One Night Stand with the Rockstar (With the Rockstar #1) (rockstar romance series) (2 page)

From
the outside, we’re always looking in. From the inside, we’re still looking in.
The smells. The tastes. Just touch me, I can’t handle this any longer. I can’t
travel the world. I can’t wait.

.2.

Sitting behind a piano, his
fingertips gently touching the keys, Alex Slader waited for something to come
to him. His head hurt and his eyes burned, living in a haze of no sleep for
days. Something ate him alive, from the deepest core of his soul right on out.
It was why he needed tonight’s show. It was why he started this small tour to
begin with. He woke from a horrible nightmare and knew that if he didn’t tour,
the nightmare would continue.

The nightmare stopped, but now so
did the sleep.

His left fingers pressed down,
playing a chord. His right fingers lightly danced on the keys. The music sounded
too happy. Too joyous for a dark night. He wanted to be on the stage, right
then. Waiting another forty minutes might as well been a lifetime. Alex Slader
knew no boundaries of time other than his personal existence.

He played the same chord and same
notes, over and over, hitting the keys harder and harder until it became
nothing but sound. He hated sound. It wasn’t about sound. It was about creation
and control. He controlled the music. He told it what to do, how to do it, and
he played for people who understood the meaning because Alex Slader designed it
that way.

As he continued to pound on the
keys, the door to his private room opened.

“Slader, we’re going to get you on
early.”

Slader’s fingers stopped. He took a
deep breath and looked to his manager, the man who handled all the contracts,
tours, and the craziness of Slader’s life and mind. Jerry was a good guy. A
normal guy, something interesting to Slader.

“I need to play right now,” Slader
said. “Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” Jerry said. “Fans
are coming in right now.”

“Excellent. Have my studio ready
for me after the show. I feel like writing tonight.”

“Absolutely,” Jerry said. “How many
more shows do you want to play?”

“Four,” Slader said.

“Four it is,” Jerry said. “I also
have someone here to see you. Two people, actually.”

“In order?”

“I’ve got Skren out here to talk
about the set list.”

Slader smiled. He loved working
with musicians. So many, but so little time in life to teach, to explore, to
watch, and to fire. There was something amazing about bringing people to the
stage and then taking it away.

“Let him in,” Slader said.

Jerry opened the door and whistled.
A young man with thick blond hair pulled back,wearing a white t-shirt, ripped jeans,
a guitar around his neck, came into the room and sat down. He looked nervous
and awe struck.

“I’ll let you two talk,” Jerry
said.

“Perfect,” Slader said.  He turned
to the guitarist. “Skren?”

“That’s me,” the guitarist said.

“I don’t like that name. But it’s
yours. Keep it.”

Skren nodded.

“Play me a song.”

Skren looked at a small amp near
the couch he sat on. Slader nodded and Skren plugged in. The amp was old, the
tubes basically fried, so there was a constant feedback sound. Something about
it enticed Slader. He believed everything - and everyone - was basically almost
broken. And nobody was worth saving or fixing.

Skren strummed a few, cheap chords
that some trio would play with catchy lyrics behind it looking for a quick
score of drugs and groupies. Then to Slader’s surprise, Skren slid his fingers
up the neck and began to unleash a wicked guitar solo. He watched the man’s
fingers move, note after note, sweeping up and down the strings, bending when
needed, partially bending for effect between movements. Technically, it was
great guitar playing. But... for the soul...

When Skren ended the solo with a
deep power chord, he stared at Slader for approval.

Slader put a hand out and took the
guitar. He touched the smooth neck. He listened to the low rumble of the
strings. He saw the instrument and felt its life. It was time to command this
life, along with Skren’s and the fans out in the crowd.

As Slader threw his head back, he
played the same solo Skren had just played. The notes came to him, traveling to
his fingers with ease. He played it a little faster though, giving it a much
better sound. The bends he held a little longer and harder, testing the
strings. At one point he moved an octave lower, giving the solo more chunk,
more heart. And to end it, he simply went to the twenty-fourth fret on the
guitar and bent the string so the guitar cried... and cried... and cried... and
the feedback wept along with it.

Slader then released his hold and
let the guitar fall to the floor.

It hit with a distorted thud and
Skren hurried to pick up the guitar.

“That was amazing,” Skren said.

“That was music,” Slader said. “If
you play that shit you just played tonight... you won’t see another show. Do
you play the notes or do you play the song?”

Skren swallowed, even more nervous.
“I’m going to play the song.”

“Good man,” Slader said. “Do you
want some coke?”

