Yes Sir (18+ BDSM Erotica)

Chapter 5

MICHAEL'S POV

Morning sex? Unheard of.

SLEEPING and FUCKING with a girl in MY BED?!

That's Greek to me.

Instead of eating, though, I pulled on some boxers and went to my basement where all my instruments are. Drums, electric guitar, bass. I used to love rock.

The basement's nowhere near the bedroom, so I shouldn't wake Lisa, I thought, grabbing my drumsticks. And I started playing, random shit, for a while when I saw a short, curvy figure in the doorway and stopped. Dangit.

"Lisa. Did I wake you?" I asked, getting up from my stool. She was wearing my t-shirt and nothing underneath. Fuck.

She shook her head. "No. I got up to see where you where and because you're kitchen's about two fucking miles from your bedroom and the basement's right under it, I hadn't heard you and came down here once I did - after it took me ten minutes to walk half a mile to find the stairs. And about fifteen to get down them."

I grinned. "My house is not that big."

She snorted. "Bull fucking shit!"

I kissed her, smiling now. "So I didn't wake you?"

"No. But I do play the guitar. And bass. And drums. I sing, too."

I took a step back. "Really?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I only play the drums, but always wanted to learn the guitar and bass." I said.

She smiled. "You ever heard of Måneskin?"

I nodded. "A few times."

She smiled even wider. "My favorite. Fucking. Band. I speak Italian, too, so I can understand their Italian shit."

"Hold on, hold on, hold on," I said, because it was a bombshell; a lot to process. "You are... you do... you speak who now?"

She laughed.

"No, I'm fucking serious. Is this what you do to people? Work at their Sensei's dojo and sleep with them and then drop a bomb on them the next day?" I didn't give her a chance to answer. "Grab that fucking guitar now. NOW! I'll get a bass recording of any song you want - which one you want?"

She looked surprised. "Chill, Michael. You wanna hear a freaky one or one in Italian?"

"Both. Freaky first, though," I said as I sat down at my stool.

She nodded. "Fine. Do 'MAMMAMIA.'"

"By Måneskin?"

"Yeah."

She grabbed the guitar, tuned it, and sat down in the chair behind it. I got the recording and she nodded when she was finished setting up the microphone. I listened to the instrumental a few times to learn the drums and had it within fifteen minutes.

And we began.

The first four sounds she made were moans. I almost stopped drumming.

"Uh, uh, uh, uh
Oh Mammamia-ma, ma-mammamia-uh,
I feel the heat uh-uh, I feel the beat of drums
Call the police, I'll do it, they've stolen all my fun
I'm breaking free but I'm stuck in a police car."

Her fingers were moving fast against the strings of the guitar, the glass on her finger a bit too big on her. She looked so hot, the mic against her lips, her somewhat raspy, extremely sexy voice singing into it.

"Oh mamma-mammamia
Spit your love on me
I'm on my knees and I can't wait to drink your rain
I'll keep the secret if you let me get a taste
Tell me your limit and we'll cross that line again
Oh, mamma-mammamia, ahahahah!"