Gisele Vs. Guitar Hero Page 2

  But I can’t forget the feeling I felt at his touch …

  “I’m Stone Slayer,” he says, way after I’ve said my name, and I have to wonder at the delayed reaction. Maybe I’m not alone in what I felt just now.

  But I just nod, keeping my face cold, unsmiling. I have to keep my game face on. I can’t let him get into my head. This is a guy so jacked up on drugs and alcohol, he thought it was a good idea to take his cock out and show it to the world.

  No matter how sexy his eyes and his abs and his long blonde hair are, I can’t let it affect me. I have a job to do.

  4

  Stone

  I come down into the lobby of the hotel with my heart in my throat. I can’t show it, of course, but I’m fucking terrified here. I've screwed up big time, and if I can’t schmooze my way out of this, I’m screwed. My last two albums have gone double platinum, and I usually have people falling all over themselves to do whatever I need them to. I have people who’d be thrilled to pick up my dry cleaning, for God’s sake.

  But this time? I may’ve screwed the pooch here, beyond the point where even my money can repair it. Already, people are saying that instead of calling it streaking, showing up naked in public should be renamed “pulling a Slayer.” And don’t even get me started on the hashtags trending on Twitter. Since I made my assistant leave me after her fuck-awful news this morning, I’ve spent all my time on Twitter and Facebook, and oh God, some of the memes …

  So I plaster on my sexiest smile and I decide to turn the schmooze level on high. No woman can resist me if I lay it on thick enough. It doesn’t hurt that Gisele is the sexiest woman I think I’ve ever laid eyes on. Long, blonde hair, tiny waist, huge tits, long legs—I didn’t think women were actually built like this in real life. Her tight, red, pencil skirt and button-up shirt are just begging to be removed, one button at a time. I can see just a hint of cleavage and want nothing more in the world than to undo that top button and see what kind of lacy bra she has on. Because a woman like her? I’m sure it’s nothing but lace that she’s wearing.

  Or maybe nothing at all …

  “So Gisele,” I say, pitching my voice just right, hoping the deep timbre will cause shivers to run down her spine like it has on countless other women, “thanks for coming to talk to me today.” Talk, not interview. If I can just get her into the right frame of mind, she might take it easy on me. “I see Blush magazine everywhere—” liar, I’ve never even heard of it, “—and so talking to someone from that magazine is a real hono—”

  “Interview,” she says, cutting me off.

  Ice cold. I’ve heard Antarctica in the middle of January is warmer than Gisele is right now. I’m a little afraid I’m going to get frostbite any moment.

  “What?” I say stupidly, because I have nothing else to say. I'm, quite literally, stunned into silence. Not a normal state of being for a rock star, I assure you.

  “I’m here to interview you, not just talk to you. I’m here to ask the hard questions, not play patty-cake with you, and I'm certainly not here to stroke your ego.”

  For the first time in her life, Frances has completely failed me. This is her softball interview? God, I’d hate to see what would’ve happened if she’d thrown me to the wolves.

  So I drop my schmoozing persona. I’ve never been good at doing it for long stretches of time anyway. I’m much more comfortable just being me. I gesture Gisele over to a pair of chairs, sitting at an angle from each other, and we settle in. She crosses her legs, her stilettos showing off her calf muscles to perfection, and I swallow hard. I tear my eyes away from her legs long enough to say, “You’re right. This is an interview and you’re here to ask me the hard questions. Can I ask you one first?” I don’t wait for an answer to my rhetorical question but instead plow forward. “You don’t seem to like me much. Can you tell me why?”

  I’m not someone to beat around the bush, if you can’t tell. Tell me the truth and let me deal with that truth. That’s all that matters.

