The Bad Boy Wants Me(48)

Tori

I stare up at him silently.

He holds a fire-engine red dildo out to me. ‘Put it inside you and make yourself come,’ he says.

‘I’m tired. I don’t want to come anymore.’

‘Do it for me,’ he cajoles softly. ‘I want to watch.’

I hold out my hand and he puts it into mine. It is made of rubber and it’s cold. I have never had a dildo inside me before. ‘Put it in for me,’ I say.

He shakes his head. ‘I want to see you pleasure yourself.’

‘Please,’ I beg.

He takes the dildo and hunkers down between my legs. The head is quite thick and he places it at my entrance and pushes it into me while he avidly watches the red thing enter me.

‘Play with yourself while I fuck you with this,’ he says.

I circle my clit while he thrusts the thick instrument into me. As I climb higher his speed increases until I finally climax so hard I am sobbing his name. He sits there watching me. I reach for the dildo to pull it out.’

‘Don’t take the toy out,’ he commands.

I let go of the toy and allow my hand hang limp over the side of the mattress. Unable to bear his eyes on me anymore, and with the toy still lodged inside my sated pussy, I turn over on my side. He circles one ankle with his hand and lifts my legs so they make a wide V. I see him watch my pussy with the bright red toy sticking out of it.

‘Beautiful,’ he says softly.

He reaches for the toy, pulls it out of me with a sucking sound, and puts it between my lips.

I draw in a sharp breath and at first I refuse to open my mouth. I stare at him defiantly. Then slowly I open my mouth and the toy slides between my lips.

‘Suck it,’ he orders.

I obey him.

He smiles slowly. Then he bends down and sucks my pussy. Laps up all the juices.

I enjoy the sensation of his gentle licking. When he lifts his head I sigh.

‘That was nice,’ I whisper.

‘This will be better than nice,’ he says, and thrusts his cock into me again. He pounds me until he comes, his hands possessively gripping my hips and with a triumphant roar. He lays beside me, the scent of sex all around us.

'Cash?’

‘Mmmm …’

‘Why didn’t you want to give an autograph to those two girls in the club? It seemed a bit mean. It was so little to ask and it was obvious how important it was to them. It would have been something they would have treasured for a long time, maybe even for the rest of their lives. Years from now they will be talking about the time they met Cash Hunter.’

For a few seconds Cash doesn’t say anything and I think he is not going to answer me, then he sighs. ‘The fans think they own you. They have the right to walk up to you anywhere they see you and get their little piece of you. For the most part I can put on my ‘play nice’ face and sign their CDs or little scraps of paper or body parts, but sometimes, like tonight, when they want to intrude even in my smallest moments of privacy and beauty, I lose it.’

He turns his head to look at me.

‘Fucking hell, Tori, some of them are so crazily hooked they simply can’t get enough of you. They’re so mad they actually come up to me and tell me their rooms are shrines to me! Can you believe that? They own every Cash Hunter record, mug, spoon, pillowcase, doll. Because they watched every video and documentary and read every magazine article on me, they think they know who I am. How I think. How I feel. They think that they know the real Cash Hunter. The fuck they do!’

He gets up on his elbow.

‘Cash Hunter is a fantasy. Created in part by myself, but mostly by the record company’s PR machine, and enhanced by a mercenary media’s ravenous hunger for celebrity scandal. The irony is even I don't know who the fuck Cash Hunter is anymore, babe.’

He lays his palm on my belly and strokes it absently.

‘The worst ones are the ones that stalk you and try to pass their number to you through any means possible. They’ll bombard the record company with messages of love and whatever else. They’ll come to gigs and they’ll lie, cheat and do anything to get backstage. Those are the ones who want to get with me. Like being fucked by me is going to change their lives in some meaningful way. There are some who promise never to wash again. I mean can you believe that shit!’

He shakes his head and I feel the coldness seep into my heart. I see me from his point of view. The crazy mad fan he is describing was once me. My room was a shrine to him. I read and watched everything about him and convinced myself that I was in love with him.

‘Isn’t it wonderful that your fans love you so much?’ I whisper.

‘No, it’s not wonderful to be mobbed, or have your clothes torn off your body, or have girls befriend your sister just to get to you. It was definitely not wonderful when one of them climbed the gate, broke a window and ended up inside my house. She told the police she didn’t mean any harm. She was in love with me and was only looking for memorabilia.’