Sex on a Schedule – By Arianna Quinn
SEX ON A SCHEDULE
A RISKY REPLAY BONUS STORY
BY ARIANNA QUINN
Derek
“You want to do what?” My best friend and bass player for the Muddy Boots, Charlie, says as we stand inside his hotel suite door too early for everyone else to be awake for the day.
It’s not too complicated what I’m asking, but it’s everything.
“I don’t get why you’re asking me. Go talk to Tyler.
He’s the one who was a saint for years. Not me.
” Charlie points in the general direction of where my brother, who my parents adopted from foster care when I was eleven, and the former drummer for Muddy Boots, is staying.
“I’m a slut, remember? I fuck women every night. Sometimes two. I can’t help you.”
I tilt my head at him. I don’t math, but something doesn’t add up. “You haven’t done that for a long time. Especially since Emily came back.”
“What?” Charlie looks everywhere but at me. “You don’t keep tabs on my sex life. That’s, well, that’s weird.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Why are you acting weird? Do you have a thing for Emily? Is that why you’re celibate?”
He smiles, and it widens before he says, “She’s a ten, you know. And maybe I am spanking the dragon with images of her walking out of the surf in La Jolla, her long brown hair wet and smoothed back, sticking to her gloriously naked body.”
Shit, the image has me wanting to run back to the suite where Emily is sleeping.
We had sex last night, but I’m ready to go again.
Emily and I have been together for almost a year, and since it’s been official, let’s say we’re both insatiable when we’re together.
Sometimes the urge hits us in inconvenient places, and mostly when we don’t have the kids.
And it’s way too intense after I’ve been on tour. Like last night.
We’re in Los Angeles for the Rise LA concert tonight, a benefit for those who lost their homes in a recent fire.
I haven’t seen the kids or Emily in three weeks.
Emily flew from Nashville into LAX with them yesterday afternoon.
My dad drove up here from San Diego to pick them up because he insisted on giving us a weekend together, plus, since becoming a grandpa, he’s a ball of mush and will spoil them all weekend.
He’s even gone as far as asking them to call him abuelito —grandpa in Spanish—which won Emily over, since that’s what they would have called her dad if he’d been around.
As soon as he drove back to San Diego with them, Emily and I fucked on every surface of the one-bedroom suite.
“See,” Charlie’s wearing a shit-eating grin. “You can’t last more than twenty-four hours without fucking Emily. You won’t last two to three days.”
Fuck. He’s right.
“Well, that’s why I’m here asking for advice. How do you do it?”
Charlie’s eyebrows fly into his dark hair.
“What are you talking about? I don’t do abstinence.
I don’t do relationships. And why would you want to slow down with Emily?
She’s gorgeous, you’re in love, you’re living together, you won’t be able to all the time.
Live it up. Make deposits in the spank bank for when you’re on tour and lonely. ”
“I don’t have a choice when we’re in different cities, but I need to keep my hands to myself while she’s in the same room.
In the same bed.” I hear myself. I sound like a damn sex addict and a predator.
Shit. “Okay, let me rephrase. It’s really important that I keep sex on a schedule.
Every two to three days. No solo time, or video time, either.
Regular, old-fashioned sex with the woman I love every two to three days. ”
Charlie’s eyes widen. “Two to three days? Is there a reason for that specific interval?”
“No.” There is, but I’m not telling Charlie before I talk to Emily.
“Whatever, man, go talk to Tyler. I can’t help you.”
“Tyler can’t help me. Besides, there’s no way I’m talking to him about sex or women or relationships.
Not right now.” Sex isn’t something I talk much about with Tyler.
After all, he’s my brother, and none of us are interested in bringing up the topic of relationships with Tyler, who is in the middle of a divorce.
“Years ago, I watched you turn away women you were attracted to. You didn’t have a girlfriend to keep you abstinent on the road, but you still did it. Tell me how.”
I admit I’m asking this question for two reasons.
I want to know how to slow this constant need for Emily, but I’m also curious why Charlie hasn’t been his usual, like he claimed earlier, sleeping with women every night, and sometimes two, during this last part of the tour.
It started last fall when we went on tour after Emily and I got together.
And something tells me my best friend is rethinking his lifestyle, or he has a secret girlfriend somewhere.