  “Why don’t I like …” she sputters, just staring at me. “Because you went and pulled a Slayer,” I wince inwardly at that, “and flashed the whole world. On camera. Your grandkids are going to be able to watch that video someday. Speaking of, do you know how many children watched that video? I don’t know either—that’s the point! There isn’t a way to know! You are a disgrace to the rock star community, and believe me, that’s a hard title to win! I mean, God, one of your kind dangled a small child over a balcony, and yet, you’ve managed to out-asshole him. Congratulations.” She’s breathing hard by the time she’s done, and she’s just staring at me like a questionable brown stain on a carpet.

  Okay, I’ll admit it, that hurt. It’s one thing to have a thousand people on the Internet tell me shit like that, but to have a sexy-as-hell reporter say it right to my face?

  Fuuuccckkkkk …

  I stare at her for a minute, trying to decide. She just stares right back at me, unblinking. No hesitation, no batting her eyelashes, no coyness. She is who she is.

  I like that. I like that a lot.

  I take a deep breath and say something I never expected to say, “This is going to sound weird, but I need you to do something with me right now. Will you come up to my hotel room?”

  For the first time since I laid eyes on her, she cracks. Just a little.

  “Up to your room?” she asks, staring at me questioningly. When I simply nod, she presses, “Why? What’s up there that you have to show me?”

  “It'd be better if I showed you. I promise, I will not make any physical advances on you at any point, and if you want to leave, I won’t stop you. But I think you’ll want to see what I have.”

  She just stares at me, thinking, weighing her options. I know the curiosity has to be killing her. Finally, she gives a single nod.

  “Agreed.”

  With a smile, I stand up. A part of me cannot believe that I'm doing this, but another part of me is … relieved. I’ve been carrying this around for a long time, and to finally show someone else is going to be a huge relief.

  I can only hope that Gisele Taylor, Blush magazine reporter extraordinaire, will listen to me, and more importantly, believe me. It’s not like I have a lot of experience sharing this information with the world, so at this point? All I have is hope.

  We head to the elevators, and I watch her ass sway in her pencil skirt as I follow behind her. If I’d known that all Blush reporters were this hot, I would’ve asked Frances to set up an interview a long time ago. This beats being interviewed by Matt Blauer any day of the week.

  I smile blandly at her as we ride up in the elevator in silence, and then head to my room.

  Show time!

  5

  Gisele

  I'm finally getting out of the elevator and off of the most awkward ride of my life; there's nothing like telling a guy off and then getting into a confined space with him. I follow him to his suite. We walk inside and it’s gorgeous. Of course. I mean, it’s the W. What did I expect?

  I still have a hard time not gawking a little bit though. Just a little bit. I hope I’m hiding it well, but this sure as hell isn’t your $79 room down at the local motel.

  “Come in here,” he says, his voice drifting back toward me, and I realize that he’s moved on without me. Where is he? I scan the room and realize that he’s stepped into the bathroom.

  Weird.

  I hesitantly make my way over to it, but stand in the doorway when I get there. I don’t care how fuck-handsome he is, he was high enough on drugs or whatever to think that flashing the world was a good idea no more than 12 hours ago. He obviously isn’t to be trusted. I regret my choice in shoes this morning; if I need to sprint my way to the door, I won’t make it far in stilettos. I wonder how casually I can slip off my shoes so I can hold them in my hands when I run. But my thoughts are cut short when he holds out an orange pill bottle toward me.

  “Look.”

  I cock my head to the side as I take the pill bottle from
his hand. Harmless. Boring. An orange bottle, a pharmacy company printed on the label, and some drug name I can’t pronounce.

  “Here’s the truth,” he says, and I suddenly wish that I had a recorder going. Whatever he is about to say will be huge. I can feel it in my bones. “Everyone knows that I’ve struggled with drugs and alcohol—I have for a long time. That’s what the news said this morning—that I must’ve relapsed. But the opposite is true.

  “My doctor put me on a new, experimental drug. It’s amazing; it takes away all cravings for any alcohol of any kind for 24 hours. I just don’t want it. I used to drink bourbon like some people drink water, but now? The idea disgusts me. All because of this wonder pill.”

