Page 58 of Revel
Not. Me.
The photographer has her on Cruz’s lap, her body painted with lyrics from her latest album and his drumsticks over her nipples. I’m irritated she’s on his lap, but I’m unexplainably enraged he’s touching her tits, and I’m not.
Irrational behavior of heavy sighs and eye rolls become my demeanor. It’s a lot like a spoiled child who hasn’t gotten their way, and that’s a lot like me. The whites of my knuckles give away my mood.
The photographer notices. “Relax, Revel,” he says, adjusting the guitar in my left hand.
I level him a stare that makes him wilt with fear. “You tell me to relax again and I’m going to show you what this Gibson tastes like.”
Laughter erupts from those around me. I remain stone-silent. I don’t know why they’re laughing. I’m being serious.
My eyes drift to her but catch on Hensley. Tears surface and she blinks regretted emotion at me.
“Fuckyou,” I mouth, because she deserves it. If you haven’t noticed by now, I’m an asshole, and if you fuck me over, I’m intolerable.
“Okay, let’s mix it up a bit,” the photographer says, stepping away from me like he’s suddenly terrified I might hit him. I haven’t dismissed the idea just yet. “I want Revel and Taylan front and center, then the rest of the bands beside them.”
Finally. Yes. This I can fucking work with.
We’ve rearranged, adjusted, and within minutes, I’m standing next to Red whose lipstick matches her hair color. I’m irritated they’ve put so much makeup on her face I can’t see her freckled cheeks. The photographer asks my band to go the left of me, aside from Cruz.
“Cruz, I want you to play the drums on Taylan’s behind, or act like you are. Don’t hit her.”
The fuck? Is this like “piss off Revel to the point where he explodes” kind of day?
“She’d like it,” Cruz mumbles, only to have me trip him in the process.
He smirks. I don’t.
“Now, T, I want your hand over Revel’s manhood.”
Cruz snorts. “Manhood? Just say cock, man.”
Red pauses, hesitates, stares at the photographer. Pink surfaces in her cheeks.
I glare at the photographer, and he steps back, again, rushing to add, “Only if she wants to.”
“I. . . uh. . . .” Red stumbles over words.
“You don’t have to,” I whisper, only to her. I breathe in, deep, the scent of her wild red curls washing over me. It’s peachy, or maybe strawberry with a hint of lilacs wilting in the summer heat.
Her body straightens up, her eyes wandering. She’s looking around the room, no doubt questioning what the perception of this will be.
I look down at her chest and the words,“I’m the forever kind. He struggles with the forget her mind,”written across her chest in purple body paint.
How fitting.
Struggling with the decision, she chews on her plump bottom lip. “I’ll do it.” Drawing in a ragged breath, her hand moves to my thigh, then over the loincloth to cover my junk. Tangled locks blind my vision of the green I so desperately seek.
My breath hitches. Fuck me, man. Of all the places to have her touching my cock, it’s in front of fifty people, and I can’t act on it.
I swallow through harsh breaths I can’t seem to control. I look down at her, bent over so her ass is facing Cruz, who’s one smiley motherfucker, and her head eye level with my junk. I could say I try to fight the semi I’m sporting, because it’s rather inconvenient timing, but it’s the position of her body that aids it and makes it impossible. So many pornographic images flood my brain. Ones of her opening her mouth and sucking on the head to ones of me grabbing the back of her head and choking her on it.
Fuck. Stop.
Camera clicks, lights flash, and I’m not sure how well the photos turn out because I’m not looking at the camera in any of them.
Cruz laughs beside me, low and dirty. “Goddamn, T. You got an ass like—”
