Tease Me (Teased and Broken Book 1) (3 page)

Aaron laughed raucously. “So... whatever possessed you to suggest something so utterly ridiculous? Teasing a rock star on a daily basis?”

I pointed to the gleaming row of bottles behind the bar. “Tequila.”

“Well… you are the most functional drunk I know,” he breathed. “Is that why Brett left? Because you started teasing Thornton Darko?”

I shook my head, ignoring the tears that were starting to threaten always lurking there beyond my all my bull shit bravado. “So… I need to tease a highly intelligent, insanely creative, talented man, and I’m fucking stumped,” I groaned. “What should I say?”

Aaron sighed, chin in hand, appearing to consider. “Just be
you,
Elena. Your attention is a tease enough. You could just send something like this… I was thinking… and leave it at that, and the man’s stupid imagination will fill in the blanks.”

“I like it!’ I laughed, and suddenly inspired, I took my wine glass in hand with its dark red embracing nectar, and placed my tongue against it, holding the camera up and slightly narrowing my eyes this time.
 

“What the actual fuck now?” Aaron bounded to my side of the little lounge as I uploaded the picture. It was perfect. Amazing. I rarely got these things right the first time. Still, I felt I should get my agent’s approval. “What do you think?”

“It’s fucking hot! But what does it mean?”

“Watch and learn,” I smirked, and fired up Messenger on my phone.
I am about to enjoy a bottle of Thornton Darko. It is the best red wine on this side of Ashby. But I can’t drink it too fast. This glorious vintage needs to be… indulged. So I stared at this glass of you for an hour. I caressed it with kisses, and now I am reduced to pure animal and am licking it – see picture below. I want to enjoy every drop of you, Thorn. Every single drop ought to be savoured. I would bathe in your blood. Like the Countess herself, Bathory. I would emerge a hotter and more bad ass version of me for it. You are… life. You are… the reason…

“Holy shit!” Aaron squeaked after I had sent the message. “He will fucking love that!”

I shrugged. “Thornton Darko isn’t easily impressed, my friend. And now after sending that piece of shit, I need a tequila.”

“No, you don’t,” Aaron said quietly. “I want to talk to you when we’re walking. If you drink that tequila, I may as well talk to myself. You sort of turn into an asshole when you’re too drunk.”

I swallowed my heart that had leapt into my throat.

Fuck me, he was right.

I nodded, hurt but not hurt. “You’re right.” Inside my mind was screaming,
I don’t want to walk around town and hear about what has happened, I just want to know what you will do. Otherwise, what is the point. Past is past.
 

“Bathroom,” I said quietly. “And then, we’ll go for that walk.”

Aaron caught my hand as I was rising to leave. “I hurt your feelings, honey, I can see that. I am so sorry. Please. YOU can talk as much shit as you like. You can drink all the tequila for all I care. I am making this about me, when it is really about you. Brett left you today, sweetie. I know you don’t think he did from that stupid painted message. But that fucker was trying to spare your feelings.”

“Yep, he really did,” I snarled. “When he left me bent over bare-assed against the kitchen table. He really did a great job of sparing my feelings Aaron.”

Laughter tumbled around us. I gaped in shock. When had it got so damn busy in this shit hole? Fuck me. I pushed my credit card into Aaron’s hand, but he shook his head. “No, no way, you are one of my most prolific writers, the other shitheads keep me waiting many months for a book, you churn one out in two weeks. I love you, lady. This piss up is on me.”

I smiled, walked past the laughing yipping idiot man folk, and made my way to the bathroom. And of course, as I was contemplating my reflection in the mirror, Thorn responded to my message.

I don’t think you could handle even a taste of me, Elena. But assuming you could, how would you taste me?

I bit my lip, feeling my brows draw together in a frown of concentration. Relax, I coached myself. Shit. Maybe I had gone a bit too far with that last message. He thought I was the most talentless half-witted writer ever, I was convinced. I cringed now seeing it. I shouldn’t have said the ‘bathe in him’ thing. That was more than a little fucked, and I was sure every other fuck tard of a fan had said that to him.

