Set Me on Fire - Peter Steele

Lovesong

Peter felt his throat tighten up as he watched her lighting tea candles, lining the jacuzzi as it filled with running water. Her body was bent over as she set the candles around the edges of the tub, accentuating her curves beneath the blanket that clung to her body.

He had lied to her. He had lied to her and he felt like absolute shit for it.

As soon as he saw her out there by the fireplace he wanted her. He wanted to bury himself inside her and fuck her all night long right infront of the roaring flames. He barely recalled the interview she must have read, but he absolutely appreciated her effort. She had never looked sexier. She was his own personal fallen angel that wanted to do naughty things with him all night long.

And he wanted to. He wanted to more than anything. He wanted to be deeper inside her than ever before. But he couldn't. He couldn't get a fucking response.

He knew it was a side effect. He knew enough about substances and their effects on body chemistry. How he had stupidly let himself get so deeply involved with any of that shit he didn't know, especially since he had spent the first three decades of his life working out and taking care of himself.

Still, he managed to hide it from her, and if she ever found out the things he did while she was away he was sure she'd leave him. He couldn't lose her.

He had to get clean.

Anytime she joined him on tour or came into town he was always on his best behavior. He could keep things under wraps. But when she was gone he might as well be Tony Montana.

The more, the better. It was never enough. The high was just so fucking good.

But he loved her more.

If she knew he couldn't perform for her she'd blame herself. She'd think she'd done something wrong. Then he'd have to talk. He'd have to explain why suddenly he was having problems when sex was never an issue before. He'd confess and he was sure she'd leave. She never did shit. She drank with him, but that was it. She'd never approve of drugs and he knew it.

He couldn't let her leave. She was his angel and he needed her.

So, he pretended he just jizzed in his pants. Perfect excuse, right? She'd never suspect a thing. Well, until the next time it happened.

He saw her glance at him out of the corner of her eye as he leaned against the doorframe watching her.

Shit. She already suspected something. Well, of course she did. Lizzy was smart, observant, and intuitive. She always knew when something was up with him.

She turned and walked away.

Fuck. Peter closed his eyes and concentrated on his dick.

'Wake up!'

Nothing. He then turned and glanced at his bags. He brought an emergency supply with him just in case.

Peter snorted to himself at the irony.

An emergency supply of cocaine. What kind of emergency could he need coke for? What a great big dope he was.

Emergency screw your fucking girlfriend so she doesn't think anything is wrong when she probably already suspects something is.

Screw? Girlfriend? None of that even sounded right in his head.

You screw groupies. You make love to your girlfriend.

And girlfriend didn't even really suit how he felt about her.

His love. His angel. Christ, he'd make her his wife one day if she'd have him.