Undercover Rockstar: A Bad Girls novel

by Ann, Jennifer

  I want Vaughn to ink my goddamn initials on her skin so everyone knows she’s mine.

  The possessive thought throws me for a loop. Women are trouble. Why would I wish that shit on myself?

  But then I brush my fingers over her subtle skin again and she hums quietly, conceding to my delirious thoughts.

  Hell yeah.

  Gonna make her mine.

  I bend, bringing my lips close to the top of her head. She shifts ever so slightly, leaning into them. She wants this as much as I do. When’s the last time a man touched her? Someone so fucking sexy has to be claimed by someone.

  I breathe her in, balls drawing tight. It’ll be easy as shit to come later when remembering her fragrance. It’s clean and natural. Vanilla’s almost too pure, too innocent for a woman brave enough to take on my surly ass. Still, it makes me think there’s plenty of goodness inside her somewhere. Maybe this is still a bad idea. I have a history of destroying anything good.

  “Come to the brewery tonight,” I say into her sleek hair. “Ten o’clock.”

  “Okay,” she replies in a low, husky whisper.

  I wanna roar in victory. She knows exactly what she’s agreeing to, and it’s not another audition. My heart thunders.

  I’m gonna brand this gorgeous woman. In every goddamn way imaginable.

  Reluctantly, I start pulling my hand back. But she slaps her little fingers around my wrist and waits until I meet her simmering dark pupils. “I’m not going to fuck you to get in with the band either. Touch me like that again and you’ll get a face full of pepper spray.”

  Drawing back, I’m transfixed by the decision to make her submit to me.

  But that will come later.

  Instead my lips curl with an unexpected smile. She can pretend all she wants that she wasn’t dying for my touch, but I know what I saw.

  It’s only a matter of time before I wreck her body.

  Hope like hell I won’t wreck the good parts of her in the process.

  4

  Sasha

  After an uneventful day of tailing Risotto on his way to and from a construction site downtown, I swing by a coffee shop before meeting him at the old brewery, hoping caffeine will steady the tremor in my hands. What I really need is a shot of tequila to clear my head.

  The whole point of going into Vaughn’s shop was to entice Risotto into changing his mind. It was also an excuse to finally get drumsticks tattooed in the shape of a “T” that I’d been sketching for years, wanting to permanently honor my brother.

  Instead I practically foamed at the mouth and humped Risotto's leg. While Vaughn was getting things ready, I actually checked to make sure there wasn’t a visible wet spot beneath me. The sting from the tattoo gun wasn’t enough to dull all the bazaar, unwanted feelings that came with Risotto’s sensual touch. It wasn’t enough to erase the fact that I want to do all the things Risotto was suggesting with his cryptic words and smoldering look.

  I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want him.

  If Sgt. Kendall’s superiors are right, Risotto’s a shady criminal—a murderer, even. And it’s my job to enforce the law. I can’t get involved with someone determined to break it.

  When a double shot of expresso fails to settle my nerves, I send Emersyn a FaceTime request, knowing she’ll do her magic and get my head on straight.

  Seeing her on the little screen instantly helps release some of the building tension from the tattoo shop. My ex-partner was never the type to smile, yet her beautiful face and positive outlook on everything have always had a tranquil effect on my nerves. Sitting on the bed in her apartment, her dark hair’s pulled back in a post-workout ponytail, face and shoulders slick with sweat.

  “Blond looks good on you.” Then she studies my expression and arches a lone eyebrow. “Bad day?”

  “You have no idea,” I mutter. Running a strand of hair around my finger, I tap my temple against the cool glass on the driver’s side window. I want to shatter the damn thing with my skull for acting like a fool with Risotto.

  Emersyn snorts quietly while dabbing at her face with a towel. “There’s frustration oozing from your pores, and I need a shower. Spit it out already…I don’t have all night.”

  She knows me all too well. I’m not about to offer anything unless she extracts it outta me.

  Taking a deep breath, I lick my lips. “Have you ever felt a strong attraction to someone you knew you couldn’t have?”

