celebrity skin.
pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 6.5k summary: as corroded coffin frontman, eddie munson regards himself as perhaps the most important person in hollywood. that's until he meets you — america’s favourite starlet.
content warnings: 18+, minors dni: adult language & mature themes, porn with a rather angsty plot, general heavy petting / kissing, teasing, fingering, quite rough yet protected p in v sex, borderline overstimulation, eddie is a little dom, light praise kink, dirty talk, use of pet names & very slight degradation, mentions of alcohol & drug consumption, mentions of blood (reader unintentionally hurts herself), emotional hurt / topics of guilt — if i missed anything, pls let me know! also, not proofread.
psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.
“Absolutely not.”
Impossible to read between the lines with those two simple words, but if anyone dared to try regardless, the absolute disapproval and disdain in Eddie’s tone of voice stopped them from doing so. At least that’s what the Corroded Coffin frontman hoped.
It took a lot to catch Eddie Munson off guard. Given everything he’s endured in his life, nothing surprised him anymore ‘cause he made sure to be prepared for every single scenario. A little neurotic? Yes. Needed for his own piece of mind? Abso-fucking-lutely.
Obviously there had been exceptions over the years — especially being in the limelight with easy access to substances that weren’t too good for his health and nothing but extensive amounts of cash to burn. The other guys had invested their paychecks, Gareth even started a family. Eddie on the other hand, well, he bought a mansion in Beverly Hills and threw parties every night of the week.
The heavy drinking clouded his judgement and damaged his liver, but Eddie still kept tabs on his inner circle and made sure to be informed of any moves the label was trying to make before official announcements.
Which is why when he stumbled into the recording studio an hour later than scheduled, extremely hungover and with an unlit cigarette between his teeth, he really thought he misheard the news announced by their long-time manager, Marianne.
“A feature. The label wants it, she wants it. Honestly, Eddie, no point in fighting it. It’s a done deal.”
Marianne’s words were ringing in his ears. To make matters worse, the whole band apparently knew about this. For a long time, at that. They just collectively chose not to tell him out of fear of his “overreaction”, as Gareth put it.
“Well, I don’t want it.” Eddie grumbles. A reaction worthy of a little kid more so than a famous rockstar. “I refuse.”
Jeff clears his throat, glancing between the group before settling his eyes on Eddie.
“Man, it’s just one song. Not like she’s been asked to permanently join the band,” he tries to be the voice of reason.
Eddie just scoffs. He’s on the couch, eyes closed and hand pressed to his forehead with a third cigarette in between his fingers. He refused to believe this was happening.
“A feature and a music video,” Marianne chimes.
Jeff sighs. “You’re really not helping your case here.”
But their manager just shrugs. “There’s no case to help. Like I said, it’s a done deal. Y’all are doing this feature with America’s favourite starlet and y’all are gonna have smiles on your fucking faces in the process.” Marianne states and what she says, usually goes. “Are you hearing me, Eddie?”
Usually.
“I ain’t doing shit.”
“Eddie—” Gareth feels like it’s his turn to help the situation, but he just gets rudely interrupted.
“Shut up, Gareth! Everyone, just shut the fuck up!” Eddie’s outburst accompanies him jumping up onto his feet. He’s angry, clearly. Glaring at the group as if he’s endured the worst possible betrayal. “Last I fucking checked, this was my fucking band! I have a say in what’s a done deal and this is not one of those things!”
The boys don’t speak. They look to Marianne who seemed to always know how to calm Eddie down. She had this aura about her. Almost motherly, even though she couldn’t have been more than five years older than the Corroded Coffin frontman — an estimate as she’s never told them her actual age.
Marianne crosses the studio until she’s standing toe to toe with the curly-haired singer. He’s towering over her, but she’s got the upper hand — as always.
First, she takes the cigarette he was holding and takes a drag, crossing her arms while blowing the smoke away from his face. The silence extends from seconds to minutes, almost as if she’s daring Eddie to continue.
He doesn’t. So she clears her throat.
