Chapter 45: Drummer Boys Can't Get No Satisfaction

Bodie

Four Days Later, Atlanta

I'm lying on my back, watching the dance of morning leaf shadow on the wall of our bedroom.

The exquisite sounds that Marley makes as she's coming awake are sheer torture to me. Soft, unorganized little moans like she's protesting coming out of her dream state.

We've been sharing sleep and waking up together for a few days now, and those murmurs she makes are already entrenched in my brain.

Memorized, categorized, and fantasized.

They drive me fucking crazy. When she starts mumbling like that, all I wanna do is slide up her tank top and peel down her sleep shorts and bring her fully awake with sweet words and sexy moves. Turn those soft little sounds into urgent pants and moans.

But for one reason and another, we haven't got there yet. And waking her up with my dick seems a little pushy for our first time.

Second time. Whatever.

Goddamn. Am I ever going make it with this girl again?

Why is it so hard?

I snort at my own unintended pun, as I adjust my morning wood.

Yeah, I know why you are so hard, dude. You've been shit out of luck for months. I feel ya.

But seriously, why is this so hard? We were almost there a few days ago, but ever since, it's been nothing but tears from Marley.

Happy tears over the settled babydaddy drama. Sympathetic tears as I battled through a couple of rough days of withdrawal. Tears of frustration over the very first parenting decision we have to make together: whether or not our new little family of three sticks together or splits up when I have to go LA for Grammy rehearsals.

I thought it was a no brainer. With Darius' love for music, I just assumed he would do some homeschool thing and come with to LaLa Land for an inside peak at the rock star life.

But to my genuine surprise, Darius is not jazzed about that idea. He keeps throwing out all the reasons he should spend the next few weeks with Pat and TJ, and then join us on the road for the summer.

He wants to finish his school year strong, not phone it in and have a chance of his GPA slipping.

He kinda misses Jory and he definitely misses Mama Pat's cooking.

His mom and I should have some "alone time" so we can get it out of our system and stop making him want to gag with all the PDA.

He doesn't want to be stuck with some stupid PA/babysitter while we go out at night to do all the pre-Grammy publicity.

He hates Arabella and he is disgusted he has to share the same planet with her; he can't imagine sharing the same city.

On that last point, his mama seems to agree, but she's confined her opinion to a few sassy "mmmm-hmmmm's" when he says stuff like that.

It's not only the last point on which they are aligned. In fact, Marley agrees with Darius' idea from a psychological standpoint.

I can pretty much recite her position by heart.

We need to let Darius stay with Pat and TJ for his emotional well-being. In order for Darius to feel secure in our new family, we need to let him spend some time with his old family. He needs to see that we can all work together and be there for him, not stake out territory and lay claim to him.

From a psychological standpoint, that all sounds very healthy, I agree.

But this is the real world we are livin' in, and from a practical standpoint, Darius staying with the Turners doesn't make a damn bit of sense to me. Pat can not know about the new paternity test.

TJ, I trust now. But Pat?

Blood is always going to be thicker than water with her. I'm pretty sure deep down she knows Darius is my kid, but she's never going to want that knowledge to come to light. And if she thinks we are moving forward with legalizing Darius' true paternity, there's no telling what she might do.

So that means we will be asking a thirteen year old hormonal, emotional teenager to keep a burning secret from the woman that raised him. The person he's probably closest to in the world.

It's asking for all kinds of hell to break loose.

Marley agrees that yes, it's not a perfect situation but that Darius is mature beyond his years, and he understands the seriousness of the situation. She says we have to trust him to protect himself in this situation. She points out that he's done an incredible job playing along with Daemon's attempts at fatherhood, despite the fact that he quickly formed a bad opinion of him. She says we can trust him with this secret.

It's not that I don't trust Darius. But he's a kid, and this secret? Trusting him with this secret might well be trusting him with the things I hold most dear. With his life. With his mama's life.

If Daemon finds out that Marley cheated on him with me, and that Darius is my son, not his? If he thinks he's been duped for thirteen years? His raging ego might completely overwhelm his thinking. He might blow through that three million dollar shield I bought with bullets. Lots of bullets.

