Chapter 4 – Figured You Out

‘I can’t do it.’ I can’t? Who says? My mom?
‘I changed my mind. Sorry.’  Sorry? What should I be sorry for?
‘I changed my mind. I’m not going to come.’ The pun is served on a silver platter.
Jesus Christ, sending a text that screams closure without sounding either rude or stupid is seemingly impossible.

‘Hi Rick, I wanted to thank you for the tête-à-tête, both the real and the fake one, but I decided not to accept your offer. I wish you the best for your questionable career! Alicia’ I’m tempted, but refrain from adding that if he’s really desperate, I have a friend to recommend.

Ah. Now it feels so good. Except for one thing; I might still stumble across him at Luigi’s. Damn. That’s a possibility I hadn’t considered. But maybe he’s not that stupid, maybe if he realizes he’s been dumped, as he should, his ego won’t dare showing up.

A chilling gust of wind comes from God knows where – hello, April – and I wrap myself up in the black cashmere-like scarf, as cold chills run up and down my back. I should have taken the subway. I should have worn sneakers instead of heels, but who visits a sex museum wearing sneakers? Yes, apparently I agreed to visit the Museum of Sex with Cole and my doubts are by far more than the steps it takes me to reach the place. It’s a few more blocks to the museum, so I cut across Madison Square Park and through the colorful shield of blooming trees. I’ve been trying to figure out why I said yes. Besides not being me, besides being slightly uncomfortable with the idea, where does that put me and Cole? Into the role of a bored, longtime couple? Two closeted voyeurs? Self-taught researchers of sexual aberrations? Whatever, it was a terrible choice. Terrible choice of shoes, terrible choice of museum, terrible choice of everything. Head down, lost in my musing, I barely realize that I’ve already crossed the park. My gaze lifts to meet the clocktower and I get hit by a different kind of freeze. My feet have rushed past this building a thousand times before, it’s always been a fascinating, yet insignificant part of the cityscape. A piece of history turned into a luxury hotel. Rick’s hotel.

How did I end up here? My fucked-up subconscious? A guitar-hero chord spell? Some kind of Cinderella curse? Another in a long list of terrible choices?

My first instinct is to dash past that place as fast as I can. It’s an instinct that my body doesn’t seem to acknowledge, though. My feet don’t move a step, my legs are two pieces of wood, supporting the weight of my suddenly flat-lined brain. The clocktower marks a handful of minutes past nine. No way Rick can be around. He’s certainly still oversleeping after some party, the optimist in me makes a point. Head down, scarf tighter around my neck like an undercover spy, I sprint just in case I’m wrong. Yet, I can’t help peeping inside.

He’s nowhere in sight.

I’m safe.

This time, I really sprint, a burst of speed worth an Olympic gold, – fuck the heels – and turn the corner.

The impact is brutal. I slam, full face, into something, and nearly fall back. Something holds me, someone holds me, grabbing me by my shoulders, keeping me on my feet. “I’m sorry,” I apologize, still dazed by the accident, then look up to see who the hell I nearly knocked down. “Rick????”

“Alicia! I want to say I’m sorry too, but, well, I’m not.” His smirk is something between silly and pleased, but his eyes, even hidden behind expensive sunglasses, are definitely thrilled by the unexpected encounter. He shouldn’t be thrilled, he should be pissed, disappointed, whatever, not thrilled!

I wish you the best for your questionable career! Did I really write that? God. I feel my cheeks burning and I’m not sure if it’s rage, embarrassment or what else.

“You seem to be in a rush.”

Really, what makes you believe it, you idiot? “Actually, yes, I am. Sorry, I was heading to the museum.”

“Of course, that’s where smart, intellectual women like you go. Museums.”

I want to read some sarcasm in his voice, but nope, he sounds genuine.

“Which museum? Some interesting exhibition I might enjoy?”

An excuse. Quick! “Well… actually… not really… I don’t think so.” Jesus Christ, there are a gazillion museums in the surroundings and I can’t think of one, just one exhibition! “What are you even doing up this early?” I move the subject to one of the reasons of my shock.

“What do you mean by early?”

“Well, it’s only nine. Shouldn’t you be oversleeping after partying all night?”

