But I’m pretty sure I’m about to find out.
Don’t turn around.
Don’t turn around.
Do. Not. Look. Back.
I know for sure that if I turn to see her sitting there on the bench in her tiny, see-through dress, I’ll go to her, sling her over my shoulder and carry her away with me. Kicking, screaming, I wouldn’t care.
I’m not a deviant. Not usually, at least. I’m a mostly-wholesome, hot-blooded, down-home country boy who helps old ladies cross the street and gives shitloads of money to charity.
But this girl.
She could drive me to do things I would never in a million years have considered before I saw her sitting there playing my piano all soft and wet in the warm sun. I want to steal her.
Not only that, but I want to devour her. I want to dirty her purity with my hot cum until she’s all sticky and slick and covered in it. I want to fuck her hard and slow until she’s crying my name. Until my seed is spilling out of her and dripping down her thighs.
Sweet Jesus.
I need to calm the fuck down.
I need to get my bearings and let her come to me. Tomorrow. She’ll be there waiting for me when I get back from the interview.
And if I thought I was fucked before she tip-toed out her window to sit next to me on the old bench under her oak tree, well, now I’m fucking fucked.
The moon lit her long hair in ribbons of pale reddish gold. She’s all golden freckles and moonglow magic, with lips shaped like a perfect kiss. Her skin is smooth and lightly tanned, so flawless she doesn’t look real. And when she smiles it actually feels painful, like my heart is breaking or some crazy shit. Lust, I’ll call it, even though that doesn’t even come close to describing the blooming magnitude of what’s coursing through my veins right now. Obsession, maybe, because I’m agonizingly hard and hot and all twisted up with a need that feels rabid and more savage than anything I’ve ever experienced in my life.
It took every ounce of willpower I possess and then some not to taste nirvana. Not to lean in and plunge my tongue into her untouched mouth.
She’s curious but ridiculously naïve. Her lips are moist and parted. Her pussy is wet, under her sheer little dress in the moonlight.
She was waiting for a light, sweet kiss.
That’s something I can’t give her.
I’d have ended up ripping that skimpy, see-through nightgown all the way off. I could see the plush silhouette of her ludicrously-succulent body, her full breasts poking against the soft veil of her dress. If I’d kissed her lips I wouldn’t have been able to stop until I’d tasted every inch of her. Until I’d sucked on those high, taut nipples until she squealed, and licked my way down to her damp, clinging panties, ripping them off so I could slide my tongue inside, getting her soft and ready for me.
I would have been way too hungry. It’s best to wait until we’re alone.
I only hope I can go slow enough.
Thank fuck I had the guitar to hold on my lap. My stomach is slick with pre-cum. I’m riding a high, cresting a swell every time I’m near her. It’s a fucking problem.
And when she started singing, again, it felt like I’d died and was singing alongside an angel in heaven.
Only one detail separates her from absolute purity. It’s that taste for more. She’s innocent but she’s hot. Wet. Almost ready. Her light reticence is underscored with sweet, untried curiosity.
Holy hell.
Her bell-toned voice has a light, smoky rasp that gives her innocence a raw, lust-fringed undertone. The angelic clarity will get her noticed. But it’s that gentle husk that will make her a superstar. There’s depth there, a hint of untouched wildness she doesn’t even know about yet. But I do. I can hear it. I can taste it. And it’s that detail about my little Tennessee angel that has me more worked up than any other.
She’s got a hunger in her eyes I recognize. It’s the same hunger I used to have. I still do to a certain extent but when you reach the top it changes. The desperation doesn’t feel quite so acute. You begin to take things for granted. Ruby Hayes’s starry-eyed passion reminds me of how I used to feel. Single-minded and focused on digging into your talent with everything you’ve got.
It’s refreshing. To bask in the warmth of her fire. To watch the little pout of her determination. All that, combined with her obvious talent, it’ll be enough. You can see the X-factor radiating off of her along with her stardust and her sweet-hot beauty. My girl looks like fireworks feel and there’s no coming back from that. There’s a heart-pumping, earth-moving power to her presence that makes me realize, already, that she’s ruining me for anyone else.
I don’t know if I want to be ruined for anyone else.
I don’t.
I’m not.
You are.
You one hundred percent are. Not one of that endless, faceless procession of adoring worshippers sparked one millionth of the need that’s boiling in your blood right now and making you harder than newly-forged steel.
I’ve already decided that I’m going to make it happen for her.
But not yet.
She’s mine. I found her. And I want her all to myself.
The ferocity of my possessiveness is an entirely new supernova exploding into my life at this precise moment.
I’m going to feast on her innocence like a ripe, juicy peach and taste her honey all over my tongue. I’m going to rub my cum all over those full, bouncy, cherry-tipped breasts, those smooth thighs, that softly-plump, pink, wet pussy. I’m going to show her what heaven feels like until she’s begging me to come inside her. Until she can’t get enough of me because I make her feel so damn good.
Until she’s addicted to me and everything I can do.
Hell.
Slow way the fuck down, son. You’re horny as fuck on a hot night and need to get laid, that’s all. Chill. Take a deep breath and calm down.
Until she’s too in love with me to ever leave me.
What the hell’s happening here?
Goddamn it.
I punch in the code to open the door to Vaughn’s apartment and let myself in. I glance around. The place is an unholy mess, with bottles everywhere, pizza boxes, rolled up dollar bills on the table, overflowing ash trays and people crashed out on every chair and couch in the room. The stereo system is still cranked up.
I’m not in the mood for this.
I didn’t sleep at all last night. I might have had two hours, maybe less.
When I got back to the house after visiting Ruby, I drank too much whiskey and wrote three more songs. Turns out it’s an interesting way to write: with a raging hard-on. That’s the good thing about song lyrics. Your spin can be positively filthy but the words only hint at the depth of your goddamn lust.
All the songs are about her. Of course they are.
Her effect has opened the floodgates of my mind, somehow. I couldn’t write it all down fast enough.
That’s not the only floodgate she’s opened. I needed relief. It came—many times—but it didn’t last. I woke up on the couch this morning, whiskey bottle still in one hand with my jeans undone and cum all over myself.
I found a shower and cleaned myself up, but I’m on edge. I feel feverish and half-insane.
I pound on Vaughn’s bedroom door. “Vaughn. Get up. We have an interview in half an hour.” I bang again.