This had to be good.

Everything
depended upon it.

I loved and respected this man, and he had given me my writing mojo back when I
needed
it the most. My thumb shook as it hovered over my phone. Then I went in.

Just a taste? I don’t think even with my powers of imagination that I can describe that, Thorn. I couldn’t just taste you. Impossible. I would end up devouring you.
 

The little notification flashed,
SEEN
.

That was bad, I decided. But it would have to do. I stuffed my phone back into my bag, and then inspired, I fired another message.

A little greedy, aren’t we? I said one tease per day? You already received your tease. xx

SEEN

Then:

Devour me. Hmmm, that is entirely to my liking - thank you for that image.

Also, did you tease me? When? I haven’t been teased tonight. Was it that cute picture of you licking a wine glass? Or that strange befuddled message about bathing in my blood like a certain damned countess?

Where was the tease, Elena?

I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help myself.

Go fuck yourself.
I messaged before I could stop myself.

Much better,
was the response.
 

Then:
 

I like you. You are a lot of fun. I think Cellrager needs to come to Ashby. What do you think?
I nodded.
I think Ashby would never be the same, but it would be an improvement. Come raise hell. Wake everyone the fuck up.

He was responding rather quickly.
 

I cannot raise hell. We are already in it, Elena. I can only try to make it more bearable. That is what Cellrager is all about, after all. Our tiny prisons of hell we create for ourselves whenever we step into the comfort zone. Seriously, though. Keep teasing me. I like it.
 

He then sent me a picture – he had turned away from his laptop and had flashed me a wry smile, his dark green eyes shining bright. It was the friendliest smile I had ever seen on him. Ever. This was rare. He looked…
happy.

Fuck me, he was gorgeous; my breath was stolen for a moment looking at him.

Next time, don’t hold back. I want you to rape me with your words. Good night, Elena.
 

Contradictory piece of shit. I sighed and even though I was being a smart ass, I couldn’t help myself as I messaged back:
 

Then you don’t understand the concept of the Tease, my friend. Raping you with my words would be too overtly obvious, your TEASE needs to be finely balanced and nuanced.
 

All I got back was:

I am not your friend.

No, I agreed. You are most definitely not. You are my fucking fantasy, and you are speaking to me now, and it is quietly blowing my mind.

When I finally re-emerged from the bathroom, I walked smack into a very anxious-looking Aaron who was gripping his bald head in agitation.
 

“Did you not get all my calls and messages?!” he hissed, grey flint eyes shooting sparks of outrage.

I shook my head. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I found us an exit out the back of this dump, we’re going to need it. One of those fuckers out there clearly hates you, and just tipped off the media that you are here and … that the famous artist Brett Argosy has left you. The vultures are here and waiting for you, Elena.”

“Oh.” I felt my body freeze all the way down to the tips of my toes.
 

Aaron pulled me after him.
 
“Let’s go.”

“Sure,” I heard myself say dully.
 

“I am going to call your media people, as no doubt Brett will be calling his. Hon, if you want your stories aligned, you might want to call Brett and find out what’s going on,” he suggested gently as he steered me toward the exit.

I nodded numbly and held up my phone,
 
now flashing Brett’s name. “Too late. He’s already on it.”

Four

Brett was very insistent that I get out of Ashby, away from those small minded fuckers. I told him that I loved it when he talked dirty to me, but he reprimanded me for teasing him, and then later that night, after walking down to the pier to sit on the edge of it with Aaron and talk shit, or as he put it more kindly ‘philosophise,’ I had tried to call him, drunk. He did not answer. I guess I should be grateful he didn’t respond. I would not have made a lick of sense anyway. Besides, if possible, I would have made things worse. My Brett. That night my
 
hand kept trailing across to the cold unrelenting side of his bed reaching for him. Gone. But not forever. We were still engaged. For now.

