The New Rakes (2 page)

Ruby and Jon had their tongues down each other’s throats almost before the door had swung closed. Kara watched with a skewed smile as the two of them sank into the red cushions on the sofa, oblivious to everything but each other.

‘Ain’t love grand,’ she said, turning just as Tam pulled his
soaking
T-shirt over his head. As he stretched up she admired the light gold of his skin, the gentle ripple of his muscles and the fuzz of black hair that trailed from his stomach to the top of his trousers. The glory trail. Kara bit her lip.

Tam glanced at Jon and Ruby and gave a shrug. He fetched a bottle of beer from the coffee table and cracked it open with his Clipper. He carried attitude in every movement, the way his hips rolled and his arms swung loose by his side. His muscles rippled like a panther’s.

‘Well, it does tend to make you horny,’ he said, pushing his hair back from his forehead. ‘Doesn’t it?’

Kara shrugged.

‘Oh come on, you coy bitch,’ Tam insisted, moving closer to her. ‘It’s pretty obvious what’s going through your head when you’re up there.’

‘Fuck off, Tam,’ she said mildly. But her body betrayed her – she felt an inevitable, horrible, hot pink blush creeping up her cheeks. Guilty.

‘Hot?’ Tam asked, standing right at her shoulder. ‘Allow me.’ Before she could stop him, he had pressed the ice-cold bottle of beer to her neck. The shock made Kara gasp, and she felt her nipples pinch as Tam rolled the chilled glass down over her chest, his fingers brushing her skin as he did so. ‘Nice?’

Kara gave him a crooked little smile. That was the trouble with Tam. He was moody, unpredictable and frequently obnoxious, but he knew how to make a girl feel good. And Kara still remembered how he tasted.

‘I bet you’re wet right now,’ he whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her.

His mouth connected with her skin and Kara fought to keep herself steady. She should push him off, she thought, only the feel of his lips against her neck was delicious. His tongue flickered over her pulse point, sending jolts right through her
bloodstream
and making her knees weak. Kara closed her eyes. Tam held the bottle against her breast, rolled it over her nipple. The cold and the pressure were such exquisite torture she couldn’t bring herself to move. Behind them, Kara heard a clink that was unmistakably a belt buckle being undone, and remembered Jon and Ruby on the couch.

She flinched and pulled away. ‘We agreed, Tam,’ she said struggling to breathe normally. ‘Remember?’

‘One fuck can’t hurt,’ he said, leaning in to kiss her.

Kara’s eyes fixed on the twist of his smile and she allowed herself to imagine how it would feel to have that mouth against hers for just one moment. His lips, she remembered, were lithe and quick. His tongue was skilled. Then she shook her head. ‘Bad idea.’

‘Worried you might like it?’ Tam said, slipping his free hand round to grip hold of her arse. He gave a squeeze, and Kara arched her spine before she could stop herself.

‘More worried about the aftermath,’ she murmured, but her hands were slipping around his hips and she was pulling him into her so that his belt buckle and the bulge of his cock under his jeans bumped up against her stomach. She let their bodies press against each other so that she could feel his heartbeat against her chest. ‘Get out here,’ she said finally, throwing open the door and pulling Tam into the corridor.

She shoved him up against the white-painted breeze blocks with a force that made him raise an eyebrow and smile at her, even as she was slipping a hand inside the waistband of his trousers and groping for his cock. The shaft sprung up to meet her fingers, plump and promising and already leaking a little drop of pre-come.

It was always a slight shock, feeling Tam’s prick in her hand – like discovering an old friend in an obscene pose. Which was exactly the situation, she decided, letting him grip her wrists
and
pull them up, swinging her round until she was the one with the hard scrape of the wall behind her.

‘My turn, I think,’ he said, sinking to his knees in front of her and then burying his face in her lap. Through the thin fabric of her skirt, the heat of his breath scorched her pussy, turning her molten and making her thankful for the hard wall at her back.

Meanwhile she could feel the wiry strength of his fingers working their way up her legs, pawing at her skin like a cat working its claws. He pushed her clothes aside, shoving her skirt up and tugging her knickers down simultaneously to reveal the light fuzz of her pubic hair and the little deep-pink bud of her clit, which he kissed, softly.

