A Kind of Honesty Page 9

  “Suck me,” Carter growled, pulling my hair.

  I rested the tip of my tongue on his flesh, then circled it around the wide head before lowering my face to nuzzle his balls. He smelled so fucking good. Musky and manly. I closed my eyes and traced the prominent vein on his turgid member from base to tip before swallowing him whole. Carter gasped somewhere above me as I sucked him like a man possessed. I angled my head to take more of him, rolling his balls as I worked. His hips moved in a slow but steady rhythm. I could hear his voice but I wasn’t listening. I was in tune with his movement, jacking myself in time with his tempo as I sucked him. This was a sensory experience. A feast of primal smells, sounds, and touch.

  Carter pulled back suddenly and sank to his knees. He covered my mouth in a demanding kiss before moving toward my feet.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you get comfortable,” he said in a low, sexy tone. He removed my shoes and pushed my jeans down my legs and then tossed the fabric aside before crawling between my thighs. He gave me a sultry smile before reaching for my cock.

  “Fuck, that’s good. Turn around so I can do it to you too.”

  Carter nodded but didn’t move. He licked three fingers on his right hand and crouched low to suck me again. He pushed my thighs open wider as he worked. I moaned as I pumped my hips upward. He kept the pressure frustratingly light. I was about to grab his hair to keep him in place when I felt the press of a finger at my hole. I went still for a moment. I wasn’t sure I liked this. I stared up at the ornate plasterwork on the ceiling, hoping to calm my racing pulse and relax. It worked. The initial sting gave way to pleasure as he slipped his finger in and out. He added a second digit and crooked them to brush over my prostate as his mouth went into overdrive, sucking and licking me into certain oblivion.

  The onslaught of sensation was too much. I couldn’t speak to warn him. I could hardly catch my breath. Every part of me was consumed by the force of my imminent release. I arched my back and roared as I came. Carter pulled back so the first spurt of semen hit his chin. He wiped his mouth and watched with a heated expression on his handsome face as the rest of my cum shot across my stomach.

  My heartbeat was the loudest sound in the room. I sat up and leaned on my elbow, trying madly to swim above the din of its erratic beat in an attempt to rejoin the real world. I was almost there when Carter crawled over me with his ass in the air. He licked my belly button, cleaning the sticky mess with his tongue. He hovered over me with a lopsided, mischievous grin, then crushed me with his full weight as he drove his tongue inside my mouth. I groaned at the decadent taste of sweat and jizz. I let my legs fall open farther and yanked him against me. He pumped his hips wildly in a desperate search for enough friction to take him over the edge. I slapped his ass playfully, and then pulled his cheeks apart before tapping a finger at his hole. That was all it took.

  Carter tensed and shook like a leaf in my embrace, clutching me as he rode out the waves of his powerful orgasm. I ran my hands down his back and up again in a soothing gesture until he went still in my arms.

  We untangled ourselves a moment later and sat up gingerly to survey the mess we’d made. Our clothes were strewn across the sofa and the floor. Our hair was disheveled, and in spite of his efforts to lick me clean earlier, my chest was covered in cum. Carter planted a rough kiss on my lips, then stood and moved toward the small table. He came back with a linen napkin and leaned down to swipe it over my stomach.

  “So that’s what I just agreed to?”

  Carter’s laughter bubbled happily between us. He looked debauched and perfectly at ease wearing nothing but a pair of black dress socks. He gave me a lascivious grin and nodded. “That’s one example. Are you in?”

  I stood gingerly and slinked my arm around his waist. “Yeah. I’m in.”

  Carter chuckled at my deadpan delivery, then hugged me briefly and pressed a kiss to my forehead before stepping aside to get dressed. The small show of affection struck me as sweet. And unexpected. My brow creased in bemusement as butterflies danced in my gut. The fluttery feeling confused me. I hadn’t experienced it in years. Lust and need, yes. But this felt like… infatuation. And maybe even a beginning.

  4

  Carter and I met at least five times after our meeting at Marcelle’s. Three times at various hotels in Greenwich Village or Tribeca and twice at the restaurant. Each time it was just as we’d said it would be. Sex. A simple text message from him stating nothing more than a time and address could make me half-hard for the rest of the day. We’d usually agree to meet at a bar first, but our conversation about weather or current events was foreplay. A slow torture where the slightest brush of his shoulder against mine could make me sweat. By the time we’d choked down a beer, paid the bartender, and made our way to the lobby elevators, I was practically vibrating with need. And the second the door hit the jamb, we were already tearing at clothes and wrapped in a tangle of limbs as we fought to reach skin as quickly as possible. It wasn’t long before I was on my knees driving into him with savage urgency.

  In a way, it was strange to have a purely physical relationship with someone. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to know more about him. It was more a matter of taking care of the more pressing need to be naked and writhing in record time. We didn’t linger afterward. Don’t get me wrong. We didn’t race to pull on our jeans and get the hell out, but we didn’t stay. Our most recent rendezvous marked the longest post-sex conversation we’d shared. After I blew him in the foyer and then fucked him in the shower, we’d fallen into the queen-sized bed in exhaustion and watched CNN. I dozed off, and when I woke up I was pleasantly surprised to find he’d ordered room service. We shared french fries and pinot noir and chatted amicably about the upcoming election. When we’d finished our snack, we sucked each other off, re-dressed, and left.