“Now that we’re done with the temper tantrum,” Marianne says calmly, “At risk of sounding like a complete and utter bitch, Eddie, my darlin’, you have lost your right to call this band yours after the last stunt you pulled cost the label thousands of dollars in damages. Not to mention the absolute nightmare it’s been to keep it out of the stupid tabloids.”
“I apologised—”
“Thousands of dollars, Eddie. Your apology ain’t worth shit.”
Marianne walks over to an ashtray and puts out the reminisce of the cigarette. She briefly glances between the rest of the band before settling her gaze on Eddie once again.
“The people actually in charge think this collaboration has the potential of being an absolute hit. A song played for generations to come and for once, I actually agree with them.”
Eddie doesn’t say anything. He knows deep down he has lost the argument, so he had nothing left to add.
“Guys, you gotta know y’all are my priority and I would never do anything to jeopardise your career. Ever.” Marianne reassures. The boys all say they know. All of them apart from Eddie.
He’s back on the couch. Sitting with his legs apart, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. Sulking and wishing he hadn’t forgotten his pouch of pre-rolled joints ‘cause he could really use one right about now.
When no one else speaks, Marianne heads for the door.
“She’ll be here tomorrow. Please be on time.”
That last part was aimed at Eddie, who in that moment lifts his head to address his manager one more time before she leaves.
“I have a question,” his tone of voice is cold, understandably so. When Marianne doesn’t protest, he continues. “How come America’s pride and joy wants to sing a song with a band often accused of devil worship?”
A smile Eddie can’t really decipher circles his manager’s lips.
“Guess you’ll just have to ask her in person.”
-
When a person is repeatedly told they are meant for incredible things, they may grow up with a skewed vision of life.
Thankfully, the only person that’s ever believed in you that much was your Nana and it was pretty hard to take her seriously considering her history — a lady who after an accidental pregnancy in her early-twenties, joined and later escaped a cult, then conned her way into marrying a Wall Street suit-man, before getting hooked on pills he was prescribed for some back injury he had.
The man died before he could divorce her, leaving Nana his small fortune and a property in Greenwich Village. You didn’t even know his real name since every time she’s told the story she used a different one, and also changed other minor details.
So you never thought twice about her constant, “You’re going to be a star one day, baby girl.”. In retrospect, you should have. Perhaps it would have prepared you for the world of fame and fortune you were so briskly thrown into.
“Mom, please don’t fill her head with jargon. She’s just going to end up disappointed.”
That’s not to say your parents weren’t also supportive of your dreams. They were, although they believed them to be much smaller at scale, a nurse perhaps, an astronaut at best. Definitely not a popstar sensation and America’s sweetheart.
Your parents met at a charity function your Nana was a co-chair at and instantly clicked. Love at first sight, is how it was described in the paper for their engagement announcement not even a month later. Married shortly after and their first baby was born exactly a year later. Billy Wilder couldn’t write that shit even if he tried.
You always wanted to experience that kind of love.
The longing you endured every time you saw your parents interact was the reason you started writing poetry. Words a little too deep for a ten-year old girl to have actually experienced, but they felt right. By the time you were old enough to actually pursue a romantic relationship, you filled countless notebooks with poems that had actually turned into lyrics after your Nana encouraged to sponsor your piano lessons at age twelve and later guitar.
Ironic, really. Not meant to believe in your own potential success, but destined to think your happiness depended on somebody else.
Shortly after your twenty-first birthday, your Nana asked you to perform at one of her functions. A simple wish you had gratified many times before.
“But you only sing the covers, okay? The material in your notepads is reserved for when you’re famous.” Nana would request, mainly ‘cause she liked when you sang Dusty Springfield.
This particular event started out like every other. What you didn’t know however, in the crowd, amongst the usual New York elite, were a few agents and talent scouts your Nana specifically invited to see you perform.
By the end of the night, you had a signed record deal.
A week later, you were in the studio.
Lucky doesn’t begin to describe how you felt at that time. Although knowing your Nana, luck had nothing to do with it.
