Rock All Night (The Rock Star's Seduction #2) (28 page)

Killian’s little parable made me paranoid. I tried to put it out of my mind, but it tended to creep back in every time something less-than-perfect happened.

And a
lot
of less-than-perfect things began to happen.

You hear musicians talk about the Road, about the toll the Road takes. Back in 1973, Bob Seger wrote a song about it, “Turn The Page,” where his life as a rock star takes on this dark, relentless grind.

I’d never really understood that. I just figured musicians were talking about the driving and the traveling, like that scene in
Walk The Line
where a young June Carter and Johnny Cash and Jerry Lee Lewis are all in the same car late at night, and Jerry Lee kind of goes off the religious deep end.

But I thought that the driving and the boredom were all musicians were talking about when they mentioned the Road.

Then I found out by going through it.

It was the constant repetition of waking up in a strange room… hanging out, not really doing much… going to play a show… partying… waking up the next morning… getting on a bus… and doing it all over again.

It was a wandering gypsy sort of life, which I wasn’t cut out for. And yet it also had a lot of the hallmarks of a 9-to-5 job, except it was 24/7. Like a wandering gypsy who had to punch a time clock again and again and again.

No wonder so many musicians turned to drug abuse and alcoholism and sex addiction. You needed
something
to take your mind off of how much a routine you were stuck in
,
with no end in sight.

And
I
just barely got a taste. The band had been touring for four months before I came along. I was there for the very last leg of their North American tour: Los Angeles. Irvine. San Diego. San Francisco. Sacramento. Portland. Vancouver. Boise. Seattle. Salt Lake City. Denver. Albuquerque. Phoenix. And finally a two-night engagement in Las Vegas.

Even the partying began to take on a desperate quality, like being trapped in some kind of
Groundhog Day
purgatory. The same types of fans. The same look to the groupies. The same faces on the crew. The same concrete corridors in the stadiums and arenas. The same drinks, the same drugs, the same jokes, the same rituals, the same
everything.

The Road was its own peculiar sort of hell.

And it was taking its toll on Derek and me.

I’m not entirely sure it was just the stress of the Road. I think part of it was my paranoia over what Killian and Shanna had said. Either way, I began watching Derek on the sly, taking mental notes, totting up marks on a mental chalkboard.

And overanalyzing everything.

Although there was a
lot
to overanalyze.

I could give you dozens of stories, but part of good writing is judicious editing, so I’ll just hit the highlights.

We began snapping at each other, for one thing. Not in the ‘building sexual tension’ way before we’d slept with each other, but out of genuine irritation.

We had our first fight – our first ‘relationship’ fight – over toothbrushes, for God’s sake.

“Jesus, Kaitlyn, can you not put your toothbrush right next to mine?” Derek asked one morning. He said it with a sense of humor – but that
‘Jesus, Kaitlyn’
got under my skin.

I came over and looked at what he was talking about. He kept his toothbrush in a glass, and I’d casually stuck mine in there earlier.

“What do you care?” I asked with considerably less humor than he’d used.

“I just like my toothbrush to be by itself,” he said, the humor fading fast.

“What does it matter? We’re sleeping together. Any germs I have, you’ve already got by now.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then who cares?” I snapped.

“I’m
asking
you – ”

“It didn’t
sound
like you were asking me.”

Now he was getting
really
irritated. “Well consider this a formal request, then: put your own toothbrush into your own glass. There’s, like, five of them on the counter – ”

“Why do you
care?!”

“Why do I have to have a fucking reason?! Just don’t put your toothbrush in my goddamn glass! CAN YOU HANDLE THAT?”

In answer, I took my toothbrush and walked out – not just out of the bathroom, but out of the hotel room.

I probably looked pretty odd stomping down the hallway with a toothbrush in my clenched fist, but there was no way in hell I was going back in there.

Derek apologized later and just explained that he liked his space. I apologized for getting angry so quickly.

What I
didn’t
tell him was that I had a creeping apprehension that the toothbrushes were just a stand-in for something else.

But, I mean, that was just the stress of the Road, right?

The constant
togetherness
, with only a couple hours’ break here and there, right?

…right?

One of my biggest problems was that the jealousy came back. With a vengeance.

For the first five or six days after we slept together, Derek only had eyes for me. No matter how beautiful the groupies and models and actresses were who flirted with him, he didn’t give them anything other than the obligatory (but still dazzling) smile. Boobs came out en masse, but the most risqué thing he signed was a girl’s arm. And then he would turn away and put his arm around me, and walk me through the crowd introducing me to rock legends and movie stars.