  He reaches out and takes the bottle back out of my hands, and I feel a little bit of reverence in his movements, like he’s handling something sacred.

  “That really works, then?” It seemed too strange to me—that a simple pill could do so much. I had never even heard of it before; how is this not on every morning show in America?

  “Yeah, it really works. Really and truly works. There’s just one problem.” He looks me straight in the eye, blue eyes somber and serious. “They put me to sleep when I use them. I don’t just mean drowsy, I mean dead asleep. Absolutely no control over my body. At the same time, it also causes sleepwalking. So even though I don’t have any memory afterward of what I did, I can talk, I can sing, I can even pull out my cock and wave it around in front of tens of thousands of people, and not remember a moment of it.”

  I just stare at him, sure he is pulling my leg. “No fucking way,” I finally say when he doesn’t blink, or yell ‘April Fools!’, or anything else that I'm thinking he should do. “There’s just no way!”

  He shrugs. “When the doctor first told me that, I said the same thing. It didn’t seem real to me. Who’d heard of something like that? But Gisele, I don’t remember last night at all. My thought this morning was that it must’ve been a good concert because I hurt all over. I figured I must’ve had quite the workout. So when my assistant showed me the video, I was horrified—just as horrified as you.”

  I stare at him, trying to decide if he's telling me the truth. If you’re going to come up with a lie, this is a hell of a whopper to conjure up. Why not go for something easier to believe?

  But on the other hand, how could I really believe something like this? It seems like I would’ve heard about it on the news at some point, right?

  “Prove it.” The words just slip out of me and I stare at him challengingly. He stares back at me, solemn, and nods.

  “I’m supposed to take one pill a day,” he says. “The pill takes a while to work if I do that, though. So, I’m going to take two. I’ve only done that one other time, and it was pretty much instantaneous; I won’t remember anything I say or do within minutes of me swallowing two of these things. I’m going to be asleep. Are you clear on that?”

  I bite my lip, hesitating, but c’mon, who could resist? I nod. “Okay. Let’s see this in action.”

  Right now, I’m giving this a 50/50 chance of being the real deal. Like, it’s so insane of an idea that it just might be true. I would’ve told you this morning that Stone is just a loser who can’t figure out when it’s okay to go swinging his man meat around, but now?

  I don’t know. He’s almost … believable.

  He tosses two back with a swig of water.

  Time to see if he’s full of shit …

  6

  Stone

  As I’m throwing the pills into my mouth and washing them down with some water, I’ll admit it—I’m eyeing Gisele up. Believe me, if she was standing in your hotel bathroom, you would be too. God, legs so tanned and long and smooth, they look like they could be in an advertisement.

  Or on a stripper.

  But even more amazing than those legs are her tits. Have you ever seen tits so big on a girl, you wonder how she can stand up without assistance? That’s Gisele. I have a hard time forming sentences when I’m around her because I’m drooling so much. I've never seen a rack on a girl like this, outside of porn films, of course.

  I wonder for a moment if Gisele had a boob job done, or if they’re real. I want to ask her, but even more than that, I want to take off her clothes and find out for myself.

  Oh fuck …

  “Listen, I have to tell you something,” I say quickly, before I lose the ability to speak. I'm already starting to fall under the spell of the pills—I can feel the tug of sleep start to pull me under. “Whatever I’m thinking about before I fall asleep, that’s usually what happens when I am asleep. Not that I’m a genie and grant three wishes or something …”

  I’m so tired. I struggle to keep my eyes open. I don’t want to miss even a moment of drooling over those tits. I blink slowly. Is she taking off her shirt? Is she going to show me her tits after all? That can’t be right. She’s a reporter, she isn’t going to…

  7

  Gisele

  I’m fingering the buttons on my blouse fast, watching the lust in his eyes light up. So what if he wants to tell me some crazy story about those pills and he’s lying? Oh, someone as cocky as Stone is sure to say something any minute about how he knew I’d put out.