After the release of your debut single, you rocketed into overnight stardom. Quickly charting in various top lists, only proving your Nana had always been right. As a result, the late 80s were in fact a blur. The years were spent shooting music videos and various magazine covers, doing TV and radio interviews, touring, all on top of releasing more music. Aside from the casual hookup every now and again, carefully concealed with an NDA to preserve your image, finding love took a backburner.
By the 1990s, you’d gone from being America’s sweetheart to a worldwide phenomenon.
It was at that point in time you remembered why you started writing poems in the first place. Completely by accident, as these things usually go.
While your life remained in New York, given your profession, you often travelled to Los Angeles. Late August of 1992, to be a bit more precise, there was this pool party you really had no business attending.
Holly — your makeup artist, close friend, and permanent plus one — used her perfectly manicured finger to stir the melting ice-cubes at the bottom of her glass. She said something about getting a refill, but you barely registered. Simply nodded at her words before pressing the glass you were holding to your lips. Your focus was somewhere else. Rather on someone else.
As Holly stood, you reach for her forearm and motion your head in the direction you wanted her to look in.
“Who’s that?” A simple question that ended up changing the remainder of your life.
Holly smirked. She turned back to you and you forced yourself to look away from the person in question, meeting your friends eyes instead.
“Seriously?”
You furrowed your brows at her reaction, as if to say you really had no idea, and her gaze widened slightly when she realised you weren’t kidding.
“That’s Eddie Munson. Corroded Coffin, remember I played you some of their songs? Anyway, this is his house, his party.”
With that, she took the half-empty drink from my grasp and walked away.
Eddie Munson, the name suited him, at least at face value. You had heard of Corroded Coffin before, but their music wasn’t really your style, hence why you never really bothered to learn anything more about them. Yet now, here you were, wishing you had cared a little more in the past ‘cause perhaps you’d have the courage to walk up to their frontman.
Eddie wore a black bandana, tied loosely only to shield him from the sun as his brown locks draped over his bare shoulders. A wide collection of ink art covered almost every inch of the skin on his arms and chest, legs too, at least the parts that weren’t covered by ripped denim shorts. There was a cigarette between his lips and it remained in position even while he was laughing. He was pretty. Judging by the crowd of girls around him, you weren’t the only one to notice.
Exhaling softly, you abandoned your spot on one of the lounge chairs and embarked on a mission to find Holly, or at least something else to drink. The back door to the house is open, so without really thinking, you slipped inside, straight into the kitchen.
Pristine. The entire space. Almost as if no one's ever cooked here, which now that you knew the owner, made sense. Not to completely judge a book by its cover, but Eddie didn’t look like the type of guy who enjoyed cooking all that much.
“The house is off limits.”
A deep voice startled you. Jumping in your spot, you hit a corner of the stone centre island as you turned to address the person who walked in. Oh shit.
Eddie Munson’s eyes locked onto your frame, now that you are facing him fully. He licked his lips rather shamelessly as his gaze travelled the length of your bare legs and continued upwards until it reached your own. A shiver ran down your spine in the process ‘cause even though you were practically fully dressed, you felt completely naked.
“Sorry,” you were quick to apologise, “I was just looking for my friend.”
“The house is off limits,” Eddie repeated as he took a few steps closer.
“Again, I’m sorry. I really was just looking for someone,” you said and it was the truth, whether he believed it or now. “What are— What are you doing?”
“You’re bleeding.”
You glanced down at where his ring-clad fingers now met your skin, a tissue paper you didn’t even realise he grabbed, wrapped between them. He wiped slowly. His touch was soft, gentle even, which was surprising to you given his demeanour.
“Wow, yeah. Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break into your house and then bleed in your kitchen.”
Eddie chuckled at your words. “You apologise a lot. Is that part of this act they have you doin’ or is it genuine?”
“Act?”
He nodded then straightened his posture. He tossed the dirty tissue to the side before taking your hand and leading you out of the kitchen. The way your fingers aligned together quite perfectly should’ve come with a warning sign, but you didn’t really think about that in the moment, more concerned with the fact he was pulling you away from the party.
“Where are we going?”
