“I’m glad Eric caught it,” Myrna said. She slipped off the counter and retrieved the garter from Eric’s palm. She slipped it over his hand and arm, drawing it upward until it circled his biceps. “It looks sexy on you,” she told him.
And judging by the smug look on his face, he believed her. What a dipshit!
“You’re going to make some girl very happy one day,” she said.
Eric smiled broadly, looking as excited as a man granted his three wishes by a genie.
“But you’ll be fucking miserable, Eric,” Trey said.
Myrna gave Eric’s cheek a reassuring pat. “Don’t listen to them.”
Eric fingered the garter on his arm, lost in thought.
“It’s getting pretty late,” Myrna said. “You guys should start getting ready for your show.”
“Yeah, you all head to the venue and leave us alone,” Brian said. He had a powerful need to spend more quality time under her skirt.
“I need to get changed into my suit,” she said. “I can get some data on Exodus End’s groupies tonight.” Myrna’s eyes flashed with excitement. “There’s no way I’m passing up that opportunity.”
Brian caught her as she started to move past him. “You’re going to work tonight?”
“Just while you’re working.”
This was not going as he’d envisioned at all. He figured they could make love all evening, he’d take an hour “break” to do his concert while she spent an hour in bed recovering, and then they’d make love all night. He’d heard that the heat between a couple usually diminished after marriage, but he’d never expected it to happen so quickly.
“Brian, you’re pouting,” Myrna said.
“I don’t pout.”
“Yeah, you do,” Trey said. “I’m going to take a little nap. Someone wake me in an hour.” He climbed into his bunk and pulled the curtain closed.
Myrna tapped Brian’s cheek, and he turned his head. “Help me take off my dress?”
Now she was talking.
Chapter Seven
Brian trailed after his wife, blood surging into his eager cock. He’d known she’d eventually cave to his unquenchable desire for her. He was just glad it had happened sooner rather than later.
Once they were alone in the bedroom together, Myrna folded herself into his arms. “We need to finish that dance.”
He rested his cheek against her hair and drew her closer, swaying gently to the music that always accompanied her proximity. When his hands moved to the closure at her back, she didn’t protest. He slowly tugged the zipper down until the only thing holding up her dress was the press of their bodies. He caressed her back with slow, firm strokes until she was so relaxed, he thought she might melt into a puddle at his feet. Preferring her excited and responsive, he slid his hands over the sweet swell of her ass. That did the trick. She rubbed her face against his neck and sucked his flesh with soft kisses. Her hands wandered over his back and then she lowered her head to take his top button between her teeth. She tugged. It stayed firmly adhered to his shirt. She gnawed. It didn’t budge. She chomped and pulled her head to the side, and it finally came free. She blew the button out of her mouth, and it pinged against his chest.
“I think I chipped a tooth,” she said, running her tongue over the ridge of her teeth.
“Let me check.”
He kissed her deeply, exploring her mouth with his tongue. She groaned and clung to his shirt with both hands. His buttons might thwart her attempts to bite them off, but they were no match for her deft fingers. She attacked the fastenings eagerly, and his shirt was on the floor in seconds. Her dress followed.
She pressed the warm, soft globes of her breasts against his bare chest and tore her mouth from his.
“Damn it, I knew I shouldn’t let myself be alone with you,” she said.
He drew his eyebrows together. “Why?”
“Because I start lusting all over you like a bitch in heat.” She unfastened his belt, released the buttons of his fly, and plunged both hands into his boxers.
“And that’s a problem?”
Her stroking the length of his cock with both hands didn’t feel like a problem to him.
“Yes. I don’t want you to think I only want you for your body. I need you to know that I love you for more than your skills in the sack.”
“I do know that, Myrna.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, because I can’t wait another minute.”
He grunted in surprise when she grabbed him by one arm and flung him across the bed. She jerked his pants down to his knees, flipped him onto his back, and straddled him. She looked so fucking hot in nothing but her thigh-high stockings. The fuck-me gleam in her eyes sent control beyond reach. He grabbed her by the ass, and she directed his throbbing dick into the center of heaven. She sank down as he thrust up. They collided in bliss.
“Oh,” she gasped, following him down as he lowered his hips to the bed.
Head tilted back, eyes closed, Myrna sat impaled by him and rotated her hips to force her body to take him deeper. She whimpered, her fingertips curling into his abdomen. Being buried within her silky heat made him ache. He rocked his hips slightly to urge her to rise and fall over him.
“Do you still hear music when we make love?” she asked.
“Usually.”
