Callie writhed on the bed, arching her hips to bring herself ever closer to the source of her satisfaction. Bryan took her love button between his lips and sucked on it gently while he swirled it with his tongue. Periodically, he gave long, broad licks along her moist petals. Callie was beyond comprehending anything but intense pleasure. Under his sensual ministrations Callie pitched into an orgasm so intense she almost lost consciousness. When he felt the final tremors of her orgasm leave her body, Bryan hastily disrobed and joined her on the bed, immediately mounting her and thrusting his erection to the hilt into her tight wetness. Callie gasped at the sensation of being filled and instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist.
The feel of her silky thighs and stiletto-clad feet around his hips was almost too much. It was all Bryan could do not to come that very instant. He clenched his teeth and partially withdrew to dull the sensation. Then he began a slow steady grind, pressing his body urgently against hers. He slid his fingers down between their sweaty bodies and stroked her pleasure center. Her thighs clenched even tighter around his hips as her body convulsed in yet another orgasm.
Bryan was so close to the edge he could feel the feathery sensations along his spine. He wanted to prolong their lovemaking for as long as possible, to store up this pleasure for the long drought ahead. Deep in his primitive center, he wanted to leave his mark on Callie so that she could never imagine being with anyone but him. When Callie’s second orgasm coursed through her body, he felt her fingernails bite into his flanks, sending his over-sensitized nerve endings into overdrive and pitching him uncontrollably into his own release. He rasped her name as his hips slammed inexorably into hers and the unbearable pleasure coursed through his body.
* * *
Callie moved sensuously under Bryan, basking in the feel of his weight pressing her into the bed. His hair hung down on either side of her head, enclosing them in silken intimacy. She stroked her hands over his sweat-slicked back. With sudden clarity she understood the meaning behind the lyrics to Stephanie Mills’ “I Feel Good.” Her entire body had been loved and she felt totally complete, possibly for the first time in her life.
With a groan Brian finally moved his body off hers. She reached over and stroked his hair away from his face. “You know, we never got around to eating any of those truffles, and I could use some more champagne.”
Bryan wrapped his arms around her, pulling her up to rest on top of him. He gave her a lascivious grin. “Actually,” he murmured as he stroked his hands over her backside, “I was thinking about calling room service to order some crunchy peanut butter.”
* * *
Morning came all too soon for Callie and Bryan. They had been insatiable, reaching for each other again and again in the night, making love beyond the point of exhaustion, beyond even knowing whether their bodies were capable of further pleasure. It seemed that if they could just maintain the physical connection, they would never have to be parted. Folly it was, since they both had grueling flights before them the next day, but they couldn’t seem to stop.
Despite his rather checkered romantic history Bryan had never felt so powerfully sexual in his life. He had had Callie so many times the previous evening that he had lost count, yet his first thought upon waking was that he wanted her again. It was insane to continue to make love to a woman to the point that coming was actually painful. He winced as he moved gingerly on the bed, his body sore and tender. Poor Callie was probably in even worse shape. But as she had been a willing participant, and oftentimes instigator of their epic lovemaking session, he had to assume their craving was mutual.
Falling in love scared the hell out of him, but there was no way he could deny feelings this intense. Callie was his mate for all time. It was as simple as that. She had to know it by now, but he suspected that unless he said something, she would continue to refute the overriding emotion that lay between them.
Bryan pulled Callie closer, nuzzling her neck. “I can’t get enough of you. I think I’m going to start calling you ‘Cocaine Callie.’ You’re worse than any drug. The more I have, the more I want.” He took a deep breath. It was now or never. “I think you know this already, but it’s time I tell you anyway. Callie, I love you, and when this tour is over it’s going to be all about us, okay?”
Callie shifted in Bryan’s arms, the slight movement engendering a groan as she felt the impact of previous evening’s activities. Despite her physical discomfort she didn’t regret one moment. She looked into his turbulent blue eyes. The love she saw there was evident, and she had lost the will to deny her own feelings some time ago. “Bryan, I love you too, and it’s already all about us,” she whispered.
