Favourite Lovesong HOT

Austin spun the bourbon glass held between his hands, signalling the bartender with a lifted finger for another pour. Whether this was his fifth or sixth drink escaped him, but it hardly mattered since he had nowhere to be, and driving wasn't a concern.

Raising his gaze to meet the bartender's, she delivered the requested drink with a sly wink. If she noticed the redness around his eyes suggesting he might have had enough, she didn't acknowledge it. Her appearance was uncomplicatedly attractive, with her most prominent feature being her generously exposed cleavage. She seemed like the type who would claim to love his music but was likely more fascinated by his notoriety. The kind of girl who often approached him seeking a photo, an autograph, their body or any interaction they could get from him.

Not that it bothered him much. Fans and groupies were generally harmless, and girls swooning at his feet wasn't something he was inclined to discourage. He relished the perks that came with his fame.

Like now, for instance, as the bartender took her break and was replaced with a burly guy who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, she slunk off towards the bathroom, shaking her hips and daring a glance back at him to make sure he was following. Austin was never one to turn down a good time, so of course he was.

She disappeared into the men's restroom and Austin followed only moments later. He got straight to business, extending his hands to release her belt, sliding her shorts down just enough to slip his hand into her panties and rub his fingers against her wet sex. She moaned his name and it was at that moment he realized he didn't have a single clue what hers was. It was irrelevant. He'd be gone as soon as she gave him what he needed.

Austin was done wasting time and she had finally managed to free his dick from his skin-tight black skinny jeans. He dug a condom out of the back pocket of his pants pocket, tearing open the wrapper and unrolling the latex coating over his throbbing erection. Her fingers tangled themselves into the mop of black hair that was covering his head. She tugged gently against the strands and he groaned, aligning himself at her entrance. He gave her no warning or prep as he slid into her. Her eyes widened as he allowed her no time to adjust, just lifting his hips and setting a steady rhythm, quickly moving in and out of her. She screamed, it was shrill and irritating and he wished she would just shut the fuck up and help him finish. He squeezed the soft skin at the back of her thighs and lifted her slowly until she was seated on the counter, allowing him a better angle. He drove himself into her, pushing and pulling her hips, over and over again until she finally clenched around him.

With her taken care of he picked up the pace, the sound of skin slapping heard over the outside noise of the bar. After what felt like forever he finally hit his high, thrusting a few times more to allow himself to ride it out, before leaving her empty.

He disposed of the condom in the toilet before leaving the bathroom, the girl, and the bar, behind him. Just another day in the life of pop star Austin Sharpe.

Things had never been this bad, he'd never felt this far gone. Wasn't living the dream supposed to be fun? If so, he had certainly fucked up somewhere along the way. He knew he had to do something, if he kept this up, he was headed straight for destruction.

*

Across town, in a spot called Marias, known to the locals for its amazing food and the open mic night talent, Clara Peterson took the stage. For her performance she removed her apron and grabbed her guitar out of the back storage room. She had been waiting tables at Marias for over two years, doing the same thing everyone else in town was, trying to make a name for herself.

She had moved out to LA at eighteen, desperate to escape her parents and turn her dreams into a reality. She had been desperate to do something with herself besides resigning to grow up to be a wife and mother like the other girls in Lynchville seemed content to do.

She wasn't like them, she never had been.

"How's everyone doing tonight?" She asked as she stepped up to the microphone, her fears melting away as her anxiety about the performance faded into excited nerves. "My name's Clara and I've got just one song for you tonight. It's an original, and it's called "Good Riddance"