  “You mean like with a man?” She cocks her head, tapping at her lips, eyes narrowed. “There was this guy in college I dated for a few months…his family had more money than God, but he turned out to be a total slob with no regard for personal hygiene. His apartment was the most appalling sight I’d ever laid eyes on.” Dazzling hazel eyes popping wide, she shrugs. “That’s as close as I can get.”

  “Did you have some kind of raw, animalistic need to tear his clothes off and do twisted shit?”

  When her mouth pulls tight with a scowl, I’m suddenly reminded of the face my brother would always make when scolding me. “This better not be someone related to your current assignment.”

  Rather than confessing the way she expects, I drop the back of my head against the seat. She’ll see it in my body language regardless. “Do you suppose it’s just because I haven’t gotten laid in forever? Like maybe if I went out and had a one-night stand with some random guy, the attraction might go away?”

  “Doubtful, but you could always give it a try. If I were you, I’d be doing whatever it takes to keep that shiny new ‘detective’ title.”

  “Speaking of…sorry your partner’s being a jack-wagon.”

  She laughs, eyes flickering upward. “I’m over it. With any luck, I won’t be with him for long. I’m still looking into relocating somewhere warmer with less crime and traffic.”

  Jealousy sparks my heart. We’d talked about moving south together. Since I chose this assignment, however, I lost any right to protest.

  Maybe when I’m done with this case, I could join her. But when I consider moving far away from Trent Risotto, I’m struck with an unexpected pang of longing. Damn it, this attraction to him just keeps getting worse. It’s officially a serious problem—one that I have no clue how to handle.

  Emersyn clears her throat, sensing something’s off. “I never would’ve guessed in a million years that you’d be calling me for advice about some dude. I figured you were calling about that high schooler in the news.”

  Tipping my chin down to meet her questioning stare, I throw her a deep frown. “What high schooler?”

  “Just how deep undercover are you? A girl on the South Side OD’d on V—you remember, that new synthetic drug we saw popping up around here last year. I thought maybe that was the reason they wanted you in Minnesota…because you have a history with handling the stuff.”

  Nausea rises in my throat. Another theory Sgt. Kendall has thrown out is that Blood Hands is trying to rid the neighborhood of dealers because they’re competition. Could Risotto really be pushing drugs when his sister met the same fate? From what little I know of his personality at this point, there’s no question he’s cold and calloused.

  “I have to go,” I tell Emersyn, turning the key in the ignition.

  “Good talk,” she says. “Whatever’s going on, shut that shit down. Give your bean a good flick if you think it’ll help.”

  Before she ends the connection, I’m already veering the loaner impounded coupe onto the road.

  I never should’ve taken my eyes off Risotto.

  * * *

  Two hours before we’re to meet, I find Risotto’s motorcycle parked outside the lit brewery. I whisper a little prayer of thanks, also praying he wasn’t off committing a crime in the half hour I snuck away. I suspect he suggested the late hour as a part of whatever game he’s playing, like he thinks the anticipation of it all will make the end result more satisfying.

  I’ve played my share of kinky games with past lovers, and the end result is always more satis
fying. The mere thought of handcuffing the giant man’s hands over his head so I can gently torture him has my legs clenching, lips parting. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to sit here and “flick my bean” as Emersyn suggested.

  Fantasizing about Risotto’s going to somehow destroy me, clear and simple. Whether it’s my job or sanity that goes in the end, disaster’s bound to find me as long as I’m allowing myself to picture him doing unspeakable things to my body.

  Bam! Bam!

  With the sudden rap of knuckles on my window, my heart jumps. How the hell did I let someone sneak up on me? With wayward thoughts of a hot man, I’m suddenly throwing years of training down the drain.

  I turn, meeting a set of complicated blue eyes cutting through the darkness. My clit pounds in anticipation, short-circuiting my brain.

  In a black t-shirt and jeans, he nearly blends in with the perilous sky. He reminds me of a dangerous animal watching its prey.

  He also looks prepared for a heist.

  Mentally berating myself once again for leaving him, I roll the window down.

  “I said ten o’clock,” he barks.

