No Tomorrow

“Blue? I’m getting tired. I think I should go.”

He raises his head and looks at me with a blank expression, as if he had no idea I was still there.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yes, I’m okay. I’m just tired. There’s so many words in my head, and they go up and down and all around, and I can’t rest until I’ve gotten them in order. Can’t you see that?”

Gently moving Acorn off my lap, I crawl over to Blue. “You don’t have to do it all tonight,” I say with a soft smile. “If you get some rest, your head will probably be clearer. Then you can sort the words and the notes better.”

His eyes dart back and forth between me and the scattered pieces of paper around him. “I don’t know….” He rakes a hand through his long, tangled hair. “I really should do it now.”

Carefully, I take his guitar from him and lay it off to the side. A flash of panic sparks in his eyes, and I lean in and kiss him, hoping to distract his mind.

“You really should do me now,” I whisper seductively, palming his cheek.

Sucking in a breath, he grabs the back of my neck and pulls me to him for a hungry, demanding kiss. His tongue sweeps over mine, and his breathing grows heavier as I stroke his cock through his jeans with my free hand.

“Take your coat off,” he commands as he quickly pulls his thick sweatshirt up over his head.

It worked. I flipped the switch.

Forcing myself to ignore the cold, I take off all my clothes and kneel in front of him, goosebumps pebbling my flesh. His eyes drink me in, and he cups my breasts in his hands, chafing his palms against my nipples that are already peaked from the assault of cold air.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Ladybug,” he whispers, burying his face in my cleavage and running his tongue along the curve of my breast. I wrap my arms around his head and hug him to me as he lavishes kisses and love bites across my chest and neck. “Lie down and tell me to fuck you.” His hoarse voice oozes sexual power, and makes my insides quiver.

Pulling the comforter aside, I crawl onto the mattress and lie on my back, bending one arm under my head and moving my other hand slowly down between my parted legs as he watches me, mesmerized by the private show, the song and the words rambling through his brain forgotten.

For now.

“I want you to fuck me,” I whisper.

Standing, his eyes stay riveted on my hand fingering myself as he kicks off his boots and slips out of the rest of his clothes.

“Lick your fingers,” he says, kneeling between my legs. His eyes flash royal blue-black as I raise my hand to my lips to lick the length of my index finger before sucking it into my mouth.

A sexy-as-hell grin curves his lips as he watches me, his cock extending from his body, and he grabs my ankles, raising my legs until my calves are pressed against his solid chest. My pulse races when he reaches for my waist and pulls my body against his, sinking his cock into me with targeted finesse. The sudden thrust makes me cry out, which only fuels him to drive harder and faster into me. He’s a wild man, fucking me deep and furious with my ankles on his shoulders.

A light sheen of sweat glistens his body, and his hair flails around his head like a thrashing metal head in concert. He’s lost again, only this time in the depths of my body rather than strings and pages and notes and words. He leans over me, bending my legs with him until my thighs are pressed against my breasts, and claims my mouth with his. Digging my nails into his back as he drills into me, I let myself spin out of control with him, not caring about the cold or my growling stomach or the wind howling outside. Nothing matters more to me than making him happy and giving him what he needs to ease his self-torture and bring him peace. I can be drug, lover, and best friend for him. I’m convinced I can be the peace he’s missing, just as he is mine.

He’s asleep within minutes after we collapse onto the mattress together, both of us exhausted, sweaty, and breathless. After gently pulling the blanket up over his shoulders, I carefully untangle my body from his and sit up, scanning the dim room for my clothes. Pieces of notepaper are everywhere, and I pick up the ones that are closest to me and arrange them in a neat stack in case he wants to look them over tomorrow. As I put the stack of paper off to the side, I can’t help but notice that the top sheet is filled with nothing but random scribbles. The words and musical notes I assumed he was writing don’t exist.