“Bathroom. Can’t have you bleeding out in my kitchen, sweetheart.” Eddie joked lightheartedly. “Plus wouldn’t want anyone taking a sneaky picture of us. Could start a bunch of nasty rooms. Good for my career, not so much yours.”
“Because of my act?”
“You get it.”
The master bedroom, you assume, is a lot larger in comparison to yours. A lot darker too, though that’s a given considering your opposite styles. Eddie was careful to lock the door behind the two of you before pointing to the bathroom and following after you.
“Sit.”
You obliged without question, positioning yourself on the sink. Eddie failed to conceal a ‘cause he didn’t think you’d do as you were told without putting up at least a bit of a fight. After all, he was a stranger with a reputation for doing ungodly things when alone with girls, but with your legs dangling off the edge, you didn’t seem tense or scared. In fact, if Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d say you were quite comfortable and he liked it. So with a smile still circling his lips, he began his search for the first aid kit he knew he saw here last.
“Why do you think it’s an act?”
Eddie glanced at you briefly. There is a sense of urgency in your question, almost as if his answer, his opinion, actually mattered to you. Which it did. For whatever reason, his response had the potential to hurt you. If he thought you weren’t genuine, it would hurt you.
“Sweetheart, I don’t think you want my honesty.”
You half-scoffed. “Actually, I don’t remember the last time someone was actually honest with me about anything relating to my career.”
The answer shocked him a little. Then again it made sense. In the eyes of your management team and label, you were a money making machine. Nothing more than a pretty face with a pretty voice they used to make themselves rich.
“Even my own parents,” you continued, fidgeting with the bottom of your cotton shorts. “They were so adamant not to let my grandmother fill my head with hopes and dreams while I was growing up, but the second those hopes and dreams came true, it’s like they forgot they were still my parents and should sometimes be brutally honest.”
Pausing, you bit down on your bottom lip. From across the bathroom, Eddie's gaze immediately trailed down your face and settled on where your teeth sank into flesh. He licked his own, eyes darkening for a split second.
“Sorry, I’m oversharing,” you muttered, breaking him away from any sinful thoughts that wanted to break free. “Telling you my life story even though not even thirty minutes ago, I didn’t know your name.”
Eddie smirked, a cheshire-cat grin spreading across his features. “The only thing you should be apologising for, sweetheart, is the fact you came to my party and didn’t know who I was.”
“I get invited to a lot of parties,” you defended, involuntarily rolling your eyes at his not so subtle cockiness. “Suppose you think all the girls swoon at the chance to be near you, huh? Sorry to disappoint, I guess.”
“Well, shit. Talk about brutal honesty.” Eddie teased and ran a hand through his locks, taking off his bandana in the process. “Now I feel like a fucking creep ‘cause I seem to know quite a bit about you.”
“Whatever you know is clearly wrong since I’m not some character,” you interjected and he glanced at you once again. “I mean my whole thing wasn’t an act at first.”
“And now?”
You sighed. “It’s a little more complicated.”
That made him laugh. “See, that’s why I don’t let my label or management tell me shit. My band, my music, my style. If I wasn’t unapologetically myself, I’d go fucking insane.”
He eventually found the first aid kit and the plasters within. Back in front of you, he gently wiped the cut on your upper leg again, only this time with a wet towel, and carefully put a plaster over it.
“All done.”
“Thank you.”
His hand remained on your skin as he looked up to hold your gaze. In the sharp bathroom light, you realised just how perfectly brown his eyes are and you couldn’t help but wonder if anyone’s ever told him that. You secretly hoped they didn’t. A little lame, but you found yourself wanting to be at least his first something.
Eddie on the other hand, thought about how of all the people here tonight, he wound up alone with you. Pop royalty. American treasure. A girl that’s graced the cover of magazines and been on talk shows he would never feature on. A girl who sold millions of copies of songs he wouldn’t be caught dead listening to. A girl so vastly different from him, it only made him want you more.