Bryan grinned, and then with a whoop of joy, he began to tickle Callie until she laughed helplessly. The upcoming months without her would be unbearable, but then she would be with him for the rest of their lives.
Callie stretched and yawned, rubbing wearily at her bleary eyes. It was an early Thursday morning, and she was waiting for the truck that delivered their periodicals. Thursday mornings were always particularly wearing because the truck delivered at seven o’clock, and they had to have the magazines merchandised by the time the store opened at nine o’clock. The big chain stores got the prime delivery times. As an independent retailer, she had to take the delivery schedule that was left. Today she was barely awake. Over the months Bryan had been on tour they’d gotten in the habit of talking on the telephone until the wee hours of the morning. The band had played in Miami the previous evening, and Bryan had called her shortly afterward. He was always wired after a performance but for the first time their conversation had slipped into the realm of phone sex. They had been particularly long-winded and hadn’t said their good-byes until dawn began lightening the eastern sky. Consequently, Callie had gotten only a couple of hours of sleep. The lengthy separation was agony, and though they only had about six weeks to go, it seemed a lifetime. Callie couldn’t shake her gloom and depression. Since Books and So Forth had had its best fourth quarter ever, she should’ve been overjoyed. Instead, she’d merely recorded the data on the spreadsheet. Even the development of a new five-year plan failed to cheer her. Nothing seemed worthwhile if Bryan wasn’t there to share it with her.
They’d only had two opportunities to see each other in the past few months, Bryan had sent for her and her sisters to join the band in Atlanta when Storm Crow played there. Cynthia and Addie were included as a special treat, even though their presence meant that he and Callie wouldn’t be able to make love. She’d also joined him in Jacksonville, Florida, over a long weekend made possible when an extra show was added to the bill. That weekend had been wonderful, punctuated with long walks along the St. Johns River, and midnight suppers in his suite. Other than that, they’d had to make do with lengthy telephone conversations. Callie was thoroughly frustrated, both emotionally and physically.
She peered out the back window as she heard the truck pull up. The driver greeted her perfunctorily and then began unloading boxes of periodicals. Callie checked each crate before signing the bill of lading, and the young man was on his way, the whole transaction having taken less than thirty minutes. She groaned; ten boxes of magazines to put out this morning, God, she hated the first of the month! Callie looked up as Tonya joined her, carrying a mug of coffee in each hand. They sipped the steaming beverages for a few moments before beginning to place the stock. Each set of publications was bundled together with plastic wire tape that usually just zipped apart, but today had to be cut with a box cutter, adding long minutes to an already annoying task. They worked through the magazines in companionable silence until they got to the tabloids. Callie had always hated them, seeing them as disseminators of lies and human misery. Of course, they were quite popular, and the one time she’d tried to discontinue selling them, she’d seen a noticeable drop in revenue. She picked up the last bundle, sighing with relief at the prospect of finally finishing this chore.
Tonya was idly contemplating a plot twist for her book when suddenly she heard a piercing screech. She turned to see Callie dropping the bundle of magazines as if it were a live snake. Tonya rushed to her side, looking at her uncomprehendingly as Callie continued to scream and point at the magazines. Tonya looked more closely and saw a picture of Callie and Bryan together on the cover of The Naked Truth, a particularly repulsive tabloid. The heading over the picture screamed “Best Lay I’ve Ever Had” in bright fuchsia 48-point type. Callie finally stopped screaming, but she still stared at the magazine cover in a state of shock. Realizing that this crisis was going to take a while to resolve, Tonya hastily scribbled a sign to indicate the store was closed for inventory and taped it to the door. She returned to Callie’s side and gently eased her onto the bench. Then she brought her a bottle of water from the break room. Callie just held the bottle, her eyes still transfixed on the appalling headline.
