Letting my head fall back, I reveled in the erotic delight. “Fuck, yes, Anna. Just like that…don’t stop.”
She moaned, and the vibrations along my skin nearly undid me. I started moving my hips, meeting her lips thrust for thrust. I didn’t know if she was going to let me finish, but I hoped so, and I repeated, “Don’t stop…” Let me come.
She moved against me harder, and I knew she wasn’t quitting. I could feel the buildup approaching, and I did nothing to stop the sensation. Fuck, I wanted this so bad. Almost like she could feel my rising desire, Anna squeezed my balls at the exact right moment to send me over the edge. “Oh fuck…yes…” I groaned as I came. Both her mouth and her hand turned soothing instead of urging, prolonging my orgasm. God, damn…
When she finally pulled away, leaving me spent, gasping and tingling with residual lapping waves of pleasure, her smile was devilish. “My turn, baby,” she stated, slipping off her skirt.
She started to pull down her underwear, but I reached up to stop her. “Nuh-uh. You requested that I rip your clothes off.” Grabbing the scant material at her hips, I pulled them down her lean legs. Seeing what I wanted made my cock start coming to life. I ripped her top off, followed by her bra, then, with a mighty shove, I knocked everything off my desk. After plopping her on top of it, I urged her to lie back, then I propped her legs over my shoulders, and dove in to taste just how much she wanted me.
She grabbed my head, holding me there while an erotic cry echoed around the room. “Oh God, Griffin…yes, yes, fuck yes, that feels so good!” My cock hardened with every moan coming from her, and I was ready for more by the time she was falling apart beneath me. I let her finish, because I was a firm believer in tit for tat, but the minute her orgasm spiked, I pulled my mouth away so I could thrust into her.
She gasped as I entered her. “Yes, I’m still…oh, fuck, yes…fuck me!”
Her orgasm lasted a fucking eternity, and when it finally ended, mine erupted again. I slumped over her, well and truly satisfied. She held my head to her chest, our bodies still connected. While our breaths returned to normal, I noticed the spilled beer near her head. Damn, and I could really use a drink right about now. I was thirsty as hell. Curious, I shouted out, “Alfred! I need another beer!”
His response was instant, and it came from right outside the open door. “Yes, sir.”
Anna laughed, then poked me in the ribs. Guessing what she wanted, I shouted, “Make that two, Alfred. The misses is parched too.”
“As you wish, sir,” was his calm reply.
I laughed as I resettled myself on Anna’s chest. I fucking loved having a butler. But having Alfred was nothing compared to making my wife happy. I just hoped I could keep her that way and prayed with everything inside me that I got a deal soon.
Once I had a song that was worthy of being a G. Hancock original, I needed to record a demo of it so I could start shopping myself around to record labels. Because I didn’t know where else to go, I visited my old recording studio, where the first D-Bags album was recorded. The fee to use the place for just an hour was fucking ridiculous, but I paid it and scheduled a time to come in. Money was no object when fame was on the line.
All the original guys were still working there when I showed up—what’s his name, and that guy. The dude mixing the sound was different though, since the studio had brought in some exclusive talent for our first album, but the guy on staff helped me figure out what to do, which I appreciated.
When it was my turn to go up, I recorded the song that Anna had turned her nose up at. I had to. It was awesome coated in awesome, and the best thing I’d come up with. I didn’t have any sort of beat though, so I just made my own noises—beatbox style. It totally worked with the song though. In fact, it was so cool, I decided I might use it on the final album.
Once I got some copies in my hands, I started mailing them to record labels. I didn’t even call to ask if they wanted them. I just found their address online and mailed them a copy. Then I sat back and waited for the offers to roll in.
Since I was feeling great about my options, I Express mailed Denny a copy to give him the first crack at representing me. With it, I sent a note that said, “I’m about to get a dozen offers for this shit, but if you want in on my millions, find me a deal that blows everything else out of the water. You do that, and I might pay you forty percent—because there is no way in hell I’m paying you fifty!”
He called me the minute he received my care package. “Um…Griffin…what in the world did you just send me?”
“Oh, hey, Denny. That’s my demo for my solo album. I’m sure it’s some sort of conflict of interest for you to represent me as well as the Douchebags, but I’m throwing you a bone. Who knows, you might want to drop them for me. Personally, I think I’ll do better. Or maybe you can keep representing them and I’ll take Abby.” I let out a low laugh, thinking of Denny’s wife waiting on me hand and foot. “Yeah…I like that idea.”
“Whatever thought you just had about my wife, clear it, before I fly down there and scrub it out of you.”
“Whoa, relax, dude. It was just a suggestion. You’ve been hanging around Matt too much. You’re all…uptight and shit.”
He sighed. “Things haven’t exactly be running smoothly lately. Not that you care, but you sort of left a mess behind when you took off.”
Chewing on my lip, I wondered if I wanted to know what he was talking about. Curiosity got the better of me. “Like what?”
“You don’t follow entertainment news at all, do you?”
I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. With people giving me shit about leaving the band, then all the rumors floating around about the TV show—rumors I didn’t want to deal with right now—I sort of avoided everything. It was strange for me, since before all this I’d Googled my name daily. “No.”
Denny sighed again. “Well, let’s just say, between Matt and the fans, finding a replacement bassist has been challenging. At this rate, there might not ever be another album.”
Surprise washed over me, followed very closely by an uncomfortable feeling that was akin to having a knife in my gut being twisted around in a circle. I shoved the sensation to the very back of my brain. Their problems weren’t mine, and I didn’t have time to dwell on them. Hardening my stomach, I told him, “Well, good. You’ll have more time to represent me then.”
He scoffed at my answer. “That’s all you have to say? Good? They’re floundering, and you don’t care? These guys have been your friends—your family—since day one, Griffin.”
Matt’s words pounded around my brain—You’re dead to me. “No. We’re not like that anymore, and I don’t have to give a shit now. Are you gonna represent me or not?”
His answer was quiet but firm. “No…Abby and I won’t represent you, Griffin. You’re on your own.”
“Fine,” I said, hanging up the phone. I preferred being on my own anyway.
That evening, Anna and I were in our bedroom getting ready for dinner; my parents were coming over with Chelsey and the girls. Anna was pulling up a pair of lacy tights, while I was still sitting on our bed, naked. How Anna could look at me without jumping me was impressive. I would have caved ages ago.
“So,” she said, giving me a coy look. “I don’t mean to badger you, but I heard another rumor about the show today…and this time it was from one of the cast members. Cole, I think? Rumor is he’s working on a movie right now…I even saw pictures.” She twisted her brows in confusion.
My muscles all clenched and my face felt on fire, like someone had just set a torch over me; I got this way whenever Anna brought up the show, when I was reminded of the monumental lie I was nearly drowning in, it was so deep around me. What would she believe? “Oh, yeah, that fucker left a few weeks ago. They killed his character off…that episode is going to blow people’s minds.” My aptitude at lying was blowing my mind, and sickening my stomach. But it was just a little longer, and then I could come clean. Once I was firmly on the path to success again, with no chance of failing, then I could tell her absolutely everything.