  Maybe he cut the time short because he didn’t think I was interested. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure how I felt. At the moment, Carter was more real to me than anything other than my music. Yeah, it was sex, but it was the most organic connection one person could have with another. I was in synch when I was with him. I was in the moment. It may have been the elemental nature of our agreement. I figured it was probably wise to ride out the string of amazing orgasms and not think too hard about how right this felt. But that was easier said than done.

  The band’s three-month hiatus was cut to a two-week break pretty damn fast. I was mentally prepared when Rand’s friendly calls to hang out become urgent pleas that we start practicing sooner rather than later. I couldn’t pretend to be annoyed with his exuberance when I was equally ready to get back to work. Music made sense. Real life didn’t. I was convinced of it when I received an urgent message from Camilla Tompkins, or Cammy as we called our appointed PR guru at Suite Dog Studios.

  “Hi, Tim. I’ve been getting calls from the press wanting to know if you’re really leaving your pregnant girlfriend for a stripper you met in Vegas. Call me when you get this. Stat.”

  I stared at my cell in disbelief. I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised. Stupid fabricated stories popped up about so-called famous people all the time. However, this was the first time I was the focus. I was a drummer, for fuck’s sake. I set my sticks aside and slid open the door leading from my great room to my balcony. The city sounds were comforting. Far-off sirens, incessant honking, and the jarring noise of a jackhammer from a building under construction a block away reminded me I wasn’t alone.

  I scrolled to Cammy’s number and pushed Send.

  “Hey, Cam.”

  “What is with this chick? She’s crazy! Even if you are in fact going to be a daddy, why is she making this into a single mom story when she’s still able to fit in her bikini? Talk to me, Tim. Tell me about the nutty lady who tricked you into giving her your sperm.”

  I huffed in amusement. Cammy was good at defusing angsty situations with a dose of humor. She took her job seriously, but she rarely panicked. I could tell from her tone that she thoug
ht this latest story was hardly worth our time. Unfortunately it still had to be addressed.

  “I didn’t give her my sperm, Cam. I’m saving it for you as soon as you dump your girlfriend.”

  “How kind. Tell me what I’m dealing with so I know how to spin this.”

  “It’s false. She’s not pregnant.”

  “When did you see her last?”

  “A month ago in LA.”

  “Was there a big fight? Did you do or say anything I should know about?”

  I pushed my fingers through my hair in frustration. “I broke up with her. She was pissed. And yeah, she’s a little volatile. She didn’t say, ‘Cool, catch you later.’ She blasted me in Portuguese, German, and probably a couple other languages. But I didn’t engage. I said what I had to say and then retreated to the Jacuzzi until the coast was clear.”

  “Coward.”

  “Yeah, well… getting screamed at and having things thrown at me lost its thrill a couple months ago. I was done. In fact, I am done. I don’t want to deal with this bullshit. There is no story here. She’s lying. Period.”

  “Okay. I’ll prepare a statement. Are you seeing anyone else or was that part BS too?”

  Now that question was a little trickier, but definitely not something I could easily explain. “I’m not seeing a Vegas stripper.”

  “Evasive. Got it. I heard you guys are heading back to the studio tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. Just to practice.”

  “That’s good. Lay low. And take care of yourself, Timmy. You sound like you’re getting a cold. I’ll see ya later.”

  I leaned on the balcony railing and wondered for the umpteenth time how I got here. My phone buzzed a moment later with a missed text from my nephew, Liam. It was a silly message with a smiley face emoji and improvised fart symbols. I laughed at the childish humor and told him I’d call him later. After I dealt with the crazy lady.

  “I wondered how long it would take for you to call. Use your time wisely. I’m a busy woman, love.”

  “Yeah, so I can tell. What are you playing at, Miranda?”

  “Playing?” she purred.

  The lilting accent I once found alluring sounded like nails down a chalkboard. I could practically feel the hair stand up on the back of my neck. She loved to pretend she didn’t understand American phrases, but she was a viper of the first degree. Her selective comprehension was an invisible, silky thread she used to draw in unsuspecting morons like me. That and her incredible body. Miranda Müller was a five-foot-eleven, curvaceous, twenty-five-year-old blonde bombshell. Her family was German but had moved to Brazil well before she and her equally beautiful siblings were born. She’d gone to a boarding school in Germany before being “discovered.” She spoke five languages fluently and loved to discuss politics and foreign relations. I thought I’d been attracted to her lithe mind as well as her tits and perfect ass, but truthfully her brand of perfection intimidated me. I think I was actually more intrigued that she was attracted to a simple guy from Baltimore.

  She wasn’t.

  Women like Miranda had been hanging around Spiral since the beginning. The difference was she was already famous. She’d been making a name for herself for years. She was a familiar figure in Sports Illustrated, Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, and a host of other international fashion magazines. I’d known dating Miranda Müller was bound to cause a stir or at least garner attention. I’d miscalculated how much.

