24. What Came Next
24
WHAT CAME NEXT
ARCHER
I suspected I’d be very good at being a kept man.
Once O’Connor started with her multiple hotel suites and her truck detailing, there was no question that she was going to throw some cash around. And I was there for it.
Go ahead, woman. Show your power.
We got to Chicago before the sun came up on Thursday. Our gig at The Salt Shed wasn’t until Saturday night, and Mal and Ian wouldn’t be flying in until Friday evening (Nicky, thrilled with the invitation, had taken the weekend off and would be joining us), but O’Connor saw no reason to tell the New Caledonian Hotel that they could take two of the three suites back for the first night.
So, okay. If they wanted to make Opinionated O’Connor happy, then far be it from me to stand in the way.
What were we going to do with our morning, since the dog groomer wanted us to arrive at noon?
Shopping, of course .
The mysterious Jane got a personal shopper named Kevin at a tiny boutique to open at seven in the morning. We rolled in—Charlotte was invited in, too, but we left her in the parking garage for being too unbearably filthy—and O’Connor announced that she wanted to see everything in my size in white.
I was drawn to a snowy leather jacket, but she vetoed it. “Fine for the angel in a ‘Leader of the Pack’ video,” she said dismissively. “But you are not going to wander around looking like an asshole.”
The salesman and I exchanged frowns. Kevin knew I looked good. I did too. But O’Connor redeemed herself by pulling out a stunning calf-length duster. “Try this,” she demanded, sending me to the changing room with an armful of clothes. Of course I tried the duster on first.
Oh. Oh yeah.
“What’s this made of?” I asked the salesman. “The material’s so thin, I can push up the sleeves.”
“Silk and rayon, darling,” Kevin said, adjusting the collar. “With enough weight to swing behind you as you stride, but not so hot you couldn’t wear it if you were, maybe, onstage?” I looked at him, and he tipped me a little wink. “I had great tickets to the Sheree concert here in August. You were on fire, Mr. Armstrong.”
I grinned. It was so fun to be recognized. “Thanks. You think I could wear this onstage?” I studied my reflection in the three-way mirror. It looked good.
“Definitely. With a tank top underneath? Tailored to fit your torso? Fire. Pure fire. Sing three or four songs, take off the duster? They’d be carrying people out of the stadium who fainted from the heat level. Let me get you one of the shirts. We have one in viscose that will harden your nipples.”
He bubbled at me, and I grinned back. Okay. Let’s do that.
O’Connor approved the duster and liked the shirt. “Used to be called a wife-beater. Disgusting name, but that’s a good look for you. You can have it tailored by Saturday?” she asked the guy.
“Absolutely, Ms. O’Connor. I’ll have it delivered to your hotel.”
“Excellent. Do you sell footwear?”
“I can have some delivered here. I’ll need half an hour.”
“Good. White boots. At least one pair cowboy, one pair motorcycle.”
Oh yeah. I could get used to this lifestyle. Her moods might be strangely variable, but her wallet was open.
And, as a bonus, O’Connor let me talk her into returning to the changing room with me. While Kevin was out front on the phone, waking up the most exclusive footwear salespeople in the Chicago area, O’Connor was unresisting when I turned her to face the mirrors, her back to my chest. I looped one arm around her waist and kissed her neck. “Look how good you look,” I whispered. “Look how good we look.”
“You’re so arrogant,” she said, but her breathing got faster when my fingers slipped beneath her waistband. “Archer . . .”
“What? Watch. Watch in the mirror. Look how your face is flushing. The color of your skin. God, you’re so beautiful.” Her knees buckled as my fingers reached her seam, and I held her more closely against me. “Feel me?” I whispered. “Feel me testing how wet you are? God, you’re slippery. Hot and slippery. It would be so easy to slide into you right now. Bend you forward a little and push my cock right into you. Would you like that, O’Connor?”
She was moving against my hand, picking up the rhythm of my finger stroking against her. “The salesman,” she protested weakly.
“Pretty sure he won’t come in until he’s called,” I crooned in her ear.
She rested her head against my shoulder and exhaled a shivery sigh. “Could you really do it? Fit your cock into me like that?”
I let her feel my smile against her cheek. “Actually, I didn’t think to replace the condom in my wallet, beautiful. Can you make do with my hand?”
Her chuckle was full-throated and deep. “You’re teasing me.”
“It’s not a tease if I’m going to get you off. And I am. You’re going to come, O’Connor.”
“How can you be so sure? You’re so—oh—arrogant.”
“Yes, I am. And you like that. You like to feel me touching you. Are you watching us? Open your eyes, O’Connor. Look how beautiful you are. We look so good, don’t we? This is what I see. Look at your eyes. Look at your nipples. Look at my hand going into your pants. Into your panties. I’m inside you, touching you. Caressing you. Watch us. Look how beautiful.”
