“Sure.”
We slip off our shoes and leave our glasses on the bench. She holds my hand as we walk, the sound of the waves calming in comparison to the frenetic energy of the party up the hill.
As we get to a deserted part of the beach, we stop and look out at the water. Well, Billie looks at the water. I look at her profile.
“I know this is a fake relationship, for the purposes of annoying your mother, but I do want you to know I find you genuinely attractive.”
She turns, a soft and kind of shy smile on her face. “I find you genuinely attractive, too.”
“There’s the work at the center with the kids, you know? Like, we keep tipping over the line because there’s something going on between us, but I don’t know where things should go from here, Billie.”
She nods, licking her bottom lip in a way that distinctly does not make things easier. “I wonder…” She sighs. “I wonder if we could have a sexual relationship and still be professional for work at the center?”
I lean in, ready to kiss her. “I can compartmentalize.”
“Is that so, Mr. Lefleur?”
“Indeed, Ms. Hirsch. Compartmentalizing is my specialty,” I whisper against her lips, this time fully intending to kiss her properly.
18
garage band in vegas
Billie
Cal’s kiss is consuming. We had a hot, quick one when he arrived, but this one is thorough and deep, and I find myself with my hand rubbing his cock from the outside of his pants. The strap of my dress falls over my shoulder, and my breast is exposed to the warm, salty air. Cal’s mouth moves to my jaw, then to my clavicle, then to lick at my hard nipple.
I gasp at the electricity it sends to my core. More. I want more from him and I want it now.
I slip out of my dress quickly, left only in my thong, which Cal pulls away before falling to his knees, parting my pussy with his fingers, and ravaging me with his mouth. I push against his face, ravenous for him, and I nearly come when he pushes two fingers inside of me, his tongue darting against my swollen clit.
“Take me,” I beg. “Quickly, before someone sees us.”
I turn and get on all fours as Cal loosens his suit pants and frees his cock. He’s inside me in a hard, fast movement that takes my breath away. He moves quickly, his hands on my breasts as they bounce with each of his thrusts. It’s wild and rough and crazy—and so good my eyes start watering.
The orgasm overtakes me hard, my pussy clenching around his cock as he roars and pulls out. I stay on the sand just breathing as the afterglow rages through me. I’ve had quickies before, but they’ve never been so…unrestrained. I definitely love when this enigmatic, reticent man lets go and becomes a little wild. From my periphery, I notice that Cal is putting himself back together. So much easier for the men. But then he’s standing up and helping me to my feet in a welcome act of chivalry. He finds my dress, shakes off the sand, and helps me get back into it before kissing me sweetly on the mouth.
“That was…fun,” he says, holding my face in his hands, his blue eyes searching mine for what, I don’t know. Cal is always part mystery and part blunt honesty to me. A delicious mixture I’m getting quite attached to.
“It was,” I agree. “A good stress reliever.”
“Sure,” he says, almost smiling. “We should go back?”
“Yes,” I groan.
He laughs and offers his hand to me. “Come on, Miss Hirsch. Time to face the music again.”
As we make it back to the bench to get our shoes, we find Kit waiting for us. “Paparazzi are milling around and I was checking out here to make sure they weren’t on our property.”
“Why would you be the one out here looking?” I ask. “You’re the celebrity here. Shouldn’t you have a nobody doing this job?”
My brother chuckles, rubbing his stubbled jaw. “Good point, I suppose. Still, you didn’t see anyone out here, did you?”
“Nah. And they don’t care about me, so I’m not worried.”
Kit pulls some lingering beach detritus from my hair, a smirk on his face as he pieces together what we’ve been up to out here. “Well, your boyfriend is a celebrity, too, so…”
“Thanks for the warning, brother dear.” I roll my eyes at him and take Cal’s hand as we head back up to the party. Well, more like I take him through the party and down to the lower level, where my old drum kit sits in the middle of a recording studio.
“This is amazing,” Cal says, looking around at all the equipment. “Why would you need a whole recording studio, though? I thought everyone in your family was into films?”
“My dad’s a casting director but he also likes music, so he dabbles in movie sound sometimes. It’s a hobby.”
“And the kit?”
“My brother’s. He played before I did. They don’t know I still play, actually.”
I sit down at the kit and start hammering out a blistering beat. Cal grabs a nearby guitar and joins in with a less complicated but still complementary guitar riff. We play together for about ten minutes before Queen Ditta stomps down the stairs, hands on her slim hips.
“What are you two doing? Acting like teenagers, that’s what,” she says. “We can hear all that racket from upstairs and you’re ruining your father’s party.”
“Ruining dad’s party? With music?”
“Billie,” my mother warns. “What are you even doing? You were playing that drum kit?”
“Well, she is an awesome drummer in an amazing band,” Cal blurts out.
I turn to him in horror and shake my head.
“Excuse me? You’re in a what?” my mother screeches.
“Mom. It’s just a little thing I do for fun.”
“Billie Hirsch, you tell me every chance you can that you want nothing to do with the entertainment industry. You don’t want to model. You don’t want to act. You don’t want to sing. But here I find out you’re sneaking around, playing in some crummy garage band in Vegas?”
“It’s not crummy,” Cal insists.
I hold up a hand, my expression imploring him to shut the hell up.
My mom stares at Cal for a minute, then at me, then she makes a noise of total disgust and disappointment and turns on her very high heel to stomp back up the stairs.
As soon as she’s gone, I turn on Cal. “You had no right to tell her that.”
“Tell her what?”
“About the band and the drumming. I told you they didn’t know I still played.”
“Well, they should know. You’re really good.”
“I appreciate that, but it’s not your story to tell. I didn’t want them to know.”
“Why?”
“Cal…” I sigh, exasperated.
“What?”
“I have my reasons for not telling them what I’m up to with my band. And you outed me. It’s not cool.”
“I’m sorry, Billie.”
But he doesn’t look at all sorry.
“You should be,” I snap. “Seriously. My music is for me. It’s not for her. She’s got her own ideas what I should be, who I should be, and I just can’t…”