  “I was bored,” I bark back. “Figured I’d swing by to see if you’re around.”

  His thick eyebrows draw down. “I’m busy.”

  “You don’t look busy to me.” I turn the key and pull it from the ignition before pushing on the door. He resists at first, holding the rusted metal with his giant hand until I put my shoulder into it and knock his grip free.

  Before he’s able to physically restrain me, I pop out of the car and square up to him on the paved road. “Look. I get the impression that you don’t like me, and I know pay for playing the local scenes is crap once it’s divided up. But I really need this gig to keep my sanity. Someone who meant the world to me taught me how to play, and the only way I know how to honor his memory is by beating the shit outta something. I figure it’s safer to take my aggression out on a drum set rather than someone’s face.”

  A deep chuckle falls from his lips with the innuendo. It’s a dark, rumbling sound that rattles against my chest and awakens the part of me I’m trying desperately to keep buried. This man is more than beautiful, especially when his sexy mouth bends with a one-sided smirk.

  “You talk a lot of shit for someone so small.”

  Oh, buddy…if he only knew that I’ve been through enough martial arts training to deliver…

  Jaw clenched, I stare up at the mountainous man, refusing to budge. Beneath his heated stare, my nipples draw tight the same moment the rest of me becomes liquified. I’m not totally convinced I appear as tough as I’d like to perceive. I’m almost literally a puddle at his feet, totally at his mercy.

  This is a thousand different kinds of wrong. I shouldn’t have egged him on earlier, shouldn’t have agreed to meet him when sex weighs so heavily on my mind.

  He finally shakes his head. Rubbing at his temples with one hand, he swears under his breath before speaking to me. “Gonna have to prove your worth—that you’re capable of hanging with my crew without startin’ shit. And I’m not interested in giving the impression the band’s gone vanilla.”

  So he was sniffing me earlier. I had my suspicions, but the subtle reference to my perfume confirms it.

  He’s completely wrapped around my little finger.

  His eyebrows crease together again, drawing the scar from the accident in Afghanistan tight against his temple. “Give me five minutes before you come in.” He takes two steps toward the brewery, then stops to look over his shoulder. “Five minutes.”

  “Okay, I heard you! Five minutes!”

  As he’s sulking back toward the building, I slip back into my car and send a quick text to Sgt. Kendall. It may be a little premature, but I’m confident he’ll cave.

  I’m in.

  After the longest six minutes of my life—one for good measure because I don’t want him thinking I’m too eager—I cross the quiet road to the building. Body humming with sexual energy, I pull the sliding door aside, waiting for its subtle creak to announce my presence. I hold my heavy breaths, waiting for Risotto to storm around the corner to greet me. But he doesn’t show.

  The shoddy building’s just as damp and dusty smelling as the other day, but I’m instantly warmed by the purr of a guitar filling the air. Growing up constantly surrounded by musicians, I was bound to develop a crush on one or two at some point. Being that my brother’s best friend Liam Rooker was gorgeous and exceptionally talented on bass, he was the obvious choice to become my first heartbreak. Hearing Risotto’s expert fingers pluck at the strings reminds me of how I felt watching Liam play for hours on end.

  Stomach in knots.

  Chest filled with butterflies.

  Infatuated with his talent.

  I’m in knots again, just not in my stomach.

  Rounding the corner, I find Risotto bent over, eyes closed. He skillfully strums a dark blue guitar, playing an unfamiliar tune that’s slow and sexy. It’s shocking to see someone so huge able to manipulate the small strings with such precision. I lean against the doorframe and watch him, heat blossoming in my chest.

  He’s one fierce specimen.

  Never before have I felt the kind of magnetic pull to a man that makes me want to strip down naked and beg him to have his way. I’ve spent a good chunk of my career interrogating criminals, making them feel small. But as I watch Trent Risotto in his element, creating a melody that wraps around my heart like a fist, I want to suck him off while he plays…pleasure him until those intense eyes roll back into his head as he fists my hair.

  His baby blues jerk up to meet mine. “I said five minutes.”

