He’s questioning me, and I can’t have that. I’m in the position to write a tell-all about this band. It’ll be so explosive I’ll be able to write a tell-all about writing the damn tell-all. I’d becomethatwriter. “Fuck it,” I hold my wallet up and wave it. “I got my phone in here and I can use it to document whatever you think you could shock me with.”
His eyes light up and he holds out his hand.
I follow him like a lamb to the slaughter, but what choice do I have. I could go home empty-handed without a bestseller, or I can do my job.I’m Nellie fucking Bly and you’re my institution, bitch.
He stops in front of room number 328 and asks, “Who’s Nellie Bly?”
I need to stop thinking so loudly. “Oh, just an American journalist who wrote a little article called Ten Days in a Mad-House.”
He shows me those sharp white teeth again. “Sounds like my kind of place.”
“Oh, I bet you’d fit right in there, seriously.”
He slides his keycard over the lock and opens the door for me. As I step inside, Damian waits for my reaction. I do my best to loosen all the muscles in my face and steady my expression to one that’s nonexistent.
He smirks and touches his hand to the small of my back. “Would you like to sit on the couch and talk then?”
He’s testing me. Gauging for my response to what’s in front of me.
To my left, there’s a tall, slim dark-skinned woman leaning up against the wall. Her panties lay around one ankle on the floor, while someone kneeling in front of her has his face buried between her thighs. Her hands are fisted into his hair, knuckles white and trembling. He’s moaning and lapping at her like a starving bear. To my right, two men are tangled together on a chair; one I recognize as the bass player, the other a nameless, unfamiliar person is thrusting into him from behind. Their faces are a mixture of pleasure and pain. Straight ahead on the couch sits the drummer, Kash. He’s leaning back into the plush cushions of the couch, smoking weed, while a bleached-haired girl gives him head.
Well, Gail is going to be happy that I’ll know the size of everyone’s dick the first day.
I smile at Damian and plop down on the couch like the orgy doesn’t bother me at all. There are other people milling around too, through the smoky room, ambling about, seemingly high as fuck. One such person is crouched in the corner, rubbing themselves over the rolling desk chair.
Damian lowers himself down next to me and whispers breathy words into my ear. “The ambiance doesn’t bother you, Straight-Lace?”
What a pompous douche. I tilt my eyes up to meet his and smile wide. “I’m a frequent visitor to some of the most elite private sex parties in New York City; trust me, this is nothing new for me,” I lie with a steady expression. I’ve only been to one sex party for an article and I was escorted by Dex. I giggle to myself remembering all the things he showed me, and the raw spanking I got when I straddled him.
“Do elaborate, love.” He slides his hand over the front of his pants and grabs himself. “Just the sound of that giggle got me hard.”
I laugh. I laugh so hard everybody in the room pauses what they’re doing and stares at me. “I’m here for your stories, Damian. I’m here to tell your story to the world, with all the sordid shameful details.” I need to get this situation back on track. “I’m going to write the story that makes you more than the rock gods you think you are.”
The corners of his lips lift, and he settles back into the couch and clasps his hands around the back of his head. “The first time I ever heard Hanley play the guitar was in an underground club in Amsterdam. He was a lanky wanker. Fifteen years old and never been laid. I paid some pretty redhead to suck his dick after the show and told him there’d be a lot more if he quit his circus and joined mine…”
I tap open my phone recorder and relax into his words. Next to us, the girl who was giving Kash head, reaches over me and unbuttons Damian’s jeans as he tells his story. “If you aren’t going to, do you mind if I play for a little?” I nod and I smile politely then rest my elbows on the girl’s back as she lowers her mouth on him. Dropping my eyes to my left, I realize she’s riding Kash and sucking off Damian at the same time, all while I’m squashed between them.
Oh, Karma you little brat, I know what you’re doing. This is what I get for exaggerating about all the sex parties in New York.
I sit through an hour-long blow job while Damian regales me with the never-before-heard history of Simply Sinister. Every so often one of the other band members chimes in, laughing and talking over him, telling me their side of each story. I listen as best I can, but I’m obsessed with wanting to ask the girl how she can maintain the position she’s in for so long. It looks physically impossible, yet there she is right in my lap being spit-roasted.
“I may keep you here,” Damian whispers to me when he finishes. There’s no fanfare to his climax, it’s a soft quick grunt and nothing more.
“I can’t stay for that long. I just started a relationship.” I feel like after the whole getting head right next to me thing, I need to set some boundaries. Yes, it’s a bit late for that, but what choice did I actually have?
“How long?” he asks.
My phone is hot in my hands from overuse. I peek at the message icon, but there are still no messages from Dex. “How long what?” I ask.
“How long have you been in this relationship?” He’s zipping up his jeans as he asks me the question. I want to talk to him about hygiene and herpes, but it’s probably not my place.
“A month, it’s brand-new,” I respond, pulling myself off the couch.
“So, love, how long have you spent with this person, at the most, a few hours?” His question makes my shoulders tight and I don’t answer.
“Man or woman?” he continues the investigation.
I dart my eyes at him and make a face.
