Boy in a Band (A Morgan Mallory story) (27 page)

             
“So, you own the joint or what? She didn’t even card us.”

             
“That’s why I come here.”

              Betty brought the pitcher with two frosted glasses. Perfectly frosted, I could tell they’d been in the freezer. Mathew poured us both a beer, down the side of the glass, no foam. I flashed to Kevin’s party, which seemed so long ago.

             
“You two eating?” Betty asked.

             
“Yeah. Burger?” he questioned.

             
“I could do a burger.”

             
“You got it,” she said, setting down silverware.

             
We drank beer and talked while we waited for the food. Mathew caressed my leg and kissed me frequently. Gayle’s concerns seemed ridiculous now. Betty brought the burgers, with a smile that gave me an indication of her thoughts, set them on the table. He affected women, all ages.

“I forgot how big they were
,” I said, seeing that it almost filled the plate.

             
I could only eat half. Once we finished the pitcher, I could tell Mathew wanted to get going.

             
“Let’s go,” he said, throwing money on the table.

             
“Do you want to take this?” I asked.

             
“Not really,” he said.

“Take it
. Jack might be hungry.”

             
Betty boxed it and smiled again at Mathew.

             
“Good now?” he asked.

             
He reached for my hand, pulling me from the booth. The smell of burgers grilling filled the parking lot, thick smoke rising into the air. It made me remember the night my mom broke the light over the pool table with her stick. We were there with the O’Conner’s and my mom had challenged Brad, and she was actually winning. When she called the pocket for the eight ball, we all watched. She lined it up perfectly and sunk it. She was so excited, she jumped up, lifting her cue straight up, shattering the light. Glass fell all over the table.
Oops. Memories were so weird.

Chapter 31

“What next
?” I asked as I got in the car.

“Jack’s
. I stay there pretty often.”

             
Jack was in the band and lived in a house off Camden Avenue with his girlfriend. Older than us, he was the one I’d teased Mathew about crawling into bed with. When we got to the house, there was a small party going on.

“Hey
, Morgan,” Jack said when we walked in.

             
I hadn’t seen Jack since the crazy Thanksgiving. He came over and gave me a hug. Jack was a tad taller than me, Italian, olive skin, long brown hair that was layered in front, dark brown eyes, handsome.

             
“Good to see you,” he said.

             
I wondered if Mathew knew about the party, because if he did, he hadn’t mentioned it.

             
“Drink? Beer, wine, hard stuff?” he offered.

             
I could smell pot, but no one was currently smoking.

             
“Come on,” Mathew motioned, and I followed him into the kitchen.

             
“I’ll stick with beer,” I said.

             
He grabbed two beers from the fridge and handed me one. He poured himself a shot of Jack Daniels from the bottle that was sitting on the counter, throwing it back.

             
“Yes?” he asked, holding the shot glass towards me.

He poured me one before I answered, handing it to me
. I threw it back. We partied for a while. I talked to Jack’s girlfriend, Emily; not exactly what I was hoping for. I couldn’t drink any more; I was loaded. I watched Mathew have a couple more shots and could tell he was feeling no pain. A joint got passed around, and I declined. A pretty blonde kept flirting with Mathew.

“Oh
, Matt,” I would hear her say and then laugh.

I wondered when he had started letting people call him Matt. It had always been Mathew. I noticed she was friendly with her touch as well. They were far enough away that I couldn’t hear their conversation. People were chatting and laughing around me, and all I could think of was bed, and preferable with Mathew. I went to where he was talking and pulled him off to one side.

             
“Mathew, where are we sleeping?” I asked, hoping he was as ready as I was to be alone together.

             
“Downstairs,” he said. “I’ll show you.”

             
I followed him down the stairs. He opened a door to a small room that was pretty stark. It had a queen-size bed and a dresser with an oval mirror above it. There were several guitars leaning against the wall: acoustic and electric. The bed was made, with what I hoped were clean sheets.

“This work?”

              “This works,” I said, putting my arms around his neck and kissing him.

             
“You don’t want to party anymore?”

             
“I’m done partying. I want to be with you.”

             
He gave me a boyish grin, not the one I expected, not the one that made me hot with desire.

“Ok
ay, I’ll go say goodnight,” he said.

I used the bathroom, brushing my hair and teeth, washing my face
. Mathew wasn’t back when I finished. I lay down on the bed in my clothes, listening to the party continue upstairs. I started watching the clock: fifteen, twenty minutes, an hour. I picked up his guitar and strummed it; this wasn’t cool. I heard the blonde laugh. I thought about leaving, wanting him to find me gone, and realized I was stuck. Tired of waiting, I looked for something to throw on as a nightgown. I found one of Mathew’s T-shirts in the dresser. I undressed and put it on, it smelled like him. I felt weird getting into this strange bed alone. I closed my eyes, thinking he would be there any minute. The longer I lay there, the madder I got.

Was that why he
’d seemed anxious, anxious to party?
I couldn’t stop analyzing. I tossed and turned trying to go to sleep to no avail. When he finally crawled into bed, I glanced at the alarm clock. Three a.m. My blood boiled.

             
“Morgan?” he whispered.

             
Wide-awake, I lay still, my back to him. He pressed into me, he was naked and warm.

             
“Morgan, it’s me.”

             
He shook my shoulders gently. When I still didn’t respond he pulled me over onto my back.

             
“Well, I would hope,” I answered, angrily.

             
I could tell he was higher than when I left him. He smelled of liquor and pot.

“You’re still dressed
,” he said, running his hand down my side feeling the T-shirt.

