Page 84 of I Do With You

Leave the band? Done.

Move to Maple Creek? Absolutely.

Become a no-credit commercial-jingle writer? Ding-a-fucking-ling.

Spend the rest of my life apologizing between her thighs, on her heart, and with my soul? Yes, without hesitation.

I slide my fingers into her hair, holding her head still as I tease over the curve of her ear with my nose. “I love you,” I whisper, needing her to know that. There’s more to say, so much more, but that’s the crux of it all.

She melts into my caress, dipping her chin to turn into me. “I love you too.” The words are more air than sound, but I hear them all the same.

Somehow, in what is the weirdest mix of darkness and light, we kiss again, the sweetest, softest kiss of my life, which grows into something more. I war with my need to touch her and my need to get this costume off. I push the cloak off, undoing the clasp and letting it fall to the van floor, and rip my shirt over my head. Beneath it is another shirt that’s skintight and covers me from neck to wrists, an attempt to make sure nothing can be identified onstage. I fight to get the wet, clinging shirt off, and every inch higher I get it, I’m rewarded with Hope’s exploration of the new territory of my skin. When I’m finally shirtless, I go for hers, which is much easier to pull over her head. She wastes no time, undoing the hooks of her bra and letting it fall to the wayside too.

I cup her breasts in my hands, any care of the body paint gone as I mark her all over, branding her with my touch. I tease her nipple with my tongue, sucking it into my mouth as I look up at her. A little smile tilts her lips, and I lift a brow, questioning her.

She points to my eyes and I remember that I have on the blackout contacts. I can see through them without issue, but she can’t. I move to pull them out but she shakes her head, catching my attention. Quietly, she says, “You look like a monster, but I seeyou. It’s sexy.”

I know there’s an entire corner of the internet where people write fantasies of my onstage alter ego and them fucking. I avoid those like the plague. But this isn’t that ... not exactly. However, there’s a certain degree of freedom in being that character, me but also not.

I am no one’s fantasy. But I can be her reality.

I click into that part of myself, the one that commands the stage, the music, the audience. I push her back roughly, grabbing the waistband of her jeans and pulling her down until she’s lying on her back on the floor of the van. I undo the button, and she realizes what I’m doing and starts to help, reaching for her zipper and wiggling the jeans over her hips and down her thighs. Her panties are lacy and black, with nothing more than a string going over her hips. She wore these for me.

For Ben. But now for this version of me too.

I undo my own jeans, pushing them down and freeing my cock. I kneel over her, letting my knees slide out and lowering myself, finding the right angle until my crown brushes over her glossy pink lips. Her tongue darts out to lap at my head, savoring me. I reach back, dipping beneath her panties to cup her pussy and find her soaking wet. I gather a bit of her juices and stroke them over my length, mixing it with the pre-come dripping down my shaft. Then I feed her my dick again, letting her taste not me, not her, but us.

She opens her jaw wide, swallowing me eagerly, and I bump the back of her throat as the van hits a pothole. Damn LA roads are a hazard. Except tonight, they’re a blessing in disguise. “Good girl,” I growl, curling over her so only she can hear me. I work my way in and out of her mouth, gritting my teeth to keep from shouting out not only my pleasure but also my joy that Hope loves me.

Broken, worthless monster that I am, but also the man I’m becoming.

Too close to the edge, I jerk myself back and flip her over to her stomach. Fuck me, the string of her panties disappears between the cheeks of her ass. I grip them in my hands, a devilish grin stealing my lips as I leave handprints marking her.

I lie over her, forcing her legs as wide as they’ll go with the restraint of her jeans, and line up with her entrance as I hold the G-string out of my way. I don’t go slow, I don’t let her adjust to me. She’s wet and ready, and I thrust in balls-deep in one forceful stroke. She grunts but takes it, even lifting her ass to give me deeper access.

I lean forward, catching my weight with one hand pressed to the van floor and wrapping my other arm over her shoulder and down to grip her breast. She presses up, throwing her head back and placing her cheek to mine. I catch her mouth in a kiss as I slide in and out of her, feeling her pussy clench as I give her everything I can.

She can’t move with the way I have her pinned, but she starts to quiver beneath me as her walls spasm. I swallow her cries to silencethem, keeping them for myself. But her pleasure sends me over, and she reaches up, gripping my head to keep my mouth on hers to quiet me as I spill jet after jet of hot come into her.

Panting, I stroke into her a few more times, wanting the come to stay deep inside her, marking her as mine the way my hands have claimed her flesh and my love has filled her heart. “Fuuck,” I finally groan under my breath.

The van stops.

Shiiiit!

I pull out of Hope, feeling cold instantly when I lose her warmth. Scrambling, I grab her shirt and, grinning deliriously, she takes it and pulls it on.

I dive into my bag, trying to find my street clothes. I pull a solid black shirt over my head, too, and keep my jeans on, just rebuttoning them. I grab the towel pre-coated with heavy-duty makeup remover and scrub it over my face. Then, seeing Hope’s face, I grimace and scrub at hers instead.

She shakes her head and mouths,It’s okay.She takes the towel from me, wipes the areas that must be more covered in the paint, and then she leans back, perusing my face. She points to her eyes, and I dive into the bag again. I pop the contacts off, put them in their case, jerk a beanie over my head to cover any paint along my hairline we missed, then look at her.

Her smile when she sees me, as myself, is one I’ll never forget. She looks at me like she’s happy to see me, like I am enough, just as me, Benjamin Taylor, a poor kid from the wrong side of life who still struggles with his demons just to make it through the day sometimes.

She nods this time, letting me know I’m good. I shove my costume and all the other shit back in the bag, throw it over my shoulder, and take her hand.

I slide the door open, help her out, and slam the door once again. The van pulls off, no one but us any the wiser to the switcheroo or the sex that just happened.

I’m never sure exactly where I’ll be, but I’ve done this enough to know the drill. Especially on my home turf of LA.

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