It's like, Marley can't really accept the danger. She keeps telling me that Daemon still believes Darius is his son and he would never try to hurt him. Plus, he would never bring trouble to Pat and TJ's door. She says the one place in all of Sixmob's reach that Darius is actually the safest from any kind of violence is with Pat and TJ—especially TJ.

She trusts him so much she trusts him to manage Daemon.

I do understand that—I trust TJ enough that I used him as a shield to walk up to Daemon and pull a gun on the fucker, and TJ let me, knowing full well what I planned to do—but that was my life at rist. Not Darius'. I can't wrap my head around leaving my kid so near Daemon's clutches, and jetting off to Hollywood to party like a rock star.

So, yeah. We are basically starting out this new family with a lot of frustrated talk and no action. Every time we discuss it, we get nowhere. Except to the tears.

Marley's raw vulnerability is crushing my heart and making me want to spend all my time rubbing her back and giving her butterfly kisses, but it's also got me walking on eggshells with this decision we have to make. Darius' grabby hands towards his not-Grandma and his not-Uncle have me grinding my teeth and tryna keep my mouth shut. The danger that no one feels but me is ripping up my insides like a caged tiger.

My withdrawal symptoms? They have been the craptastic icing on the bullshit cake.

I have my mind set against ever using pills again, but I can't lie. Every time I get in my feels over Marley's tears or Darius' sarcasm, I get a taste in my mouth for that bourbon I had a few days ago. Just a drink or two.

And that's not good. Cause a few drinks can lead to a good drunk. And after a series of serious benders and god-awful hangovers, I eventually need a few pills to amp me up from that. Then I get too edgy and I want a few painkillers to even me out.

And I do really love staying in that haze of oxy. Until the oxy doesn't do it anymore. Eventually I grow tolerant. Unfortunately now I know how fucking great heroin feels. For a few minutes, anyway.

After the many sessions with Marley, I'm very aware of my cycle. I'm not capable of what Leed or Adam or Matt del Marco do. We've all probably got a tendency toward addictions. We've all had periods of going overboard and then sobering up. But they don't seem to cycle as fast as I do.

Being a party-time drinker like those guys is not in my future. I'm not capable of the self-check they can make after a few days of serious drinking.

I always keep going.

I know it's complete sobriety or pure hell for me.

So I decided to resume my methadone therapy.

My addiction treatment is one thing I can control right now. Surprisingly, it was actually the Reverend who finally helped me see that I should do that. I think in general he favors getting off methadone, but after I spilled about half of my guts to him like he's a priest and not a preacher—keeping all the really down low stuff carefully tucked inside of course—he had a different take on my very complicated, very stressful circumstances.

"Bodie, you've asked for my counsel," he said, "I prayed to let God help me put aside my opinions and beliefs and give you the best advice I can. I understand that being substance free is your goal and you feel like methadone is crutch. That's a goal I would normally support. But I think...in your case...your sobriety is not about your pride.

"It's about being the man you need to be for your family right now. You need to be able to act on behalf of your family from a position of strength. So you need to think about how you feel most solid. On methadone? Or off methadone."

Well, when he said that...that was a no brainer. The methadone has given me my life back. So I told Marley it was time to get back to Atlanta and get to the damn clinic to get tested and get my refill.

She cried, of course.

That was two days ago.

This is the first morning I've woken without cravings.

Well, without alcohol cravings.

I roll toward Marley with the new idea that maybe we just need to work up to our big emotional physical reunion. I know we both want it to be amazingly special, and that's why we have this unspoken agreement for holding off, while we are both trying to find our balance. So maybe now is not the time for that, but maybe we could get intimately reacquainted with a nice little third base session.

A session that does not end in tears, but in sticky wet happiness for us both.

I breathe in her scent and groan.

She smells like jasmine again.

Okay, admittedly, that is my doing. I had the new Atlanta band PA doing a little surprise shopping for our welcome home celebration. Marley and Darius walked into the house to find a full dinner spread and a little swag.

A new mini recording set up for Darius' room, because even though I have a basement recording studio, I know how teenagers are about their rooms. And I was right because he was more psyched about that than finding out I was his dad.

But it's all good. I was pretty impressed by the little mixer board, too. Our new PA obviously knows some shit about home recording.

