Chapter 77 Sexual Frustration is a Crazy Thing
sexual frustration is a crazy thing
Billie
Good lord, I am having fun with Calum Lefleur. He’s less awkward tonight, for the most part. I feel like he’s opening up a bit and I like it. A lot, which is probably not a good thing. We do still have to work together on the music lessons for the kids.
Still, the way he looks at me? I don’t think a man has ever looked at me that way and I can’t say I hate it. It’s dark and sexy and intense. And yet, he’s also smiling. Well, grinning, at least, which is an upgrade. He’s so sexy with those dimples.
We finish dinner and head to the show, arriving just as the opening band finishes, which bums me out but seems to please Cal. He says he hates sitting through “shitty no-names,” and then I explain that, technically, Love Scrum is also a “shitty no-name.”
“Always putting my foot in my mouth,” he answers as we stand in line for beer.
“Yeah, I’m learning that about you, Cal,” I say with a wink.
“I really like your band. And I’m not just saying that to make up for my stupid comment.”
“I know you do…but it’s only because you want to fuck the drummer.”
Cal’s mouth drops open at the forwardness of my statement. I raise an eyebrow flirtatiously, but he composes himself quickly. “Well, I already fucked the drummer. And I still like the band.”
This makes me laugh out loud, hard, and I look up and find Calum smiling at me, sea-blue eyes and everything. Like, really smiling for the first time ever that I’ve seen.
“Damn, you’re handsome when you smile.” I lean in without even a thought and lay a kiss on him.
He hesitates, and I panic, thinking maybe PDA isn’t his thing, but then he puts his hand at my waist and pulls me firmly against him. He slides his tongue into my mouth for a hot kiss that has people in line telling us to “get a room.”
We break apart, Cal blushing and me trying to catch my breath enough to order our beers before we head down onto the floor for the show.
The Lumineers are a lighter fare than I usually play or listen to, but I do love them.
They open with “Ophelia,” which we both sing at the top of our lungs.
We pretty much sing every song after, and I find myself lost in the good vibes of the crowd.
It’s an easy, light atmosphere, and I’m having a great time.
As we leave the venue at the end of the show, I don’t miss that Cal is holding my hand. I love the way we fit together, and I’m about to say it as we step out into the evening air. Cal beats me to a comment, though.
“Thanks, Billie,” he says with a squeeze of my hand. “You’re my only friend in Vegas, and you’re making the transition bearable for me.”
“Oh,” I say, pulling my hand away. Friend. He said friend.
“What? Did I say something stupid again?”
“No, it’s just…you said friend. You called me your friend.”
“Well, what was I supposed to call you?”
“I don’t…I guess I don’t know.” I laugh lightly. “Sorry. It’s just that—”
“That friends don’t do what we did, Billie?
What I’d like to do again?” His blue stare, so intense and sexy, has me remembering our night together (not for the first time) because I’ve logged some serious minutes remembering our night together.
While doing the quarterly reports for CSLV, for example.
Or when working out the kinks on a song at band practice.
But I digress. Back to Cal’s pseudo-questions I have no answer for.
Cal seems to accept my silence, and I decide I like the way he says my name. Very much.
Also, that fizzy crackle of energy between us is back, big-time.
That crackle of energy that never really left, I mean. The sexual tension’s been bouncing all night, making heat bloom between my legs. I run my fingertips over my forehead and blow out a long breath. Sexual frustration is a crazy thing.
“Where are you staying?” Cal asks.
“With my parents. In my childhood bedroom, which is a riot. But any minute away is a minute well spent. So, thank you. I’ve had fun tonight.”
“I’d invite you to stay with me, but we leave early in the morning for Oakland. I’d hate to kick you out.”
“Yeah, I need my beauty sleep,” I tell him, shrugging off the sense of rejection I’m feeling. “And so do you. You have to play hockey tomorrow. So, I’m gonna go home and you’ll go to your hotel, and we’ll avoid this getting any more awkward than it already is.”
“Is it awkward?” Cal looks genuinely perplexed. “I thought I was doing better than usual.”
“You’re perfect. It’s me. I’m being awkward. I’ll call you Saturday morning and we’ll figure out the party plans, okay? We need to get our story straight. My mom can spot a lie a million miles away.”
“And you said you’re a bad actress.” He gives me another shot of dimple that should be illegal.
“No, I said I hated acting, not that I was a bad actress. It’s you I worry about.”
“You should. I am not a good actor.”
“That’s truly shocking, Cal.”
