(I don't know why it won't let me put the link to the album version, but you know the one)
Alex found himself in the sultry haze of a Los Angeles house party when he first encountered Arabella.
His quiff slicked back with that signature pomade shine, clad in a slim black leather jacket that hugged his lean frame, nursed a whisky in one hand as the crowd started to thin out. It was early for a bash like this to wind down, but word was it'd been going non-stop for two or three days. He'd only bothered to drop by that afternoon—and thanks heavens for that.
With fewer bodies crowding the space, he could finally take her in properly, calmly, as she leaned against the wide terrace railing. It wasn't the first time she'd caught his notice—hell, she'd pinged his radar before—but today, she was impossible to miss.
And it wasn't just him hooked; the room knew it too.
A few hours earlier, she'd owned the makeshift dance floor, not showboating for eyes yet pulling every last one anyway. Some looks were hungry, almost feral; others sharp with judgment or jealousy; a few simply glazed over, mesmerised by her radiant magnetism, that luminous figure slicing through the dim, pulsing lights like a shooting star.
She was built like a dream: hourglass curves chiselled to divine perfection, skin a silken canvas of sun-kissed gold, flesh firm and young, begging for the brush of fingertips. Slender fingers sometimes combed through her big, loose '70s blonde waves, and those wide blue eyes, brimming with expression, could hold a gaze a second too long—long enough to make a man wonder what she'd seen in him.
But what really hooked Alex, what coaxed a sly grin to his face, was how flawlessly she wore something so audaciously ridiculous: interstellar gator-skin boots, paired with nothing but a skin-tight silver swimsuit that turned his mind straight to Barbarella. The fabric clung like liquid mercury, catching every bit of light with each undulation or breath, outlining every curve and muscle as she moved. In his head, Alex had already nicknamed her Barbarella—for now.
Now she stood alone, drawing on a cigarette. Alex decided to chance it, pulse ticking a little faster—he'd watched countless others try and fail that afternoon.
"Can I have one of those?" he asked, propping himself against the railing beside her.
Wordlessly, she extended the pack. American Spirit. Of course, he mused inwardly, a spark of amusement flickering.
Barbarella turned to him, her azure eyes piercing his very core, now it was she who wore an amused expression. "Disappointing. You didn't strike me as the awkward small-talk type."
But as they talked, Alex proved he wasn't.
"Arabella," she offered at last. Alex had crossed paths with countless women, but none wore a name quite like that. He repeated it once, softer, then gave his own.
"I know who you are," she replied, and there was something in her tone that suggested she knew more than just headlines.
The conversation deepened, in an authentic way that unsettled him more than he expected—she just might've tapped into his mind and soul, effortless as that. And though neither carried a hidden agenda, Alex couldn't help his gaze drifting to her plump, tender lips every time she took a pull from that Mexican Coke. Bloody hell, how he wished he could take the bottle's place, to be the one pressing againt those lips.
Thus, he asked her back to his place. And she agreed.
He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself laughing as they headed out, seeing her throw on a light cheetah-print coat—the proverbial cherry on top this eccentric sundae. How did she manage it? The strangest combinations, yet she made it look impossibly elegant, tinted with that faint cosmic sheen.
Alex pulled the Cadillac CTS up outside his Hollywood Hills home. Once the door clicked shut behind them, sealing out the world, he closed the distance and kissed her—unhurried but certain. She smiled against him, and the fusion—the sweet cola and earthy organic tobacco—unravelled something in his chest while tightening everything lower, his black jeans suddenly too confining.
Still, they headed to the living room. He offered a drink; she declined, so he poured himself a solitary whisky and sank onto the sofa.
Arabella explored the space with bold curiosity, no leave sought, and Alex was entranced: this beautiful creature, still in that glowing, form-clinging swimsuit and those boots, navigating his room like a celestial explorer.
She gravitated to the turntable, scanned his records with a discerning eye, and picked one. Alex's brows arched in surprise as he clocked it—Dutronc. Had to be coincidence, surely; perhaps the young Arabella aimed to impress, putting on a bit of a show. Some might think it odd that he knew the artist; she was younger, after all, she'd probably have just grabbed anything.
