Chapter 11
The room smells like sex.
The room smells like poetry.
I close my eyes and allow the moment to take over me. There's something vulgar yet beautiful about the aftermath of our... what the fuck did we just do? I don't think it has a name. We didn't particularly have sex. Technically, we didn't even touch each other. Then why do I feel as if every inch of my body has been caressed by his hands?
Brian's breathing comes back down. With my eyes still closed I sense him getting up and leaving the room. The next thing I know, he's placing paper tissues on my lap. It's time to get cleaned. I blindly do so and move the waistband back up.
As soon as I open my eyes, I spot him towering over me. He's looking at me, trying to focus on my face in the poorly lit room. I probably look paler than ever with nothing but the moonlight hitting my face. Plus, I feel like any trace of life has been drained from me by my orgasm. It was so fucking good.
There's a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he sits down on the floor next to me.
"You know when you are watching porn, and you are so into it that everything looks so hot and sexy, then you cum and, when you see the screen again, everything is gross and nasty?"
My laughter breaks the quiet atmosphere, because even his voice hadn't come out higher than a whisper. "Yeah," I agree but, immediately, I'm invaded by fear. "Is that how you feel now?"
Is my beautiful, sexy, vulgar, poetic act nothing but nasty and gross porn to him?
"No," he says with the small smile still on his lips. "I feel like I should, but I don't." His hand goes up and rests on my stomach. "I actually liked it. I liked it a lot."
My fingers find his, getting tangled more than intertwined. "Me too." My smile is genuine, and much bigger than his. "I had never done..." My brain rakes for a term to call what just happened, coming out empty. "Had never done that before."
"Oh, wow. Really?"
I nod my head, partly wondering why he's acting so surprised. As if he could read my mind, he offers an explanation right away.
"I'm just so used to thinking you have done pretty much everything sexwise. It's nice to know I can be your first at something."
There has always been an idea, but it isn't up until this moment that I realize just how powerful his grip on my heart is. He holds the power to pull so many strings in my heart - and a few other parts of my body - to make me dance like a marionette. I most certainly feel like dancing right now. His words hit me harder than any love confession I have ever received.
Taking advantage of his hand in mine, I bring his knuckles to my lips and kiss them, each knuckle at a time, tenderly thanking him for his words. He has a different idea, though. He extends his index finger out and places it in front of my lips. We have done this before. I have done this before. This is not the time to suck on his fingers, not when it's no longer a joke, not when I could very easily be sucking a different extremity right now. The rational part of my brain kicks in first and, with a reassuring smile on my face, I kiss the tip of his fingernail instead. He seems surprisingly pleased. He surely wasn't expecting that response, but is satisfied with the outcome.
The moon is showering his figure with silver light, embracing his aura and making him look almost angelic. The sweet smile on his lips being the final touch in the almost god-like scene. My fingers itch for some reason. It's an itch that I can only get rid of if I caress his face, that lovely face of his. I have to refrain myself from doing so. It could be just the afterglow of our orgasms, but I don't feel like moving, in any way, to disrupt such a perfect mood.
"So you had never done this before." His words come out more like a question than a statement. His speech is still low and slow, almost as if Brian has the same fear of breaking the beauty of the situation. "Truth or dare? Please, pick truth."
There is absolutely nothing I can do but comply with this request and allow him to shoot me one more question. I have long since given up on making him stop the stupid game, mainly because I have concluded that this is just his excuse to ask me to reveal stuff or do shit we normally wouldn't. I'm okay with that. I don't think I would have given him a lap dance if he hadn't dared me to. That's a lie. Of course, I would have.
"What is your magic number?"
"Excuse me?" Part of me is playing it dumb, but, for the most part, I believe my own brain is playing dumb on me so I don't fully understand what he's asking.
He reforms the question. "How many guys have you slept with? Or people. Wait. No. You said you have never been with a woman, right? So how many guys have you slept with?"
I have to laugh. He seems to have caught some of my verbal diarrhea. Out of all my signature traits, that's the one he picks to imitate. Our joined hands bounce as my stomach goes up and down with laughter. Nobody minds.
His eyes travel all over my face, which probably looks horrible now contorted with laughter. Still, he studies me intensely. The corner of his lips move all the way up to finally form an actual smile. That takes me out of my giggle fit. A sigh escapes my mouth without asking my permission. I'm not sure if he's ready to know the answer to that. He has already stated, more than once, just tonight, that he is fully aware of the vigorous sexual life I have. He has even been present as I take a guy back to my dressing room while on tour. Sometimes there is more than one guy. The reality of the number could be surprising, though. And I don't want his idea of me to change. He may never see me the same way again once it completely dawns on him just how big of a slut I am.
"No judgement." Now it's my turn to twist a statement into a question.
He shakes his head. Of course he won't judge me. He never has and I doubt he ever will. But I have to give him some kind of warning. Let him know that I am not particularly proud of what I'm about to say. I don't regret a thing, no ma'am, but it could easily be frowned upon.
Another sigh leaves my body, louder and heavier than the last one. "When the number went above a hundred, I decided it was pointless to even keep count. And that was many, many years ago."
There it is. My fears are confirmed with the change in his features. The angelical, almost majestic, creature bathed in moonlight is gone. Now, there's a shocked and scared mortal who is having issues comprehending the reality of my words.
"I know, I know. It's a lot. I just really, really love sex. Fuck, I love sex. A lot."
He knows that, I don't have to say it. For some reason, I feel like pointing it out as a way of an excuse, maybe. There is no change in his expression, though. His jaw still proves unable to be picked up from the floor. His eyes won't reduce in size any time soon, either.
"What's yours?"
Maybe I'm just trying to turn the tables and put him on the spot as well, but I know it will only make me look more like a slut as soon as he answers. If he even does, that is.
My words seem to unfreeze him because he shakes his head right after, unfortunately, his hand is extracted from mine as well. "Oh, bitch, nowhere near that."
He gets up and sits across from me, picking his phone up once again. I've lost his attention.
