The Dirty Texas Rockstar Box Set (Books 1 - 5)

by JA Low

  "And women like that?"

  Evan gives me a half smile. His hand stills along his dick. "Yes, sweetheart, they do. I made one-woman faint after experiencing it."

  That sounds hot and scary. I want to touch it the way he is touching it; but I can't, that would be wrong, so very, very wrong. This is Evan Wyld, famous rock star and my new boss.

  "I can see it on your face. You want to feel it." Ocean blue eyes challenge me.

  Just a little touch wouldn't hurt. Vanessa and Derrick told me last night I should try new things.

  Evan smirks as we both look down at his thick, hard length. Taking my hand in his, he places it over his cock. I hear a small hitch in his breath as my hand makes contact with velvety skin. My thumb rubs across the metal tip; my grip tightens around his shaft, sliding back and forth just like he was doing earlier. With each tentative touch of my fingers, Evan hums with pleasure.

  "You're killing me, Sienna," Evan groans. His large palms hit the wall behind my head, steadying himself as I continue my exploration.

  Evan's face is inches away from mine; his warm breath touches my skin, setting my nerves on fire. Our breaths quicken with each of my strokes against him. Soft lips press against mine; a tentative tongue licks along the seam of my lips, teasing me to open for him. I can't fight it anymore; I need this kiss. It has been too long since someone has touched me.

  Our tongues duel with each other, the hunger in both of us fueling the wild nature of the kiss. Strong arms lift me up off the ground and push me hard against the wall. I wrap my legs around Evan’s waist, anchoring myself to him.

  Wearing nothing but my bra and panties, it feels intimate having his cock stroke me. The hard metal of his piercing rubs against my now wet, cotton panties. The tiniest bit of fabric separates us from each other. With each of his movements, Evan teases me; an orgasm is just out of my reach.

  "You like the way my cock is stroking against you, making you wetter," he murmurs against my skin. “ʼCause I do.”

  Sharp, sensual bites trail down my neck, adding to the sensory overload that is hitting my body. Evan's nose nudges away the top of my bra. I feel powerless to stop him. He sucks one hard nipple into his mouth, making me whimper. My head falls back hitting the wall behind me. His hips keep a steady rhythm against me, over and over again.

  Damn this fabric. I'm ready for him to rip them right off me. I want Evan Wyld to fuck me, and fuck me hard against the wall. I feel feverish with need.

  "Fuck, your tits are incredible," he mumbles against my breasts, appreciating their fullness with his large, callused hands as he palms each of them.

  My nails scratch down his back with each push against me. My whole body starts to tingle, every nerve ending on high alert. With one last bite against my nipple and a hard thrust with his metal ring against my clit, he makes me come…and I come hard.

  "Oh my God," I scream, as an intense orgasm rips through my body. Shit, what did I just allow to happen?

  The only sound in the darkened room is our labored breaths. Pushing away, I let my feet fall to the floor. I need to get away from him.

  Evan is standing before me, his cock looking very hard as though he is only a couple of strokes away from coming. Indecision runs through my mind. Do I finish him or get the hell out of here? Seeing my dress and purse on the floor beside him, I choose the coward’s way out and grab them.

  Mumbling my apologies, I escape out the glass doors onto the patio. Looking around, I realize my room is the next door over and relief floods me as I scramble toward it. I enter my room and slam the door shut, locking it.

  Sliding down the back of the door I whisper to myself, “Shit, what the hell have I done?”

  1

  Sienna

  Months Earlier

  I open one eye, then the other, staring up at the shadows dancing across the ceiling. Through the dark, alcoholic haze, unfamiliar items in the room come into focus. My hangover claws hard into my temple, trying to rip it apart from the inside. What the hell happened last night at my birthday party? It takes me a moment, but everything comes flooding back in technicolor. Flashes of each scene from last night. How did everything go so wrong? Rushing from the bed, I stumble into the bathroom throwing up the contents of my stomach into the porcelain bowl.

