She started to pull down her underwear, but I reached up to stop her. “Nuh-uh. You requested that I rip your clothes off.” Grabbing the scant material at her hips, I pulled them down her lean legs. Seeing what I wanted made my cock start coming to life. I ripped her top off, followed by her bra, then, with a mighty shove, I knocked everything off my desk. After plopping her on top of it, I urged her to lie back, then I propped her legs over my shoulders, and dove in to taste just how much she wanted me.
She grabbed my head, holding me there while an erotic cry echoed around the room. “Oh God, Griffin…yes, yes, fuck yes, that feels so good!” My cock hardened with every moan coming from her, and I was ready for more by the time she was falling apart beneath me. I let her finish, because I was a firm believer in tit for tat, but the minute her orgasm spiked, I pulled my mouth away so I could thrust into her.
She gasped as I entered her. “Yes, I’m still…oh, fuck, yes…fuck me!”
Her orgasm lasted a fucking eternity, and when it finally ended, mine erupted again. I slumped over her, well and truly satisfied. She held my head to her chest, our bodies still connected. While our breaths returned to normal, I noticed the spilled beer near her head. Damn, and I could really use a drink right about now. I was thirsty as hell. Curious, I shouted out, “Alfred! I need another beer!”
His response was instant, and it came from right outside the open door. “Yes, sir.”
Anna laughed, then poked me in the ribs. Guessing what she wanted, I shouted, “Make that two, Alfred. The misses is parched too.”
“As you wish, sir,” was his calm reply.
I laughed as I resettled myself on Anna’s chest. I fucking loved having a butler. But having Alfred was nothing compared to making my wife happy. I just hoped I could keep her that way and prayed with everything inside me that I got a deal soon.
Once I had a song that was worthy of being a G. Hancock original, I needed to record a demo of it so I could start shopping myself around to record labels. Because I didn’t know where else to go, I visited my old recording studio, where the first D-Bags album was recorded. The fee to use the place for just an hour was fucking ridiculous, but I paid it and scheduled a time to come in. Money was no object when fame was on the line.
All the original guys were still working there when I showed up—what’s his name, and that guy. The dude mixing the sound was different though, since the studio had brought in some exclusive talent for our first album, but the guy on staff helped me figure out what to do, which I appreciated.
When it was my turn to go up, I recorded the song that Anna had turned her nose up at. I had to. It was awesome coated in awesome, and the best thing I’d come up with. I didn’t have any sort of beat though, so I just made my own noises—beatbox style. It totally worked with the song though. In fact, it was so cool, I decided I might use it on the final album.
Once I got some copies in my hands, I started mailing them to record labels. I didn’t even call to ask if they wanted them. I just found their address online and mailed them a copy. Then I sat back and waited for the offers to roll in.
Since I was feeling great about my options, I Express mailed Denny a copy to give him the first crack at representing me. With it, I sent a note that said, “I’m about to get a dozen offers for this shit, but if you want in on my millions, find me a deal that blows everything else out of the water. You do that, and I might pay you forty percent—because there is no way in hell I’m paying you fifty!”
He called me the minute he received my care package. “Um…Griffin…what in the world did you just send me?”
“Oh, hey, Denny. That’s my demo for my solo album. I’m sure it’s some sort of conflict of interest for you to represent me as well as the Douchebags, but I’m throwing you a bone. Who knows, you might want to drop them for me. Personally, I think I’ll do better. Or maybe you can keep representing them and I’ll take Abby.” I let out a low laugh, thinking of Denny’s wife waiting on me hand and foot. “Yeah…I like that idea.”
“Whatever thought you just had about my wife, clear it, before I fly down there and scrub it out of you.”
“Whoa, relax, dude. It was just a suggestion. You’ve been hanging around Matt too much. You’re all…uptight and shit.”
He sighed. “Things haven’t exactly be running smoothly lately. Not that you care, but you sort of left a mess behind when you took off.”
Chewing on my lip, I wondered if I wanted to know what he was talking about. Curiosity got the better of me. “Like what?”
“You don’t follow entertainment news at all, do you?”
I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. With people giving me shit about leaving the band, then all the rumors floating around about the TV show—rumors I didn’t want to deal with right now—I sort of avoided everything. It was strange for me, since before all this I’d Googled my name daily. “No.”