Rick bursts in loud laughter, making a few heads turn in our direction. “Let me guess, one of your clichés about rock stars?”

My answer is a nonchalant shrug.

“Okay. So, I woke up at six, wrote some lyrics for a new song while I had them stuck in my head, had breakfast, ran ten miles, was heading back to the hotel for a shower when you tried to knock me down.”

It’s only now that I notice the outfit. A grey tee – one size too small,- black shorts, silver trainers. Of course he was jogging.

“Come with me.”

“Where?”

“I need to shower, then we can visit whatever museum you wish, together.” Hell no! “I won’t take a no as an answer!” He yells while jogging away, toward his hotel, before I have the chance to formulate a proper answer.

I lift my hands in surrender and scream at nobody, “Why???”

***

Why??? Why on earth am I doing this???? I tell myself off, as with raising anxiety I get off the elevator and follow Rick through a dark oak wood-paneled foyer. We halt in front of a white door that I suppose leads to his… room… Room? I’m not sure that’s how I’d call this place. It’s a suite and it’s literally twice my apartment.

Rick tosses the magnetic key on the coffee table and points at an open door; it leads to the living room area where an elegant creamy couch with silver cushions overlooks the city. “Make yourself comfortable while I take a quick shower,” he says, as he takes his shirt off with absolute nonchalance, revealing an impressive set of pecs and sculpted abs.

Instinctively, I look away and focus instead on the surroundings. Vaulted scalloped ceiling, oak parquet flooring, minimal furniture and oversize windows that make the space extremely sunny. I look out the window and am mesmerized by the magnificent, intimate view of Madison Square Park. I can feel the water running and fight the urging temptation to peep into the bathroom. At least he’s not singing. I go back to the view, it’s so calming. My phone rings suddenly, startling me and waking me from my moment of relaxation. Cole! I cannot answer. I cannot possibly answer. What am I supposed to tell him? I switch the phone to silent and let the call go unanswered. Then I turn it off. Coward. The suite falls silent in a different way. I realize, the water is not running anymore, which means that Rick’s shower was fast as he promised. To distract myself from the anxiety left by the phone call, I voice the first stupid thing that comes to my mind.

“So, you jog?”

“I jog, lift, swim, hike. How do you think I can keep up with touring and performing ten months a year?” His voice is much closer now, and I turn around to see him standing on the doorstep, wearing nothing but a beige towel around his waist, his hair ruffled, gold glinting with water droplets. Something inside me stirs, deep down and into my womb, threatening with insolence to go up and color my cheeks. Focus, Alicia. Focus. What were you talking about? Right, how does he keep up with touring and performing?

“Drugs?” My blank face gives away that not one single healthy option ever crossed my mind.

“Haha. You’re funny.” No, I’m not sure he really finds this funny. He’s not laughing, or smiling. Maybe inwardly, just a little bit. “It’s an exhausting life, you know, performing, partying, drinking, getting high and fucking like a rabbit every night.”

Okay. This conversation is taking a weird twist. A twist that makes me uncomfortable. I swallow my embarrassment and it’s a useless effort, since my eyes are already staging a mutiny, stealing glances at places that should remain unexplored. The mutiny quickly turns into anarchy as soon as Rick moves as little as a couple of steps in my direction. How do you ignore a body like that from a few inches? His torso is an alluring sculpture, his biceps look like they might hold the whole of my weight, effortlessly, in every conceivable position. The glimpse of such fine physique would make anyone want more. Not me, though. He’s not even my type. And he’s a damn rockstar. Did I mention I hate rockstars? But he doesn’t look like a rockstar right now, does he? My mind is trying to buy time, babbling about nonsenses, everything to ignore the fact that Rick is in front of me, half naked, with predatory eyes that beckon me. He smells good, like something expensive I can’t recognize.

My left hand brushes his towel, right below his waist, where a loose tie holds it in place; it’s soft and just mildly wet from his body. I can feel a light quiver, or is it my imagination?