He narrows his eyes and leans in, kissing me on the cheek, the hint of beard stubble pressing into my skin in a way that makes me want to shiver. “Take this next cab, Billie. I’ll talk to you Saturday.”
I blow a kiss as I hop into the back of the cab, giving the driver my family’s Malibu address.
He stands on the sidewalk as my cab pulls away, watching with all the intensity I’ve grown to recognize as classic Calum Lefleur.
I manage to get in the house and up to my room without being seen, but my mom pops her head in as I’m slipping on my pajamas after a shower.
“Where have you been all night?” It’s not a curious question or a light one. She expected me to be here, helping with party planning or something. Dorothea (aka Ditta) Hirsch never asks a question that doesn’t demand an answer.
“Out with my boyfriend.”
“Your boyfriend.” Not a question. Rather, a lead balloon hitting the ground with a loud thunk.
“Yep. I met him through work in Vegas. He’s a hockey player for the Crush.”
“Right.”
“He is,” I lie as easily as if it’s the truth. “He’s my plus-one tomorrow.”
“Billie,” my mother warns with a cock of her head and a widening of her eyes.
“Ditta,” I respond with as little emotion as I can muster.
“So, you never come home. Never visit the family. We know nothing about your life these days and yet you can just waltz in here with some man we don’t know? You have a boyfriend and you can’t be bothered to tell us that?”
“It’s new with him,” I say, raising a shoulder. “No big thing.”
“Big enough that you’re bringing him to your father’s birthday party.”
“No, I’m bringing him to Dad’s party because he’s in the area for a game and I wanted to actually have a good time.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know what it means.”
“Billie, so help me…”
“So help you what? I don’t want to be dragged around meeting douchebag studio sons with appropriate backgrounds. I don’t want to be pimped out to Kit’s celebrity crowd either. I just want to have fun with my boyfriend.”
“Your hockey player boyfriend.” Again, not a question. She raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Who probably doesn’t have three brain cells in his empty jock head.”
“Actually, Cal could have gone to MIT. He’s super smart.”
My mother purses her lips. She looks like she ate a lemon.
Just as she raises her index finger to start pointing or jabbing or whatever thing she’s about to do while informing me of all the reasons I should have told her I was bringing my “dumb jock of a boyfriend” to her fancy party, my father walks in.
“What’s all this ruckus?” he asks. “My baby girl is home for two minutes and already you two are bickering. It’s my birthday; can I call a ceasefire?”
“You certainly can, Dad.” I give him an air-kiss.
“We will have this discussion,” my mom warns as she leaves the room.
My dad winks as I mouth thank you when he shuts my door, leaving me to slump onto my bed, exhausted from the exchange.
It’s well after one in the morning, and I’m totally beat, but when FaceTime pops up with Stuart’s face, I answer.
“Yo, Stu. What up?”
“Well, I was going to see if you wanted to go get pancakes at an all-night diner like we used to do in high school.”
“That’s…really random.” High school feels like such a long time ago now, and these random requests are becoming a little more regular. Which is concerning.
“Is that a yes?
“Unfortunately, it is not. I’m not in Vegas. I’m at the Hirsch compound under strict house arrest.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s my dad’s big birthday bonanza weekend. Ditta has big plans. Huge.”
“Wow, and you didn’t call me in for backup? I’m wounded.”
I don’t have the heart to tell him I invited Cal as backup. Stuart is always my plus-one, which never freaks my mom out because she knows it’s not like that between Stuart and me.
“Are you wounded?” I ask, grinning. “Really?”
“No, not really,” he says. “Well, actually, a little. I thought I was your go-to man for awkward family events?”
“Don’t take it personally. I wasn’t even sure I was going to come.”
“That’s a line if I’ve ever heard one. You may be oil and water with your mom, but there is no way that you’re missing David Hirsch’s birthday.”
“There’s no getting anything past you, Stu.”
“Because I know you. What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing!” I laugh to try to prove the point.
He makes a dubious face, lips pushed to one side, one eyebrow raised, and says, “Well, either way, I’ve got something I want to tell you when you get back.”
“Tell me now.”
“No, it’s a face-to-face thing.”
“You’re pregnant?”
“Har, har,” he answers, rolling his eyes.
“Okay, well, I’ll try to keep my raging curiosity at bay. We’ll hang out when I get back.”
“Deal. Have a fun party that you didn’t invite me to.”
“Have fun planning out the thing that’s so important you can’t say it on the phone to my face, which you can see just like you could see it in person.”