The green-eyed monster was still lurking in the background, but it wasn’t gnawing at my guts like it had before.

Then… something changed.

I think it was an exceptionally beautiful hotel concierge. Brunette, six feet tall, crystal blue eyes. She didn’t know who Derek was, and she didn’t give a damn. She was polite but perfunctory, and acted entirely blasé during the beginning of their interaction.

Derek was having none of it.  

He turned up the charm to 11. He leaned over the counter in a ‘hey baby’ kind of way and kept cracking jokes like his life depended on getting her into bed.

It worked.

Well, not the ‘getting her into bed’ part. Although that was only because he brought her up short once he had her on the line.

She laughed at one of his jokes. He made a mildly suggestive comment and she shut down. He teased her about her reaction and made her laugh again. Within another sixty seconds she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

It was like watching an elaborately choreographed dance. A
mating
dance.

And I went from unsure, to astonished, to boiling-hot furious over the course of it.

A running monologue kept spooling out in my head the entire time.

Wait… what is he doing?

Is he doing what I THINK he’s doing?

What the fuck – he IS doing what I think he’s doing!

He’s KNOWS I’m here, right?!

Why the FUCK is he DOING this?!

Just as they finished their interaction and she looked like she was about to hurdle the counter and jump his bones, I latched onto his arm like a tiger and dragged him off.

He went willingly, but he threw up a casual
See ya!
salute. “Catch you later!”

She stood there, her eyes open wide, her face like a little kid whose birthday gift had been taken away just as she was about to open it.

“What the fuck was
that?!”
I hissed, low enough where I hoped no one but Derek could hear me.

He played stupid. “What?”

“That!”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific, babe.”

“You putting the moves on that – that
woman!”

“Whaaat?!” he grinned, then shook his head like I had it all wrong. “No, no – that was just a little friendly flirting.”

“Friendly flirting is ‘that color looks nice on you.’ That
was
NOT
friendly flirting.”

“Sure it wa– ”

“Why are you even fucking flirting in the first place?! And in front of me! Do you know how disrespectful that is?”

“To who?”

“To ME!”

He stared at me like I’d just grown a second head. “Are you serious?”

“No, I just
like
getting this angry and pissed off.
Yes
I’m fucking serious!”

There’s this Pixar short,
One Man Band,
where two dueling street musicians are pulling out all the stops to get a coin from a little girl. The big buff musician stumbles, makes a fool of himself, and falls all over his drums. The little girl looks over at the skinny musician, who rolls his eyes and gives this utter look of contempt that manages to combine
What an idiot
with
Forget what you just saw even exists, because it was so beneath your notice.

Derek pretty much duplicated that look to a T. “That was nothing. That’s just what I do.”

‘That’s just what I do’
was bad enough.

But it was the
look
he gave me that enraged me.

“That’s just what you
DO?!”

He frowned, like I was being totally unreasonable. “She totally acted like she didn’t know who I was!”

“SO?!”

“So… she
knew.
She was just playing hard to get, like she was all that.”

I could not understand him. It was like he was spouting gibberish – his lips were moving, but pure stupidity was coming out.

“…SO?!”

“So I spit some game at her to let her know what’s what. Jesus, Kaitlyn – that’s what I am.”

“What, an insecure man-whore who can’t bear that some chick doesn’t immediately fall all over herself to kiss your ass?”

As soon as I said it, I was sorry.

Not really sorry that I’d thought it. Just sorry that I’d said it out loud.

But I wasn’t about to back off now.

His expression – his whole demeanor – froze over. I could almost feel the ice form beneath my hand, under his leather jacket sleeve.

“What, are you such a little girl that you can’t handle me talking to another woman?”

“NO – I – that wasn’t just ‘talking’!”

“It was to me. And if you can’t handle it, that’s your problem, because I’m not about to change who I am just to make you feel better about yourself.”

And with that, he strode away, leaving me shocked and furious and alone, thinking,
How the fuck did THAT just happen?! HE’S the bad guy here! How the hell did he just make ME the bad guy?!

We didn’t say anything the rest of the day. The silence was positively Arctic.

The rest of the band were obviously uncomfortable – Ryan especially, which I felt awful about for some reason.

Scratch that: the rest of the band was obviously uncomfortable,
except
for Riley, who treated us as a walking punch line. Every other comment out of her was a variation on, “Ooooh, D and Blondie are fighting – what’d you do?”

“What’d she do, D? Punch holes in your condoms? Is there gonna be a mini-D in nine months?

