Nope, definitely not.
I scoop up another handful of ice and then reach around to run the cubes up the inside of her thigh while leaning forward to watch her face. Her lips part on a gasp and her head falls back against my chest.
Reaching down with her free hand, she grabs my wrist and urges it upward until I’m rubbing the ice over the crotch of her lacy thong. Her thighs clench around my hand as the ice drips down them.
When the band ends the first song to a raucous applause, I ease the ice inside the front of her panties and start rubbing the cubes around through the lace, moving them back and forth over her clit.
Apparently, I’m so distracted with her iced pussy that it takes me awhile to realize the band isn’t playing another song yet. When I glance back up at the stage, Rob Lawrence is looking right down at me, at us, his pierced eyebrow arched. I grin at him like a lunatic, and then he comes over and, no shit, squats down to pinch one of her nipples!
It’s so hot to witness that my dick weeps at the sight.
In the blink of an eye, Rob is gone and the drummer is playing the beat of the next song.
“Holy shit!” the girl exclaims. “Did you see…” she asks me over her shoulder. “He just…holy shit he touched me!”
“I know!” I yell back while I keep playing with the ice in her panties. “You lucky little bitch!” I tease her.
“I love you, Rob!” she yells with her arms in the air until I ease my fingers down the front of her soaking wet panties and shove two fingers inside of her. “Oh fuck!” she shouts, grabbing onto the stage with both hands as she squirms on my pumping digits, working her ass on my erection so hard the friction alone is going to make me come while simultaneously leave my cock raw. My fingers push in and out while pressing the heel of my hand firmly against her clit until it finally happens. This girl whose name I don’t even know shakes and screams for me, not the rock star on stage. The only thing that would make it better is if she was screaming my name that she wouldn’t let me tell her.
Once her convulsions stop, she then reaches back and I’m not sure if she’s trying to tell me to stop or what before her fingers find what they were apparently looking for all along…my zipper. It’s not easy to get it down over my hard-on, so I take over the task, glad to give my Johnson a little more room to expand outside of my tight leather pants.
“Do you have a condom?” she asks over her shoulder as she wraps her fist around me and strokes hard.
“Yeah,” I answer on a grunt. “You mean…right now? Right here?” I shout next to her ear to make sure she understands and we’re on the same fucking page because, hell yes, I want to fuck her.
“Right here,” she says. “Sex, drugs and rock and roll, right?”
“Right,” I agree as I quickly retrieve the condom from my wallet while her hand keeps moving. Ripping the foil wrapper open with my teeth, I have the rubber out; and then she rolls it the rest of the way down my dick in record breaking time.
Would it be weird if I thrust inside of her to the beat of “Love in the Fast Lane”, one of my favorite songs while the band performs it?
Nah. Fuck it.
Hiking up the back of her short dress, I yank her panties down to her knees and grab her lean hips to tug them backward. She rests her forearms on the stage just before I let go of one of her hips to line my cock up. A surge from the crowd pushing against my back is how I end up fully seated inside of her the next second.
Oh and it’s like the snuggest, hottest fit of my entire life. I have to take a few moments to close my eyes and soak it up, wanting to remember this, the thumping of the music, the sound of Rob’s melodic voice before he yells lyrics into the microphone all while I’m doing the thing I love most above even my bike — fucking.
It’s a goddamn perfect night that I don’t want to end. So I take my time, fucking her nice and slow to the love ballad about finding love on the side of a highway, making it last and waiting for her pussy to lock my shit down. When it doesn’t happen and the song is about to end, right along with my dick, I reach around under the front of her skirt and rub my fingertips over her clit. It takes about five slow circles before her cunt squeezes down on my shaft the first time. I start fucking her faster and stroking her swollen clit like my life depends on it because it does. Nothing feels as good as a woman getting off until she milks the cum from my hard cock.
Her entire body dips and sags, and then it happens — my dick is locked up tight by her throbbing pussy that’s trying to pull me in as deep as possible as she draws every drop of seed from me. I thrust like a mad man and explode into the condom so hard that for an instant I worry the rubber won’t be able to hold up to the force.
Any grunts or moans we make are drowned out by the crowd as our bodies take what they need from each other.
And by the time it’s over, this chick is so fucking wet my balls are soaked with her juices. If we were back at my place, I would put her on her knees and make her lick them clean. But we’re not. We’re in public at a rock concert, and we just fucked like wild, horny animals.
I put in a damn good effort but not enough to explain the sweat that’s pouring down my forehead and back.
It takes my sex-hazed mind several minutes to realize it’s not sweat but rain pelting down on us from the sky that’s just opened up.
A crash of thunder interrupts the band’s song, causing the guitar and drummer’s notes to die down before Rob looks over to the side of the stage. Then he says into the microphone, “Sorry, folks. We’re gonna have to call it a night before the lightning fries us all.” He yells, “Keep fucking rocking!” before he goes over and puts the microphone back into the stand and then carries it off the stage. The rest of the band unhook and carry off the other instruments and whatever equipment they can carry while I stand there frozen in shock.
Guess Fiasco was right about the weather forecast – it’s raining fucking cats and dogs. That may be the first time he’s ever been right about anything.
“Crap,” I hear the woman I’m still buried inside of grumble as the crowd behind us starts screaming and running for cover.
“Do you, ah, do you want to go back to my place and finish this?” I ask her over the sound of the pounding rain coming down on us, soaking us through our clothes.
“I did finish!” she tells me when she slips out from in front of me and turns around to face me with an enormous smile, not bothered in the slightest by the rain drenching her hair.
“I could help you finish a few more times before the sun comes up, girl with no name.”
“Oh, I have a name,” she says. “You just don’t need to know it.”
She’s wrong. I do need to know it, or I may go crazy trying to find her again after she leaves my apartment in the morning without giving me her number. There should be plenty of time for me to discretely grab her phone to call myself later.
“So? My place?” I ask.
She turns toward the stage. Sitting her cup down, she flattens her palms on it as if she’s sad it’s already over and we have to say goodbye to it before turning back to me. “Yeah. Your place.”
I’m about to grab her hand to pull her toward the exit to try and find a ride home when a dark figure jogs out from backstage. He comes to a stop in front of us, and that’s when I finally realize it’s Rob fucking Lawrence with a black hoodie pulled up over his head.