  "Happy Birthday, beautiful," Beau says, jumping onto the bed snuggling into me, lavishing me with kisses. Even after ten years together he is still very loving. Beau's been working hard the past couple of months since taking over the family law practice from his father. I seldom have time with him lately. Most mornings he is gone before I am, and most nights he is still at the office.

  "I've got something for you." Producing a red leather case from the bedside table, he hands it to me.

  The gold cursive writing was a dead giveaway for what was inside. Diamonds! By the size of the box, lots and lots of them. Opening the case, a stunning diamond necklace glittered in the morning sun.

  "Beau, this is too much," I tell him, picking up the necklace from its velvet case, twisting and turning it around in my hands. After all these years together, Beau's wealth still made me uncomfortable.

  "Sweetheart, nothing is too much for you."

  Tears well in my eyes. "Babe, this is so beautiful."

  Beau brushes the happy tears from my cheeks. "I love you, Sienna." His soft lips touch mine.

  Showing my appreciation for the gift, I pull him closer, thanking him with a searing hot kiss. "Do you have time for a quickie?" I ask with hope – it is my birthday after all!

  "Sorry, babe, I have an early morning meeting. I'll make it up to you tonight, I promise." Giving me a quick kiss on the forehead, Beau heads toward the shower.

  Falling back on the bed, with a whole lot of pent up sexual frustration aching between my thighs, my only relief would be with my BOB – like most mornings. Turning toward my bedside table, I open my drawer looking for that relief.

  Fluorescent lights burn my sore eyes bringing me back to the present as I splash my face with water. I look like shit and feel even worse. My stomach rolls again, remembering what happened at the party. I can’t seem to stop throwing up – even though there is nothing left to purge.

  "Looking for Beau?" Phillip, Beau's father asks, watching me walk off the dance floor.

  "Yes, I am." Beau's parents tolerate me. I wasn't their first choice for him, and they remind him, and me, of that constantly.

  "I think he headed toward the boathouse," Phillip sneers.

  Following his direction, I head toward it. The view from our backyard is one of the best Sydney offers. Our home is nestled in the Eastern suburbs amongst the multi-million dollar estates that hug the rocky shoreline of the harbour. You can see Sydney's icons from the garden; the Harbour Bridge and Opera House. The twinkling lights from the moored yachts and cruises dot the waterways.

  My heels sink into the damp, dewy grass. As I get closer to the boat house, raised voices echo from within. Peering through the opened porthole, so as not to disturb the argument, I can see two silhouettes standing close together with the only light filtering through from the full moon.

  "When are you going to tell her?" the female voice asks, walking toward the other figure.

  I can’t tear my eyes away from the scene, wondering what was going on.

  "I want to start a life with you. You know this is what they have always wanted for us, what we have always wanted."

  The man rakes his fingers through his hair but stays silent.

  Leaning in closer the woman kisses him, pulling him closer to her, holding his face as she controls the kiss. Her hands run down his back, squeezing the tight globes of his ass. He steps away after a moment, putting distance between them.

  "You know that time is running out. We won't be able to hide it for much longer. Tell her before she finds out from someone else."

  The male's hand slams into the wall beside them, the sound vibrating through the room, making the woman jump. "It's complicated. You know that. No
w isn't the right time. I can't ask her for a divorce on her birthday."

  What?

  No, no, no.

  I know that voice. My legs give out from under me; I hit my head on the window sill trying to get away. The loud thud fills the still night air. Warm liquid drips down my face. Fuck, I'm bleeding. I look at the red stain on my hand. I hear footsteps thundering along the jetty toward me, I need to get up. I won't let them see me this way, but my legs won't work, they are frozen. Blood still drips from my forehead as I try to move.

  "Sienna." Beau's eyes zero in on the blood dripping from the cut. The concern on his face snaps me out of my shock.

