. Now people knew who she was and for the first time she experienced some kind of fame, although fame by association.

  She couldn’t lie to herself. She wanted it for herself.

  As always, she looked at him and his gaze went straight to her, as if nobody else existed. The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile and she smiled back. All they needed. A few journalists took her picture, but she was almost getting used to that now. They’d do it for a while, she guessed, even when they were apart, but they’d soon tire of it when it became obvious—what? Her fatalistic tendency was getting in the way again. And her lack of confidence in herself.