CHAPTER 8
CASSIE
One disadvantage of going on tour with a band and often living in close quarters is that I’ve heard a lot of people have a lot of sex. Tour buses allow for little privacy. Hotel room walls are often thin, and even after we were famous enough to play in venues that gave us our own backstage dressing rooms, it wasn’t unusual to walk in and find mine occupied by one of the lads and a fan they’d picked up waiting outside the stage door. All this is to say that I know noise is possible during sex, even though for a loud and forthright man, Stephan was mostly mute during our frissons, aside from grunts and hissed curses in the final seconds. I didn’t make much noise because I didn’t feel the need.IfI came, it was thanks to my own busy fingers, and it always felt strange to shout out about that. But now I know why I’ve never made noise before; because nobody has made me need to moan and groan and gasp and sigh and swear to the God who considers this a sin – at least according to my parents.
Yet there is no way I can be silent as Pia pushes her tongue through the sheer fabric of my underwear and finds my clit. The fine mesh of my knickers only adds to the sensation of her tongue brushing over me again and again. Everything feels rough and wet and hot, and I don’t know who is responsible for the most fluid: me or her. But I don’t care. I truly don’t, because there is nothing in Pia’s current behaviour that tells me she is displeased with my arousal, my body, the noises I’m making or the way I’m bucking my hips up into her mouth as her spread fingers try to hold me in place.
I’m desperate for her to take my underwear off so I can feel her tongue without this thin barrier between us.
But I don’t want her to stop. I think I would die if she stopped.
So I grip the back of her head, and I push up against her busy, hungry mouth. And I make all the noise I want to.
“Oh, God, please don’t stop,” I beg. “Please, Pia, stay there. Right there.”
She moans into the centre of me, and then she sucks my clit into her mouth.
“Oh, my…” I moan.
Her tongue flicks over the tip of it, again and again and again, until I’m hurtling towards my second orgasm of the evening. And this one feels just as shocking as the last one.
“Pia,” I cry. And it does sound like a cry, and in that noise and in what she’s doing to my body–fingernails digging into my hips, teeth grazing my clit–I finally understand how closely related pain and pleasure are and how fucking beautiful that is.
“Oh, God, yes!” I exclaim, and then I’m crashing. Crashing, falling, shaking and, I swear, cracking apart straight down the middle from my pussy up to my ribcage, which reveals my heart that is beating as loudly and quickly as a drum solo.
Her mouth stays on me as I shiver through a seemingly endless wave of deliciousness. Only when I stop gasping does she lift her mouth off me. But not for long. Her lips leave a line of kisses up to my knee, and then she’s looking at me, brushing her hair off her face. I see then that her lips are slick with me, myarousal, and they’re red too. Swollen from everything she just did to me. She has never looked more beautiful. I know I will remember her looking like this for a very long time.
“How are you doing, pretty girl?” she asks with all the smugness she deserves.
“How did you … My God, that was good.” I cover my face with my hands as I start to laugh. I start and I don’t stop. My giggles become hysterical, and I only stop when I feel Pia’s hands slide into the thin waistband of my, frankly soaking, underwear and start to pull them down my legs.
“Jesus, Pia,” I say, and I reach down to stop her. I try to speak again, but I’m still laughing. “I should … We should…Don’t you want me to touch you?”
She pauses, questioning me with a thin stare. “Do you want to touch me?”
“Yes,” I say immediately and breathlessly. The idea terrifies me, but not as much as the possibility that tonight could endwithoutme touching her.
She holds my eye contact with great intent until it’s interrupted by her pulling her shirt over her head. It shouldn’t be a surprise that she’s braless–I know what I saw earlier–but I’m stunned, nonetheless. Her boobs are small but perky, and her nipples are darker than mine. A delicious shade of reddy-brown that I immediately want to taste, so that’s exactly what I do. I push up and open my mouth for her nipple.
“Oh, fuck,” she mutters as my teeth graze over the very tip of her nipple. Her hands come to my face and keep me there. Not that I had any plans to leave. In fact, I never want to stop. She tastes like salt and cinnamon and something I suspect is just pure Pia. And I’m starved for it. It comes as a dizzying sort of surprise when I realise she has another breast and I get to do this all over again. So I do, diving onto her other boob while my hand massages the skin my mouth has just left wet.
Our bodies melt together as she climbs on top of me. Her arms wrap around my body, and I feel her nails start to rake down my back, clawing at my skin there as she moans and writhes in my lap.
I’ve spent many long hours thinking about what it would be like to sleep with a woman. On my more hopeful days, it’s full of the things that sex with men isn’t. It’s soft and slow and sweet and considerate. On my more apprehensive, self-doubting days, it’snerve-wracking and uncertain and awkward and confusing. None of my fantasies, even the ones where my fingers end up between my legs, have been like this. Hot. Hard. Rough. Passionate. Overwhelming. Consuming. Painful.
Yes, painful because Pia is now scratching her nails across my back in earnest and her jeans are rubbing me roughly through my thin underwear, and it’s the most perfect pain ever. I hope the red marks she leaves on my back last forever.
“Fan!” Pia yelps as I bite her nipple, apparently a little too hard. I don’t know any Swedish, but I think I know what that word means.
“Sorry, did that hurt?” I say.
“Yes.” She pouts at me as she rubs her left nipple. “But I didn’t hate it.”
“You like pain too?” I ask. Maybe we do have something in common.
Pia doesn’t reply. Instead, she slides her hands between us and inside my underwear. I sigh when her fingers touch my clit.
“Take off your jeans,” I say, knowing if I don’t ask now, I’ll simply get swept up again in her touching me, and that’s not how I want this to go.