Tam knew the power of contrasts. The strong burn of his hands kneading her arse versus the lightest of feather kisses on her burning clit was enough to make Kara feel she was being turned inside out. She wanted to fuck his face, right there in the basement corridor, wanted to feel his tongue plunge inside her and bring one quick, dazzling, hard orgasm before they were discovered.

‘Quick, for fuck’s sake, quick,’ she gasped, squirming in his hands. And then wished she hadn’t spoken when Tam pulled back to look at her.

‘In a hurry?’ he asked, and Kara saw the glint in his eye – the warning sign – as well as the shine of her wetness on his lips. But more than anything she felt her buzzing sex – the awful lack of his mouth against her and the cold air that did nothing to ease her desire.

She knotted her fingers in his hair and locked her eyes on his – something she usually tried to avoid. There was too much trouble waiting in their gaze. Like flint striking against flint, when they looked at each other sparks would fly.

‘Please,’ she whispered, knowing that one simple word would
work
quicker than any explanation about the time that was pressing on them and the night that waited for their presence.

As Tam nodded and buried his head back between her legs, his tongue working vigorously now on her clit to wring an orgasm out of her, Kara silently let her thoughts drift. While Tam lapped at her, letting the point of his tongue dance and slip back and forth, winnowing between the folds of her lips and touching the mouth of her sex just enough to make her sigh, she thought of the guy in the audience, sitting right up at the back of the bar.

Tam’s tongue was replaced by his finger. His tongue slid back up to flick at her clit and give a starburst of sensation while he wriggled one, then two fingers inside her. He brought her on like an expert, knowing exactly how much pressure she wanted and when, working his hand into the rings of her pussy while his mouth fired up the burn of her clit. Kara felt the beat quicken, like music playing louder. Her body tensed and she remembered the figure at the bar, his lean frame and the familiar angle he held his limbs in.

She was full and brimming with her orgasm now, devoured by Tam’s mouth and invaded by his fingers, doubled over and rushing towards a climax with blind, wild, unstoppable need. It hit her like an avalanche and images flashed into her head unbidden as she jerked against Tam’s mouth.

As she came, she thought not of the boy on his knees in front of her, but of a man in a quiet room, standing next to a piano. His hands on her shoulders and his breath on the back of her neck, both of them watching the keys, her hands moving steadily faster, both listening as the music grew louder and flowed over them, drowning them in furious sound.

2

AS THE AFTERSHOCKS
faded, Kara looked down at Tam. He was on his knees in front of her, hanging on to her hips as if they were a life raft, yet somehow it was him that seemed in control. His mouth was wet and his eyes searched her face. She wanted suddenly to shake him off, scatter him and run outside into the cold fresh air.

‘We’d better move,’ she said, wriggling under his grasp, looking round at the whitewashed corridor as though someone were about to crash through the double doors and find them there, leaning against the wall with their clothes undone and faces flushed.

‘Always in such a hurry, aren’t you?’

‘Let’s not get into this now,’ she said, shrugging Tam’s hands from her hips and pulling away. He stayed on his knees, still watching her. Kara refused to look at him. She pulled her skirt down and felt the tremor in her legs, shaky from flexing against the wall.

‘So we’ll move,’ Tam said finally, ‘but remember you owe me one, sugar.’

‘I’ll buy you a drink,’ she muttered, ‘later. Right now I’m gonna go get the stage cleared.’

Silently, she added:
Please don’t follow me
. Kara was hoping there’d be somebody out there that she didn’t want anyone else to meet right now. Was he at the bar, waiting for her? She briefly thought of washing her face, cleaning the scent
of
sex and sweat from her skin. And then changed her mind.

‘I didn’t know you were such a natural-born performer,’ Mike said.

‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me,’ Kara said, taking a long sip of the deep-red drink in her glass, ‘Professor.’

Keeping her eyes on Mike, she stretched, pulling her muscles taut and lifting her arms upwards so that her breasts swung. His eyes flickered over the points of her nipples, sticking through the thin cotton of her T-shirt.

Kara smiled. Mike may have liked to play it cool and aloof – the world-weary artist nobody could provoke – but his reactions were as predictable as a teenage boy’s. And she liked having him ogle her, that pale-blue gaze stroking over her body.

They were sitting at the bar, waiting while the crew cleared up the gear from the concert. Her hair was still damp with sweat, sticking to her face in dark strands, and her T-shirt clung to her skin. Kara felt gloriously dishevelled, like a boxer fresh out of the ring, the fighter emerging victorious to meet her admirers.