Marley was giddy with her large gift basket of Dior Jasmin parfum, body cream, and bath products. Honestly cost more than the tech but it was worth it to see her face as she smelled her wrist. That girl loved the scent of jasmine long before Daemon ruined it for her, and I'm determined to erase the blood he stained her garden with.

Speaking of her garden...

"Huuuuuhhhhh," she sighs as I nuzzle her neck. Her arms come around me, her leg slides easily over my hip. I plant a palm on her ass and move us closer together.

Now this is more like it. See? Her body responds automatically. She wants me. It's just all this bs keeping us both frazzled and exhausted.

"Good morning," she singsongs. Even though my head is at her shoulder, moving aside her tank top strap to kiss across her collar bone, I can hear the smile in her voice.

"It's a fucktastic morning waking up beside you."

"Fucktastic, huh?" she giggles.

"Mmmmm..." I murmur, sliding my hand carefully up her side, letting it rest on her side boob for a moment, so she gets the idea of where I'm going here. She does, arching back so that suddenly her shoulder beneath my lips is replaced by a view her cleavage.

She's lying on her back, and I prop up slightly, and gently caressing one breast through the thin fabric and then the other. Her nipples are hard and visibly dark through the fabric. She sighs in bliss at my touch. I pinch each peak very lightly and the sighs slide to a moan. A little more teasing and she's writhing. She wiggles herself so that her back is to my front, pulling my hands around her firmly on her boobs while she rubs her ass on my erection.

"Incredible  idea. You are so sexy," I murmur. She is.  Goddamn. The feel of her is magnificent; her motion is perfection.

But I can almost guarantee she's flipped over like this to avoid kissing me. She's got this paranoia about morning breath. I'm not sure if it's hers or mine, or whatever.

It's never really been a thing I thought about. Perhaps because there's usually a bottle of Jack on my hotel nightstand and any morning sex typically involved a few shots of that and the morning fuck that happens before any "Good-bye, take care" kisses.

Or perhaps it's just because fangirls don't protest the morning breath of a rock star.

But Marley isn't a fangirl. And I don't have Jack Daniels Mouthwash on the bedside table anymore. And having figured out my little minx's anxiety after she dodged my kisses yesterday morning, I've got a plan.

Mints in the drawer.

I remove my hand from her nipple and she whines.

"Hang on," I chuckle, as I roll on top of her so I can reach the nightstand  and grab a candy. I pause, distracted by the feel of her body flush underneath mine. I pull her mass of curls to the side and kiss down the back of her neck and then I realize I'm the one doing the grinding now.

"You don't have to, I'm covered," she whispers from below me. "Unless...you want to."

Oh. Shit. She thinks I'm getting a condom from the drawer.

Clearly she's...ready, this morning. I pause, not sure.

I want her to feel special. Treasured.  Is this really the way I want to play this? Grungy morning sex, with her paranoid about morning breath?

Then again, I really don't want to not follow through, if she wants to get down to it. There's nothing more that I want than to be with her, and even I know that rejection of a woman offering herself never plays well, no matter what my reasons.

"Bodie?" she says uncertainly.

Fuck this. I'm a rock star. Am I really second guessing myself?

I kiss her neck some more. "It's all good, baby. You are so fucking beautiful. I want you so much. Flip over, I wanna kiss you first."

She doesn't. She just moans in response to the way I'm devouring her neck and reaches back to palm my dick through my sleep pants.

Oh hell. It's on now. But I really do wanna see her face when I make her come.

I grab a mint and raise up to finagle it out of the wrapper. She thinks I've got a condom apparently, because she draws her knees up and presents her gorgeous ass to me.

It is a beautiful sight, and I am dying to pull down those sleep shorts and spread those cheeks and get up close and personal with what I am absolutely certain is going to be my new favorite place to be, but the way Marley is so flippin' adorable right now—so freaked out about morning breath that she would rather give me  quick and dirty backside action than the big-deal-feels-fucking I have planned with her?

God I love this woman. I love her quirks. I love her little cute anxieties. I love her bad-assery.

I love her ass.

"Jesus, Jasmine," I mutter, putting the mint between my teeth and sliding my hands over her sleep-shorted cheeks. She reaches up to take them off, but I grab her by the waist and flip her over. She shrieks slightly in surprise and excitement, but I'm already covering her sound with my mouth, pushing the mint into hers, moving it around, playing with it and her tongue.