             
He pulled at me to face him.

             
“Don’t be mad,” he said, kissing me tenderly on my nose and lips.

             
“I’m not. I’m asleep,” I said pulling my face away.

             
He rubbed my back a minute through the T-shirt and then moved his hand underneath, skin to skin. His fingers fluttered lightly across my back.

             
“Go to sleep,” I said.

             
I wanted to punish him. He kept feeling me, my back, my shoulders, down to my panty band and then up. Patiently persistent, he wasn’t giving up, and my determination to resist was fading. I wanted his hands on me, could feel the sensation between my thighs, the yearning. He leaned in to kiss me again and I let him. He gave me quick soft little kisses around my lips and I found my heart beating faster as he teased. When I responded he caressed my lips gently with his tongue, then sucked lightly on my lower lip. I pushed my tongue into his mouth coaxing, wanting more.

             
His hands roamed from my back to my breasts and as he pressed into me I could feel his hardness. I reached for his cock and pressed it against my lacy panties. He let out a vulnerable moan and my body quivered. He kissed me more passionately as his hand moved lower underneath my panties to my clitoris, and there he lingered. When I couldn’t stand it any longer I took his fingers and pushed them inside me.

              With his free hand he pulled the T-shirt up, and I frantically helped him take it off. He slid knowingly down my body and took my panties in his teeth and leisurely pulled them down my legs and off. He got on his knees and stared down at my naked body. The moon illuminated the room just enough that I could see the raw desire in his face. I spread my legs and touched myself, letting him watch.

“Mathew
,” I whispered.

He urgently pulled my hips to him and thrust into me.
We made love like hungry animals, needing to be with each other. It was fast and furious, our ragged gasps mixed in chorus, and when he let out a guttural moan, it shattered what reserve I had. My body trembled in orgasm.

“Oh
, Mathew,” I said, falling into him.

             
Letting him wrap himself around me, I was finally able to sleep. I woke up with a small hangover: the Jack Daniels. Mathew was asleep next to me. I reached out and ran my fingers through his hair. He stirred. I wanted him again, wanted more of last night, wanted the reassurance we were back. I waited for him to wake, but he didn’t. I started kissing his neck, then down his chest. He lazily rolled onto his back, his eyes still closed. I wasn’t sure if he was waking or not. I licked lower on his chest, then lower.

“Hmm
,” he moaned, “keep going.”

             
I moved down his body kissing, licking. When I got down to his cock he was hard and I tantalized him with my tongue. He was awake now. I pushed his cock through my moist lips into my mouth, and then ran my tongue around it. His hands moved down to my shoulders and neck and he gently stroked them.

“That feels so good
,” he whispered.

His words
, I had to resist the urge to climax. I sucked, moving him in and out of my mouth, using my tongue to further his pleasure.

“Come here,” he said.

I stopped and moved up his body, my breasts rubbing against him. He pulled my face to his, pressing his lips to mine, kissing me as I looked into his eyes. He put his hands on my hips pulling me higher so he could enter me. I whimpered with desire as he lowered me onto him, filling me. This time we took our time, moving rhythmically with each other, savoring it. It was a slow intense climb of pleasure. If I tried to move it faster, he slowed me down. When he finally took us both there, it felt like an electrical shock shooting through my body. Afterwards, I lingered on top of him, tracing my finger along his lips and down around his jaw.

“Whenever I’m with you
, I’m amazed at what you make me feel,” I said.

             
“When you got the best, kid…” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

             
“The best?” I questioned teasingly.

             
“Had better?”

             
He flipped me on my back, tickling me. I squealed and tried to pull away from him.

             
“Have you?” he asked holding me still ticking.

             
“Stop,” I laughed.

             
He was grinning and tickling and finally I was able to pull away.

             
“Not yet, but I’m still looking,” I teased.

I curled into the nook of his chest and underarm, our scent still lingering on him.

“How come you didn’t come to bed till three?”

             
“I shouldn’t have gone to say goodnight. I got talking again, and time slipped away.”

             
I ran my finger around his nipple.

             
“The blonde giving you so much attention, you forgot what you had waiting for you downstairs?”

             
“Not a chance,” he said, rubbing his hand down my arm.

             
“Sure?”

             
“Sure.”

             
He moved slightly and pinned my hair under his shoulder and I pulled at it to get it free and adjusted my head.

             
“Who is she? She obviously has the hots for you.”

             
“She chases the band, she’s a groupie,” he said.

“You aren’t attracted to her?”

              “How’s Gayle doing?” he asked, switching the topic.

             
I let him; I probably didn’t want to know.

             
“Every day she gets better. It will be a long haul.”

“I’m sure
. She approve of you seeing me?” he asked.

I looked up into his face.

“No. She warned me.”

“Warned you
? About what?” he asked.

             
“Your bad boy ways,” I said, kissing him. “She’s worried. She doesn’t have a lot of faith in you. Can you blame her?”

             
I flashed back to her in his living room the morning after the three of us ventured down the path of a threesome. It seemed like such a long time ago, such a different place than we were now. I remembered those desperate feelings of wanting Mathew, ones that made me feel like I might implode. And Gayle, that she’d agreed to a threesome at all, with Mathew, go figure.

             
“She hates me,” he said.

             
“No, she doesn’t; she’s protective of me. I told her I’m a big girl.”

             
“Come here, big girl,” he said in a husky voice.

We showered together before he took me back to Gayle’s
. I felt so content, so free. It felt so natural to be with him. Gayle was right: it wasn’t the same, it was better.