Continuing to stare deep into his chocolate-button eyes, you lifted your arm and since Eddie didn’t flinch, you proceeded to loop a loose strand of his hair around your finger then let it go. Eddie’s heart jumped into his throat as you repeated the action — a sensation he’s never really experienced before.
How come you had this hold on him, seemingly out of nowhere? A simple smile and a modest tease had his mind racing. Not to mention the softness of your skin under his grasp you didn’t try to break away from. Perhaps that was it. You didn’t push him away. You also didn’t throw yourself at him. Those were the two extremes he usually experienced. Knowing you had just about learned who he was before the two of you landed in this situation was a refreshing change from the people usually breaking into his house.
“We can go back to the party, since you’re all patched up.” Eddie offered, though his actions betrayed his words as he effortlessly parted your legs with his knee, creating a gap he slid into perfectly.
“What’s the alternative?” You asked in a whisper.
“Whatever you want it to be,” he murmured, face now inches away from yours. A genuine smile graced your features as you wrapped your arms around the rockstars neck.
It may have moved a little too fast, though there were no complaints from either of you at the time. In fact, you both welcomed it. Losing yourself completely in the moment and this magnetic pull you felt towards one another was freeing. A spark ignited with a touch, then a kiss — and fuck was Eddie Munson a good kisser.
His lips were tender, although his actions were rather harsh. Desperate even, as he squeezed your jaw with one hand and pushed his mouth into yours further. You returned the same energy, aching to be even closer. Heads rotating in perfect rhythm, you tugged at his hair and he groaned against your mouth at the slight pressure then lightly bit your bottom lip to force his tongue down your throat.
He tasted of tobacco and whiskey. Normally that kind of shit puts you off, but with Eddie, it was honestly intoxicating. He quickly asserted dominance, tongue intertwining itself with yours as his ring-clad fingers dug into your flesh. You moaned into his mouth. The flame inside you burning brighter with every passing second.
Eddie’s head was spinning. He pulled apart briskly, only to catch his breath before he dipped his head to your neck. Licking then biting, sucking and kissing. Both his hands were back on your waist and they effortlessly pulled you closer towards him, the bulge concealed by his denim shorts now pressing against your bare thigh.
His name escaped you repeatedly in mere whispers and whimpers, and you felt Eddie’s mouth turn up into a smirk against your neck. “Fuck, sweetheart. Don’t stop makin’ them pretty noises for me.”
“Then don’t stop kissing me.”
A request he gladly obliged as his lips found yours once again. This kiss was slower than your first, but equally as passionate. His strong hands moved up, under the loose cover of your shirt until he reached your underboob.
“I was gonna complain about you wearing so much clothes to a fucking pool party, but…” Eddie draws out the last syllable as his thumbs grazes over your hard nipples. “... this way is so much better, sweetheart.”
“Then keep going,” you whisper, body screaming with desire, aching for more. Begging to be touched. Begging to be turned into a fire, tipped off with gasoline.
This was a dangerous game you were playing, getting hooked on a man you had only really met. A rockstar at that. Your lives, although borderline the same, were completely different. Your gut kept telling you there was no future here, but your heart didn’t care. You’ve gotten an accidental taste of Eddie Munson and you only wanted more.
Thankfully, it seemed like Eddie had the same idea.
He removes his hands from your breasts and drops them down to the waistband of your shorts. He kissed you again as his fingers desperately worked at the single button acting as a guard between him and what he wanted most this very moment.
“Can you lift yourself for a moment, sweetheart?”
You do as you’re told, allowing Eddie to slide the shorts past the curve off your ass, before letting them fall down your legs and to the tiled floor. His dark eyes meet yours as he grabs onto your thighs, squeezing at the flesh. And he holds your gaze while his fingers work their way upwards. You don’t realise you’re holding your breath until he’s pulling your panties to the side.
Oh. Oh.
Eddie’s running a finger up and down the length of your slit, proud to feel how soaked you already were. The light teasing continued as he added another finger and you flinched at the first contact to your clit. He was relentless. Taking his time as you tried to arch your pelvis into his fingers, only to be met with a hand around your jaw, “Stop that.”