But he watched every careful move: the gentle wipe of the vinyl, the way she set it spinning. (In his mind, he pictured her like a helter-skelter he'd ride over and over, spinning endlessly like that disc itself, and he almost laughed at the whimsy.)
With assured finesse, she lowered the needle to the fifth track. The music filled the room and she began to sing along, dancing through his lounge. Glancing at him now and then, and he couldn't help but smile. Arabella danced tirelessly, at one point kicking the gator-skin boots into a corner, then taking a few more fluid steps, before closing the gap between them. Alex shifted in his seat, nerves flickering beneath the surface, though he masked it with studied nonchalance.
Arabella swayed her hips, as natural as the sunset behind her, filtering through the wide windows—the very reason he'd bought this place, those glorious views. But this time, he couldn't look away from this otherworldly woman. He forgot the sky entirely, and when he finally noticed the warm light framing her body, he chose to ignore it completely.
Arabella straddled him, one leg on either side, as natural as breathing. Alex felt her settle against his growing hardness with deliberate care, still singing softly, fingers drifting to the buttons of his shirt. Without meeting his gaze, she began unbuttoning it slowly. Once open, she lifted her eyes to his and leaned in to kiss him.
Her long, natural red nails scratched gently down his sinewy arms and forearms, eliciting hushed sighs from his parted lips, each trail sending little shocks through his body.
He broke away just long enough to set his glass aside—both hands free now. His index fingers hooked the thin straps of her swimsuit and, with slow, measured patience, he drew them down her shoulders, watching her face as much as her body.
The fabric resisted slightly, Alex followed every inch as it peeled away from her flawless breasts, exposing what he already knew would enthral him. His palms replaced the silver, cupping their weight, thumbs brushing over hardening peaks as their kisses intensified, yet still unhurried. Time stretched infinite before them, and though raw want was front and center, deep down Alex already craved repeating this symphony a thousand times.
Now the swimsuit bunched at her pronounced hips, and Alex grew insatiable—hands, eyes, mouth devouring her form. The needle had long since hit the run-out groove, pops and scratches filling the silence, but neither paid attention. Instead, in a smooth move, Alex eased her down onto the sofa and settled above her. He kissed a slow path down her body, tasting a whole starfield on her skin—salty-sweet, addictive, like bursts of light.
Her fingers ran over his muscled back, the other tangling in his waxed hair—meant for his quiff, but now thoroughly messed up under her grip.
When he reached her navel—the limit the swimsuit still allowed—he hooked his fingers at her hips, pressed gently, and began to slide the silver fabric lower, revealing her completely.
Without delay, he kissed her bare skin, sampling her hips, the velvety insides of her thighs, each touch a tease until he reached her intimate core. There, he took his time— lips brushing her folds lightly at first, tongue flicking out to trace her slit, tasting her wetness that was already gathering. He parted her with gentle fingers, exposing her clit, and circled it slowly with his tongue, building pressure as Arabella arched subtly beneath him on the leather cushions, her breaths quickening into soft, breathy moans that spurred him on.
Alex persisted eternally, orchestrating her pleasure as masterfully as he wielded his guitar—strokes varying in pressure and rhythm, fingers joining to probe and curl within her slick heat—feeling her tense and quiver, her thighs trembling around his head.
He kept at it, relentless but tender, until she arched high, her body shaking in a long, sweet orgasm, waves pulsing around his fingers, her cries filling the room like music. His own cock strained hard in his jeans, aching for release, but he revelled in her undoing.
As Arabella caught her breath, Alex held out a hand, pulling her up. Their lips met in a sensual tangle, her essence lingering on his tongue for her to taste, while her hands worked his belt and jeans open without breaking the lip-lock. He helped shedding them off with his shoes, standing bare except for his boxers, his need evident.
Mirroring his earlier act, Arabella slipped her fingers into his waistband at the hips and tugged down slowly, freeing his thick length right in front of her swollen lips—both of them burning to go further.
She enveloped him without hesitation, her mouth a lush haven, tongue swirling with precision that propelled Alex toward cosmic oblivion, as if rocketing through space. She sucked lightly, then deeper, her hand wrapping the base to stroke what she couldn't fit, bobbing with a steady rhythm that drew a low groan from him.