‘You liked the show,’ she said, bold as brass. ‘How did I do?’

‘Mm,’ Mike said, nodding. ‘Less tortuous than listening to you butchering your arpeggios, I have to admit.’

‘And the music?’

‘Not bad. It helps that you’re so delectable to watch.’

Kara hid her face in her glass, sucked up an ice cube and crunched it. Was he damning her with faint praise? she wondered.

‘So, what are you doing here?’ she said eventually.

‘Oh, I had an hour to kill. I’ve got the Blue Star launch party in Queen Street and thought I’d slip in for a drink.’

‘Right,’ Kara said. ‘Happy coincidence.’

Mike was leaning on the bar, his white shirtsleeves rolled up so Kara could see the tanned skin of his forearms and the brush of gold hair that ran to his wrists. Her eyes rested on his hands. So familiar. They were large, long fingered and thick knuckled. His fingers tapped restlessly on the black marble counter.

‘I have to go,’ he said, checking his watch, ‘but I can put your name on the door if you want to come along.’

‘For the party? Would that be cool?’

‘Oh yes. Very cool.’

‘What about the others?’

‘What others?’

‘The band: Tam, Jon, Ruby.’

Mike shrugged. ‘Why not.’ As he stood up to leave, he leaned closer and brushed his lips against her cheek, so that she felt the slight scrape of his stubble against her skin.

‘And don’t worry about changing. I like this –’ he tugged on her damp T-shirt ‘– very much.’

He lingered at her neck for a split second too long, Kara thought, as though he were inhaling her patchouli, the fresh spice of her sweat. Could he smell the scent of sex on her too? Could he tell she’d just had her pussy licked and sucked? In the shadows of the half-empty bar, she felt her face flush deep scarlet for the second time that night.

‘Tell me again where we’re going,’ Tam said, scowling at the bitter wind that whipped across their faces as they walked west towards Queen Street. Kara zipped her jacket up to her chin and gritted her teeth. She almost wished she hadn’t asked Tam to come with her. Their little scene backstage hadn’t helped clear the air; in fact, she was already starting to curse herself for giving in to the temptation of a quick orgasm. Tam
was
going to be as difficult as possible for the rest of the night, that was clear.

But there was no way she was walking into the Kasbah on her own and something told her she shouldn’t miss the party. Jon and Ruby had gone home to finish the fuck-fest they’d started on the dressing-room couch and Kara had decided Tam was a better escort than nobody at all, even if he was in a foul mood.

‘It’s a launch party, Tam. A new label.’

‘And who’ll be there?’

‘Scouts, producers, movers and shakers. Everyone we need to be meeting.’

‘And your old tutor.’

Kara couldn’t miss the sneer in Tam’s voice. She pulled up short and wheeled round to face him. ‘Yes, Tam. My old tutor. Is that a problem?’

‘Not as long as you don’t mind him leching all over you, no. Guess it might be worth it for a shot at the big time, eh?’

‘Fucking grow up,’ Kara spat, walking on again as fast as she could. The streets were dark and cold and slick with rain and she had a nervous, scratchy feeling in her stomach that she couldn’t quite explain. Partly butterflies, partly the ache that she felt after a strong orgasm.

Ahead, the smooth white steps of the Kasbah led up to high double doors. The black-suited figures of two doormen stood rigid at the top, silhouetted in the gold light from the hallway behind them. Kara paused, fixing a brazen smile on her face as she approached. Just like performing on stage, she thought, you’ve got to be ready to dazzle them. And if you don’t feel it, fake it.

Inside, the place felt like a gin palace. Polished floors, great dripping chandeliers and waiters in perfectly ironed black shirts slipping in and out of the crowd with trays of glasses.
Tea
lights flickered on the tables and the air was scented with lilies. Kara thought she could even smell cigar smoke, faintly, as though it were soaked into the wallpaper. Against this opulent backdrop, the party was in full swing. Not Kara’s idea of swing, though.

‘Christ,’ Tam said flatly as they looked at the crowd – men in silk shirts and women in tailored suits, everyone tanned and practically dripping with money. A display took up one wall, with the Blue Star logo projected across the domed ceiling and flunkies handed out CDs. Kara recognised the gravelly laugh of a fading pop star, wearing Chanel and standing surrounded by guys with greying ponytails and waistcoats, who could only be execs.