AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Two
Marcus
I’m running late, as usual. Not my fault, also as usual. What’s a man supposed to do? It’s all LA’s fault. Why would one city have so many distractions, give me so many beautiful blonde women—Susie? Sara? Suki? Can’t remember their names now—with curves for miles, fake tits, fake face, fake ass (all my favourite fakes), if I wasn’t meant to stay and enjoy them. People like that are only looking for one thing: to escape whatever bullshit is churning around in their mind. I know it, as I’m totally commander in chief of fucking bullshit. Give me fake everytime, who the fuck wants to deal with real. We live in Lala land people make a living out of suspending their reality. That’s me everytime. And to be fair to myself on a positive note I’m definitely a lot cheaper and a lot more fun than therapy.
I’m totally giving free stuff away, making them feel good for a few hours. They know it’s only hours, I set my terms at the start of our fake out. The only thing I won’t fake is orgasms, both mine and theirs. So maybe not so fake after all.
My head throbs from the whiskey. My cock from the sucking and fucking. Can’t really complain on either front though, totally deserved.
Because of Suki Susie—sure, we’ll call her that—I miss my take-off slot back to England. My bandmate and best friend since childhood, Xander, flew back yesterday to take care of some business deal for our band. But he sent the jet back for me. Total pro.
I should have gone back with him, but there was some girl’s party at some house….somewhere. I had every intention of leaving on time, but my detour with some girl took longer than expected. Because she had a friend, drugs, and drink-the perfect excuse to escape my hometown reality. I can’t be bothered with the drama at home.
I shouldn’t even be returning to England at all, but Xander taking off back home put all our LA operations on hold. And since my family has been hounding the fuck out of me to make an appearance at home, now’s as good a time as any.
Although I’ll never admit it, I probably need the break from LA. I’ve lived there for over ten years, and to be honest, the tour schedule and demand for new music has taken its toll. My well is running dry. I need to recharge. But what I need and what I’m actually going to get are two totally different things. Because this isn't going to be some funtime holiday. Not with my family and their never ending bullshit in the mix. It’s just time away from the band, the part of my life I should be focusing on.
Our band, Velvet Smoke, came about entirely romantically after a fateful chain of glorious events and chance encounters. Xander and I grew up together and went on to the same university, where we found Gabe. In fairness, the way we found Gabe might not have been romantic, but it was undoubtedly fateful. He was embroiled in a fight with some of the scrawniest bouncers you have ever seen outside the one miserable little club in the town centre. Xander and I weren’t actually the ones who heroically saved Gabe from the fight, but that’s how we liked to tell it. In reality, it was Levi, Gabe’s good friend who lived across the corridor from him, who stepped in (but really it was much more accurate to say, totally wasted, he’d blindly joined in). Xander and I were just the ones who got them both a taxi to the hospital. The rest is history.
We’ve been playing together since we were eighteen, and now, at the ripe old age of thirty-six, have seen and done it all. No one else in the world knows me—the good, the bad, and the decidedly ugly—as well as those three men. We’ve been through it and then some. Paternity suits, drugs, fights, women, drugs, money, women, drugs, booze, and, oh yeah, drugs.
Five years ago, Xan and I took the big step to start our own record label, NSM Records. A labour of love as well as our way to keep up to date, it also gives us control after we’d been disillusioned with how labels influenced decisions based on profits alone and not for artist longevity.
It takes us away from making music at times, but as we’re getting older—not something I like to admit—it’s not a bad thing. It also keeps us hungry when we do get together to make the most of the time we have.
My security guy, Mick, who, God love him, chaperones me everywhere, is not happy with my impromptu trip. He knows the shit pile I’m walking out on, and the one I’m likely walking into, but also knows his words are wasted on me at this point. So he huffs and puffs but gets my arse to the private client gates for the plane.
“Ready?” he asks as I put my shades on and pull down the baseball cap. Crap disguise, I’ll admit, but at least it hides my bloodshot eyes.
I slink into the leather booth of the lounge while Mick hands over all my details. The space is virtually empty, but even here we’re still stared at as people try to figure out if it’s actually me. The private plane is something we share as a band. In my opinion, it’s an essential item, ensuring we can always leave at a moment’s notice. But it’s useful for other reasons. The thought of braving even first-class on a commercial flight these days makes me shiver, even without the constant glances of the other flyers waiting around me.
Twenty long minutes later, and two beers down, we’re called to move across to our plane. I slump into a plush leather seat the moment we board. The interior’s been changed recently, adding a bedroom and a shower at the back of the plane. I squirm around in my seat and decide as soon as we’re off, I am in that bed.
“Do you have to do that?” Mick barks as I change seats for the third time, plumping and moving cushions.
“Yeah,” I say calmly. “I need the comfiest seat for take-off.”
A hand appears, holding a whiskey.
“Thanks, love.” I look up at the flight attendant through my lashes. “You know me well.” Her eyes flick to my crotch as she licks her lips, then return to my face. She offers me a well-practised seductive smile, and I parlay with my usual smirk. The one that makes both knickers and inhibitions drop.
She seems unable to move, and Mick sighs next to me, I laugh out loud. “Not my fault Mick.” I shrug at him as I run my tongue round the glass, continuing to stare unblinkingly at the young woman.
He rolls his eyes. “Never is Marcus. Never is”
Once in the air, I put my hand up for another drink. The woman walks back towards me with another whiskey and leans over me, her breathing picking up as she purrs, “Anything else I can get for you?”
I carry on staring. “Of course.” I stand up to my full height at six-foot-three and look down on the attendant as she moves backwards to accommodate me. When she moves past me, brushing my fly with her hand, I follow her up the aisle towards the back of the plane where the bedroom and her station are. I manoeuvre my arm around her, opening the door to the bedroom, and look at her with a question in my eyes as I tilt my head towards the room. “Yes or no?” I ask.
She looks at me and then down to my now swelling cock and bulging jeans. Nodding, her eyes dilate as she licks her lips and starts to move through the door.
I stop her, putting my hand on her arm. “I need words, darling.”
The moment her breathy, “Yes,” leaves her lips, I nod and push in behind her.
Shutting the door, I turn her to face me. She’s tall, around five-foot-ten in her heels. Standard part of her uniform, along with the tight skirt, polo top, and bright red lipstick which I know will look fabulous around my cock. I smirk at her and continue to stare into her eyes. Before long, my attention roams down to her tits. “On your knees,” I command in my best arsehole voice, widening my stance.
“My name’s Stella,” she says in a husky voice.