Skren’s eyes looked left to right.
“No...”

“Good. I don’t have any. Do you
want a drink? A groupie to fuck before the show?”

“No.”

“Good. I don’t have those either. Play
a good show and I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of.” Slader bent down and
put a strong hand to Skren’s boney shoulder. “I’ll get you so high and find you
a woman so beautiful that you’ll forget about life. About living. About
everything.”

Skren nodded.

Fear entered his eyes.

Exactly what Slader wanted.

Fear.

He loved fear.

He stood and pointed to the door.

Skren hurried to leave and Jerry
came back in.

“Make sure he’s cared for tonight,”
Slader said. “Anything he wants. Let him kill himself for all I give a fuck.”

“Is he any good?” Jerry asked.

“Who actually ever is?”

Jerry nodded. “I have someone else
out here. A woman.”

Slader perked up. “Who is it?”

“Her name is Jessica Harpmae... to
talk to you...”

“Magazine?”

Jerry nodded. “We talked about this.”

“I don’t care,” Slader said.

“She’s right outside. Waiting.”

“Is this my problem?” Slader asked.

“You agreed.”

“Now I’m disagreeing.”

“No interview?”

“Definitely no interview.”

“No conversation?”

“Is there a difference?”

“There could be,” Jerry said.

“I’m not interested. Let me know
when I can go on stage.”

Jerry nodded and stepped from the
room. Slader thought for a few seconds and then opened the door. He looked
right and then left. To his right was Jerry walking down the hall. Towards the
stage area. To his left was the long hall to the backdoor. He saw a woman
walking. The curves of her hips called to him. He smiled. She walked slow,
defeated. Losing something she thought she had.

Now
you understand
,
Slader thought.

He whistled and waited for the woman
to turn around.

If
I whisper, can you still hear me? Can you hear my heart? Can you love me?

.3.

It was soul crushing.

Jessica saw the look on the man’s
face and knew the answer wasn’t going to be what she wanted or expected.
Rockstars. They made commitments and broke them all the time. Some took the
stage hours late, some never took the stage at all. Some were just selfish and
liked to see people suffer in any way possible.

“I’m sorry,” Jerry said in a
typical band manager I’m-pretending-I-give-a-shit voice. “Slader is going on
early actually. We just don’t have time.”

“Two minutes,” Jessica said.

“No.”

Jerry turned and left.

This wasn’t a negotiation, this was
a decision. A final decision.

Jessica took the lonely walk down
the hall, debating on whether to stay and see the show. She also started to
think about her monthly financial report at work. When she called Mr. Plink to
tell him she didn’t get the story, it would be right back to her normal
duties... hell, even if she came with a story, she’d still be an assistant.

A whistle echoed down the hall just
as Jessica caught herself slowing. A feeling came over her a second before she
heard the whistle. Like someone was watching her. Like someone was waiting for
her.

She looked over her shoulder and saw
someone standing in the hall.

Tall, broad, dark, and sexy.

It was Alex Slader.

Jessica just stood in place. Her
mind spun. Do something. Say hello. Run towards him. If anything, at least
channel the music fan and ask for a damn autograph.

But Jessica couldn’t.

“Who are you?” Slader called down
the hall.

His voice - even just talking - was
deep and alluring. It matched the lyrical beauty he brought to his songs and
shows.

Jessica took a breath. She reminded
herself she was meant for this. She was meant to be near Slader. To talk to
him. To learn. To write something that nobody ever had before.

“I’m Jessica,” she said. “I just
wanted to introduce myself. Talk for a minute even.”

“Come closer to me,” Slader
commanded.

And just like that Jessica felt as
though her innocence was a visible badge. She thought herself to be strong
willed, but not when it came to this. In fact, the last man to actually touch
her body was almost six months ago. A short fling that served its purpose of
attempted pleasure.

Jessica walked towards Slader. The
hall had light and of course Slader stood right under one of the lights,
letting its tone glide along the muscles of his body. Slader was a wonder. His
physical size. His wealth. His passion for music. He was a dream brought to life.
They were the only two people in the hall and when Jessica was close enough to
smell him - his clothes, his skin - she stopped and waited.

She was entranced by the rockstar
before her.

“Look at you,” Slader said.

His eyes were wide. Almost
surprised.

“You’re beautiful.”

Jessica gasped. “I’m here to
talk...”

“Of course,” Slader said.

Behind Slader, voices kicked up.
Jessica saw two men holding guitars talking with a third man on his knees with
a flashlight in his mouth and a roll of tape in his hands. Slader looked back
and then at Jessica.

