The Last Love Song (A BWWM BDSM Romance) (19 page)

“Are you hard?” I asked.

“I’ll ask the questions,” he said. “And I’ll give the orders. Touch your nipples. Tell me when they’re hard.”

I put the phone on speaker and set it on the pillow next to me. Breathing heavily, I kneaded my breasts through my nightshirt. I cupped them and squeezed, and felt my nipples chafe against the soft material. When I could see their hard outline poking through the shirt, I said, “They’re hard now.”

“My cock is getting harder just thinking about them,” he said. “Pinch them.”

I did, deliberately toward the phone. A thrill ran through me, down to my toes. “Feels nice.”

“Are you wet?”

“I’ll check,” I said, bunching my shirt up around my waist. I ran two fingers through the soft petals of my sex and moaned. “I’m wet,” I said breathily, continuing to touch myself. I was a little surprised at how swollen and hot I was so quickly. I slid my finger up and softly rubbed my clit.

“Do you still have that gift I sent you?”

The giant pink dildo? I’d be afraid to leave it in the garbage even if I did want to get rid of it. I’d have to rent a boat and drop it in the ocean! “I have it,” I said, reaching out and opening my nightstand drawer. I heard it roll inside. “Do you want me to use it, sir?”

“Yes. I want to hear it.”

Hear it?
I thought as I wrapped my hand around it and brought it into the light.
Hear… oh.
“Okay,” I said. I blew out a breath, steeling myself for the thick intruder. I rubbed it up and down my slit, coating it with my juices while I kept playing with my clit. My breaths were coming in fast pants and soft moans.

I heard Vaughn groan over the phone. “Is it in you set? I’m stroking myself imagining you sliding inside your pussy.”

“I’m getting there,” I gasped, pressing the head of it between my folds and inside my channel. It popped in, and though my walls resisted, I was slick and ready. I pushed it in further with grunts and muffled curses, working it slowly, a little bit at a time.

“I want to hear you really thrust that thing inside you,” he said, “Do it. Now.”

I did. I pulled back and then plunged it inside as deep as I could. I groaned out loud as my hips lifted from the bed.

“Not your voice. I want to hear it moving in and out of your pussy. Move the phone.”

“Yes, sir,” I gasped. I moved it next to my thigh, then plunged the dildo inside myself again.

“That’s good, honey,” he said, “Keep doing that. Let me hear it.”

The wet smacking sounds filled the room as I fucked myself with the toy. Rubbing my clit at the same time, I was building up toward my climax slowly but surely.

It was his sounds that really got me going, though. I heard his rapid, rhythmic breathing through the phone, and I could picture him on his own bed, stroking his cock while listening to me. How fast, how tight would he grip it? Those blue eyes would be dark, all those thick muscles tensed… Every groan sent an echoing wave of arousal through me.

“I can hear you,” he said, “You’re getting close.”

“I am,” I breathed, then repeated myself louder in case he couldn’t hear.

“I’m going to count down to one,” he said, his voice shaking with his motions as he jerked himself off, “You’re not to come until I reach one.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Five.”
Five?
I had to slow down because I was closer than five. I wouldn’t make it to one from five. “Four.” My finger slicked over my clit again and again, and delicious sparks of bliss burned through my limbs. My hips danced upward, seeking release, seeking the end. “Three.” I was moaning non-stop. I was so close. I clenched muscles, held my breath, thrust the pink dildo again and again. “Two.”

“Please, sir-”

“One.”

My hips bucked up to press my pussy even more firmly against my hand as I came, hard. Gasping, panting, clenching, I plunged the dildo deep inside my contracting pussy and held it there. My walls milked it hungrily, drawing out my pleasure.

And I cried out his name at the peak of it.

His breath stuttered. He gave voice to his own climax over the phone, roaring his release and then chanting my name. How I wished I could have witnessed it, felt it within my own hand or in my body. I listened as he quieted and said a silent prayer that we could do this together in person soon.

“Can I ask you something?” I panted into the phone as my trembling body came back to earth.

“Shoot.”

“I’m going to sound like such a stupid girl,” I mumbled.

“Ask me anything.”

“Okay.” I blew out a breath. “Why me? Surely you could have found yourself an easier target. Well, ‘target’ is the wrong word, but you know what I’m getting at. Someone more accessible.”

“Can’t help who you want,” he said, “Hearts and cocks don’t always make the most rational choices.”

“Vaughn!” I exclaimed, laughing.

His voice became serious. "When I first met you," he said, "I saw a woman who needed to be dominated. Needed to be fucked."

My breath caught. That was more true than I liked to admit. "How could you know that just by looking at me?"

"It was just a suspicion at first but once I got to know you, once I pushed you a little... I knew."

"It was still inappropriate, whatever you suspected. You could have gotten yourself in big trouble, you know. It could have ended with a lawsuit if I was a different sort of girl."

