Page 9 of Treylon
When her handheld chimed with a notification she was up to sing next, she took a deep breath and wished she’d had a chance to warm up properly. Reminding herself this was a silly social activity, not a real singing gig, she rose from her chair with Treylon’s help and he escorted her backstage to the waiting area. The man who was currently singing along with the recorded music had a froglike voice and kept forgetting the words, even though the lyrics were displayed right in front of him in holos. And his movements, awkwardly swaying his hips and thrusting his not impressive crotch—well, the less said, the better. I can’t do worse than he is.
The emcee got the man to leave the stage after his song ended, to a scattering of polite applause from the few people who were listening and then he gestured to Rosalie.
“I’ll be right here,” Treylon said. “You’ll do great.”
She straightened her spine, brushed her hand down her skirt to settle the layers and forced herself to walk into the spotlight. In a daze she heard the emcee’s flippant introduction and announcement of the song. Rosalie had picked one of her favorite dance numbers by Karissa Dawnstar, the top female vocalist in the Sectors, the acknowledged queen of popular music. It was one of her favorite songs and she often hummed it to cheer herself up after a long day at the diner or the daycare. The lights dimmed. The Resort Planet people did karaoke up right, with a holographic band behind her, strobing lights, and holographic dancers ready to gyrate in time with the music. Rosalie felt like she actually was on stage at a big rock concert.
When the cue came she launched into the first line of the song and let the music carry her. She didn’t need the holo prompts but let her voice soar as she poured her heart into the performance. As the third verse ended, the karaoke machine cut off, all the effects and the music going away but Rosalie sang on without hesitation. She could do a capella.
When she finished and looked at the crowd in front of her, the applause was thunderous and she realized with amazement people had crowded the stage. Now a chant went up for an encore. The club emcee came on stage to attempt to usher her off but the audience yelled louder for Rosalie to be allowed to sing another song. No fool, he acquiesced smoothly and invited her to continue.
“Although I’m afraid the effects are glitched,” he admitted.
“I don’t need them,” she said.
He gave her a bow and retreated from the stage.
Rosalie hadn’t planned on an encore but segued into a Karissa ballad next, one the singer had written about herself and her true love, a former bodyguard. She put her heart and her growing feelings for Treylon into the performance and the club was absolutely hushed. There was a brief silence when she sang the last words and then the audience erupted into a frenzy of applause and whistles. Pumped up with adrenaline now Rosalie segued into a medley of Karissa’s greatest hits and then curtseyed to the crowd as she’d seen someone do in a trideo once. Treylon came from the wings to escort her off stage and she gave the audience a saucy wave before disappearing.
“I pity whoever has to go on after you,” Treylon said as he steered her toward the stairs. “You were fantastic—I had no idea you could sing so well. I mean, I’ve heard you singing little bits of songs here and there at the bungalow but tonight was a revelation.”
She relished his praise but honesty compelled her to give credit where credit was due. “They’re Karissa’s songs. I just imitate her which anyone could do.”
“I’ve seen her perform live,” he said. “And yes, she’s incomparable and yes you sang her songs but you did it as Rosalie and the performance tonight was all you.” He squeezed her hand. “I was proud of you.”
They got to the table where the rest of their group were full pf praise for her performance but other clubgoers kept coming to the table and wanting to talk to her and take holos with her and Rosalie was overwhelmed, in addition to the adrenaline crash after her time on stage.
“Let’s get out of here,” Treylon said in her ear after a particularly insistent group of admirers were shepherded away from the VIP section by the club bouncers.
She turned to him with relief. “Could we? Could we go back to the bungalow? I’m worn out. Would you mind?”
“Mind having you all to myself, songbird? How can you even think such a thing?” He said goodnight to his friends and led her from the club through a back exit she hadn’t known was even there.
They walked hand in hand along the well-lit street. A band was playing a catchy tune on big drums and Rosalie felt herself decompressing. There wasn’t much of a crowd and the atmosphere was peaceful, not frenetic like inside the club.
“What are you thinking?” Treylon asked.
“I had a lovely evening but I’m not ready for it to end yet.” She peeked up at him from under her lashes. “I’m glad we’re going back to the bungalow.”
“If I’m hearing what you aren’t saying correctly, me too.” He swooped her into his arms and walker faster. “Your leg needed a respite from walking, right?” he replied to her halfhearted protest.
Rosalie loved being in his arms, held close to his strong body and her panties were getting decidedly wet. He dropped a soft kiss on her forehead and she sighed with happiness. Yes! Tonight would be the night. Her core throbbed as she breathed in his scent—expensive cologne and the musk of the man himself, spices and citrus and all male. Treylon made quick work of getting them inside and then he carried her to his bedroom, placing her on her feet.
“I need you to tell me this is what you want,” he said in a serious tone, not touching her.
She raised her face to his and ran one hand through his hair, tousling the locks into the disarray she preferred. “I’ve wanted this practically since we met,” she said truthfully.
Grabbing her tightly, he crashed his lips onto hers and Rosalie was swept into the most demanding, passionate kiss she’d ever received. His tongue plundered her mouth with authority and ownership and she did her best to respond. Treylon tasted of the wine he’d been drinking and she was intoxicated by him.
Rosalie reached to unbutton his shirt and he caught her hands. “I want to see all of you first, songbird Let me undress you.”
Obediently she stood still while he undid the fastening of her dress and let it slip to the floor. She stepped out of the puddle of fabric and his hands went to her breasts, unhooking the lacy bra and tossing it aside. Clad in only her thong and the heels, she shivered at the possessive look he gave her. “Lie down,” he said and she did.
He undid one shoe and then the other, taking time to massage her feet with strong hands while she lay on the bed anxious with anticipation. Still clothed himself, he pulled her to the end of the bed and ripped the thong away from her body, parting her thighs with his thumbs and lowering his head to taste.
“I’ve never had anyone touch me like this,” she said with a gasp as his tongue slid over her walls and circled her clit. Instinctively she ran her fingers through his hair as he continued his attentions. Treylon was unrelenting, caressing, licking and probing as her arousal spiraled higher and higher until she was quivering with need. All at once the sensations crested and she was arching off the mattress in the grip of an orgasm so strong her vision blazed white, while Treylon held her and watched.
“Beautiful,” he said. “I’ve wanted to taste you since yesterday when I saw you in nothing but those scraps of expensive fabric at the beach. You’re as sweet as I knew you’d be.” He inserted a finger into her and added a second finger, stretching, thrusting. “So wet, so ready.”