“Come in,” he said. “Talk.”

Jessica followed the intensely sexy
rockstar into the room and waited for him to direct her where to sit. He
pointed to a couch and she sat. She let her bag fall to the floor. No need for
a tape recorder. A notebook. Nothing. Jessica had her mind. Her eyes. And right
then, she studied and began to quickly memorize the stunning features that
Slader had to offer. Most pictures of him were on stage. The dark lighting
offering not much of a look, leaving the mind to conjure up what the man would
look like. Pictures of Slader in the studio were often at a distance, a man
deep in musical thought.

But to be here, a few feet away...

Jessica looked at the structure of
his face. The perfection of his jaw, meant for the soft touch of fingertips.
The deepness of his eyes, meant to explore anything he wanted. As Jessica felt
herself getting warm... and wet... she quickly looked away, needing to settle
and do her job.

“Jessica,” Slader said. “You look
like a Jessica.”

“You look like a Slader.”

Slader smiled. “There is no other
Slader.”

“I know,” Jessica said. “That’s
what I mean.”

“Are you a fan, Jessica? Of Ashes
in Vain? Or are you here to step on me... to write literary prose of the way I
talk, I act, and how I will someday disappear, die alone, horde my fortune,
never share my heart...”

“I wouldn’t call it literary
prose,” Jessica said. “Just a story for your fans.”

“My fans,” Slader said. He stood up
and touched his face. He walked to a piano and with one finger, he began to
play notes. They were sad notes. They toyed with Jessica’s emotions a little as
she wondered what else Slader could do to her with his finger... “My fans know
everything already. I put it in the music. The lyrics.”

“They’re beautiful,” Jessica said.
“But what about the person?”

“What about me?” Slader asked.

“Tell me about this tour. This show
tonight even. You’re going on early?”

“I planned on it,” Slader said. He
stopped playing and turned around. “But something else has caught my attention.
Stand up, Jessica. I want to see you.”

Jessica had dealt with commanding
musicians before. Those who thought a decent voice or fast fingers on a guitar
meant they could get what they want when they wanted. Jessica knew how to
diffuse it... except with Slader, she wasn’t sure where to start. She found
herself standing, as directed.

Obeying his command once would mean
obeying him for the night.

“You don’t have a notebook,” Slader
said.

“I have my mind,” Jessica said. “I
want to talk to you. I’m not here to pull something out that isn’t there.”

“Tell me what you see then,” Slader
said.

“Here?”

“Tell me. You’re the writer. Speak
to me as though you’re speaking to my fans.”

Jessica’s mouth ran dry. All
thoughts ceased. Slader reached back and tapped a few notes on the piano. His
eyes grew annoyed and when his lip started to curl, Jessica knew she could
possibly be in trouble.

“It’s so sad,” Slader said. “So
beautiful but you can’t speak. You’re processed, aren’t you? Designed by
something else. Unable to open and explore...”

“No,” Jessica said. “I’m just
nervous.”

Slader smiled.

Fuck
,
Jessica thought.

She didn’t realize a troubled
rockstar could have such a sexy smile.

Slader put a hand out and Jessica
took it. His skin was warm, like heaven compared to the cool, clammy feel of
her hand. He guided her towards him and for a second Jessica thought Slader was
going to hug her.

Instead, he moved out of the way
and threw Jessica at the piano. She put her hands out and saved herself from
literally crashing into it. Her hands shook and she stood in place, wondering
what was going to happen next.

“The problem with people, Jessica,
is that they don’t know what they’re looking at. They see things. They hear
things. But they don’t understand. That’s where I come in. I make them see and
hear in a way they never thought possible. That’s why my shows are compared to
a drug. To a high. To a lifestyle.”

Jessica took a few breaths. This
was her fantasy but she was there to work.

“Okay,” Jessica said. “You want me
to tell you what I see?”

“Yes,” Slader whispered.

He then stepped up behind her.
Jessica could feel him just inches away. When he breathed she could feel it.
She could taste it. When his hands touched her shoulders, Jessica’s mouth fell
open and she fought hard not to moan. She wondered what would have happened if
she had moaned though.

“Close your eyes,” Slader said.
“Close them tight. Forget everything.”

Jessica listened to Slader. His
hands slowly moved along her shoulders. To her arms. Then gone. A few seconds
later Jessica felt the touch of Slader’s fingers at her eyes. He was making
sure she had her eyes shut.

“Tell me now,” Slader whispered.

His body gently touched Jessica’s.

