Macha Levay-Fitzgilbert (Bassist of Blonde Ivory)
"Macha, nice to see you again." The familiar French accent belonging to Marco forces me to turn around from the bar. I look him up and stare a little too long at the bulge visible in his leather pants.
"Well, don't you look spectacular, daddy?" I ask. He rolls his eyes and takes one of the shots I asked for from the bar. "Hey!" I scold.
He snorts and runs a hand through his crunchy, gelled hair. "Are you sure you should even be drinking this? I've heard recently that you're quite the alcoholic." I nod once he takes a slight sip from it. Before he can violate my alcohol anymore, I take a sip of it out of his hands. He raises an eyebrow at me.
"Damn... You crave a buzz that much? You really live like this..." I smack him in the shoulder.
"Shut up. If you keep degrading me, you're going to make me cum." He chuckles out a very French-sounding laugh. If there ever was a real life version of 'hun hun hun oui baguette' it would be his laugh.
"God, Marco." I smile and raises an eyebrow, "You really do sound so French. It's sickening. You've lived here since high school, why is it that you haven't lost your accent yet?" He shakes his head at my question. I know he hates it. He gets asked this question the most out of any question in the world.
"Well, by now it's become a force of habit." He speaks in a false, California boy accent, "I have to find some way to keep these ten-year-olds inclined to buy our album." I chuckle.
I look back at the bar and take the other shot. Once the burn ceases to exist, my eyes flicker to the dance floor. The DJ happens to be playing a song with an excellent beat to dance to. I turn back to Marco who is staring down at me with gleaming eyes.
"You wanna dance?" I ask. He nods and grabs my hand. He pushes his way into the dense crowd. When we're close enough to the speakers to feel the music vibrating in our muscles, he lets me go and turns towards me.
"If you don't go partially deaf in one ear by the time you turn twenty then I haven't done my job." He smiles. I shake my head at his words and pull him closer to my body by his neck.
"And if you don't fuck me hard by the end of the night, then I haven't done mine." He exhales dramatically.
"Are you sure it isn't a sex addiction you have instead of alcohol?" I shrug my shoulders. I grind my waist against his for a few seconds as I try to think of a rebuttal, but I come up short.
"Honestly, I'm not sure. That would be a plausible theory though, wouldn't it?" He nods slowly. I lean forward until our noses touch. He pauses all movement when I swipe my tongue over his bottom lip. "It would sure as hell explain how you get me this wet." I'm so close to kissing him before he inevitably pulls back as he usually does.
"Okay, I wasn't sure at first, but now I know..." He pulls his body out of my grip and stares me down as I continue to move to the beat coming from the speakers. "You're already drunk, aren't you?" I shake my head with a cold laugh.
"No, baby." I smile. He shakes his head and steps closer to my body. "Please, just say you want me. Say you're going to take me home at the end of the night. I don't know if I want to go home with random strangers anymore." He narrows his eyes at me. I bite my bottom lip and bat my eyelashes slowly, trying to appear seductive yet also innocent.
YOU ARE READING
Blonde Ivory
Teen Fiction**TRIGGER WARNING** Many triggering elements (including, self-harm, depression, amongst many other things) Four girls have made their dream come true: Be in a renowned band. However, it doesn't take them long to realize that being in the starlight i...