"Let me finish." I shut my mouth. "So at first, I just wanted to get you in my bed and give you what you needed. You were hesitant, naturally, but I had time. Sometimes it's more satisfying to wait, anyway. And then..." He paused. "Then I got to really know you. I didn't realize it until after Chicago, when the company said that you specifically requested me. I felt... something. And I haven't felt 'something' for someone in a long time. A really long time," he chuckled. "And we hadn't even had sex at that point. So. I was falling for you earlier than that, but that was about when I figured it out. I tried to let you go. You know. But it was impossible. You got under my skin."

I had to let that all sink in. He was falling for me -
had
fallen for me - and not because of my fame or my money or my singing abilities. It was because he'd gotten to know me. And he knew me in ways that no one before him ever had - not even myself.

"Now you have to answer one of my questions," he said.

“Okay.” I was still reeling after his answer.

"Why did you stop writing love songs?"

That question. That fucking question. How many times was someone going to ask me that damn question? I thought that at the very least, my announcement on Harper’s show would put an end to it.

For the first time ever, though, I wasn't going to give my stock answer. I was going to tell the truth.

"The last love song I wrote... it was more about longing than loving who I was with." I stared down at my hands. "I think it tipped Camden off. It wasn't about loving him. It was about loving an apparition. A shadow of a person. Someone who wasn't there." I bit my lip and took a breath. "Someone I was waiting for." He was silent. "Anyhow, everything with Camden blew up right after, the accident happened, and I made myself a promise. One no one else knows about."

"Yeah?"

"No more love songs until I actually find love. Real love. Not that twisted shit I had with Camden." I sighed. "And I was prepared for it to never happen."

“But now you’ve written one. For me.”

“The muse strikes when she strikes, sometimes you just gotta go with it!” I joked, trying to keep it light.

But he was right. And it was there - that warm glow of acceptance and comfort and love - off in the distance, still new, still young - but it was there.

I didn't get to see him before the tour kicked off. It was a torturous time - talking to him on the phone as much as we could, getting off together, but not being able to touch him. We discussed the possibility of doing a video chat but I was still to shy about technology and didn't trust that it wouldn't somehow be recorded and released.

Maybe that was silly. It probably was. But all of a person's fears aren't always rational. Just like my fear of Camden, growing once again.

I'd thought that I'd kicked it when I faced him backstage three months before at that fateful award show. But everything I'd felt before - the dread, the anxiety - it was creeping back in.

It didn't help that I was about to debut the song that he thought was for him.

"Places! Places!" Pauline was directing everybody backstage, despite the fact that I had a stage director.

"Where are we, again?" I asked sweetly, just to piss her off.

"Portland!" she barked, her eyes wide. "Seriously?!"

"I was joking, calm your tits!"

Her face turned red. She took it out on some poor stagehand just trying to get by with a cart of water bottles. "That doesn't belong here!" He scampered off with a pathetic whimper.

"Pauline," I said, "Cool it. We've rehearsed the shit out of this. Everything's going to be fine."

She eyed me suspiciously. "Since when are you so calm?" she asked.

"Since she's been getting laid," Lexi muttered as she pushed in between us. "I should warn you, Zenaida. We've got a familiar face in the audience tonight."

"I'm not getting laid," I pouted, pretending to be cool with the news. It wouldn't be the first time Camden came to one of my concerts. I never did get a proper restraining order on the bastard and sometimes he showed up just to piss me off and set my crew into a tizzy. He'd never bothered me though, never tried to see me - not before, anyway.

"Security's on him but..." Lexi gestured toward the dark stage. The curtains were up and some crew members were sweeping it with some big wide brooms. It was nothing out of the ordinary except the cleaning up should have been done already.

Then I saw what they were brushing aside, piling up and then lifting into the garbage bins nearby. Yellow fucking roses.

"How the hell did he get them onstage?" I shrieked. Everyone went silent - Lexi and Pauline, the band, the dancers - they all looked at me, waiting for the explosion.

I forced myself to simmer down. "I want everything inspected," I said, digging my nails into my palms. "If that means starting late, we're starting late. If he got the roses out there then he could have sabotaged something else."

They burst into action with something like relief. I didn't blame them - a year ago I would have started hurling insults, possibly shoes and water bottles, and fired a bunch of people. Even people that I couldn't actually fire, I would have declared them fired and made them leave.

I barely recognized myself. Who was this woman who was finally learning how to let things go? Not the biggest diva that pop music had ever known. It couldn't be.

Still, watching those yellow roses pile up did make me want to unleash hell. Someone was going to pay for this shit.

◦◦◦

I was still on edge when the show was over. I kept expecting another shoe to drop, for something to go wrong or for something awful to happen. Maybe the pyrotechnics would malfunction and hurt someone. Maybe the drum set would topple over, maybe a dancer would slip and break a leg. But nothing happened.

The new song was well-received. I tried to think of Vaughn as I sang it, but all I could see in my head was Camden's smirking face. I was going to have to retire this track as quickly as I'd started it if I couldn't get my head on straight.