“I see a bitter life,” Jessica
said. “A life refused. The music drives the soul. It’s all we really have. Our
soul. We can’t let it go too easily... so we search. We hide. We wait.”

“Well now,” Slader said. “Isn’t
that poetic?”

“I don’t know,” Jessica said.
“That’s what came to mind.”

Slader’s hands touched Jessica’s
shoulders again. Then he moved down her arms to her wrists. He gripped her
wrists, his body pressed tight to hers.

“I can’t let you go,” Slader said.
“I can’t explain it, Jessica. You don’t have to trust me and what I want, but
you have to obey me. Tonight.”

Jessica felt the hardness of
Slader’s body. The muscle of his chest. The hardness between his legs. She was
sopping wet, her panties feeling uncomfortable as they pulled up into her. She
curled her toes, wanting relief. No matter how hard she tried to hide the
pleasure already mounting, her breathing gave it away.

“You’re turned on right now,”
Slader said. “It’s because you’ve been waiting, haven’t you?”

“Slader... you’re a rockstar...”

“I’ve waited too,” Slader said.
“All the women, they were instinctive need, Jessica.”

Jessica wasn’t sure what to do
right then. She couldn’t tell if Slader was high, drunk, or just this intense
naturally. Either way, she knew she had to go with it. Her own body commanded
her to stay. To go with it. If he wanted to touch her, then she’d allow it. He
was a rockstar... the hottest rockstar in the world.

His hands released their grip on
Jessica’s wrists and touched her hips.

“I’m going to make you come,”
Slader whispered. “Your own needs are getting in your way. I want you to see
and feel everything, Jessica. Beyond your job. This magazine. This interview.
This story you feel you have to tell.”

“Fuck,” Jessica muttered.

“Do not move your hands or you will
be punished.”

Punished?

Jessica wasn’t sure if she liked
that word or not. But it certainly turned her on. She was supposed to be
backstage to complete an interview. But this was part of it all, wasn’t it?
This was the rock n’ roll lifestyle. The wild sex. The music.

Slader squeezed Jessica with his
left hand. His hand moved along her backside and then between her legs. She
felt the pressure of his fingers against her. Through her jeans, through her
panties, her moist, soft folds were tender and throbbing. He rubbed back and
forth, increasing the pressure as needed. Jessica felt her knees starting to
bend, gently rocking herself against Slader’s touch.

“Yes,” Slader whispered. “That’s
what I want to feel. Yes. Do it. Come.”

Jessica then saw the emails flash
through her mind. She heard the words of her boss. Her legs straightened and
closed against Slader’s hand.

“I can’t,” she whispered.
“Slader... I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” Slader growled. “Do
you know who I am?”

“I know. I’m here for a reason...”

“We all are,” Slader said. “To
die.”

Jessica’s body started to shake.
Everything shook. Right and wrong. Fear and needs. Wants and desires. She
squeezed her legs tighter.

Was she going to reject him?

Was she going to reject the sexiest
rockstar on the planet?

Was she going to reject the hottest
man that dared to touch her?

Jessica closed her eyes and backed
up into Slader. She pushed at him, feeling his resistance.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this
to me,” Slader whispered. “My heart... again...”

Jessica looked back at the
rockstar.

Again?

Jessica had never met Slader
before. Her fantasies and conversations came in the form of posters, pictures,
and erotic thoughts late at night.

Slader took his hands from her body
and stepped back.

“You leave me no choice, Jessica,”
Slader said.

Jessica stiffened.

No
choice?

“What does that mean?”

“That means one thing,” Slader
said. “I’m going to have another show here tomorrow night. And the next night.
And the next night. Until you come back to me. Where you belong.”

Jessica grabbed her bag. As she
bent, she felt the pull of her panties. The wetness was so intense that Jessica
bit her lip, seeking relief. She could get relief. Easily.

From Slader.

He wanted to touch her.

Why not?

Why not indulge? Give in? Enjoy?

Jessica couldn’t figure out why and
wouldn’t until she was home an hour later. She sat on the edge of her bed,
still shaking. She was glad Carrie and John were gone to the movies. The
feelings racing through her were too much to handle at once... but that’s when
it came to her.

His
eyes.

It was Slader’s eyes.

They weren’t the eyes of a rockstar
looking for someone to hookup with. They were the eyes of a rockstar - a man -
who wanted to dominate Jessica. Who wanted to touch her, hold her. If she went
into his arms, there would be more meaning... more than she was willing to
chance at that moment.

But there was always tomorrow.

Or
the next night.

Or
the next night.