  “What’s your game? My mother and now Cammy from PR wants to know if you’re really pregnant. Where are they getting this bullshit?”

  “They didn’t hear it from me, dah-ling. But… I might be.”

  “You’re not and we both know it.”

  “I’ve been feeling poorly this week, and—”

  “I bet. The thing is… I remember enough about basic biology to know the chances of getting pregnant the day after you’ve finished your period aren’t high. Add a condom and a pill and they’re pretty much zero.”

  “It’s important to be certain, though. I was asked how I felt about our demise, and I simply reported the facts. I’ve been… out of sorts. I can’t help conjecture. The media is always blowing things up.”

  “Exactly. So instead of going along with a false story, why not tell the fucking truth? We broke up. Say you dumped me if that’s the part bugging you. I don’t care. What I do care about is my mother demanding to know about grandchildren who don’t exist and my PR person wanting to know how to spin a bogus story about our love child!”

  “You’re yelling, Timothy.”

  I stopped midstride and closed my eyes, hoping for a modicum of calm. “Just—let me go. Don’t make this into a sideshow.”

  “I’ll try my best, but you know the truth always suffers in translation. Ta-ta.”

  I willed myself to chill out and remember this was her modus operandi. She was all about manipulation. I was done being a fucking puppet. I clenched my cell so hard my knuckles turned white, then chucked my phone as hard as I could against the brick wall. It bounced off the hardwood floor and landed with an unsatisfying thump on the bright blue area rug under the coffee table. Fuck. I bent to retrieve the phone, but I couldn’t reach it without getting on my knees. I crouched low and reached under the table only to be hit by a wave of déjà vu of driving into Carter and—

  I grabbed my cell from under the coffee table, then sat on the edge of the sofa. And dialed his number.

  “Carter speaking.”

  The gruff, no-nonsense tone went straight to my cock. I hesitated for a split second before replying.

  “Is that really how you answer your phone?”

  “It is when I forget to look at my caller ID,” he said in a softer voice I imagined was reserved for friends. And booty calls. “This is a surprise. What are you up to?”

  “Uh… nothing much really. I was wondering if you’re free tonight.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m not. Are you okay?”

  “Huh? Yeah, why?”

  “You sound raspy, like you have a sore throat.”

  “I’m fine,” I said automatically, though that was the second time in fifteen minutes I’d been told I sounded ill.

  “Good.” He lowered his voice and whispered, “Why didn’t you text me?”

  “Oh. Huh. I don’t know. I was thinking about you but—it’s cool. You’re probably busy at work doing important banker things and—”

  “No, I can talk. I was just surprised. You’ve never called before. That’s all.”

  There was a note of humor in the exchange, but it was more awkward than friendly. And when I swallowed hard and felt a faint tinny feeling on the roof of my mouth, I wondered if I really was coming down with something I could blame for my unstable mood. This was obviously a mistake.

  “Right. We can talk later.”

  “I’m free tomorrow. Text me in the morning and tell me where you want to meet,” he said in a deep tone that made my dick swell in my basketball shorts.

  He ended the call before I could respond. It was just as well. Now I was horny on top of being generally aggravated. I needed to retreat. I couldn’t be trusted with interpersonal relationships. I was too clumsy. I moved toward the stairs and the one thing I knew I could count on to relieve the building stress. When nothing and no one made sense or when the so-called real world threatened to overwhelm and disenchant, I was really fucking grateful I played the drums.

  I spent the rest of the day keeping as busy as possible. I drummed for a couple hours, then walked five miles before calling my nephew. We had an intense conversation about Star Trek versus Star Wars that made me guffaw and wish I was in the same room so I could give him noogies ’til he shrieked with laughter. My sister was a nightmare, but she had a pretty cool kid, I mused.

  “Dad says I gotta go. I have homework and Jordan is making pizza tonight.”

  “Wow. You managed to sound as excited about doing homework as you are about eating pizza. I’m impress—” I sneezed and huddled deeper under my blanket.
Fuck, it was cold in here.

  “Bless you. Are you really coming to visit? Grandma said you are, but Dad said you might not ’cause you’re busy. But are you?”

  “I’m not too busy for you, Li. I’ll shoot for the end of April. Sound okay?”

  I chuckled at the childish whooping sound on the other end of the line. My laughter quickly turned into a cough.

  “Are you sick?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay. Bye, Uncle Tim!”

  “Bye, bud—”

  Another voice interrupted before I could finish. “Tim?”

  “Oh hey. I was just telling Liam I’m—”

  “I heard. Do me a favor and make sure you follow through this time. And if you’re going to flake, give me a warning so I can work some damage control before he’s crushed again.”

  “‘Again’? What are you—?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about. The last three times you promised him something, you didn’t deliver. Between his mother and you, I’m doing double duty making up for other people’s fuckups.”

  “Three times! I didn’t—”

  “You did, Mr. Rock Star. I get it. Your life is important. The model, the travel, and interviews. It must be tough. Liam doesn’t get it, though, and he still believes everything you say.”

  “I know you’re playing the role of concerned dad, but I love that kid.”

  “I know you do,” he sighed. “I just—sometimes I wonder if you need to be reminded that he’s not me.”