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Rush

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I flick my gaze up to his. “Well, go on, Daddy. Teach me some manners.”

“Looks like I need to,” he growls. When he goes to take his guitar off, I plant a kiss on his cheek and dart out of the room, laughing.

Just in time, too. As I walk demurely down the corridor, I pass the rest of the band coming back from lunch.

I have a few free hours, and it’s a good thing, too, as I could use a nap. I pull off my clothes and slip on an oversized T-shirt before crawling into bed. I put my headphones in and scroll through music on my phone.

What was that David Bowie riff Rush was playing when he saw me? It was energetic and sexy, exactly how he makes me feel. Is that how I make him feel, too? I could text him and ask him the song’s name, but I’m trying not to get used to the idea of Rush always being there when I need him.

I listen to Bowie track after Bowie track, but it’s not on any of the This Is David Bowie playlists or Best Of Albums in my music app. I end up just playing his albums, one after the other, skipping through the songs in search of that riff, all the way from his first album in 1967, right up to the 1980s.

Then I hear it, that distinctive, dirty guitar riff. I smile in the dark with my eyes closed as I listen, picturing Rush playing it, his clever, strong hands moving over the guitar. Damn that’s a good mental image. It’s a delicious song, too. My hand slips down my belly and into my underwear. Those brief moments with Rush a few minutes ago were enough to get me going, and as I circle my clit, I find I’m already wet. My ears are filled with the music, and my head is filled with Rush. My finger slides down my clit, and then back up again, circling slowly. I’m so sensitized that I can feel my orgasm starting to rise up just a minute into the track.

I gasp and clench my hands on the sheets. I want to make this last. I wish Rush was here. I wish at least he knew what I was doing. Winding him up a bit more sounds pretty fun right now.

I open my eyes and look at my phone, wondering if I dare. What if his phone is out on a table right now, with the band clustered around it? Probably not, though. He always keeps his phone in his back pocket.

What the hell.

I pick up my phone and text him: I’m touching myself and listening to Cat People.

It’s less than a minute before I receive his reply. You dirty little bitch. Daddy wants to lick you so bad.

I grin like an idiot and my toes curl. I love it when he calls himself that.

My phone buzzes again. Send me a picture.

Of me touching myself? No way in hell am I giving any man that sort of power over me. Instead, I snap a pic of me sucking on my wet finger. It’s cropped close and all the photo shows is my lips and chin. I’m unrecognizable to everyone but him.

I text it to him without a caption. If it wasn’t what Rush was hoping for, he doesn’t show it in his reply: Jesus fucking Christ. I love it when you suck. I wish I was with you. I’m surrounded by four sweaty men.

The band and the sound technician, I presume. I wish you were here too, Daddy.

He replies with an emoji of a skull.

Dead.

I laugh softly and go back to what I was doing, rubbing circles on my clit and imagining Rush holding my hair tightly as he pounds me with that gorgeous, thick cock of his. I come hearing the growl of Bowie’s voice, imagining it’s Rush growling in my ear.

I stretch my arms luxuriously over my head, and roll over, feeling sleepy at last.

An hour later, my phone buzzes, rousing me from my nap. Rush has sent me two videos. They’ve been taken on a phone in the studio by one of his bandmates, I’m guessing. In the first one, Rush is playing the guitar riff from “Cat People,” and in the next, he’s laying down the vocal track. His voice is like black velvet and I take a shuddering breath listening to him.

There’s a message with the video. I always loved this song. Now it makes me think of you. Should we play it at Glastonbury?

Glastonbury is in two weeks, and I picture him up on stage in front of the screaming crowd, playing with the band. It’s extremely uncool to fangirl over someone you’re sleeping with.

I try to focus and watch the videos again. The deep bass of his voice rises up into the chorus. The track is fantastic and I can imagine all of Saint Cyprian belting the hell out of this track to a massive audience. It will sound stunning.


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