Her breath was keeping up with my words. She was trembling in my arms, her knees quivering, when I landed my thumb squarely on her clit and she cried out.
I drank in the sound as she spasmed around my fingers. She doubled over the arm I’d banded at her waist and shivered before moving my hand away so she could turn in my arms to rest her head against my chest.
“What about you?” she asked breathlessly.
“Me. Yeah. What about me?”
She tipped her head up, her emerald eyes liquid in their beauty. “Will you let me touch you, Archer? Can’t I help?” Her fingers fumbled with my belt, and together we forced my faded jeans over my hips. “Let me touch.”
Her cool fingers wrapped around my cock and I groaned. “It’s not going to take long,” I warned. She dipped as if she would go to her knees and I held her up. “Wait—let’s save that for when we have time. I just need—is there a towel or?— ”
“Hand me that horrible leather jacket,” she said with a smile.
“No! Don’t be crazy. I’m not going to come on that work of art! How about this—will you buy me two of these tank tops?”
“Give me that. Stand still.” Her grasp wasn’t anywhere near as glorious as her core, but we were standing in front of the mirrors, and I watched as she stroked me. The sight overwhelmed me, and I came with a roar into a beautiful, clinging viscose shirt worth the salesman’s salary for a month or more.
This time, it was O’Connor who helped hold me up. I recovered in time to kiss her deeply. Hungrily. How could I want her again with my cum still drying on her hand? On the cloth?
“We’ll take this shirt with us,” O’Connor said breezily when we returned to Kevin, both of us more relaxed.
“Very good, ma’am. I’ve got the boots here. Which do you prefer?”
O’Connor spent a fortune on me, and I let her do it. She’d upgraded my look and it would pay off in my performance. Outstanding.
Charlotte came out of the groomer’s with a shine so deep in her charcoal coat that I could almost see myself in it. She leaped gracefully into the pristine back seat like a queen and settled regally onto a newly vacuumed and fluffed dog bed.
“She likes it,” O’Connor said. “You’ve got a girly-girl dog. You should probably start painting her fingernails.”
“Interesting idea.” Blood red, as the Aftermath dog? Pale pink to emphasize her girly nature? Inky black to look like a hellhound? I’d have to consult with Mal and Ian.
And most importantly, Nicky, our style maker.
Not that Nicky could afford a seven-thousand-dollar duster. We had a new style maker on hand now. Just the idea of that duster made me feel smug. How could I not be arrogant in that thing?
The New Caledonian Hotel had opened within the last year. They were thrilled to provide complete services to Opinionated O’Connor, including comping her more suites than there were people in her party. I kept Charlotte on her short leash and she was still feeling like a queen, so we made a very handsome procession as we crossed the vast, sparkling lobby.
Our suite was staggering. Not a hotel room at all. It was a small palace. We had a vast living room carpeted in white with floor-to-ceiling windows showing the lake and part of the Chicago skyline. We toured a dining room with a massive table. There was an office, a small kitchen, and a guest bathroom. The bedroom was bigger than the apartment Mal and I shared, with two dressing rooms, an echoing primary bath with a sunken tub in front of that view again, and a glass shower enclosure that would easily hold an entire basketball team.
“Are all the suites like this?” I asked. I sounded like a rube, but who wouldn’t in this place?
“This is our presidential suite,” the manager said. “The other accommodations are not as large, but we wanted Ms. O’Connor to see us at our best.”
“This will do,” she said easily. “You’ll have someone unpack for us?”
“It’s already being attended to, Ms. O’Connor. May we provide laundry services?”
Oh, hell yes. I loved this lifestyle. I grubbed out my dirty clothes, and O’Connor told me I had to surrender the white jeans I wore onstage.
“These will need to be hand-washed,” she said, “and returned to us by tomorrow morning.”
“Absolutely. It’s our pleasure.”
He bowed out of the living room, and the two maids unpacking our suitcases in the dressing rooms were hidden from sight. “Is it always like this?” I asked.
O’Connor wrapped her arms around my neck. “Everyone wants something,” she said. “If they want it badly enough, they’ll hand-wash a faded pair of jeans.”
“Hey, I look good in those pants.”
“Yes, you do. You look better out of them.”
“Can you wait until Flora and Fauna are done in there?”
She smiled at the names. “I can wait if you can.” She swayed against me, and my hands fell automatically to her hips. “I’ve been wanting to get you into a bed,” she said.
“Have you?” Gone was the angry woman from the night before. This O’Connor was looking to get some, and it was a beautiful sight. I tugged forward on those hips, pressing my newly erect cock into her belly. “To do what?”