Page 68 of Revel
I think maybe I’m not what he’s looking for and maybe I’m just enough to pass the time. I’m not entirely sure.
I’m left feeling inadequate and confused. Overwhelmed by his words yet longing for the moment it changes. On my tour bus in Scottsdale with The Black Keys playing softly in the background, I question his intentions. Again.
“Why won’t you? What happened to you saying you couldn’t wait to make my cunt bleed?”
“I lied.” He settles himself between my legs, and I keep mine wrapped around his waist, unwilling to let go. I can’t control my breathing when he shifts, his erection grinding into me. He moans into my mouth, hands under my shirt, palming my breasts.
“Why?”
“To get a reaction.”
“So now that I’m offering, you won’t?”
His mouth is hot against my skin, frantically moving from one spot to the next. Keeping one arm around my back, he struggles to rip his flannel away and the T-shirt underneath over his head. Excitement hits me, my eyes follow the lines of his muscles and the ink covering them. Without words, he reaches under my bottom to wrap his hands around my thighs to spread them wider.
His knees slide against the bed, his hands working on his belt buckle hastily and then unzips his jeans. All the while, his eyes are on mine—dark, pleading, wanting. “Tell me no. Don’t let me do this,” he begs, pushing his jeans down to his knees, trying to fight his desire and need for this, too.
I don’t. I can’t. “Just fuck me, Rev,” I plead, frantically clawing at him, desperate for justification. In my head, I think if we have sex, it’s justified. My hands seek what I need between us. And when I touch him there, he groans, his head falling forward. “That’s what I want.”
“Do you know what you’re asking for?” He plants his right hand firmly on the mattress, his other resting by my head. With his blood consumed by alcohol, his movements are slow, his words drawn out.
When I shake my head, his head dips forward, his arms and body shaking as he leans in.
Meeting my stare, I know what’s coming next. The denial.
And then it comes. “Fuck.” He sighs, shaking his head, hands trembling. “Not tonight.” Pressing his weight forward, his hips connect with mine, his eyes drop between my legs, watching. “I can’t do it,” he whispers, before pulling away.
Pain hits my heart like a knife, turning and twisting with the rejection. “Why not?”
“What do you want from me?” he asks, his mouth on my neck, then my jaw and finally my lips.
His kisses, they plead. His movements, they dictate mine. For those reasons, I don’t answer his rejection. Reeling in the taste of whiskey and drunk on his kiss. Deepening the kiss, his tongue swirls with mine. I grasp his hair, pulling him closer and rubbing myself against his erection. He lets us continue like this for a moment, me arching toward him, humping him as his body remains rigid, on the edge of rejecting me again.
Both of us are a melody of moans and frantic hands. Pulling his mouth from mine, he rolls me, so I’m on top of him. Straddling him, I rip my shirt over my head and let it fall beside me. Leaning forward, my curtain of red hair hides my heated cheeks.
Reaching up, Revel brushes my hair off my shoulder, dancing his fingertips along my collarbone, over further until he reaches that hollow spot of my throat. With his thumb on one side, and his fingers on the other, my breath catches, the beating in my heart seizing with the grip around my neck.
His eyes darken with dilating pupils and his lips capture mine. Digging his fingertips into my neck, he lifts his hips and grinds into me. Pleasure like I’ve never felt before rushes through me and I want more, so much more from him. I want everything. Peeking one eye open, I watch the quick rise and fall of his chest, my own kicking in.
Our kiss breaks, too much for him and he struggles to stop where we both know this is heading. Breathing hard, his nostrils flaring with every exhale, he looks vulnerable, undecided and hesitant to continue. He might not know what he wants, but I do. I arch again, moaning like the chorus of the sweetest songs. Revel’s eyes lock with mine, so intense it’s like he’s letting me into his soul, as dark as that might be.
“Please?” I ask against the restrains of his grip on my throat. I saw the sex tape online, remember? I knew going into this Revel was into more than your standard sex. What he provides, it’s indescribable. I can be kinky, can’t I? Or at least I think I can. I might be naïve, but I’ve had sex, and I know I can give him what he wants. I close my eyes and try to stop thinking but it doesn’t work. “Why do you want me innocent and untouched? Your body obviously says otherwise.”
“I want you. That’s not the problem here. It’s you. You’re not ready.” Revel pushes out a quick breath, releases his hand from my neck and then before I know it, he has me on my back again, grinding into me over and over again. And while I love it, his boxers are still on, as are my panties. I wiggle and squirm, trying eagerly to take our underwear off, but he stops. A low rumble vibrates in his throat, his tongue swirling with mine. He breaks our kiss and then rolls off me onto his back, breathing heavily. His hand finds his hair. “And we’re not doing it on this fucking bus that you probably fucked him in.”
My cheeks burn. He’s not wrong. I never thought about it like that. I sit up and reach for my top next to me, tears stinging my eyes.
Revel notices. He rights his jeans and then sits up, his mouth on my shoulder. I turn my head to look at him. “I don’t understand you.”
“Princess, no one does, not even me.”
The next day, at a sold-out show in Phoenix, Revel lights the stage on fire with tequila, and sends Hardin to the ER with second-degree burns just for giving me a lemon drop during sound check. I have a feeling it was more than the drink judging by the knowing smirk on Hardin’s face, and the murderous expression Revel wore when he dropped the match at his feet as he said, “Burn in hell.”
I know what you’re thinking. Or at least I know what I’m thinking. He’s beyond crazy. My mom used to tell me if you give a man a mask, he’ll show you evil. For Revel, the mask was the stage. Up there, he didn’t have to pretend. Adrenaline took over and the man you got was the one underneath the shy side he presented outside the spotlight.
“You could have killed him,” Liz points out as we’re standing outside the venue. Her hair is a mess, her eyes tired. I think she needs a break from Revel and his madness. Good thing we have four days off for Christmas.
Revel blows off the accusation and lights up a cigarette, smoke billowing in ribbons around his face. “Oh for fuck’s sake, he’s fine.”