“So, what about that exhibition?” With a mindful smirk, he pulls away. Just one step back, a step that screeches me back to reality. It’s a cold shower and a reality I’m not sure I want to go back to. I know I don’t want to go back to it. Not now, when this impossibly hot asshole is standing in front of me wearing nothing but a piece of wet cloth. Not when I was ready for a sex museum and all it would bring along. Not when the bulge under that towel tells me that he couldn’t care less about museums. His gaze is so serious now and suddenly I don’t know anymore if he’s just playing with me but one thing is sure, I’m not letting him lead this game.

With all the boldness of my unexpected need, I stare into his eyes; not a single blink as I stop, only a couple of inches from him, then  pull at the towel tie defiantly and let it slip down, around his feet. It feels powerful and it feels like being tricked into exactly what he wanted. Except, now, this is something I want, too. I want him to rip the clothes off me and fuck me. With nothing to hide the intimate parts of his body, his erection is pointing at me with glorious grandeur. I peep at his cock, just enough to get a good idea of what I’ve signed up for, and heave a delighted sigh; long, thick, oh so thick, the kind of cock that fills you completely, the kind of cock you want inside all your holes.

Only when his hands reach up and brush my chin, do I realize I’m still wearing my scarf and jacket. I guess it’s easy to be bold when you’re fully dressed and the other is not. So I let him pull at the scarf and take it off, then slip the jacket from my shoulders. He’s so close I can feel the tip of his cock against my jeans as his hands move down and start unbuttoning my blouse, revealing the purple lace of my bra.

There is an almost imperceptible gasp and it’s hard to say if it’s Rick’s or mine as he brushes the sides of my breasts. His eyes don’t leave my curves and it is a surprising feeling. You would expect him to be used to the sight of a half-naked woman – throwing bras at concerts is still a thing, I assume? – but men are men, fame or not.

I try to remain impassive as his hands unclasp my bra, exposing completely my generous cups. And I have a sudden moment of hesitation. My arms come closer together, as if in a weak attempt to hide my nudity. But when his fingers start caressing my sensitive skin, stopping to tease my nipples, all my insecurity and self-restraint go down the tubes, almost literally. I kick off my stilettos – grateful now that I didn’t go with tennis shoes, –  unzip my jeans myself and am about to pull them down, but Rick stops me. He kneels before me, then starts slipping them off, my matching panties following them down in the process so that I’m left completely naked. There is no embarrassment, only the restless impatience of my body. I’d take gladly being thrown and taken right here on the couch over this unnerving wait, so when he takes my hand and leads me to his bed, I follow him cheerfully.

If the size of this suite was any indication of everything else, the bed does not disappoint. The King Size bed is not just king-sized, but also covered with silver silk sheets and huge, fluffy pillows; the kind of bed promising of the most memorable sex. I’m still resolute not to let Rick take the lead, until he nudges me, delicately but still strong enough for me to fall on the bed. My back glides on the expensive silk while he follows me, his body a bare inch from mine. His erection titillates my skin as he makes his way down, kiss after kiss, halting a hairbreadth away from where I need him to kiss me the most. I can feel his rushed breath, it’s a gentle breeze that comes and goes, awakening my lips, whispering to my clitoris. My legs spread a little in an unconscious invitation, and a quiet moan escapes my mouth as one finger enters me, bathing in my wetness. Then one finger becomes two and my hips start moving in an urging motion.

“I thought you didn’t like rockstars, but your body doesn’t seem to agree,” he teases me.

I don’t complain or raise the slightest protest because I don’t want him to stop what he’s doing. Instead, I turn his mocking words in my favor. “I’m generally against the use you make of your mouths… and of your hands… but feel welcome to try and change my mind.”

Upon my invitation, his fingers slide out. I wait for something, for anything to happen. But seconds go by and I lie there, eyes closed, hormones in a frenzy. My eyes open to meet the smirk of a kid who has just been challenged to give his worst. There is nothing more magical than defying someone’s ego. Nothing. I chuckle, already savoring my little victory, and my laughter turns into a deep moan when Rick’s tongue meets my clitoris. Like a delicious dish, he tastes me at first, his tongue licking me in a slow, delicate motion, teasing me with the tip, back and forth, driving me insane; but the delicacy of my juices is irresistible, and he soon starts feasting and sucking. His mouth is at once a warm shelter and an explosive.