  "Get the fuck away from me," I yell, pushing myself onto shaky legs. Then I see her, the woman that kissed my husband. She is stunning, her brown hair pulled into a perfect French twist, her red, satin, slip dress clinging to her thin frame. Brown eyes that should be shocked or embarrassed at being caught out by her lover's wife, instead, are cold and calculating. A smile laced with venom creeps across her mouth. She looks happy that I saw her with my husband. Something about her seems familiar, but I can't place it.

  "Sisi...please, you're hurt." Beau takes a step toward me.

  "Yeah, and whose fault is that, Beau?" The double meaning not lost on him.

  "Let me explain, please," he pleads.

  "Nothing to fucking tell, I saw everything I needed to see.” Then I run. Tears threaten, but I hold them back. Yelling for Derrick, my closest friend, my confidant, the only man it seems I can trust.

  "Si, what the hell happened?" Derrick roars, cupping my face in his large hands. "You're bleeding."

  "Beau," is all I can say.

  "That motherfucker. I’ll kill him," Derrick snarls.

  Derrick and Beau don't get along. It is mostly because of how much time we spend together. There's also the fact that Derrick is gorgeous – but one hundred percent gay. Beau shouldn't feel threatened by him, but he is.

  For six years, Derrick has been by my side as the head stylist at my exclusive boutique. We clicked straight away through our mutual love of fashion, cocktails, shopping, and trashy reality TV shows. I knew I had gained a new BFF right from the moment we hit it off. Beau works late most nights and doesn't want to go to the millions of functions I am invited to for work, so I take Derrick. It infuriates Beau when he sees us together in the social sections of the newspaper.

  "Sienna," I hear Beau call my name.

  Derrick's grip holds onto me tighter. "Stay the hell away from her, Beau," Derrick growls, pushing me behind him, protecting me from my husband.

  "Stay the fuck out of this, Derrick," Beau growls back. Beau's mystery woman is right there, standing beside him, placing a reassuring hand on his arm, watching the scene between Derrick and Beau.

  Derrick looks between them. "Oh hell no, he didn't, did he?" Derrick’s eyes are looking at the brunette.

  I nod my answer as I’ve lost the ability to speak.

  Derrick launches himself at Beau, hitting him square in the face.

  The brunette screams.

  The music stops, and all eyes are now on the fight happening right in the middle of my party.

  Derrick has Beau pushed to the floor, fists and insults flying.

  "Sienna," Stacey, my assistant, calls out my name. She comes running toward me moving me away from the fight. "You're hurt?" she questions as she digs around her purse and hands me a baby wipe to clean up the now dried blood on my forehead.

  "You fucking bastard, how could you?" Derrick yells, the sound of fists hitting flesh echoes through the night air. Two large security guards pull Beau and Derrick apart, trying to calm each of them down. Beau has a cut lip and Derrick has a cut eyebrow. They are both breathless, the adrenaline still pumping through their veins from the fight.

  "He's not worth it," Derrick spits out. I go to him, crouching beside him, cleaning up his cut with some more baby wipes. I’m thankful he has my back.

  "Sisi, please let me explain," Beau pleads while his lover is fussing over him. Watching her tending to him makes me want to throw up.

  "How long, Beau? How long have you been fucking her?" You can hear the gasps from the crowd surrounding us, but I didn't care if I was airing my dirty laundry, everything else ceased to exist around me.

  "Si," Beau whispers.

  Turning my attention toward her, because I knew if Beau wouldn't give me the answers I wanted, she damn well would tell me. "How long?" I ask.

  She stands up straighter, gathering herself before responding to my question. "Beau and I are meant to be together, it's taken him ten years to realize this. We are just picking up where we left things all those years ago."

  Her words are spoken as if Beau has already chosen her, and I am just inconveniencing them with my presence. Then it clicked who she actually is.

  "Diana?" Looking different from the photos I had seen of her, her blonde hair was now dyed a dark chestnut color. Beau's parents always made comparisons between us, and now here she is before me and I seemed to be doing the same. We are opposites; she is tall and skinny whereas I am short and curvy.

  Beau nods, confirming my suspicion.