  “It’s been six,” I snap, starting for the drums. “Maybe you should get a fucking watch.”

  As I’m walking past him, he sets his guitar on the floor and snags me, hauling me close. “This is a bad, bad idea.”

  I steady myself against his impenetrable chest, pressing the palms of my hands over his warm muscles, vaguely aware that I’m panting heavily. Damn him for smelling magnificent, like danger, and sweat, and feral man all rolled into one.

  “Why?” I challenge.

  “Because there’s good in you. I can smell it.”

  My sex tingles wildly. I gulp. “So what if there is? What does it matter?”

  He bends down until his mouth is mere inches from mine. “Because I’ll wreck you.”

  I gulp again, unable to slow my heart or evenly pace my ragged breaths. Being wrecked by him doesn’t sound all that bad. “If you truly believe that, you’re seriously underestimating me. I’m a helluva lot stronger than you think. I have the willpower to stay away from assholes like you.”

  “Bullshit.” Setting his coarse fingers on the back of my neck, he grinds his hips in a circular motion. His thick erection presses into my belly, proving he’s as big as he looks.

  I whimper loudly, craving so much more. Needing it.

  “Tell me you don’t want this, drummer girl,” he whispers, his breath scalding on my lips. Head spinning, I move my hands down to grip his wide hips. “Tell me you don’t want me deep inside, ripping you apart.” My lungs burn for air as he slips a calloused hand inside my shirt, massaging a nipple beneath my bra. The tender skin puckers with his touch. “Tell me you don’t want me driving in and out between your silky thighs until you come on my cock.” The same hand is suddenly inside my shorts, stroking over the small square of my thong with a feather-light touch. A warm, welcoming rush of tingles spreads between my legs. I cling to his arm and whimper again, already on the verge of coming. “Tell me you don’t want to get down on your knees afterward and taste yourself as I shoot another wad down your innocent little throat.”

  At this point there’s no controlling my attraction to him, no talking myself down from the point of no return. I believe he’ll destroy me, and I want him to. I welcome it. I want him to tear me down and make me vulnerable. I want him to fill me until I’m marked and dirty.

  “I want it,” I whisper, draw
ing my lips closer to his. “I want all of it.”

  Without warning, he shoves the swatch of material aside and presses the pad of his thumb against my clit. Hit with an epic wave of pleasure, my fingers clamp around his wrist, nails digging into his tattooed flesh. I tilt my head back, releasing a drawn-out moan as he rubs my most sensitive spot over and over, working me in every sense of the word.

  “You’re fuckin’ drenched,” he growls against my ear. “Must really want it.”

  “Oh god…I do,” I pant, reaching up to braid my fingers through his hair. Pressure builds from his strokes—beautiful, glorious pressure as powerful as a geyser—and I’m higher than the stars in the sky, desperate for release.

  “I’ll ruin you,” he warns, dragging his coarse lips along my neck and leaving an electric shock in their wake. He stops to lick the tattoo along my collarbone, his warm tongue creating a rush of erotic tingles. “Won’t know what the fuck to do with yourself by the time I’m done.”

  My mind’s a bowl of mush, only focused on the conviction behind his words and the thrust of three fingers entering me. I cry out, yanking fistfuls of his hair until our mouths meet.

  “Kissing” seems too innocent of a term for what happens next.

  His tongue invades my lips, thrusting inside my mouth with strokes faster and deeper than the skilled fingers busy between my legs. He claims me like I’m his to take, like he’s ready to make good on the threat to rip me apart. It’s hot and dirty, heightening the blissful sensation of an oncoming orgasm. My eyes flip open, but the vision of the man in front of me is blurred.

  What am I doing? How did this happen? How did I let it go this far?

  Lips retreating with a loud smack, he touches his forehead to mine as his fingers deliver blinding bliss. “That’s it, drummer girl. Come for me, sweetheart. Soak my fingers.”

  With his prodding, I clear my mind and let loose, solely focused on the globe of nerves twisting low in my pelvis. His hot mouth returns to mine, a little gentler this time, but just as demanding all the same.