Epic experience.
My head tilts slightly to the right but not enough to displace my mouth away from the microphone. I cut my eyes hard to the side of the stage, and I see Emma standing there. Her hands are clasped together, held in front of her, and she’s singing along with me.
A burst of euphoria hits me hard in the center of my chest, and I give her a quick wink before turning my gaze back out onto the audience.
Emma is a fan and that is something I like very much.
Emma is amazing in bed. And on the table. The shower. The couch. The balcony. The carpet.
She is amazing.
She fucking blossomed right before my eyes yesterday and kept blooming last night and this morning, and well… I can’t wait to see how I can open her up again tonight.
And because of all of that, she’s no longer a woman I can mock in any way as being too prim or matronly. I can’t even make silent fun of her conservative clothes, because frankly, she’d look sexy to me in a burlap sack.
So sexy, in fact, I didn’t want to do a damn thing all day except keep her in my bed until sound rehearsal. While my stamina is pretty damn good, I know it was unrealistic to think I’d be fucking her the whole time. Figured we could relax and chill. Talk. Get to know each other. Of course, we’d fuck in between, but yeah… I wanted that bad today.
Except Emma wasn’t too keen on that idea. Apparently, she has some sort of work ethic drilled in deep and insisted that she needed to work. I tried to tell her I was the boss and I was giving her the day off. She sniffed and briskly told me that wasn’t acceptable, and that I had to respect the work boundaries. Christ… she looked at me with straight-laced eyes meaning serious business, and I wanted to rip her clothes off and…
God, she’s amazing.
So I capitulated because she is amazing and she wanted to work, and I wanted to give her what she wanted. But I did insist she work in my hotel suite, so I could at least look at her. Eat lunch with her. Talk to her if I wanted.
In fact, I insisted on it.
I made her sit right down at that glass dining table so she could spread out, and I fucking loved the way she blushed when she saw the streaks left behind from the first time I ate her out. She merely jetted over to the kitchen area and came back with some wet paper towels to clean the surface.
Fucking adorable.
It was about two PM, and I was starting to get antsy about the show. My nerves started misfiring and I was feeling jittery. I sat on the couch, going over lyrics in my head, humming tunes and otherwise trying to occupy my time. I’d glance at Emma every once in a while, who was focused with extreme intensity on her work. She’d told me she was working on the copyright case, and I had to admire her diligence in representing me. She’d gone to her hotel room to get showered and changed, and because she was technically “at work,” had returned with another business outfit on. This time, it was a sleeveless dress of dark gray that cut straight across the bottom of her collarbone, and while it hugged her form nicely, it was quite sedate. She even had a lovely string of pearls around her neck.
I’d watch her as she chewed on her pen when she was deep in thought, and was fascinated the first time she’d pulled out a pair of glasses from her briefcase and put them on while she was working on the computer. I asked her about them, and she admitted she needed them sometimes if her eyes felt strained.
She looked hot as hell in them.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I asked her, “Will you come watch the show tonight?”
Her head popped up and she pulled the pen from her mouth. “Of course.”
I nodded. As her head started to turn back to the laptop, I asked, “Will you come with me to the VIP party after?”
She lifted her head slowly this time and looked at me. With a soft smile, she said, “Sure.”
I muttered, “Okay.”
Emma looked at me another moment, and then turned back to her work.
“Will you promise not to get tipsy so I can fuck you after without worrying about regrets?” I asked slyly.
Her head shot back to me again, and she grinned. “Yes. I won’t drink a drop of alcohol.”
“Cool,” I said casually as I slouched back down on the couch, as if it wasn’t that big of a deal, but I was already doing a football touchdown dance in my head.
“But what about Red?” she asked, and I craned my neck to look at her over the back of the couch.
“What about Red?” I asked in puzzlement.
“Well, what will he think as he’s driving tonight and you’re in my room?” she says hesitantly.
I shrug. “Why do you care?”
Her eyes lowered, and she chewed at her lip with worry.
“Emma?”