My hands continue to wander, taking comfort in the warmth of his skin as I nod. Then, I take a deep breath. I open my mouth. And I tell him everything.
* * *
I knew exactly who Zachariah Powell was on the night I scored an invitation to one of his house parties. They were known as the place for new talent to be seen, and I wanted all eyes on me. At nineteen years old, I’d been in Sydney for more than a year. My career was all I thought about, talked about, cared about. I’d managed some regular gigs and I worked hard, but recognition wasn’t coming as fast as I’d hoped. I wanted more, and I was willing to do anything to get it.
Being in Zac’s house was intense. Obnoxiously loud and lavishly indulgent, people from all areas of the industry filled every corner of every room. After the countless hours of work I’d put in to earning my way through the front door, I felt like I was one fortuitous meeting away from everything I’d ever dreamed of. All I had to do was make it happen.
I went with a couple of other young musicians I knew. We weren’t friends, if anything I saw them as competition, but we got along well enough. After stumbling across a music room full of instruments, we grabbed a couple of guitars and took turns playing, each of us trying to outperform the others. We were all there for the same reason, after all. But nerves had me jittery, and I kept stuffing up.
One of the guys offered me something to help me relax. Some pill. Small. Blue. Drugs weren’t my thing, but the pressure of the moment messed with my head, and I didn’t want to waste my chance to get noticed. So, I took it. Kicked it back with a swallow of fancy imported beer. It hit me harder than I expected, but by then I didn’t care. The nerves were gone, and I was on fire.
People came and went. Women with little in the way of clothing. Men with even less. I wore my usual black jeans but lost my shirt somewhere along the way. My hair was long then, and I let it out, so it fell wild around my shoulders. Rock stardom is about the person as well as the music, and I had no qualms about putting my rock persona on display.
I became so lost in the party and the music, I didn’t notice Zac watching me until someone pointed him out. He was smaller than I thought he’d be from photos I’d seen online. But he was also older, experienced, confident. Zac possessed the power to provide everything I wanted, and when he told me he wanted me to play for him alone, I damned near passed out from excitement.
We went into another room, smaller than the first. Zac sat in a big leather chair, and I stood in front of him while I played. And I played my desperate little wannabe heart out. With the drugs and alcohol in my system, the music seemed to slip and slide inside me. It filled me up, spilling out through my mouth and fingers. It felt so good, I got hard with the sheer bliss of it.
He couldn’t not notice—my groin was right there, level with his face—but it didn’t faze him. He told me my music got him hard too. Then he pulled out his dick and showed me exactly how hard. “Maybe we can help each other out,” he said while I stared at him in shock. “You want to go places, kid? I can take you there. But first, there are places I want to go.” The smirk on his face said it all. If I gave him what he wanted, he’d give me what I wanted.
I’d like to think I would have said no if I wasn’t already attracted to him. As it was, I didn’t hesitate. I put the guitar down, climbed onto his lap and said, “Where do you want to go first?”
He threw his head back and laughed at my response. When he stood and took my hand, I expected him to lead me to his bedroom. But no, first he wanted to show off his prize. He walked me through every inch of that party. Letting his friends eye me off, so they could congratulate him as we passed by.
The shit in my veins must have messed with me more than I realised, because I spent the whole time congratulating myself as well. I truly believed if I pleased Zac—and believe me I was eager to please—he would give me my big break. Finally, I was going to be a star.
By the time we got upstairs to his bedroom, I was so hot I practically jumped him. When he pushed me down, I fell to my knees happily. Let him shove so far down my throat I choked, right before I moaned and went back for more.
I gave him total power over me that night, believing I’d get my own kind of power in return. I let him put his hands and mouth wherever he wanted, for as long as he wanted. He fingered me, rimmed me, fucked my mouth. I was his to use as he wished, and I loved every minute of it.
When he turned me onto my stomach and told me he was going to fuck me in the arse, I couldn’t say yes fast enough. It wasn’t true consent; I was half drunk and high as a kite. But I knew what I was doing and who I was doing it with. If I’d been sober, I would have begged for it the same.
He didn’t hurt me, but he wasn’t gentle. He put his hand between my shoulder blades and held me down while he did it, my arse pulled high for his use. My own needs were ignored, rendered unimportant in comparison to his. I have no idea why I got off on that, but when he came, I fucking exploded. Every cell in my body went supernova. It felt like I came for hours.
The next morning, I woke up alone. My head was sore, but clear. When I made sense of the night before, I felt like such an idiot. I’d sold the best sex I’d ever had for the vague whisper of a promise that would never be fulfilled. Shit like that didn’t happen in real life.
I got dressed and went downstairs to look for my shirt. There were people everywhere. Passed out on couches. Lazing by the pool.
Zac stood in the kitchen drinking coffee with one of the men from the night before. I froze when I saw them, but Zac turned with a smile, as if he was genuinely happy to see me. “Here’s my next big thing,” he said, beckoning me closer. “Come, my boy.”
I went straight to him. He pulled me against his body, running his hands all over me. I smiled, pathetically grateful for his welcome, even if it did feel weird to be fondled so blatantly in front of someone else.
“Ned wants to be a rock star,” Zac said to his friend. “He’s a very talented young man.”
“How delightful.” The man’s tone drew my attention. I didn’t like the hunger in his eyes, the way he moved closer. “I’m looking forward to hearing you sing.”
“Not so fast.” Zac’s tone was firm. “He’s not ready for the big time.”
My gaze snapped back to his. “Not ready?”
His smile was indulgent. “You have promise, Ned, but it’s raw. You’ve got work to do before we can approach any record labels. I can help you reach your potential,” he insisted, fitting my hips to his, “if you do as I say.”
The command in his tone made me shiver and I nodded. “Music is my life. I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes.” Maybe, if I worked hard enough, I could have my record dealandZac. Pressing harder against him, I licked my lips. “Tell me what to do, Zac. Anything you want.”
“Christ,” came a low mutter from nearby. “You really are perfect.”
I ignored the man watching us, but Zac must have sensed my wariness. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, one hand lifting to slide under my hair and around the back of my neck. When his grip tightened, my eyes drifted closed on a sigh. “I’ll take good care of you, my boy.”
That’s the way it went for the next eight months. He told me what to do, I followed instructions. From what songs I played at gigs, to how far apart I spread my legs while he fucked me. He had total control. In return, he took me to parties, guided me on which clubs to play for. He cancelled my regular gigs in favour of places where I’d get noticed by the right people. I’d been refused by those same clubs a few months earlier, so it felt like a huge leap forward. Finally, I was going places and I owed it all to Zac.