  The truth is I love my job, but I'm letting myself slip into the big no-no you think you only see in the movies. Sleeping with the source. I can tell myself I’m doing what I can to get the story; if we fuck and he really doesn’t remember it, then I know he’s telling the truth. If we fuck and he clearly remembers everything … well, journalism isn't what it used to be and I’ll tell my editor. She’ll understand. I know that she didn’t get her job without bending the rules … in a world of listicles and gifs embedded in online articles, she and I both know that getting the real scoop on a rock star isn't going to happen by playing nice, or by the rules.

  Plus, it has been way too long since I got laid. Why not kill two birds with one stone, as it were? My hands can’t work the buttons fast enough when I see the way his eyes zoom in on my breasts. Yeah, they’re big.

  I see that he’s got a huge, hard cock for me, tenting his pants mercilessly, aching to be free. Oh, I can so help with that.

  But, yeah, this is just a dirty little part of getting the story. Sure.

  My whole body is on fire, and I don't really care about what I may or may not be rationalizing to myself. Because I'm completely thinking about the story, and I'm also completely thinking about how much I want to lick every inch of his body. I want to ride his cock and show him that he's not the only one with a top notch ability to charm.

  You don't look like I do and not know a thing or two about charming people out of their pants. It's been a while, but a girl doesn't forget how to ride a cock. My body is, and has always been, one way for me to get attention. It could be a good or bad thing. I decided a long time ago that I'm making it a good thing. If I'm going to get attention, then I'll get the kind that I want.

  "Stone, you want to fuck me?" I ask, stepping closer to him and running a finger down the full length of his erection.

  He grins widely but says nothing.

  "You don't just invite a gal up to your room and not plan to fuck her." I look to see if he's going to offer anything up. "But I guess it wouldn't be the right thing to do," I say, pulling my finger back.

  Stone's hand grabs my wrist and pulls me against him, my breasts slapping into the wall of his chest. "You don't look like you ever worry about being a good girl," Stone says, his voice low and sultry.

  My pussy is so wet right now. The way he's looking at me is enough to make me squirm, but the deep sound in his voice makes me weak in the knees. If I wasn't planning to fuck him before, well, that low rumble like a wild animal ready to pounce me? That totally sealed the deal.

  "Do you like bad girls?" I ask Stone, my voice catching in my throat.

  He hasn't let go of my wrist. His thumb brushes softly over the skin.

  It makes me sigh a little, involuntarily. I can't believe how strong of a reactio
n I'm having to him. I'm not thinking about the story at all now. I'm not thinking about the pills being real or a lie. I'm not thinking about anything except if he's going to undo my bra.

  Stone's breathing long, deep breaths that press my nipples hard against his firm, six pack abs and chest that I'm practically plastered to. His hand at the back of my bra undoes the clasp.

  My sizeable breasts spill out from the fabric.

  Stone fucking growls in response. He lifts me up to him, lightning fast.

  My legs wrap around him and I gasp.

  He makes short order of the space between us and the bed, which he drops me onto and immediately he tears down my skirt. The fabric is in tatters.

  He likes what he finds.

  "No panties?" Stone looks me in the eyes with a devilish smile and a wicked twinkle in his dark eyes.

  What? Stone is right. I'm not much for being a good girl.

  His hands go to my thighs and he spreads them apart fast and hard.

  I gasp and I'm panting. God. I'm going to fuck him. I can't wait to see what he's working with, bare, and not taunting me through clothes. I look at that outline. His cock is easily bigger than anything I've had in my mouth before. I lick my lips. Bigger than anything that's been in my pussy before. I'm all about new thrills.

  Stone steps back. He pulls his shirt off with one hand behind his back, looking at me with fire in his gaze.

  My blood is rushing through my body like it's on fire. My heart rate is pounding fast through my body.

  He goes for his belt. Slow. Oh, he knows he's torturing me.

  I can't help myself and I whimper a little. I can't have him holding out like this Stone. "If you're going to fuck me, Stone, get your ass over here."