Zayd runs his inked hand down my side, over the curve of my waist, resting his palm lightly on my hip. Every place he touches screams with pleasure, and I realize Creed was right: I feel ten times as sensitive now as I did when I was completely sober.
A small moan escapes me as Zayd slides his hand back up, stroking my body and making me quiver.
“It really is exquisite, isn’t it?” I ask, and Zayd laughs. The sound is as musical as his songs. I want to listen to them all on repeat, over and over and over again. I giggle, and he grins, leaning in to kiss me on the collarbone, trailing his lips down and along the lacy line of my bra. The pale rise and fall of my breasts belies my outward calm and shows how truly nervous I am underneath.
I lean back a little and my body bumps into Creed’s. He groans, and I glance back to see his hand working furiously at pleasuring himself. As I watch, he finishes with a shudder and his body goes limp in the pillows. Pretty sure he’s asleep in like, a minute.
“The golden rule is: smoke first, drink later. Creed always drinks then smokes then drinks again. That’s his problem.” I glance back at Zayd and find him smirking at me in the darkness. “See, I told him you wouldn’t be coming to him later.”
“He looked like he was having a good time,” I whisper back, realizing in the back of my mind that I’ll probably be mortified to remember this moment in the morning. Right now, it all seems surreal and beyond exciting. I crawl over so that I’m straddling Zayd, putting my palms on his bare, inked chest and then sliding them down. He moans, lifting his hands up to cup my ass. We kiss again, these deep, long, exploratory kisses that feel like they go on for hours.
But in a good way. In a I never want this to end sort of way.
“This edible is amazing,” I breathe, and Zayd laughs, watching me curiously through the moonlight as I move back, putting my lips against the rock-hard lines of his abs. We’re in his bed, in his room, with the window open and a warm So Cal breeze stirring the curtains. I can hear people in the pool, but they’re pretty quiet, far away. They may as well be in another world.
My tongue slides along the edge of Zayd’s jeans, and then my fingers are popping his fly. I look up at him as I take his shaft in my hand.
“Holy fuck,” he whispers, but then he only lets me get so far as a single lick before he grabs me by the wrist and pulls me up toward his face. “Not when you’re high, not for our first time.” Zayd kisses me again and then flips me over, his tongue swirling around mine, his inked fingers sliding between my thighs. He touches one to my heat, and I gasp, curling my fingers around his shoulders. He doesn’t even put them in, just uses my own wetness to tease and stroke me, bringing me to a warm, shuddering orgasm that reminds me very much of Creed.
Immediately, my eyes feel heavy, and I sigh as Zayd grins and kisses me again, his lip rings making my mouth tingle.
“Sleep well, Charity. We’ll see about finishing this up in the morning.”
Zayd relaxes next to me, and the last thing I remember is seeing his inked fingers curl around the base of his cock.
After that, it’s nothing but dreams until the sun comes up.There’s a stage set up about a half mile from the house, and despite the heat, people start lining up before the party even really ends. There are students draped over couches and lying in piles on the floor, most of them hungover or still a little bit stoned. But if they want a good spot in the crowd, they better get up now because the entry line stretches as far as the eye can see.
“You really are famous, huh?” I ask Zayd, glancing over my shoulder as he slips into a white tank with his band logo on the front. It says Afterglow in scrawling cursive with a half-moon, half-sun behind it, gleaming around the edges with, well, a glow.
He flashes me that cocky smile of his.
“Yeah, well, maybe just a little.” He moves over to stand beside me, and I feel myself blushing when I remember my tongue meeting up with his, uh, well … if I’m not mature enough to say it, then I’m not mature enough to do it: his dick. I almost gave my first blow job last night. “I’m heading over with the band soon to greet some of the headliners, but there’ll be golf carts and some backstage passes waiting for you.” Zayd stands up and splays a palm out on his chest, his sea green hair gleaming in the early morning sunshine. The wicked heat of the day hasn’t quite crept in yet, so it’s still cool enough to be pleasant. “And I’m such a nice guy, I even included extras for your other boyfriends.”