“What’d he do, Blondie? You catch him in a hot tub with a buncha hookers and a package of hot dogs? Oh wait, that was
last
month…

“What’d she do, D? Put her finger up your ass when you jizzed? Or
not
put her finger up your ass when you jizzed?

“What’d he do, Blondie? Did he finally admit he’s gay as fuck?”

Derek ignored her, so I did, too. (Even though some of what she said was pretty funny.)

You know when adults told you as a kid, if another kid is bugging you, to ignore them and they’ll leave you alone?

Those adults never met Riley.

Despite the cold shoulder we gave to her parade of one-liners, our coldness to each other was ten times worse. For the first time since we’d first hooked up, we didn’t sleep together that night.

We did in the morning – but it was more like hot, hate-fuck sex.

But that’s another story.

I woke up the next morning in his bed, and for one blissful moment I wasn’t mad.

I’d spent all day yesterday angry, had gone to bed angry, had lain in bed angry, and got angrier still when he fell asleep, obviously not bothered by what a colossal dick he’d been.

So for a few seconds I was just like,
Ummm… it’s morning… wait… wasn’t I mad about something?

And BAM, just like that, I remembered it all, my adrenalin shot up, and I was angry again.

I lay there for a long time formulating a big speech. I was going to start it out with
You may THINK it’s okay to do certain things, but it’s not. If I really AM your girlfriend, then you can’t just do whatever the hell you want.

And then I was going to go into a whole list of forbidden activities, listing why they were inappropriate, and what he should do instead.

And, of course, because I knew he was going to make a big
You can’t tell me what to do
scene like the asshole he was, I had my one-two punch ready.

Oh? You say you don’t WANT a girlfriend? Well, wish granted, asshole – you DON’T anymore.

And then I was going to storm out of the bed, gather up my things, and get the fuck out.

And he was going to come after me, apologizing, begging, getting down on his hands and knees –

What if he DOESN’T do that?
I thought.

I didn’t really have an answer for that.

So I just stuck to crafting the perfect comeback.

And then he went and ruined it all by grabbing my boob.

I was lying there, silently seething, when his hand reached out and flopped on my right breast.

I was too surprised to say anything at first – I thought about looking over and seeing if it was intentional, or if he was still asleep – but then I felt the tip of his finger start lightly stroking me through the fabric of the t-shirt I’d worn to bed.

Ohhh, that was INTENTIONAL, all right.

But that thought came a few seconds after he started stroking me, because I was too shocked at first…

…and because I was turned on.

Let me be clear: I didn’t
like
being turned on. I was pissed off at myself for getting turned on. I was even more pissed off at him for
turning
me on.

But I guess I had so much energy in my system – and some sort of electrical charge from the jealousy – that I responded right away. Much to my chagrin.

My nipple almost immediately hardened, and I felt a hot, liquid caramel sensation down between my thighs.

Unnnhhh.

But he wasn’t getting none o’ that. After the way he’d treated me? No fuckin’ way, Jack. Unh-unh.

I grabbed his wrist and sternly placed it back on the sheets.

There were about ten seconds where I didn’t hear or feel anything else, so I figured he’d gotten the message.

Until I felt his finger caressing the side of my breast. Softly. Slowly.

I didn’t do anything because… well… I was kind of enjoying it.

Especially when he reached the nipple again, and gave it just the veeery slightest pinch. Not too hard, just…
unnnhh.

Suddenly I felt the molten caramel in my thighs and belly, too, and it was like my entire body wanted to move the slightest bit as he tweaked my nipple, to follow the sensation, like he was guiding me towards him with the lightest of touches.

And then I got hold of my senses.

I grabbed his hand and flung it off me as hard as I could, like I was throwing a baseball, and turned over on my side, giving him my back.

I lay like that, furious that he was trying to have sex – sex! – when he’d pissed me off so badly and obviously didn’t GIVE a fuck about my feelings at all –

When I felt the tip of his finger softly touch my ass cheek and trace its way down the inside of my thigh.

I was wearing panties, no shorts or pajama bottoms… so it was all bare skin that he touched.

Holy
shit.

His finger, normally so rough, just barely grazed my skin – soft and sensual and gentle. His fingertip brushed against the cloth of my underwear, and I could feel the whisper of pressure through the fabric, caressing me down there, tickling the ridge of my lips.

I was starting to get wet.

DAMMIT!

I reached back without looking at him, grabbed his hand, and threw it off my body again.

Then I lay there for another thirty seconds, half hoping he would do it again – and angry at myself for wanting him to.

Just when I thought he had given up, I felt something else tickle my thigh.

