Authors: K.M. Golland
Cover Design by: Buying Ham
Published by KM Golland
Cover model and photography: Shannon Robinson
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Love is a faux twinkle in the eye and a factitious curve of the mouth. Love is fucking unbearable.
I was powerless to stop my feet from going forward, and powerless to convince myself to turn and go back the way I came.
I. Was. Fucking. Powerless.
Or incredibly curious, not to mention somewhat of a voyeur.
The unmistakable sound of two people fucking was what I could hear: erotic murmuring, groaning and heavy breathing. Delicious noises that were causing a sensation of heat and desire to filter through my body, but more so because I knew that what I was about to witness was something I perhaps shouldn’t. Yet it didn’t stop my tentative steps, nor did I turn away. No. My primal instinct was to continue along the darkened hallway, to see with my own eyes the act eliciting the sweet feeling now tightening my lower abdominal muscles and making its way in between my legs.
I really should stop, or go back, but … well … powerless.
Walking slowly, apprehension tingling my fingertips, I second-guessed that the sounds were, in fact, two people fucking, as it wasn’t exactly a ghost town backstage—performers, crew and the odd audience member with a VIP pass wandering about. I mean, yeah, male revue shows were all about sex, but
sex … backstage? Surely not. Regardless, the notion of two people fucking—loud and unashamed fucking—in such a public place, both surprised and intrigued me
Letting out the breath I’d held prisoner in my lungs, I shook my head and inwardly cursed my stupidity for thinking that what I was hearing was live, in the flesh and just around the corner … until I rounded that corner and came face to face with the sex I’d just told myself wasn’t real.
It was real.
I froze, stepped back—partially hiding behind the corner—and sucked in another breath, watching deviously as the tanned, toned, muscled arse of a man pistoned into the apex of spread legs belonging to a young woman held against the wall next to a drink vending machine.
“You fucking like it hard and deep, don’t you?” he hissed.
The woman moaned and dropped her head back, exposing the sweat-dampened skin of her neck. “Yes, I do. Harder. Yes!”
He ran his tongue across her collarbone and let out an animalistic growl as he wrenched the front of her dress down, her heavy breasts bouncing free of the material. Soft skin was met with a ferocious hand before he dipped his head and flicked her nipple with the tip of his tongue, bearing his teeth and clamping down.
She cried out.
My nipples tingled.
And just like that woman in
When Harry Met Sally,
‘They wanted what she was having’.
“Ow! That hurts,” she whimpered.
Okay, maybe not. Maybe they don’t want what she’s having.
The guy released her nipple and grabbed hold of her chin. “You want me to fucking stop? Because I can and I will.”
Eyes wide, she pouted and shook her head. “No. Don’t stop. Please don’t.”
“Then shut the fuck up.” His harsh words hung momentarily before he resumed the deep thrashing of his hips.
Yep, I couldn’t look away, my eyes uncontrollably dipping toward that thrashing motion. It was a great arse. In fact, it was probably the nicest I’d ever seen: flawless golden skin and not a single tan line to be seen on what was visible above the waistline of his hanging jeans. And the way it contracted and released as he moved back forth …
Oh. My. God!
Forcing myself to swallow—because as humans, we do need to do this from time to time—I nearly choked when he let out a guttural groan that not only had me crossing my legs, but also went hand in hand with the high-pitched screams of bliss screeching from the woman’s mouth. “Yes! Oh, yes!”
I was panting … as in real, short, puffs of air leaving my mouth, which was open—
—quite possibly bowing in admiration of the arse not even three metres away, and how that arse thrust sharp and precise as its owner came—the muscles in the guy’s neck and shoulders tense and well defined.
The young, petite blonde leaned forward, mouth open, chest heaving. She tried to kiss him but he pulled back.
“Sorry, babe, not tonight,” he said dismissively, reaching behind his back and unhooking her ankles so that she could plant her feet on the ground. He then stepped away and zipped up his pants, turning in my direction and meeting my stunned gaze.
Holy shit! Josh Fucking Adams! Shit! Shit! Shit!
I knew that face. I knew it well. I was going to be photographing it pretty much daily for the next couple of months.
“Good show?” he asked, a smirk plastering his face.
“Uh … I … um—”
Josh stopped before me and traced his finger across the skin of my shoulder, sending a tingle dancing down my spine. “Want to be next?”
“What?” Shocked, my cheeks heated to a temperature near boiling point, and I backed away, my eyes flicking from his to the blonde who was now standing awkwardly by the vending machine.
“Want to ride my cock like this bitch just did?” He nodded in her direction.
My eyes bugged. “Excuse me?”
“You deaf or somethin’?” He tilted his head, curiously.
“No, I’m not. My hearing is perfectly fine. And as for wanting to ride your cock, hell no.”
“Suit yourself.” Josh shrugged, then winked and strolled past like an arrogant prick before disappearing from sight.
I let out my breath. “What an arsehole!”
“Yeah,” the blonde sighed, her voice sounding dreamy and sated. “But he fucks like a god. You totally should’ve taken him up on his offer.”
Slowly, and with my mouth even wider than before, I turned back in her direction and watched as she adjusted her skirt, hitched her breasts, then gave me a satisfied smile before she, too, disappeared in the same direction Josh had.
What the hell?
Shocked, turned-on, disgusted and dumbfounded—quite a nice combination of what-the-fuck—I leaned against the wall and covered my face with my hands, regret churning my stomach as what had just transpired hit me.
Damn it! Damn you, Tom.
Tom was my brother and whom this particular job had originally belonged to. But the dickhead was currently laid up in a hospital bed with a broken hip due to channelling his inner Evel Knievel while riding his dirt bike. And seeing that both he and I were partners in our photography business, I had no choice but to take his place as the current Wild Nights Revue photographer.
Fuck! What have I gotten myself into?