Releasing your face, he stroked his fingers downward, then up again, finally letting a finger linger on the hood of your clit. He began to draw little circles so that the skin moved over the head, rhythmically exposing and covering it.
“Eddie…” you drawled and he groaned at the sound of his name in your desperate tone of voice. So he didn’t waste any more time, slipped two ring-clad fingers easily between your folds and you shuddered at the cold of the metal. He repeated the action over and over, faster and applying more pressure with each time.
His mouth found yours once again, only this time he didn’t kiss you. Not really. Instead, his teeth latched onto your bottom lip and as you whined desperately while his curled fingers repeatedly hit that sweet spot inside you, he bit down harder.
He fucked his fingers in and out of you. It was messy, rough, ecstatic. Then your back arched as he used his other hand to rub against your clit.
“Oh shit, fuck. Eddie, please don’t stop…”
You let your head fall backwards, eyes closing. Within seconds, a shuddering orgasm overcame you, but with steady control, Eddie kept going for what seemed like a minute. Only once you began to relax, he eased his fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth, licking them clean.
“How you doin’, sweetheart?”
A content hum was all you could offer. Satisfied, Eddie smiled to himself and placed a sloppy kiss to the slant of your jawline.
“Are you okay to keep going?”
You looked back at him then and bopped your head once, slowly. “Yeah… Yes.”
His devilish grin widened. “Good girl. Hold tight.”
Hands shifting to the curve of your ass as you wrapped your legs tight around him, Eddie lifted you up with little to no effort and carried you towards the bed. He didn’t take much care to drop you gently so you bounced against the mattress while he hastily removed his pants and crawled over you, grinding down into you — unsurprising, he’d gone commando.
He began to rotate his hips so that his cock was massaging back and forth across your semi-clothed cunt. He alternated his movements; sometimes slowed them down while other times increasing speed. His lips were glued to your neck in the moment, only adding to the pure exhilaration you were experiencing, while he worked to unbutton your shirt, spreading it to the side.
Forehead pressed yours, he glanced down briefly to admire your now naked chest. Your nipples were rapidly erect as Eddie proceeded to move his hands around them, massaging the tissue of your breasts. With splayed fingers, he squeezed and released, then lightly pulled the flesh, while his teeth attached themselves to your earlobe.
The teasing was relentless. “Eddie… Oh Eddie, please,” you whined quietly and another moan escaped your lips, louder this time.
The brunette on top of you groaned a mere second later. Unable to contain himself any longer, he tugged at your panties. Just as eager, you lifted your ass so he could slide the remaining garment off and toss it. Now you were naked in front of him, only the cotton shirt covering your arms.
“Shit, sweetheart. You’re so fucking beautiful.” Eddie whispered and lightly ran his fingers up and down your leg, while the other hand reached to cup your cheek. He leaned down to kiss you again. “My pretty girl.”
Heat rushed between your legs at the moniker. They parted a little more, desperate to increase the contact between the two of you.
“Let me grab a condom,” Eddie muttered against your bare skin and you nodded, releasing your hold on him momentarily ‘cause you didn’t want any accidental pregnancies with a potential to ruin your career, and even his.
Staring up at the ceiling, you heard him rummage through his bedside table. He’s back in your field of vision within seconds. There’s a look on his face that reads “are you sure you wanna do this”, and you tangle your fingers in his locks in response, pulling him closer.
Eddie lets his cock fall between your parted legs. He’s back to teasing you as he’s spreading your folds with the head of his dick, until it flicks over your clit. And you tug at his curls in the process, but he doesn’t care. A lustful look in his eyes. One that says, I can do this all night. Which he proves as the tip of his cock dragged across the entrance to your glistening cunt. Your legs would close slightly as if to trap it in that position. Eddie however, remained in full control.
“Please, please…” you begged against his hot mouth, “Please just fuck me. Fuck me, Eddie.”
He smirked. “Didn’t think America’s starlet was such a desperate fucking slut.”
