AllFreeNovel
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I lose all inhibitions as I realize we’re deep underground; no paparazzi would imagine going here. The woman next to me wears a halter top made up entirely of safety pins. It’s both the coolest and most intimidating thing I’ve ever seen.
I kiss Vince hard, gripping the back of his head. He squeezes my ass before breaking the kiss to suck on my neck, razing the skin of my throat. He bites hard, and I moan in pleasure, tilting my pelvis toward him. I grab the belt loops of his jeans and pull him closer as we continue to kiss. I’m already wet, enthralled, and curious. Vince pulls my hair, and I groan a bit, willing him closer as his other hand sneaks under my dress to cup my ass.
We are a blur of sound and want. I can’t form coherent thoughts. All I can do is feel the heat between us, the bass thumping so loud it shakes the floor. Vince shoves me up against a wall, and I kiss back like a challenge, giving him a hickey that will last a week.
By the time we exit the club, I’m tipsy and dying for him to take me right there. We stumble into a cab, where we continue to make out.
When I unlock my hotel room, we tumble into the room, a mess of lips and limbs. Vince tries to unzip my dress and accidentally rips it in two; I don’t care. I’m wearing the onlylingerie I own, a delicate black lace bra and matching thong with vines and snakes etched in the lace.
“What the fuck, Lyndsey? You’ve been holding out on me,” Vince exclaims as he pushes me back onto the bed.
I flip over to straddle him and unzip his jeans, springing free the hard-on that’s already tenting in his boxers. Vince rolls on a condom, and I peel off my panties. We continue to kiss as our clothes fall into a puddle at the edge of the bed. I lay down on my back and wrapped my legs around Vince’s waist, tilting up my pelvis to receive him. I groan as pleasure laps at my nerve endings as he enters me. It’s luxurious. He kisses my neck, then takes one of my nipples in his mouth as he continues to thrust.
“Pull my hair,” I whisper into his neck, and he obliges, yanking my hair back so my nerve endings fizzle with pleasure and pain.
I move my hips in time with him as I feel him lengthen inside me. My hands form claws as I rake them down his back, scratching along the divots in his spine. My hips buck, and I come, letting the warm, enchanting waves of my orgasm wash over me.
Vince grunts, his face twisting in ecstasy as he comes. He looks like a painting. I reach up and move a sweaty piece of hair off his face.
He’s so beautiful.
I feel another orgasm building, teasing me, biting my ankles. My toes curl as it builds. Vince thrusts deeper, and once again, I’m gone. I sink my hands into his back and wrench my hips upward, letting out a cry of pleasure. We disentangle ourselves, and I rest my head on Vince’s chest.
“You should take me out on dates more often,” I say.
“Oh, don’t worry. That’s the plan.”
We fall asleep naked and tangled together.
I wake up early the next morning, my body aches in a decadent way, and a hickey is blooming under my left boob. I laugh itoff as I pull on a pair of track shorts and a t-shirt. I jump in the shower and wash my face with an overpriced complimentary cleanser. I can’t shake the feeling that things are good. I can’t remember the last time I woke up feeling optimistic. I brush my teeth and towel-dry my hair.
Then, I settle at the desk in the hotel room and open my laptop, ready to nail down the final details of tonight’s show at CBGB. It’s an intimate gig with a hefty price tag of fifteen hundred bucks per ticket; by the looks of it, we only have ten tickets left.
I email the venue to confirm who will be working Merch that night. Then I check my email to see that Priya sent me an updated setlist.
Feeling confident, I decided to take a break and scroll through my phone to see if Allison or my mom had posted any updates from back home. I have a minimal social media presence. All my accounts are private. But I enjoy checking in with everyone while I’m on tour; it helps tamp down the homesickness to see overly filtered photos of the overnight oats my mom makes.
I like a photo of Allison’s new cat, Biscuit. Then, I see a sponsored post by an innocuous music gossip website boasting, “VINCE EXTER’S NEW GIRL?” And a blurry photo of Vince and I leaving the club last night. I’m grinning from ear to ear, and my bangs are brushed to the side, obscuring my face. The journalist circled me in red and wrote, “MYSTERY?”
My thumb clicks the comments as if possessed. The only person I know who has commented is my mom:
Mikki_V444:Omfg, what a lucky bitch! I’d give anything to date him #hottie #mancrushmonday
I’m mortified. I bite my lip to stifle a scream, but it spills out anyway. Vince bolts up and rushes to my side, wearing only his boxers.
“Lyndsey! Is everything okay?” He asks.
Wordlessly, I shove my phone into his hand. Then I clasp my hands over my face and shriek.
“Oh, shit,” Vince mutters.
“What am I supposed to do? It’s only a matter of time until people online figure out it’s me, and then what? People on the internet are insane! The members of Olli June had to deactivate their Facebook because people kept digging up their photos from fucking middle school and posting them online! I had braces in middle schoolandscoliosis! I don’t want anyone to see that!” I’m panicking now.
My palms are starting to sweat. It feels like the walls are caving in on me. My throat is closing up to the size of a pinhole.
“Hang on, love. I think you’re having a panic attack. Try to breathe,” Vince says softly.
“Don’t tell me to breathe!” I wheeze. I can’t breathe. Vince grabs a water bottle from the mini fridge and twists the cap open before handing it to me.
