Together, you get your pants and briefs off. Your ass has no sooner hit the bedding than he’s on you, inhaling your cock. No prelude, no warning, just the hot suction of his lips down your shaft and the echo of his satisfied groan against your heated skin. It’s so heady that it’s kind of ridiculous. Your head fallsback. Kai pushes your thighs apart and pulls off your dick to lick up its length, head to balls. His tongue is wide, hot, and slick. It’s been approximately 90 seconds, and you are already weeping pre, abundant and milky down your shaft, trailing down to the circle of his fingers at your base.
“Don’t tease me,” you plead, as he continues to color your dick with invisible stripes.
He looks up at you and fists you. Firm enough to feel really good, but way too slow to be effective.
“Maybe I should,” he says in a low voice. “Three weeks of jerking off without you. Give you a taste of your own medicine.”
Your breath catches in your throat. It could be a combination of the mental image of Kai masturbating and him stroking you, or it could be the growliness in his words. Either way, you’re hot as the surface of the sun for him.
“Please,” you moan.
“Baby said the magic word,” he murmurs approvingly. His grip tightens at the base of your cock, and then you’re in his mouth again, his cheeks hollowing as he really gets to work. He’s all wet heat and power. You settle back on your hands so that you don’t grab the fuzzy expanse of his buzzed head and fuck his mouth.
The cabin is filled with the nasty-hot slurping sounds of him showily sucking you off. Your eyes drift closed, and your head goes back. Kai’s kneading your thigh while his other hand jerks your base, pulling your dick further into his throat. You don’t have any more inches to give him, and he seems like he’s trying to yank them out of you, like he can’t get you deep enough. Pleasure buzzes hot in your gut, a live wire running up and down your nervous system.
It hasn’t exactly been easy on you, either—all those weeks without him warming your bed. Before Kai, monastic solitude had seemed a lot easier. Work. Rehearsals. Performances. Interviews. Months would go by without the touch of another person, save all the handshakes and air kisses. In a way, things were simpler. Your physical needs were nothing you couldn’t manage with ten minutes in your morning shower. Bodily, you were constantly deprived, but you were used to it, and, so, it didn’t bother you.
Now, though?
You don’t know what it’s like to be addicted to any substance, but you have a sneaking suspicion that you might be getting hooked on Kai. You’re getting close, and you force yourself to open your eyes and tilt your heavy head back down. To look, with lust-stupid eyes, at the sight of him going down on you, assiduously working you like it’s the air he needs to breathe. Your breath catches.
His lips still forming anoaround your shaft, he makes eye contact. The corners of his eyes crinkle, like he’s incredibly amused by the fact that he’s dragged you right to the edge. Because that’s where you are. That’s what’s happening, right now, your hips stuttering against the bed.
Kai can tell that it’s about to happen. In moments, the head of your cock is bumping the back of his throat, and the sensation sends you over the edge. Your arm flies up, and you moan into your inner elbow as you come, emptying your balls into his generous mouth. He pulls off just a little too quickly, trying to catch his breath, and the last, feeble spurt of cum paints his parted lips.
He sits back on his heels. You are both panting hard, and his saliva is cooling on your dick in the chilly recycled air. There’s a hum in your ears, and you can’t tell if it’s airplane noise or if your brain is kind of broken.
Below you, Kai is rock hard, his erection tenting his gray sweatpants. You are spent, but the sight of his massive dick through the cloth makes you ache. The second you don’t feel like you just ran a marathon, you vow, you are grabbing the lube and going to town. The screen on the wall says that there’s still plenty of flight time left. You figure that you can have him incoherent in about 2.5 minutes from the way he’s visibly throbbing.
His hand comes up, and he touches the cum on his mouth. Looks at his fingers, like he just realized it’s there.
“Don’t,” you rasp out. Quickly, you lean in and close the distance between you, licking yourself off his lips.
Chapter Three
User xXLovelyLila6708Xx:Just a reminder to #GraylingNation that Ster is in Los Angeles recording Friday’s episode of The Midnight Show today! The latest single off “Golden” is “Back to You,” and I’m betting it’s on the set list! Who’s dying to get spoilers from the lucky bitches at the taping?
UserSkyBLEUUU: @xXLovelyLila6708Xxnot me. shame on the graylings who are ignoring the v. credible accusations by gogo heller. i thought we were the kind of people who believed victims in this fandom. boycott, anyone?
***
In the green room, you’re sweating. Sweating makes you angry, and being angry is distracting you from getting mentally ready for the interview, because you have to focus hard on not showing it.
Jerrell is one of Desiree’s minions. “Minion” is not a nice word, but you always feel leery around your publicist and her team. All they care about is crafting an image. They worry about Sterling Grayson, The Brand™ and not so much Sterling Grayson, the person. Granted, your brand is literally everything. You have hundreds of employees who depend on you maintaining it, some of whom you’ve never even met. Your brand is your livelihood, and everyone else’s.
That doesn’t mean that you aren’t piqued listening to Jerrell as you both watch the host deliver his opening monologue on the large screen. The sound is muted, but the captions are on. You can hear the roar of the studio audience through the walls, a muffled wave of sound. Chris Morton is talking about Donald Trump’s wig collection. Jerrell is talking about the agreement that Desiree struck with the producers to get you on the show.
“He agreed to the list of pre-approved topics,” he says, glancing at his phone screen to read off a list. “Some of it is the usual stuff. Politics and your family are no-goes, same as always. Desi told them that they can lob all the softballs they want: the album, the tour, the single, and so on. Questions about Kai should be tactful. Obviously, the big no-no is the GoGo situation. He agreed that, under no circumstance…”
You tune him out again. Desiree already shot you an email with the specifics, and you are the type that retains things when you read them. It’s not Jerrell’s fault. He’s nice enough, from the limited time you’ve spent with him. You mostly employ women on your staff when it comes to positions you have to interact with, but you don’t mind him. He’s polite. Deferential. On top of things.
Trying to ground yourself in the moment and get on top of your interview prep, you observe the green room.Here and now. Five things you can see.There’s an obnoxiously-large flower arrangement on the far side of the long vanity. White roses and lilies, which are stinking up the air. They match the aesthetic of the room, which is verywhiteoverall—white high-pile rug on the pale wooden floor, white lights, low white couches with white throw pillows. Do all the white things count? You draw a breath through your nose. No. There’s the mirror on the wall, in which you can see yourself all dressed and made-up for the camera.You like the diaphanous, finely-woven, loose blue cardigan from your stylist’s rack, which you wear open low with a trio of dipping silver chains around your neck and some linen pants. Hair and makeup left you with loose waves and a look that’s a lot softer than your normal stage face. Your phone is on the vanity. You hold it low and snap a selfie in the mirror to send Kai. As ever, you wish he was there with you. All the grounding exercises in the world can’t compare to his presence.
At sound-check earlier, you shook hands with Chris and the actress who’s his other guest on the evening’s show. It’s always a little weird meeting your peers, because sometimes they are also fans, like this girl. She’s been nominated for an Oscar, but when she sees you, her eyes get that shiny look that you’ve come to dread.
“Hi, I’m Sterling,” you say, by force of habit.
“Oh, I know,” she giggles. Covers her mouth, blushing. “Did I really just say that? Wow. This is kind of crazy. I’ve been listening to you since your first album. Is that weird? Shit, I’m rambling. I’m so embarrassed. But, when my agent told me you were the other guest, I had a legit freak-out moment.”