Emily mentioned that Charlie doesn’t seem himself.
I’ve asked if all is okay with his sister and her family, or his grandmother, and he says they’re fine.
Every so often I catch him watching me and Emily with sad, longing looks.
Never thought he’d get here, and I doubt he notices he’s giving off those vibes.
“What are you talking about?” Charlie widens his stance.
“You know, when we started out. You never fooled around with anyone for years. We thought you had a secret girlfriend or were dating someone who was married, but you’ve never mentioned anyone.
I assume you can help me because, I mean, you said no to some beautiful women.
Was it some sort of spiritual cleansing? ” I add the last part to give him shit.
His shoulders draw back, and he stills. But it doesn’t last. He rolls his eyes and opens his door. “Go have morning sex with Emily and leave me out of this weird plan to have sex on a schedule.”
I don’t move. Because going into the suite is likely to have me touching Emily’s warm brown skin, hearing her groggy morning voice, and then looking into her blue eyes and kissing her soft lips. And kissing leads to everything.
According to my online research, if Emily and I start trying to get pregnant, I need my swimmers in the best shape. Sex every few days is the best option for them to do their thing and make us a baby. The thought of her pregnant makes my chest swell.
Charlie laughs. “Fuck, you’ve got it bad. I’m happy you two finally figured out how to be together. Go enjoy it before your dick doesn’t work anymore.”
“Asshole,” I say. Charlie knows I’m giving him shit.
When I walk out, I catch the room service attendant raising his hand to knock on the door to my suite. “I’m here, I’ll get it.”
The attendant nods. He doesn’t say anything about me walking around the hotel hallway in pajama pants, slippers, and an undershirt.
Hoping Emily is still asleep, I open the door slowly, put my finger to my lips, signaling to be as quiet as possible, and wave him inside. I let him know where to leave the many plates of food and start looking for the money I left earlier by the door for the tip.
“Hey, where were you?” Emily’s voice greets me, and I look up to see her wrapped like a present in the hotel robe.
And I doubt she’s wearing anything underneath, because I left her naked under the sheets when I went to talk to Charlie. The attendant doesn’t look in her direction, and I gratefully hand him the tip before he leaves.
She smiles at me and walks over, shrugging off the robe and dropping it to the floor.
She barely bothered to slip on a triangle of lace she calls panties.
My mouth dries, and I lick my lips. Her skin is a natural golden tan all year round, with lickable curves and a devilish grin that makes my cock ache every time. “Did you order French toast?”
I have a habit of feeding her French toast anytime I can. At home, it’s a weekly treat, but I order it every time we travel. I know what she loves, and I love to spoil her.
Her hands slip under my shirt and up my abs to my ribs. My cock is very much on board with whatever Emily has planned. I squeak.
Emily tilts her head. “Are you okay?” There’s worry in her blue eyes.
“Hungry?” I gently remove her hands from under my shirt.
Her eyes narrow. “What’s going on, Anderson?” she asks, using the commanding Army tone she perfected after serving our country for eight years.
“Nothing.” My shaky voice betrays me. I busy myself uncovering the various plates I special ordered, with which the hotel was more than happy to comply.
“There’s yogurt with berries and walnuts, lox bagels, and oysters.
There’s also an Italian breakfast, which is a bean stew with tomatoes, with eggs on top. ”
“Oysters, for breakfast?” Her left brow almost hits the ceiling. “Where’s the coffee? The bacon? My French toast?”
“I thought we’d try something different. And you know, caffeine and bacon aren’t the healthiest.”
She eyes the food, then me. “You ordered enough for the entire hotel. Why don’t you invite the guys over to join us? Can’t let it go to waste.”
Not a bad idea. With them here, I’ll resist the desire to devour her body for dessert. I sound like a cannibal. It’s been three weeks, and last night wasn’t enough.
“What were you planning to do with all this food? Feed tonight’s audience?” Rip says, and shoves a piece of lox bagel into his mouth.
There’s a large coffee urn on the table since Rip, our drummer, Tyler, and Charlie wouldn’t have breakfast without it.
“This is so good,” Tyler says as he scoops another serving of the Italian breakfast. It’s the tastiest.
“I’m so full.” Emily, dressed in her pajamas, pats her stomach. I’m drawn to where her hands rest.