I Need You

Part 8 - Behind That Locked Door

              Despite the acrid, choking odor of stale piss permeating the room that assaulted my senses, I curled up into a tight little ball, and my tired eyes slipped closed.  I slept relatively well, even with a constant stream of visitors to the loo, and a steady drip of God knows what, puddling on the floor next to my bunk. I was roused by hushed voices and rifling through my bag, followed by an exclamation of surprise and a bounce of the mattress.
       "Kitten! Cor, you're a sight for sore eyes!"   George practically threw himself on top of me, knocking the wind out of me. "Macca said I had a parcel, I wasn't expectin' YOU, Love!"
        "Should I have sent meself in a box then? Or maybe just put a ribbon round me neck?," I laughed.
        "Hell,  I've missed you! Been off me trolley with you at home!" 
        I practically strangled the poor thing I was so excited to see him, throwing my arms around his neck.
        "Paul's taken John round some shops, to get 'im out our hair, so I don't know how long we 'ave," he said with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.
         "Mmmmm, I'm guessing you're not interested in a game of Monopoly."  He laughed, launching himself at me again, practically shoving his tongue down my throat.  It had been far too long without him snaked round me, and the ache I was feeling was reaching a fever pitch.  My heart hammered in my chest as George's fingers danced up and down my spine, circling up and around to my heaving breasts. He was already rigid against me,  panting heavily in my ear, as I frantically tugged at the zip on his trousers. He didn't even bother with his shirt, only needing that deepest of connections and not having very much time.  It had been weeks since we'd been alone together, our bodies thirsting for each other.  With a quick slip of his fingers, my wet knickers were jerked down my thighs,  his boxers pooled at his ankles.
         He was immediately upon me again,  chomping at the bit to invade me, a rabid hunger in his eyes.  I grabbed onto his shirt collar, hanging on for dear life, as he slammed his hips into mine. I moaned loudly, he covered my mouth with his to muffle the sound.
         "Dont.. want.. Pete or Stu.. to catch us," he huffed out. "Be standin' there.. watchin' us.. fuckin' pervs"..
         "I.. don't.. care.. Georgie,..  let 'em.. watch,".. I gasped.  "I need you.. need this.. don't slow down.. don't stop!"
          We were too far gone to notice how hard the cot was banging against the wall, drawing obvious attention from George's bandmates. A few quiet chuckles arose from the doorway, followed by loud cheers.
          We were almost to our crescendo, as a raucous and familiar voice called out,
      "alright Hazza, finally snagged yourself a bird! About time you punched your vCard!"
        I recoiled,  recognising the voice as that of my ill-timed brother, as George continued ramming into me.  Bloody hell.
         While reaching his peak, George shuddered violently,  collapsing to the right of me, exposing me to the spectators,  and my big brother.