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Authors: Stevie J. Cole

Rush (Pandemic Sorrow #2)

BOOK: Rush (Pandemic Sorrow #2)
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Copyright © 2014 by Stevie J. Cole

All rights reserved

 

This book is an original work of fiction. All of the names, characters, sponsors, and events are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual events, incidences, persons, deceased or living, is strictly coincidental.

Any opinions expressed in this book are solely those of the authors.

Rush

Copyright ©2014 by Stevie J. Cole

Published in the United States of America

Ebooks are non-transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement including infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of Stevie J. Cole.

Editing: Ashley Mac Editing Services

Cover photos: Shutterstock

Cover Design: Stevie J. Cole

 

Dedication and Acknowledgements

For my sister, Eva, and my British love, Sarah-Jane Bookham. I love you both!

Ashley, not only are you an amazing friend, but you are a very talented editor. Thank you!

Abby Cook, you know I will always love and adore you. Kindred spirits!

Thanks to all my girls who keep me sane and make me giggle. (Angie, Laurie, Sarah Tree, Sunshine, Robin, Lindsey, Lisa, Sarah-Anne, Heather, Melissa, Rachel, Antoinette, Teresa, Tara, Dawn, and Christina.) Just so you know, there is no order there. I love you all!

A huge thanks to the blogs who have supported me in my writing journey, none of this would be possible without you.

To my husband, Caleb, thank you for putting up with my moments of absolute crazy. I love you more than anything (aside from our sweet babies). I could never write a man as perfect as you. All the swoon-worthy qualities come from this man, I assure you.

Oh, and Simone. I love you even if you can’t handle my rock star’s filthy mouths.

If you downloaded this book from any other site besides Amazon or Barnes and Noble you are reading a stolen book. Pirating is a violation of the copyright laws.

As humans, we don’t deal well with emptiness. Any empty space must be filled. Immediately. The pain of emptiness is too strong. It compels the victim to fill that place. A single moment with that empty spot causes excruciating pain. That’s why we run from distraction to distraction and from attachment to attachment.

Yasmin Mogahed

Chapter 1

I woke up freezing. The air conditioner had kicked on and the cool air blew over me, causing chill bumps to prick their way across my skin. The covers had been yanked off, and when I went to grab them I realized the bed was empty. I could hear her fumbling in the darkness, tripping over something and banging into the wall. I looked up and found her slipping her shirt over her head.

I glanced at the clock, my eyes straining to read it. When the blurry red numbers finally came into focus, I realized it was only four in the morning. I shut my eyes, groaned, and finished pulling the sheets back over my naked body, the scent of what I’d done to her invading me momentarily, and a sense of accomplishment washed through me. I had finally had
her.
Nearly six years of trying to deny my feelings, of not being able to get the thought of this woman out of my head, and I finally coaxed her into bed. After that many years of tension building up, the release was unbelievable.

“What are you doing?” I grumbled through my half-asleep state.

Silence.

I opened one eye and watched as she tugged her shirt over her head.

“Huh? Where are you going? It’s fucking four in the morning.”

Leaning over, she placed her hand on the edge of the bed, pulled on a heel, and shook her head. “I can’t stay in here.”

I let that sink in for a brief second and pretended it didn’t bother me. It
couldn’t
bother me; I was hardcore, I didn’t have feelings—I was a rock star, shit didn’t get to
me
.

“Why the hell not?” I sat up, and she shoved the other foot in her shoe. “I was planning on another fuckfest before you left.” I let a perverted laugh growl up my throat, hoping it covered up the fact that I just didn’t want her to leave.

“I’ve got to get to my room before people wake up and find me sneaking out of
your
room.”

She flipped on the light in the bathroom and I squinted against it.

Okay. That’s legitimate.

And then she bluntly stated, “This was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made,” which made me feel like shit, but could I really blame her? I’d made out for years that I didn’t own any feelings. To her I was an egotistical, sex-seeking douchebag.

Covering her face with her hands, she shook her head again, this time more slowly. “I can’t believe I did this. Oh, my fucking God. Why…?” Her hands fell to her sides and she drew in a deep, dejected breath.

I sat there watching her have a silent mental breakdown about having fucked me, and I’m not going to lie, after I got over that initial sting of discovering that she regretted it, it pissed me off. I was Rush Wilder, bassist to the internationally acclaimed rock band Pandemic Sorrow. Most girls were all giddy that I had just plowed my way through them like a cornfield, but not this one. This reaction was new. I’d never had a girl act so repulsed that they had let me have my way with them, and I didn’t like it.
Especially
not coming from her.

“Why did I give in to you?” she muttered again, fidgeting with the leg of her bunched-up jean.

I knew she wasn’t looking for an answer from me, but she had to expect that I would give her one.

Smartass. Be a smartass. Don’t be some sappy-ass pussy.
“Well, from the way you fucked me, which, I’d give you nine point five stars out of ten,” one corner of my lips curled up into a satisfied smirk, “I’d say you did it because you had some major, pent-up desire to do it.”

Glaring at me, she huffed, “Rush, I have never—”

That was it. I was done letting her think she’d just done
me
a favor. I was sick of letting her pretend there had been nothing between us for all these years. The sex we’d had earlier wasn’t the result of a slip-up. No, we’d had the kind of sex that put pornos to shame, the kind where you’re clawing at each other, trying to get deeper inside; the kind where you are no longer in control of your body because it’s something your body needs, and if you could you would just devour each other right then and there. And that doesn’t happen when nothing’s there.