She hollowed her cheeks for more suction, eyes flicking up to meet his now and then. Alex's fingers threaded into her hair, not pushing, just feeling the motion, the heat building fast as she worked him—tongue pressing the underside, lips sliding tight. He was on the brink, stars behind his eyes, until he had to pull her back gently, breathing heavy, not ready to finish yet.
She rose, and between fervent kisses, he murmured the suggestion of going to his bedroom.
Swiftly, Arabella repositioned the needle and turned off the player, while Alex grabbed a last sip of whisky.
As she neared, poised to follow, Alex lifted her up; she wrapped her legs around him. He was struck by how light she felt, how their bodies fit perfect, her heat pressing against him teasingly.
At the edge of his vast bed, he set her down soft, breaking the kiss to trail kisses along her neck, nipping at the pulse point as he guided himself to her entrance with one hand. Pushing in, they locked eyes, mutual sighs escaping—her brows furrowing in pleasure, feeling so stretched and full, his cock hitting every sensitive spot inside, lifting her adrift among galaxies.
He started slow, pulling almost out then sliding back deep, savoring the tight heat gripping him. Each thrust built, like asteroids on collision course, threatening to erupt in a cataclysmic shift. Her moans syncing with his grunts, hands clutching his back. He angled to hit that spot, grinding at the end of each push, feeling her get wetter, tighter. She wrapped her legs higher, pulling him closer, nails dragging down his skin as the pace picked up—steady, deep, drawing it out.
Alex wasn't rushing the end, loving the feel of her. When he sensed her climbing again, he tempered to a languid cadence—deliberate, teasing thrusts that made her whimper, her body arching for more. It worked; she dug her nails into his neck as her second climax hit hard, spasms rippling along his length, breaths fracturing. He endure, jaw clenched, as she bit down softly at his neck-shoulder join, a sharp pleasure-pain that nearly undid him.
They flipped; Arabella had him lean against the headboard. Catching her breath, she went down on him again, this time with gentler reverence—lips and tongue exploring along his length, tracing veins, taking him deep, her pace a teasing torment that rebuilt his urgency without tipping it.
The angle let him reach around; he extended a hand and his fingers found her slick, still-sensitive entrance, slipping in easy, curling to rub that inner spot, after three mere motions—she decide it was sinsufficient, craving his fullness again.
She climbed on, hands on his shoulders, his roaming her hips and breasts, pinching nipples lightly. Arabella set a rhythm of maddening precision—grinding with an hypnotic sway, circling her hips to feel him everywhere inside, then rising and dropping with building speed, their moans mixing unforgivingly in the room. They kissed messy, the cola aftertaste on her lips pushing him closer, but he held back.
With a quick lift, he flipped them without pulling out, resuming dominance. She hooked lithe legs over his shoulders, allowing wide access he claimed with resolute hip drives, each one bottoming out, her broken cries telling him she was enjoying this new position. He varied—short, fast pumps then long, slow ones—feeling her clench, the heat building unbearable. Her sounds unravelled him; the chamber blazed with passion and like a supernova igniting, everything exploded hot and bright as he came hard near her neck, spasms pumping deep inside, groaning his ecstasy.
When the waves faded, his weight settled on her careful, mindful not to overwhelm her. Arabella held him close, fingers tracing soothing patterns along his back. Then he felt her chest hitch with soft laughs under him.
He pushed up on forearms, questioning with a hazy smile, lids heavy with bliss. "That was amazing," she breathed. Alex hummed agreement, dropping back down gentle, kissing her neck.
By then, the firmament had deepened to indigo, stars twinkling as if solely for their witness.
Resting proved fleeting; soon a kiss dragged on, and Arabella's teeth grazed his lower lip with playful insistence, sparking the need to immerse in her once more.
He rolled them slow, entering her from the side this time, bodies pressed close. He thrust lazy but deep, one hand between them to circle her clit, drawing out gasps as she pushed back into him. They built gradual—Alex nipping on her earlobe, hands exploring sweat-slick skin—until she came quiet and shuddering, pulling him over the edge too, spilling inside with muffled groans against her platinum hair.
Their bond transcended the earthly, neither ignoring it. Alex's hand traced her side, fingers pressing as if coaxing a melody from piano keys. Arabella smiled in the moon glow—maybe he was replaying a song in his mind. Or writing one anew.
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