With that, Eddie slammed the full length of his cock into you. No longer teasing. He was driving into your sodden cunt with a force that shook your entire body. His now glistening cock plunging in and out of you with ease. You were meeting his thrusts as best as you could while trapped under his massive frame.
To say you were experiencing a state of ecstasy you had never known before while fucking a man you’d only met an hour or so ago, would be a vast understatement. You felt dizzy and breathless as each stroke of his thick cock against your walls ignited the fire already burning bright. The sounds you were making were absolutely pornographic and in that moment, you were grateful Eddie locked the door ‘cause if anyone from the party were to come looking for him, or you, well let’s just say Page Six would have something interesting to write about, for once. This was a site to be seen.
Eddie leaned forward on his elbows, not like it was possible to be any closer but he sure as hell tried. One of his hands enveloped itself around your neck, while the other found your perfect tits. He alternated, kneading them and teasing your nipples, earning another sweet moan to escape through your parted lips. Then he lightly squeezed your neck and your eyes rolled to the back of your head.
“Such a pretty girl,” Eddie muffled into your ear. “Fuck, baby. I don’t know what you’ve done to me. Just wanna fuck you forever.” He meant it. Your pussy felt amazing wrapped around his cock. Better than he imagined. Better in fact than anyone he’d ever been with.
The room was filled with sick sounds, from the squeaking of the bed, Eddie’s grunts and gruffs, to the pounding your aching cunt was receiving. You had completely given yourself over to the rawness of the situation, although it’s not like you had any inhibitions in the first place.
As Eddie continued to whisper dirty things into your ear, the length of his shaft sliding in and out of you with unnatural force, you buried your head in the crook of his neck, muffling only slightly your increasing guttural groans with each of his thrusts. And as your fingers abandoned his locks, trailing instead down his back, fingernails digging into his tattooed skin, you knew another climax was fast approaching.
“Eddie,” you barely muttered.
“Come on, baby. That’s it. Shit—”
He’s panting as he squeezes your neck again, recreating the pressure your throbbing cunt was feeling. That pushed you over the edge. Everything falls to a standstill as you come undone around him, crying out his name as if he was some sort of god; which in this moment, he might as well have been.
He didn’t give you a second to recover, continuing to fuck into you with such heedlessness, his own orgasm follows shortly after. He dropped on top of you and you gasped at the next few sharp thrusts, although slower than before right up until he cums.
“Fuck— Pretty girl, takes me so well.” Eddie breathed, completely blissed out.
The two of you lay there for a few moments longer, trying to catch your breaths. Everything was quite peaceful as you brushed his hair away from his face, gently forcing him to look at you. You offer him a smile. One he returns quite gladly.
Usually at this point, Eddie’s doing everything he can to get rid of the other person, but with you it felt different. He wanted you here for as long as you’d stay.
So, even though he didn’t admit it out loud, he was more than a little happy when you openly asked if you could “stick around” a little longer, maybe even fall asleep with him that night.
-
The last time Eddie had seen you, you were picking up your scattered garments off his bedroom floor before getting dressed. It was early. Too early for him, but you had a shoot you needed to get to and he wanted to kiss you goodbye.
“Promise not to break into any more houses, sweetheart.” Eddie teased against your plush lips, hand cupping your cheek.
“Just yours,” you teased back and kissed him, then again, and again. “I’ll call you later, ‘kay?”
He almost didn’t let you go. He almost pulled you back under the covers for round three and four, and when you didn’t call his place later that day, he kinda wished he had. He hung around by the phone waiting for it to ring, then he felt pathetic for doing so.
The last time Eddie heard from you was a week later. He was back at the studio, working on a song he didn’t want to admit to his bandmates was actually about you. A girl he had no business being hung up on.
It was just one night, he would tell himself, but it was no use.
“Eddie,” Marianne hailed him and pointed to the phone, “Phone call for you.”
The curly-haired rocker exhaled a puff of smoke and picked up the receiver. “Hello. Who’s this?”
“Hey, sorry.”
His heart stopped ‘cause he recognised that voice anywhere. He shifted in his position, turning his back on the rest of the people gathered in the room just so they wouldn’t be able to read the expression on his face — longing.