“Uh-uh. Look, how long have we been fucking with this? About five years? I’ve wanted to do nasty things with you since I met you, and if I had to put money on it, I’d say you’ve felt the same way.”

She laughed, then let out a frustrated groan. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Rush, but you’re disgusting.”

My jaw dropped a little and I immediately closed it so she wouldn’t realize that her jab had gotten to me. Did she really think I was disgusting? I’d never gotten that one before. I was used to hearing that I was amazing and ungodly, sometimes dirty
. H
ell, I could agree that I was raunchy, but the way her lips snarled up when she said disgusting told me she didn’t mean that in the good kind of dirty way.

“I mean, remember, I
am
the one who escorts all those girls backstage after the show. I have been like a damn pimp for you. I
know
exactly how filthy you are, and honestly, the thought that I let you stick your dick in me—”

“Several times,” I added with a grin. “Begging me to go a little deeper and harder, just in case you forgot.”

Rolling her eyes, she finished her sentence, “—kind of makes me want to vomit.” She stood in the doorway, fidgeting with the sleeve of her shirt.

I narrowed my eyes on her, my nostrils flaring as I fought to keep from raising my voice. Who wants the girl they’ve been obsessing about having for years to tell you that the thought of your cock in their body makes them want to hurl?

I cleared my throat and ran my hand over the cotton sheet. “I don’t believe you,” I laughed.

“Okay. Believe what you want. This should’ve never happened, and I swear to God, if you tell anyone, I
will
strangle you.”

“You better watch out. I might like kinky shit like that.” I pinched my nipples and moaned. “Strangle me, beat me, oh yeah.” I faked my orgasm face, my body twitching just a bit for effect.

She ignored me, not even laughing at my attempt to be funny.

“Where’s my purse?” she murmured, scanning the messy room.

“By the door, remember? You lost control of all bodily function as soon as my lips laid into you.”

She shook her head as she bent over and shoveled items back into her purse.

The moment we got in that room, I had pinned her up against the wall with my tongue shoved down her throat; the second that happened, she dropped her purse on the floor. I could only hope that image was replaying in her head while she was cleaning up that mess.

“And Jules, you know I’m gonna tell the guys, so go ahead and get ready for that.”

She stood up and a loud sigh flew out of her mouth as she slapped her hand over her forehead. “Of course you are.” She glared at me, then shrugged and zipped her purse up. “Whatever, I fucking hate you.”

I fell back on the bed and flipped the covers off my body so she could see me grab my dick and shake it at her. “Not what you said a few hours ago. Oh, wait.” I laughed and let go of my semi-hard-on. “Maybe that’s what you were trying to say, but I couldn’t make it out because you were
desperately
ramming my cock down your throat.” I bobbed my head up and down, mimicking the way she’d sucked on me. “Oh, God, Rush,”—a slight gagging sound bubbled up my throat—“your cock is so big.” I laughed and arched my brow at her. “Sounds like hatred, if you ask me.”

She turned and stormed toward the door of the hotel room, and for a second the fact that this may have been a one-time deal got to me. Before I knew what I was saying, word vomit poured from my mouth. “Stop being so cold. You fucking want me, I want you…get over yourself and let me treat you like I’m supposed to treat a girl. This game’s getting old, Jules.”

Realizing that comment was not up to par for my dirty rocker attitude, I panicked and quickly tried to correct myself. “You know, treat you with my cock whenever you want it.”
Shit, that sounded ridiculous. Treat you with my cock? You went from sounding like a pussy to a complete moron who should celebrate every time he ties his shoes.

Her hand gripped the door handle. “Rush,” she sighed and fell silent for a moment. “Besides the fact that I could lose my job if I ever fucked around with you again, you are
not
a guy I could date.”

I scrunched my face up, hoping she could see the look of disapproval crawling over it about then. “Whoa, whoa! Who the hell said anything about dating?” I chuckled, “Sweetheart, I’m a rocker; I don’t date girls, I fuck them. All I’m suggesting is you let me get involved with your pussy on a regular, when-I-want-it basis.”

I could feel a thin layer of sweat forming over my brow. And I had to keep swallowing.


Whatever
kind of involvement you’re thinking, there’s no way. You’re a whore and there is no way I would
ever
get involved with someone in this industry again. My past relationships have made it pretty clear that guys in entertainment are nothing but assholes, so chances are you’d be no different.” She walked out the door without bothering to wait for my response.

Embarrassment and anger swept through me like a rogue wave, and I yelled, “Don’t let Rrrronan fuck shit up for your pussy!”

I knew if she’d heard that she’d most likely frozen in the hallway and was fighting back the urge to bust through the door and smack the shit out of me. Ronan was a sensitive subject with Jules.

I flopped back on the bed and rubbed my hand over the middle; the sheets were still slightly damp from where she’d come on them.

I knew Jules, and had she not liked me, she would have just cussed me out when I kissed her; not to mention there is no way I would have ever been able to get her in my room, naked and straddling my cock with that perfect pussy of hers, if she really hated me as much as she liked to claim.

Out of all the damn women on the face of this planet, the one that I had a thing for wouldn’t get involved with me because it was her job
not
to. To be the assistant manager to a group of perverted rockers, she took her job pretty fucking serious, doing whatever our dickhead manager told her to do,

If that’s not fucked-up bullshit, or some kind of sick karma, I don’t know what is.

BOOK: Rush (Pandemic Sorrow #2)
12.74Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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