“Have fun annoying your mother all weekend at the party you didn’t invite me to.”
“Have fun being a jealous little bitch that I’m hanging out with the great Kit Hirsch at the party I don’t want to go to except for the fact that I love my dad.”
“Okay, hang up.”
“You hang up.”
Finally, grinning, I hang up. But as I do, I think about Stuart’s jealousy at not being invited, about his desire to talk in person when I get back. It makes my stomach flip with anxiety, wondering what’s on his mind.
And then, of course, my thoughts jump to Cal, to the way he made me feel tonight.
Like I could really talk to him, really share.
He listened, and that meant something. He couldn’t have cared less that I was born to Hollywood royalty.
He didn’t push me to use them to get access for my band.
He just listened. And he understood, because his family expected him to follow a line of legacy as well, but he went his own way.
There is something between us, so it won’t be a hardship on my end to pretend he’s my fake boyfriend this weekend. And then I think about his kiss in the line earlier…delicious.
The heat between my legs is back as I think about the different kinds of smiles I got from him tonight. Several grins, which would have been a coup, except I got a joke from him. An actual joke and a real smile. It was glorious and turned me on.
If I hadn’t already slept with him, hadn’t already had him inside me, I might have been able to calm down. But no. I know what we can do together. I know how our bodies fit and how he can make me feel. And I want more. Once wasn’t enough.
I think about calling him and about asking him to stroke himself while I watch through the screen.
I think about showing him as I touch myself, strumming my clit like a guitar, making myself come with him on my mind.
And before long, that’s exactly what I’m doing—stroking myself alone, in the dark of my childhood bedroom, willing myself up the mountain, feeling the precipice looming.
I slide my fingers over my tingling clit, desire so painful I have to use two fingers, then three, to fill myself.
I stroke in and out, my pussy slick with arousal, pulsing as I inch closer, frustration starting to set in.
My mind on Calum, on his smile, his hand holding on to mine, his eyes dark and intense as he watched me drive away in the cab.
Fuck it. I make the call.
Calum’s face is sleepy as he answers. “Billie? Everything okay?”
“Sorry to wake you,” I apologize.
“What’s wrong?”
I’m almost too shy to say it. I almost lie and tell him I couldn’t sleep. “I need to come,” I blurt the words out before I can change my mind.
“Oh,” he says, then his eyes go wide. “Oh!”
“Yes. Will you stroke yourself? Will you let me see you? I need to see you.” I know I sound desperate, half-crazed with desire and frustration, but I can’t seem to help myself.
He’s quiet for a moment, and I think, for a moment, he might say no. He might even turn me down.
But he doesn’t.
Calum shuffles around for a second, then holds out the phone. I can see his hand is on his cock. His big, long, beautiful cock.
“I wish I could put that in my mouth,” I tell him.
“I wish you could, too.” He’s stroking his fist up and down the stiff length.
“It felt good, when I did that for you?”
“So good,” he moans.
“And when you put your mouth on me?”
“I loved the taste of you,” he says on a heavy breath. “I loved it. I loved being in control like that. Loved losing control.”
“Me too. I’m touching myself, Cal. Do you want to see?”
“Fuck yeah,” he moans in the affirmative, so I move the phone so he can see me. We both touch ourselves, watching, and when I see the slick tip of his cock, wet with precum, I tell him I’m close.
“I want to see your face when you come,” I say.
He moves the phone so I can see him, his teeth bared as the phone shakes a bit. He’s pumping his cock hard now, and it’s really helping me along.
“I’m there, Cal. So close. I’m there.”
“Let me see you,” he grounds out harshly.
I position my screen so he can see me as we finish, both spectacularly.
He groans out a loud “ahhhhh” while I forget all about breathing, arching my back, pushing through the glorious, spectacular orgasm.
It’s not enough, not by half. I know what it feels like to come with him inside of me now. But it will do.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“I should be thanking you, I’d say.” He gives me a little breathless laugh.
“Well, I woke you up, so maybe not.”
“Worth it.”
“Good night, Cal.”
“Good night, Billie.” He blows a kiss through the phone as I give a sleepy smile and hit the End button.
I hang up and throw my phone on the carpet beside my bed. I don’t know what is going on with me. Truly, I haven’t felt like this about someone in a long, long time. And to think, I kind of hated Calum Lefleur when I first met him.
Now, though, he’s all I can think of…
I want him.
And I can’t shake the feeling that this might be a recipe for disaster.