Wicked Beat (Sinners on Tour #4)(74)

"Rebekah … "

"Write: I am sorry I upset Ms. Blake."

He stared at her for a minute, trying to figure out her game. When he put the paper on the edge of the soundboard and started to write, she smiled.

Looking over his shoulder to check his progress, she said, "Now write: To make it up to her, I will suck on her clit until she comes."

His head snapped up, and he pinned her with a look that made her toes curl in her sneakers. She knew how Eric's mind worked. Half of his excitement, maybe more, came from thinking about sex, and this would definitely make him think about it.

"I expect you to write down a lot of ways you plan to make this up to me, Eric. A lot. You've been a very naughty boy." She turned her body to block the view of her cupping the crotch of his jeans. She knew he'd be hard, and he didn't disappoint her. Stroking the length of his cock, she looked up at him with a teasing smile. "The second part of your essay will describe all the things you think Ms. Blake does to naughty boys. When you're finished, turn in your paper to me, and then go wait on the bus until I come to punish you. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said breathlessly.

"It will be a couple hours before I can get to you, so you might as well take your time on that essay." She released his cock, took the teddy bear out of his hand, and set her new mascot on her soundboard.

"Ms. Blake?" he said.

"Get to work," she said harshly.

"I think I'm going to need more paper."

She grinned and ripped out several additional sheets. The kiss he planted behind her ear as he snatched the papers was all the motivation she needed to finish her work as quickly as possible.

***

Eric handed his seven-page essay to Ms. Blake as respectfully as a guy with a raging hard-on could manage. He wasn't sure what excited him more, writing it, or knowing she would read it. Maybe it was knowing she might do the things he'd written on the page. And let him do things to her.

Ms. Blake glanced at the top sheet. The sternness in her expression did strange things to him. He wanted her approval. Her praise. "This looks acceptable," she said.

Acceptable? He'd poured himself into that essay. Admitted fantasies he'd never admitted to anyone. He tried to snatch the papers back, but she held them out of reach behind her back.

"I'm almost finished here," she said. Her gaze locked with his, and he knew he'd do anything she asked. "Go wait in my office, and don't touch anything. Especially not your cock. I see how hard it is. That is very naughty, Mr. Sticks."

"Where's your office?"

She lifted an eyebrow at him. "Where do you think it is?"

"The bedroom on the tour bus."

She shrugged. "That will do. Go now." She continued with her work, organizing color-coded cords in a large case.

He backed away slowly, wondering if he could wait without dying. He could see the headline now. Rock Drummer Killed By Lack of Blood Flow to Brain. And it would all be Rebekah's fault for making him so damned hard. Then how would she feel about tormenting him ceaselessly? She'd feel really guilty for sending him to an early grave by keeping all his blood sequestered in his cock, instead of serving his vital organs. Not that he actually minded the torment. He loved every minute of it.



       
         
       
        

She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Are you still here?"

He turned and tried to walk casually to the back of the stadium where the bus was parked. It wasn't easy in his condition. Especially when some fangirl spotted him and hurdled a barrier fence to hug him excitedly.

"Oh Eric, I've been waiting forever to see you," she crooned. "I didn't think you'd ever come outside."

"Um, okay, sorry," he said, trying to untangle her arms from around his neck. He remembered a time when the occasional lust-crazed fan made his entire week. Now he just wanted to get the fuck away from her before she discovered his arousal. She rubbed up against him and chuckled. Too late. Now he'd never convince her to leave him alone.

"Is that for me?" she asked, her hand sliding down his belly to his crotch.

"No, actually, it's not. Could you-" He grabbed her wrist to move her hand.

"Let me suck you off," she said huskily. "I want a picture of me with your cock down my throat." She handed him her camera phone and reached for the top button of his jeans.

"Whoa, no!" he gasped and jerked away. "Here." He shoved her phone into her hand and pounded on the side of the bus so they'd open the door and let him in. Besides, it was fucking cold outside, and he didn't have his jacket.