Something satiny soft on the surface, but hard beneath, and blood-hot.

Hint: it wasn’t a finger.

I sucked in my breath as I felt his cock nestle against my thighs, hot and hard and alive. As soon as his skin touched mine, it must have excited him more, because I felt his cock strain and press against me even harder, then slowly the pressure faded away until it was just this warm, hard, long, thick pressure pulsing next to my skin.

It was hard to concentrate on how angry I was with
that
going on.

Then he slowly, sloooowly slid my t-shirt up, the cloth tickling as it whispered over my skin, until my waist was exposed. He began to trace his finger over my skin, making long, soft, slow patterns down my lower back… then back up and around to my stomach, where his fingertip just barely brushed against me.

Combine that slow, sensual pleasure with the heavy, hot throbbing of his cock resting against the back of my legs… and I wasn’t exactly able to think straight.

His hand inched beneath my t-shirt, slowly moving across my ribcage, until it was blocked by my arm.

I thought about clamping down and not letting him go any further…

…but I
wanted
him to go further.

So I shifted my arm out in front of me.

I didn’t say a word, but I might as well have shouted,
Go ahead.

His fingers paused, then continued their way beneath my shirt until they found the swell of my right breast. He slowly brushed the underside, his rough fingertips so gentle… and then softly slid up over the front, and found my nipple.

As soon as he did, I felt his cock harden and strain against the back of my thighs, which turned me on even more.

He began to touch my nipple softly, slowly, making it harder with every circle of his fingertip. My nipple ached, I was so turned on.

And then I felt his thumb and forefinger gently take the tip between them, and just
barely
squeeze.

At the same time, he must have shifted his hips, because I felt the hot, soft, swollen head of his cock press up against my underwear, almost parting my lips beneath the fabric.

I wanted to moan, I wanted him inside me so badly.

But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Suddenly I felt my hair pull away from my neck, followed by his hot breath tickling across my skin. I tensed, waiting for what I wanted so badly – and then I felt his lips touch the nape of my neck, soft little kisses sending shivers of pleasure up and down my back. The scruff of his early morning whiskers prickled against my skin in a delicious contrast to his soft, warm lips.

He moved up my neck, kissing, occasionally licking until he reached my ear, and I could hear his breath like a sigh, so soft and quiet, but GOD it was hot. He began to slowly kiss the edge of my ear, moving down to my earlobe, the tip of his warm tongue dancing over my skin, followed by another kiss.

All the while he was still playing with my chest, his large, strong hand having moved to my other nipple, caressing, circling, cupping my breast in the palm of his hand.

AND his cock was pressing harder between my legs – the gorgeous length against my skin, the swollen girth of him forcing its way between my thighs, his large, thick head teasing and pushing and straining against my underwear, actually forcing himself just a few millimeters inside my pussy but still behind the fabric, like a wild animal pressing against a hanging cloth, letting you know at any moment it could force its way inside, but choosing not to.

I was furious with him –

And I was more turned on than I had ever been in my life.

I hated him –

And I wanted him inside me so badly I thought I might die if I didn’t get it.

As he continued to kiss my ear, his hand withdrew from under my shirt… glided down my front… circled around to my ass… and slowly pressed between my thighs, raising my leg.

I let him do it.

My right foot stayed on the bed, so that my right leg bent at the knee and formed a triangle.

Which meant there was plenty of room for him between my legs to do whatever he wanted.

Apparently what he wanted to do first was touch me, because his fingers brushed against my underwear, slowly massaging my lips, tickling me through the soaked cloth.

I moaned as he slid one finger under my panties and began to glide across my soaked skin, massaging me, teasing me, pleasing me, making me shiver and quake.

Then his finger slowly slid the bottom of my panties aside.

He was going to enter me from behind, without even taking off my underwear.

For some reason, I found that incredibly fucking hot.

I felt the soft, satiny tip of his head press against my wet lips –

“Condom,” I managed to choke out from my haze of desire.

He groaned playfully, and I felt his hand and cock withdraw. The bed vibrated, like he was stretching his body across it – and then I heard the telltale crinkling of the paper as it tore. Fifteen seconds later I felt the wet, lubed surface press back into place – not as hot as his bare skin, but at least I felt safe enough to keep going.

His body pressed against mine, and I felt the hard ridges of his muscles against my back. His chest, his abs, his entire body.

Unnnnhhh.

Still… there was part of me that just wouldn’t let go.

“I’m still mad at you,” I whispered angrily.

“I know,” he chuckled in my ear… and then he slid inside me.