  "Fine. Who am I to stand in your way? All I've heard during my marriage is how Beau should have been with you – I guess it was true. Who am I to stand in the way of true love?" I snarl out the last two words. With that, I turn and leave them behind. I can hear Beau calling after me, but I don't care.

  Large arms rest on my shoulders. Derrick is right there beside me, as always. "I've got you, Princess. I won't let anyone hurt you ever again," he whispers into my ear, pushing our way through the shocked crowd.

  I fall to the bathroom floor in tears, exhaustion hitting me. I have nothing left.

  2

  Evan

  "Fuck me harder, big boy. Yes. Yes. Yes."

  Is this woman auditioning for a porn movie? I don't need a performance darlin’, I know how good I can fuck. My eyes flick to the clock on the wall and wonder how long it will take her to finish.

  The blonde finally collapses beside me, exhausted from her efforts.

  Getting up off the bed to dispose of the condom, I grab my grey sweatpants along the way. I need a drink to help me get over it. Heading toward the bar in my suite, I grab a glass tumbler and pour myself a bourbon. I quickly throw the dark liquid back, feeling the burn down my throat. That’s what I needed. Moments later, warm hands land on my waist as large tits press into my naked back.

  "The rumors are true, you're amazing," she purrs, her Latin accent rolling over her words.

  Casually, she kisses my back, making me shudder.

  What number is she this tour? I don't remember, nor do I want to. After fucking, all I want is to be left alone in my room. Maybe play my guitar or write music, but I most definitely do not want to entertain her.

  "Can I have one?" she breathes sexily into my ear, gazing at the bottle of bourbon.

  She's starting to make herself comfortable. I don't like it.

  These women know it is one night only with me, I’m honest from the start, but some always try for more. Sounds harsh but these women will do anything, and I mean anything, just to spend a night with a rock star. Our roadies are the testament to that; they’re given blow jobs on a daily basis while we are on tour just so they can get closer to the band. Security gets rid of them once the roadies are finished having some fun.

  Taking another shot, the burn of the bourbon slides down my throat numbing me. "Thanks for tonight, darlin’, but you're not stayin' for a drink. You know where the door is, don't you?"

  The blonde looks at me in shock. She’s a stunning woman with an exotic flare. No doubt being kicked out is a new concept for her. The change in her face is swift. I recognize what's coming next. "Seriously, you're throwing me out like yesterday's trash, after fucking me."

  I shrug. That's exactly what I'm doing. No point denying it. Turning on her heel, she picks up her clothes scattered around the room, muttering in Spanish while getting
dressed; her ice blue eyes lit with fire. "You're a sorry excuse for a man, Evan Wyld. You should be ashamed of yourself, using women as if they are your personal fuck toys."

  Says the woman who just fucked me for a great story to tell her friends, or maybe even sell it to the highest bidding gossip rag if she's lucky.

  "I faked my orgasm. You weren't that good," she hisses at me.

  I grin, showing her my full set of teeth.

  "That makes two of us darlin’."

  Flipping me off, she slams the door shut.

  Fuck, I'm too old for this shit.

  I grumble as I slump into the couch and hang my head in my hands. That's my life; traveling around the world, only seeing the inside of hotel rooms, paparazzi intruding on every moment of my day, and a series of one-night stands with women who don’t give a fuck about me. I can't take a damn shit without it being headline news. We are on our second last tour and I can't fucking wait for it to be over! Then onto bigger and better things.

  "What the hell is this?" Vanessa, our PR manager yells at us, pointing to the online gossip site on her tablet.

  She’s called us together into the hotel suites living room, like a bunch of naughty boys called before the principal. Most of us are bleary eyed after last night’s partying.

  "How many fucking times do I tell you boys to be vigilant of your surroundings?” she asks, her Australian accent coming out strong. Usually, Vanessa's accent is a mixture of American, English, and Australian. But when she's angry, she sounds more like the Crocodile Hunter. It makes me laugh. Which is, of course, always at the wrong times.