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Vice and Victor
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“Oh, yes, that would explain it,” Vice murmured, his lips somewhere near her ear. His breath on her skin had her heart racing. If he began to kiss her, she suspected she would channel Megan and just drop her underwear and go with it. “Emily’s grandmother was an opera singer,” Owen said, sternly. He disapproved entirely of the situation and stood stiffly on the edge of the conversation; not quite included, but also not quite excluded. His eyes told her he wanted her to excuse herself so they could move on and that words between them would follow. “She used to babysit Emma on the afternoons her mum couldn’t be home in time after school, and taught Emma to sing.” There was a faint frown tensing his eyebrows. “How lovely,” Vice leaned against the back of the couch. Emily could smell his aftershave, and it was like a drug. Her eyes wanted to roll back into her head. She could imagine the conversation she would be having with Megan later, with their normal roles reversed. “A photo,” she
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“I am not entirely sure about this outfit,” Emily tugged at the bodice of her top, though it was a losing battle. The amount of fabric involved meant that tugging in one direction, revealed more skin in the other. “Uh-ah, no touching,” Peter the stylist batted her hands away. “No yanking, no tugging, no touching.” He tossed his dead straight, long bleached and perfectly toned white-blonde locks over his shoulder. She suspected it was a lace-weave wig expertly applied, but no amount of discreet scrutiny revealed his hair secrets to her less-than-expert eyes. If it wasn’t a wig, she thought, the man had the best head of hair that she had ever seen. “No bouncing, no jumping and no breathing,” she repeated by rote his instructions as he had dressed and glued her into her clothing. She did not know the secrets of his double-sided tape, but she suspected that she would not have to wax those areas of her body anytime in the near future once the clothing was removed. “And no reaching above
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“I have missed you too, Owen,” she reached up and tucked his hair back behind his ear. “Your hair is getting so long. You all look so different after just a few weeks apart. Except for James. James is exactly the same.” “So, what was it like, hanging out with Vice and Victor?” He asked and there was a hint of jealousy in his voice. There was the core of the problem, she thought. He knew that Vice and Victor made her weak and the knees, and it made him jealous. They were still at the point where he was free to do whatever and whoever he wanted, but he wanted her frozen in time, waiting for him if and when he was done with his freedom and ready for a relationship. She met his eyes. It was not the question he had wanted to ask, she thought, but she wasn’t going to give him the answer so easily. She hadn’t, after all, after that one question about Cordelia, ever asked if he took anyone else to bed. “Great. They are just… so sweet, really. I know they seem like total partiers, but it is
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In the morning, as she stepped out into the kitchen, Seb was at the coffee machine. “Not you too,” he shook his head in stern disapproval as he pushed a pod into the opening and waited for the machine to work. Owen met her eyes across the kitchen bench and raised his eyebrows. “Seb has a strong opinion about morning exercise,” he explained. He was dressed for a run but had apparently paused to have a flick through the daily newspaper on his way as it was open on the bench in front of him. “I have a strong opinion about all exercise,” Seb corrected, turning and resting his hips against the kitchen bench, cupping his coffee in both hands and blowing on it to cool it. “Other than the horizontal sort.” “If you do it in the morning,” she explained, stooping to adjust a shoe. “It is over and done with for the day.” “It depends entirely on what you mean by ‘it’,” Seb winked lasciviously. “I have no objections to certain physical activities in the morning, afternoon, or evening.” “You we
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She hesitated and then put her hand in his and let him draw her up the stairs to where the blanket was arranged. He sat, releasing the towel, so it only just covered him. She was going to have to do the same, she realised. Even if she tied the towel sarong like, it would work its way free quickly. They had skinny dipped together, had amazing sex, and now they were going to eat breakfast together in the bare. There was something delightfully naughty about that, she decided despite her misgivings, and she released the towel to fall around her as he opened the picnic basket. He grinned, sliding a look from the corner of his eye knowing that he had won this round, she thought. “An unanticipated advantage of this set up,” he commented cheekily. She was surprised into genuine laughter. He set a bottle of champagne onto the floorboards, and a small bottle of orange juice. “Mimosa?” “Why not?” She agreed. “Weak for me, though, please. Got to watch the calories.” He retrieved two glasses
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The band was divided between two tour busses, these ones slick and expensive looking inside and out, a sleek, glossy modern black with Two-Way Street emblazoned in yellow script on the outside. The band stopped and gawked as they got out of the taxis. Roadies wearing black tshirts with Two Way Street in the signature spray-paint looking script on their backs and chests moved busily between the two sleek busses and the less glamourous support vehicles that would accommodate the tour’s support staff and equipment. “Daddy, does this mean we have made it to heaven?” James wondered, saying what they were all feeling. This tour was no expense spared, the contrast to the last stark. “It sure does, Jimmy, it sure does,” Jeremy answered. “Or at least we have attracted the attention of hell. But I, for one, am happy to sign on the dotted line in blood if this is a sign of what is to come.” She was already in hell, Emily thought wryly. The sexual tension between her and Owen was so electric
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They slept, still tangled, somewhere between dressed and not, in the bottom bunk, until day turned into night, and the bus pulled up at the first destination. The sudden stillness and quiet of the engine being turned off woke her, groggy, and lethargic from the nap. “Show, Em,” Owen encouraged as she found clothing that would see her to the changerooms. “Yes, I know,” she was grumpy in her sleepiness, but managed to get herself dressed and her suit bag and case in hand, trailing him from the bus and avoiding the driver’s eyes, embarrassed that he might have seen more than he should have. There had to be some type of hazard pay, she thought with flustered amusement, for the drivers of bus bands – she was pretty certain that sex in the busses was pretty common with horny fans and band members doing what came naturally to them. The shower woke her, and she grazed on a salad as she let the stylist prepare her for the show, the men’s conversation in the background rising and falling, th
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In the crowd, a familiar voice called her name, and she turned instinctually towards it, smiling. Something soft was thrust into her arms, and she met the man’s dark eyes, the smile falling from her face at his vulpine expression. “Who-?” The crowd jostled against the barrier, and he let it push him back so that she caught a flash of a grin before he disappeared. She looked down at what he had placed in her hands. She already held a bunch of flowers, and some other oddments fans liked to give her. This was a teddy bear, but… The stitching down its stomach had been cut open, and the soft white fluff within and the fur around it was stained a brownish red. There was something brownish red stuffed inside… “I will have that, thank you,” Aaron snatched the teddy out of her hands and dropped it into a plastic bag, which he ziplocked and passed to his PA. He put his hand on her back. “Keep going, Em, smile,” he encouraged. “Smile, Em.” Her expression had caught Owen’s attention, although
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