She's giving it back to me. The mint and the passion. Her legs fold open and wrap around me and soon we are dry humping like horny teenagers.

"Here, keep this," I mumble in our kiss, thrusting the mint in her mouth as I pull her tank top over her head and take one glorious moment to admire her.

"Goddamn, this is not gonna work," I groan.

She props up on both elbows. "What?"

I'm already tugging off her sleep shorts and pushing down my shorts. I'm rubbing against her center and she's soaking.

"It's working," she pants.

"No. I mean, yes," I groan as I take one nipple into my mouth and she makes a sound somewhere between a giggle and ecstasy. "But I wanted it to be...romantic...and loving...and slow...now...I'm so...fucking...desperate...for...you..."

She grabs my head—the other one—and says, "Love me next time. Let's just get the awkward first fucking out of the way..."

I push away, staring down over her. "Awkward? Baby, there ain't nothing awkward about the way I fuck..."

She giggles nervously. "Not you. You're..." she rubs my abs. "Perfect. Every inch of you perfect. Your skin. Your muscles. So sexy. It's me...I'm not the same girl you knew. My body...it's not..."

Oh. I get it now. She's worried about some small changes in her body in the last fourteen years. Does she think every fangirl I've ever fucked is some version of perfect? Does she really think I'm perfect? I'm not, but I guess women don't scrutinize men's bodies like their own.

I lean my forehead against her. "Your body is gorgeous, but it's even more beautiful to me because it's the temple that holds my best friend's soul."

Her eyes go wide with a look of love. Then they narrow slightly in suspicion. "Did you rip that line off Leed?"

Goddamn.

I can't get anything past this woman.

"I added the best friend's part," I push just inside her, to stop the topic of Leed.

"It's good," she whimpers, her eyes going wide again.

"The line or me inside you?" I growl, trying like hell to keep the ferocity at bay.

"Both."

She says it's good, but she's tensing up around me. It feels incredible and makes me want to go crazy and push through her tightness, but this is Jasmine. I want to love her right, not selfishly. Right from the beginning, on to forever.

"It's true," I tell her

"What?" she asks, panting as she tries to relax.

"The line. And my love for you."

She eases slightly. "I love you, too."

"Sweet Jasmine, let me take your awkward away," I soothe, smoothing back her hair and kissing her slowly.

"Take it," she pants. "Take everything."

My ferocity softens into tenderness for her.

I am just beginning to make love to her with tantalizing slow, rolling thrusts and she's just beginning to become exquisitely needy in the way her body is meeting mine, when there's a knock on the door.

"Hello? Are you guys awake?"

Jasmine tenses again. All around me. Her walls, her legs, her arms, her expression.

Damn. It's like the kid has radar for when I'm about to deliver his mother a direct hit.

"It's okay," I whisper. "Just be still. He'll go away."

He knocks again harder. "Mom?"

I shake my head and screw up my mouth at her, daring her to answer. She pats my cheek, and says, "Yes. We're awake."

"Oh. Okay. So you're ready to go? I mean, I can walk, but at this point I'll be twenty minutes late..."

Shit, shit, shit. School. He's got school. We both lost track of the days. It's Monday after spring break.

"I'll take him," I tell her, as I kiss her once briefly and ease out slowly. Then, I'm off the bed in a flash, throwing Marley her robe from the chair and dashing through the bathroom into the closet to grab athletic wear and slides. By the time I dash back into the bedroom, Marley is tightening her robe and trying to smooth down her hair.

"I'm seriously beginning to see things your way, Dr. Watkins. Maybe Darius does need to go to his grandmother's, so we have any hope at all of ever finishing the sex we start," I joke, pulling her into a quick kiss.

When I release her, she groans and puts her hand over her eyes, "He's—"

"Right here," he says, popping up from behind the sofa, where he's apparently been rummaging his mom's suitcase. "Needed my chromebook charger," he says. "Sorry for being...you know...alive," he mutters, ducking his head as he moves past us rapidly.

Marley slides her hands down to mouth. The tears are welling up.

"Fuckkkk," I enunciate. "Don't cry, baby."

She doubles over into laughter.

I chuckle. I'll take that over tears.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Don't send me death threats. We'll get there. Soon.