I had to reluctantly admit the break was doing both of us good, at least in terms of our art. We were both smashing out our awesome at a prolific rate - Brett for the gallery owner, and me for my publisher who had FINALLY backed off my ass when I got part one of the final book in the vampire biker erotic romance series to them for their viewing pleasure. It was the best book I had written for awhile; this thing actually had some of my old intensity in it, since my creativity was… overwhelming me. It took everything out of me. Well, there was another reason
why
creativity was pouring out of me. I was horny. I felt like I was a warm puddle barely holding any kind of form. I was so … wet all the time. My pussy stirred when my imagination did, and she
yearned
to be filled.

I continued teasing my rock star Thorn.
 
And he was giving me some great lines! I’d started saving them in a file for future reference. My favourites so far had been:

If you don’t stop teasing me, Elena, I will have to rip your skin off with my teeth.

You are a dark exciting place inside of everywhere that matters

I plan to let you use my mouth. I mean this. I don’t know where Ashby is, but I will find it, and YOU. I want you to do with my mouth as you please.

He had responded with the message about the mouth, after I had said to him:

Do you mind me saying that I love your mouth? I love it!!! Nothing hurts my mind or fires it up and delights it more. I respect your mouth, Thorn. It is a fucking wonderful thing.
 

Thorn and I had
other
conversations outside the teasing as well. He would come out with random rants, about dickhead record producers, about nihilists, and how he loathed folk with sheep-like mentalities.
I fucking despise people and their sheep minds! I despise how easily and so often they are manipulated by everything. But it seems to be too painful to think. And I hate that pain too, Elena.

Always thinking.

And thinking.

And thinking

I think TOO MUCH

My head is full of ME

And YOU

Mostly YOU.

ALWAYS YOU.

I invited him to come to Ashby, commenting:

Then you would never have to think again.

When he was despondent like this, we would jump on Skype and talk to each other. It was surreal to see him face to face. I spoke to him in my lingerie. It seemed a bit crazy, but very in keeping with my teasing of him. Besides, I wrote in my lingerie, and didn’t see a need to cover up for Thornton Darko.
 

The last few occasions, he had greeted me in the mask. I didn’t think anything of it. In fact, I thought it was kind of sexy. I didn’t even comment on it, though I did want to see that gorgeous face of his, to see that mouth, the way it moved so flawlessly over words. I had a thing for Batman. But Thornton Darko’s mask was so much more bad ass. He told me that even though it looked menacing, he actually had the mould done when he was reading something in thoughtful repose – if it looked menacing but calm, that was probably why. Didn’t matter. I loved it. I loved the black death tears, the mean black line across his generous mouth lifted at one corner in the slightest of smiles or smirks, depending upon your perspective.
 

I realized in horror, I was falling in love with
him.
An idea. A fantasy. My muse.
 

What I had intended to be bit of a harmless tease was having ramifications for my stupid heart. Shit. I don’t know how I had lost the upper hand here.
 

But lost it I had.

He just left me breathless and senseless.
 

Unlike me, whenever we spoke on Skype, masked or not, quite the contrast to my attire, or lack there of, he was always dressed in head to toe black. Layers upon layers of black
 

There were not a lot of photos of him without being dressed in head to toe black. In fact, I had only glimpsed one photo of his body, snapped at a distance, once in the magazines whilst he had been on tour. He had been standing in the middle of a field, head tilted back to catch the fading sunlight as it meekly slid behind the looming mountains in the distance. He’d been shirtless, his mask dangling from the fingertips of his right hand, a shiver of a scowl about to break across his beautiful face. I knew he was heavily tattooed, and had a confusing mess of angels and demons inked upon that wideset muscular chest of his, with a black cross dead centre. And I knew at least from that picture, he was in spectacular shape.
 

And only a week into teasing Thornton Darko, he did the impossible thing. Impossible, because most people told me he almost never allowed anyone to see his body like this.
 

Yet he allowed me to see him. He bared himself to me. I recorded it, of course. I wanted to show everyone I knew.