“I know I said I’d call the second I finished at that shoot, but it went well into the night and honestly I just worried I'd wake you,” you explained. “Then I had a morning flight back to New York, a luncheon my grandmother had me attend plus some other family shit… Anyway, I just wanted to call and apologise, hope you’re not too upset with me.”
He was upset. Although the knowledge of that was a power he couldn't relinquish. Usually, he wasn't the one waiting around for the other person. He was upset he let you cloud his thoughts after only one night — as fucking fun as it may have been.
“It’s okay,” Eddie lied, 'cause it was easier than to say he missed you. “Honestly, sweetheart, I forgot you even said you’d call.”
There was a second of silence in which the rock star closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing while you fought back tears he didn’t even know he caused.
“Right. I guess honesty is what I asked for…” you muttered coldly. “See you around, Eddie.”
The line went dead. Beep. Beep. Beep. Eddie pressed the receiver to his forehead, his grip around it tightening. “Motherfucker—”
“All good?” Jeff asked.
“Yeah man,” Eddie lied again before turning back to the group. “Just some one night stand who mixed up the signals a little. Thought we’d be going out a second time, but I don’t do that shit.”
Not even one year later, that same exact “one night stand” stood in front of Eddie once more and you looked even better than that night last August. Your skin was glowing, or perhaps that was just the dim studio light. Your makeup was definitely a lot sharper and it only highlighted your already near perfect facial structure. Then there was your outfit. Dressed in a short denim skirt, tight on your curves and held snug in place around your waist with a belt he knew was more expensive than anything he’s ever owned, the bottom was paired with a white cashmere turtleneck, short sleeved and cut right above your belly button.
Eddie swallowed thickly. He swore he’d gotten over whatever spell you put him under back then, but as you greeted his bandmates with the biggest smile on your face, looking as good as you did, his heart skipped a beat or two.
“And our frontman, Eddie Munson.” Marianne introduced, glancing at Eddie with an encouraging look on her face.
The curly-haired man wiped his sweaty palms on the sticky pleather of his pants and extended his right hand in your direction. You looked at it briefly, the smile on your face faltering.
“We’ve met before,” is all you said, without even looking at him once, before turning to Marianne. “Should we just get started? I listened to the song, I have no notes, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
Marianne glanced at Eddie then back at you. “Uhm, yeah, sure. Of course. Right this way.”
Eddie’s sad puppy-dog gaze followed you across the room. He observed silently as Marianne propped you in front of the microphone and handed you a set of headphones. He desperately wanted you to look at him. He wanted your eyes to lock with his ‘cause perhaps an unspoken apology offered only by a single exchange of glances would be enough to get you on the right track. But you didn’t.
“What the fuck did you do?” Gareth muttered next to him.
“I fucked up, man.” Eddie answered honestly this time. “Fucked up pretty bad.”
Gareth knew better than to press on the matter further, especially in front of everyone else, so he gently smacked Eddie’s back instead. It was a silent set of condolences, one Eddie definitely didn’t deserve since this was all his fault.
The band had all taken their places. Jesus Christ, he was really in for an unbearable day and he had no one to blame but himself. Sighing silently, Eddie crossed the studio and stood at the microphone, placed only a feet away from yours.
He stole another glance. You still refused to look at him, focusing instead on the carpet between your feet, hands on your hips.
“You know what I’m gonna say,” Marianne began, “But the day I don’t say it, is gonna be the day we make a shit piece of art so, here goes: good luck and have some fucking fun!” Then she disappeared into the other room, behind the glass.
An unsettling silence filled the air.
Usually Eddie would take the lead, but he found himself incapable. His attention was solely focused on you. Every inch of him wanted to shout, beg for any sort of acknowledgement. You continued to give him nothing and he thought you weren’t ever going to look at him again.
But then you did and frankly, that was much worse.
“Honesty, take one,” you said into the microphone while staring deadpan at the rockstar beside you. Confirming, without saying much else, that you knew this song he wrote was in fact about you.
part two
