Conviction(8)

I push my cock back into Lara’s mouth and push my hips up as the momentum of Jet pushing into her arse moves her forward. She pushes on the underside of my cock with the flat of her tongue, forcing it up to the roof of her mouth. She swallows and gags slightly and the sensation is almost too much. I pull on her hair and Jet takes that as a cue to slap her arse again, in turn making her moan around my cock.

“Push the toy back in, full speed, push it deep but be gentle,” I tell him. Lara groans around my cock with anticipation and I watch her face as Jet follows my instructions. My eyes move from hers to Jet’s, both of them are staring right at me. Lara starts to moan continuously now and the vibration feels f*cking spot on. I get that all too familiar tingle at the base of my spine as my balls begin to tighten. I wrap her hair tightly in my hand and hold her head still as I lift my hips and f*ck her face.

“Yes, yes Reed. Harder, f*ck her harder. Oh God, I can feel that vibrator against my cock. Fuck, I’m gonna come. Come Reed, let me see your face. Fuck Reed! Fuck, I want you. I love you Reed, I f*cking love you.”

I shut my eyes to try and shut out Jet’s voice. I know he’s a sensitive soul, but I don’t do all that love shit. I feel it, I write it in my songs, but that’s as far as it goes for me… since her. I don’t say those words out loud to anyone except my family.

My arse cheeks clench almost as tight as my balls and my dick throbs painfully as I come inside Lara’s mouth. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, but it doesn’t help. It doesn’t keep her away. Yeah, when it’s good I see stars. I get that white flash of light when I blow my load, but in amongst it all, every time, there’s always a pair of blue eyes, long blonde hair and the face of an angel. My angel, Amoeba. It’s been fifteen years and a whole world of hurt and f*cking heartache since I last saw her. Yet, she’s still there, still here, in my head, my belly and my heart and I so wish to f*ck that wasn’t the case.





We walk toward the hotel lobby like we’re kings of the f*cking world. One because we can and two because, well basically, we are. Our album is at number one and has just gone platinum. We have four songs sitting inside the music download chart and our eighteen-month world tour has been a complete and total sellout. On top of that, I’ve just come in the mouth of a bird we pulled out of the audience at our show while riding in the limo back to our hotel. Who does that I ask ya? Me, Conner f*cking Reed, that’s who does that.

Fuck her! Fuck her and her blue eyes and her blonde hair and those f*ckeyed freckles that are all over her nose after just ten minutes in the sun. Fuck her and her boring little life she’s probably leading. Married to someone that Mummy and Daddy and that prick of a brother of hers actually approve of. Someone who didn’t grow up on a council estate, whose dad wasn’t an alchi and whose mum wasn’t a junky, murdered by her dealer. I bet whoever he is, he’s never gotten a blowjob in the back of a limo.

What if he has? What if he’s gotten a blowjob from her? What if she loves it? What if she loves him? What if she’s had his babies?

I don’t care.

I do, I care too much.

Fuck!

I need to shut my brain down. This is why I try and stay away from coke, it makes me think. It makes me think far too much. I need a drink. I need to get up to our room, watch some random f*ck when I tell them to, and I need to get drunk. I need to drink until my brain shuts the f*ck up and I can go to sleep and not dream... not dream of any of them. Not her, not my mum and not Miles.

There are a few photographers hanging about outside and I take a couple of deep breaths and get my racing thoughts under control as we stop and pose, letting them earn their money. I need to shut her down. I need to shut down all thoughts of her and f*ck them off out of my brain. It’s been fifteen years... fifteen f*cking years, and I seriously need to get a grip. I hate that she can still do this. I’m Conner Reed. I’m living the dream and yet a single thought, a distant memory of a little blue-eyed, blonde-haired girl from Surrey can bring me to my knees.

Well. Fuck. Her.

Tonight, I’m not gonna let that happen. I’m gonna focus on the here and now and just how great my f*cking life is. I’m buzzing from the coke, the last show of the tour and the fact that I’ve just blown my load in the back of the limo. I’ve had a good night so far, so let’s pay it forward and give the paps the picture they need to pay their rent with this week. They’re wankers most of them, but at the end of the day, it’s their job and I’m happy to help out anyone that’s just trying to make a living.

The lovely Lara’s still with us and for some reason, which probably seems totally logical in Jet’s weird but beautiful mind, he’s now carrying her monkey style toward the lifts that’ll take us up to our penthouse, and the guests we invited to join us earlier. And then I see her, and my buzz and my good mood vanish in an instant.

Amanda Vale. Women like her are the reason that I don’t do return rides. I made the mistake of f*cking her twice. She now assumes there’s something between us, and that I just need to come to my senses and realise it. Yeah, right! What she needs to do is take the hint that I’m not interested, then f*ck off and leave me alone. I don’t do relationships. The problem is, she’s a personal assistant to our manager, Lawson, and her dad’s a major shareholder in our record label, which all means she’s around – a lot.