Doll Face(62)

“Right here, Ronnie,” she tells me, spinning us around so that her back's against the wall, her legs around me, her fingers threaded together behind my neck. I lean down to kiss her, starting slow, mimicking Turner as his rapidly slurring voice twists through the microphone. People in the crowd keep bringing him drinks and he keeps taking them. I should probably get over there and deal with it but for once, I just want to enjoy my moment, just be happy for me. I figure if I can hear him singing through the mic, he's not doing anything else that might get him into trouble. That'll have to be enough.

Ronnie McGuire is currently occupied.

I increase the intensity of my kiss, trying to take some pleasure in the raw, undisciplined beat of the drums from onstage. Our slick tongues slide together, teeth scraping against one another, fingers grasping. Mine knead Lola's flesh in a greedy grip, not oblivious to the crowd around me, but not obsessed with it either. There are some pretty strict rules in this club: no pictures, no video, all secrets. What happens in Slick's is supposed to stay in Slick's. But whatever. Worst case scenario, a video gets out – much like the one between Turner and Naomi – and the world knows that Lola and I are together. I'll just adopt my friend's attitude on that and say fuck it.

Lola reaches down and unbuttons my pants before I take over, pushing her hands away and wondering how the hell we're going to get away with this, dressed in jeans and all that. A skirt would've been a little easier. I smile against Lola's lips as I unzip her and crowd in closer, trying to hide her body with mine. To be fair, there are people on either side of us, engaged in pretty much the same fucking activity, but it doesn't matter. Lola is mine now.

I feel my lips twitch as that basic male urge washes over me. It's alright though, all good. I don't mind being Lola's too. I've been at this world too long to think that owning a woman is even possible, let alone that it means shit. A partnership – that's what this is all about.

“Bear with me,” I growl around another wild kiss. “Quickies with jeans take some serious skill.” I push her jeans down her hips and let my mind fill with images from the parking garage, of pushing her knees back and fucking her on the hood of some random dude's car. My blood heats up in time with another one of Turner's screams. It echoes around the club, bouncing off the chandeliers and seriously fucking with my head. That's a million dollar shout right there. Apparently, quite literally, too.

I free my cock from my jeans, thanking the Gods above that Lola's new skinny jeans are some weird ass stretchy fabric and not straight up denim. That's a fuck of a lot harder to maneuver around. I spin Lola around and hold her close to me, letting her brace herself on the wall with her hands.

“It's gonna have to be from behind again, doll face. Hope that's okay with you?” Lola murmurs her approval, pushing her ass against me, as I slide my cock against her swollen wet folds, tasting that heat with the head of my cock, feeling an anxious jump in my pulse as I start to push inside of her. I have no way of knowing that I'm mirroring Turner's night with Naomi on that fateful Thursday night. Eh, even if I did, it wouldn't have changed anything anyway. At least for us, our night's not gearing up towards being nearly as gnarly as his.

I thrust deep, one quick stroke, just like that and fill Lola up with my cock. My lids flutter and my body spasms at the naked feel of her body against mine, her slick heat, the rough ridges of her pussy massaging my shaft as I move against her, almost uncontrollably. Holy Christ on a Cracker. How the fuck can you do something so many times and not think a thing of it, and then one day, everything just changes and something that was insignificant becomes everything?

“I want to get you pregnant, Lola,” I whisper and she groans, shoving herself harder against me. I don't even know how she can hear me over the crush of the crowd as they cry for Turner, throw themselves at his feet. That's what it means to be a rock god, I guess. Even in your blackest moments, you have to be able to claim the audience, make them submit. I wonder if I'm in that category too now? Or if I'll ever be?

“Do it, Ronnie,” she shouts back at me, not caring who's listening, not giving a fuck who might be watching. We slam our bodies together hard, harder, hardest. There's no love required for this slick oiled motion, this exchange of fluids. Yeah, sure, I love her, I do. One day soon, I'm going to just fucking say it. For right now, this works. This feels fucking perfect. I push Lola's sleeve up and squeeze her leopard tattoo. That's what she is right now, like a wild cat. “Do it,” she growls again, rocking against me, bringing me to orgasm a hell of a lot quicker than I'd like. I want to savor this moment, eat it up with a spoon and come back for more.