“How do I make it happen?”
“I’m not sure, but you should probably move a little.”
She rose maybe an inch and lowered herself again. Lord, but she was tight around his cockhead when he was buried balls deep. He released a tortured gasp when she repeated the same slight motion again and again.
There was a sharp knock at the door.
“Brian,” Sed called through the door. “We need you in the stadium. Now.”
“What?” he grumbled. “I’m busy!” he yelled. “Get lost!”
“I’m really sorry, dude, but Dave said he needs you onstage now. Something about the configuration of something or other and a lot of impressive electronics-sounding words I didn’t understand and the threat of your guitar getting fried and electrocuting you.”
“Tell him to figure it out on his own!”
“Do I have to come in there and get you?” Sed yelled. “I’ve always wanted a second look at Myrna naked.”
Brian bellowed with rage. “I swear, I’m quitting this fucking band!”
“He’ll be there in a minute, Sed,” Myrna called.
She lifted her hips, and Brian fell free of her body.
“Uh,” he gasped. “No. They can get along without me.”
“Sweetheart,” she said, “it’s okay. You need to get ready for the concert. We’ll pick up with this later. Your music is important. I understand. Really.”
“It’s not okay. Being with you is more important right now.”
“It makes me happy to hear you say that.” She lowered her eyes and smiled sweetly.
Brian almost choked on his tongue. Myrna Evans, erm, Sinclair, was openly admitting that his sentimental drivel made her happy? Oh God, there was no way he could concentrate on anything but making love to her now.
He reached for her, but she climbed from the bed. “I’ll catch up with you backstage,” she said and went to the closet and tugged out one of her skirt suits.
She chose the trim navy blue one and a silky pink top to wear underneath. Brian groaned. The woman knew what seeing her in conservative attire did to him and how much he liked knowing what she was wearing underneath. Tonight it was nothing but thigh-high stockings. Mercy. She pulled the silky top over her head and the fabric clung to the erect buds of her bare nipples. Oh God, she wasn’t wearing a bra tonight either? Fuck him. Fuck him all to hell. He’d never make it through a concert with that knowledge rattling around in his brain.
Myrna’s skirt quickly hid her sexy ass from view, and then she shrugged into her suit jacket.
“Get dressed, ba
by,” she said gently. “I’ll catch up with you backstage.”
“Yeah, I heard you the first time.” He climbed from the bed and pulled up his pants.
“But I don’t think you understood that it meant I’d be fucking you senseless when I caught up with you.”
She dropped the bombshell without fuss, as if she were telling him they were having eggplant for dinner.
She slipped into a pair of three-inch heels, exited the room without a backwards glance, and left Brian staring at the door with his mouth agape and his dick hard and his thoughts swirling with images of being fucked senseless.
When he finally remembered that he was supposed to be dealing with band bullshit, he pulled on the tight black T-shirt he planned to wear onstage that night. He had a more difficult time buttoning his jeans over his stiff cock. His difficulty wasn’t due to his cock being damp with Myrna’s juices. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. The reason it was so painfully hard was because it was still damp with Myrna’s juices, which served as a delicious reminder of the feel of her tight pussy gripping him. So it actually was her fault that his dick’s perpetual rigidity was putting a horrible strain on the buttons of his fly. This called for a cold lap-bath in the nearest sink. Poor mistreated dick. She’d better make this up to him and soon.
Ten minutes later, Brian found Sinners’ front-of-house soundboard operator, Dave, cussing up a storm backstage inside the arena. When Dave noticed Brian, he looked like he’d just witnessed an angel descend from the heavens. A guitar was shoved into Brian’s hands, and he spent almost an hour working with Dave to fix some feedback problem Brian swore was imaginary. He didn’t hear it at all. Even if it did exist, Brian wasn’t sure why one of the roadies wasn’t a suitable replacement for strumming and adjusting and strumming some more.
“No one sounds like you,” Dave explained, when Brian started to get antsy and tried pawning off strum-duty on their mohawk-sporting roadie, Jake.
When Dave was finally satisfied the nonexistent feedback had been squelched, he let Brian go and started having a coronary over one of Eric’s off-sounding bass drums. Dave wasn’t typically this high-strung, so his agitation must have had something to do with being in the company of Exodus End’s legendary soundboard operator, Mad Dog McFarley. The dude looked like a startled bulldog, but he was second to none in mixing a live show. Dave kept wandering over to Mad Dog’s soundboard and peeking over his shoulder, as if trying to photograph top-secret documents with an implanted eye-cam.