Dream Me Off My Feet (Sex, Love, And Rock & Roll) by Kisner Stevie

Author:Kisner, Stevie [Kisner, Stevie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stephanie Kisner
Published: 2012-10-23T11:00:00+00:00

JT reclined into the pillows, thinking and chain-smoking far too many cigarettes. Rafe had returned to the main section of the bus and to his book when everything that could be said had been and JT had fallen silent again.

I wonder if he bought it. It was all true, I just left some out. The trickiest part was telling Rafe that I didn’t think she had the slightest clue. On one level, I suppose that’s not accurate, she knows I love her. On the deepest level, though, I don’t think she realizes just how gone I am. That every stupid sappy cliché is me in spades. And honestly, there aren’t words enough to tell her. I suppose I could write sweet puerile ballads the band would refuse to record. I could take her in my arms and try to show her with every fiber of my being and every shred of my soul until I was an exhausted heap lying next to her on the bed, and I still think it would only scratch the surface.

No, the only way would be to open up my heart and mind to her when she’s able to take it and let her feel it through me. And that isn’t now.

And while it was twisted truth to say that I kissed her, implying just the once, it wasn’t an outright lie. That night did only have one real kiss. The one I imagined and watched her respond to doesn’t count. And she stopped me before I could take it any further.

He lit another cigarette and rubbed his thumb absently over the plastic case of the lighter where her fingers had touched it only hours before. It was still a little oily from the lotion she used on her hands. He dropped his chin a bit as he brought the lighter to his nose and inhaled deeply. The faded scent triggered a twitch in his groin. Shit and hell! Not now...

He focused on the swirling stream of smoke drifting from the business end of his cigarette, watching it mingle and join with the gray cloud hanging low in the small room. I want to climb up on the stage, or onto the highest rooftop, and yell out loud that I’ve finally found my heart and my happiness. And it’s making me miserable that I can’t. Isn’t that stupid? Finding happiness gets me miserable. Jesus Christ on a fucking bicycle, I’m such an asshole.

His hand drifted lower to strum lightly over his zipper. The twinge had developed into a full blown erection. Oh, lovely.

And here I sit, throbbing and aching, convincing myself that I’m an honest man. Yeah. Right. An honest man who’s in love with another man’s wife.

Fucking bloody hell.

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