“Okay, Callie, this is probably not as bad as it looks,” Tonya soothed, disturbed by the chaotic emotion she saw in her friend’s eyes. “I mean, those tabloids have titles like that all the time, just to get folks to buy them. Usually there’s nothing to the story.”
Callie reeled in greater shock; she’d been so flummoxed by the photograph that she hadn’t considered the possibility that the story could be even worse. She pulled the top copy of the magazine out of its bundle and hastily turned to the center spread, her eyes widening in ever-greater horror as she read the story. Apparently it was an “exclusive” given to the magazine by an “insider,” identified only as “an intimate friend of Bryan’s.” According to the “insider,” Callie was a call girl who used the bookstore as a cover for her nocturnal trade. As per the “insider,” Bryan had been forced to resort to prostitutes because, “He likes rough sex, and no decent woman would have him.” The “insider” went on to say, “He probably took up with a black girl because everyone knows they’re really wild like animals and will do anything in bed.”
Tonya, who was reading the magazine over her friend’s shoulder, shook her head in dismay. “Damn, girl, you told me about you and Bryan in the Jacuzzi, but you didn’t mention y’all were bare-assed naked.” She gestured towards a photograph of Callie and Bryan in an outdoor hot tub. The grainy texture of the image was a dead giveaway that it had been taken with a telephoto lens.
Callie turned on Tonya with a shriek. “That’s not us in that picture! I mean, yes, that’s us, but we had our swimsuits on the whole time. Look at that picture! It’s obviously been Photoshopped!” She pounded the magazine. “Those aren’t my breasts, those are L.A. breasts! My breasts move!” She shook her shoulders to illustrate her point, then screamed in anguish as she crumpled the magazine. “I can’t believe these people. I knew they were evil, but this is incredible!”
In addition to the damning hot tub photograph, there were three others, including one that Callie found particularly poignant. The picture had been taken at the pre-tribute party, and showed Bryan standing behind her, his arms encircling her waist while he placed a kiss on the side of her neck. The party had been winding down, and they’d thought all the paparazzi had left, but obviously they had been mistaken. Apparently they were so absorbed in one another, they hadn’t even heard the shutter go off. Her face glowed as if illuminated from within, and he looked so achingly tender in that moment that she wanted to weep. Their feelings were evident for all to see. Under normal circumstances, Callie would have treasured it as evidence of Bryan’s regard for her. But accompanying the garbage in the article as it did, it only sickened her. It cheapened their love, turning something sweet and pure into something tawdry.
When her cell phone began to ring, Callie grabbed it from where she wore it clipped to her belt and stared at it as if she had no idea what it was. She couldn’t possibly talk to Bryan right now. What on earth had she been thinking? A relationship with a rock star was out of the question. People would constantly be lying about who and what she was. What would her folks think? And what about Cynthia and Addie? She was their big sister and had always tried to set a good example for them. Now the whole world thought she was a prostitute. Her poor sisters would be made fun of at school. Her family had always been so proud of her; now they would all be so ashamed.
All the hopes and dreams she’d so carefully laid out in her five-year plan would come to naught. Who would finance any of her plans now? Nobody would be willing to invest in any of her projects. For the first time in her life Callie knew overwhelming despair. Suddenly she burst into tears and threw the telephone. It hit the wall with a muted thud, and skittered across the floor. As Tonya looked on in astonishment, Callie ran up the stairs.
Tonya moved slowly over to the cell phone where it lay on the floor, still ringing. Thank God for titanium plating, she mused to herself as she picked it up, hearing, as she expected, a distraught Bryan on the other end. When he realized that Tonya had answered the telephone, he inquired as to Callie’s whereabouts. Tonya paused, looking reflectively up at the ceiling until she heard the unmistakable sound of the shower running in Callie’s bathroom. Callie tended to take long showers when she was upset; it seemed to soothe her.
“I think she’s taking a little water therapy at the moment,” Tonya replied. She didn’t quite know what to make of the situation yet, but she suspected that it was going to be much worse than she had initially thought.