It doesn’t take anything more than that for me to come.

It doesn’t take anything more than my orgasm for Rick to get turned further on, and before I can fully recover from his first attack, he shifts eye-level with me and starts rubbing the tip of his cock against my clitoris, teasing me, making me silently beg for him to fill me. I need him inside of me. I need to know how it feels inside of me. I need to know how it feels to get fucked by a celebrity.

There’s no adjusting, no slowness, no tentative penetration. In one quick thrust he’s completely inside of me and my subconscious lets out a scream of pleasure and surprise. Whoever said that sizes don’t matter was an idiot. Or never had the luck to be screwed by a well-hung guy. The thickness of his cock stretches me to a point where every thrust, in and out, elicits loud squeals. For a few, memorable moments I feel privileged. Then the rational part of me reminds me I’m only one among hundreds.

Still, I’m here. Who cares if his tongue has tasted hundreds of lips before? Who cares if his cock has pleasured hundreds of vaginas before? I didn’t volunteer, I didn’t beg for him to choose me, he picked me. With my dislike for anything related to his world, with my large hips and meaty thighs, those same thighs he’s now digging his fingertips into, those same thighs that are tied around his waist as his thrusts become faster and deeper, faster and deeper, faster and deeper.

I don’t want it to end. Not this soon, not when I’m not even sure if there will be a next time. I release him from my grip and pull away. His gaze is lost for a moment as he tries to figure out what has happened, but I don’t allow him time for doubts. With all my strength I push him so he’s the one on his back now. I straddle him, his cock in front of me, demanding attention and release. I take it in my hands and caress it, from the bottom up, teasing its tip. It’s wet and sticky from my pleasure, I can feel it pulse under my fingers. How would it taste in my mouth? I lean down, my face so close to his cock I can smell myself on it. I lick his tip teasingly, it’s still sweet from my orgasm and so warm, his entire shaft swollen with a desperate need. My tongue travels from his tip down his shaft and back up. I can feel his quiet moans, I can feel his breathing get more rushed as I take it in my mouth, inch by inch, in and out, until I can tell he is close to come. At that point, at the height of his passion, I stop and let it slip out, making eye contact with him as I straighten up and adjust my weight, then take in in my hands and help it till it is completely inside of me. Exquisite tingles of ecstasy run through our bodies as I ride him as fast as I can, my breasts smug prisoners of his assertive hands.

His orgasm follows mine close behind and I cocoon myself against his chest, appeased and exhausted. For a moment I don’t think of anything and just bask in the delicate tingle of Rick’s hands tickling the skin of my back. For a moment I think I might get used to this life, oh, so fast. My moment of bliss is brutally interrupted by the ringing of a phone. Rick’s phone. And it’s a surprisingly anonymous ringtone, given its owner. I roll on my side, careful not to smear the remnants of our intercourse on this silky patrimony, and cover myself, almost unthinkingly, as Rick stands up and rushes to answer. His ass is a  heavenly view from here. Round, muscly and – oh my God – tanned. How come I haven’t noticed this before? But as I look up to follow him around with my gaze, my eyes take in for the first time the huge tattoo inked on his back. It’s the head of a lion, with two wings coming from behind it and spreading up to his shoulders. When he moves his arms, the wings move with him, making it almost real.

The few words I catch make it clear this phone call is about work. I don’t listen, I truly don’t give a damn about his appointments. I should take the occasion and get dressed but for some reason I’d rather keep lounging in this bed, waiting for something, maybe another round, why not? My perverted mind is already sixty-nining him.

“I gotta go.” Rick’s voice grabs my wild daydreaming and tosses it down the window. “Need to be at the recording studio in twenty minutes,” he says while putting a black shirt on. “You can take your time.”

“Oh.” Oh? That’s all I have to say? Really?

“Don’t worry, I know where to find you.” His farewell comes with a wink.

I have a sudden gut feeling that this is really what I signed up for. Sex. Wild and unattached sex. Six months. That’s what Rick said. Do I really want this? I roll about on the bed, who cares if I stain it? Rick will pay for the cleaning, not me. His scent is everywhere, together with the still strong smell of sex. I want him again. I need him again.