Heavy Metal Heart: A Bad Boy Rock Star Romance

by Fields,Annette

  "So thoughtful of you. Oh! Mm--!" Torsten silenced her moans with his mouth as his fingers flicked over the stiff bud of her clit.

  Her legs shivered around his waist as he teased her with just one hand, holding her pressed against the window with the other. Already his hand became slick up to his wrist with her wetness as her breathing grew shallow and more rapid. He waited until she teetered on the edge of orgasm to stop. Slowly and sensually he licked her tangy juices from his fingers, enjoying the desperation on her face as she watched him.

  “Torsten, please. I need to come!” she begged, her cheeks filled with that rosy flush.

  “You taste divine, Helena,” he groaned, roughly shoving her skirt up to her waist to reveal her glistening wet pussy. He feasted on it with his eyes before moving in to give it a long, gluttonous lick.

  She shuddered and bucked her hips, her hands entangled in his hair. Her clit pulsed needingly with barely any touch. He pressed his tongue flat against the hard little nub and ground down. Her orgasm clamped her legs shut around his head like a vice. Torsten thought he might suffocate as the happiest man alive before her thighs released him.

  He rose from between her legs, panting slightly for air as he smiled down at her and worked his belt buckle and pants off.

  "Does my future wife want my cock?" He asked, his voice gruff and full of lust.

  "Yes. Give me your big, hard cock." Her chest rose and fell as she struggled to catch her breath. Those sweet, gorgeous tits just barely covered her disheveled blouse.

  "I want to hear you say it." His cock sprang free and he stroked along the full length of his shaft as she eyed it hungrily.

  "Your future wife needs your cock. Please fuck me, Torsten. Fuck me hard."

  "Fuck, I'll marry you just for those three sentences."

  Normally he loved to tease her and make her beg for as long he could stand it, but not right then. She was dripping wet and ready for him, and just pledged to be his forever.

  He impaled her with the full length of his cock, erupting a shrill scream of ecstasy from deep in her throat. As soon as he plunged fully into her hot, tight pussy, he pulled out.

  "Turn around and look out the window while I fuck you."

  She obliged and he pulled her skirt up over her soft, feminine hips to reveal her gorgeous, creamy ass. A satisfying smack left a bright red handprint on her right cheek.

  He reached around and released her her tits from her blouse to press them against the window. The cool glass hardened her budding nipples, which he rolled and pinched between his fingers. After releasing her tits his hands traced the outline of her curves from her sides of her ribcage to the inward dip of her waist. Then finally grabbing hold of womanly hipbones, he sank his cock into the hot, wet paradise of her pussy again.

  "Don't stop fucking me this time. You better not stop," she moaned at his reflection in the glass.

  His answer was another rough smack to her supple ass cheek, never losing his rhythm as he rooted into her.

  "It's so fucking hot when you tell me what to do," he snarled as he leaned forward, biting her earlobe.

  "Then fuck me harder!" Her words slurred together as if she were drunk, but Torsten felt her next orgasm building around his cock. He knew she was drunk on all the sensations in her pussy, her clit, her nipples, her ass cheek, and in her brain.

  He reached around and pressed his fingers to the button of her clit, pounding deeper and more forcefully into her.

  Her moans turned to incoherent wails of ecstasy as her orgasm released throughout her body, triggering his own. Her muscles seemed to pull his cock even deeper into her as his come pumped out like a firehose.

  They barely had time to catch a breath when a loud knock pounded at the door.

  "Fuckin' what?!" Torsten yelled.

  "We just got into Oslo! We're home!"

  Chapter 35

  Helena

  Home.

  Helena thought about that word and what it meant. Once she stepped off that train she knew it would take on a completely different meaning than what she thought or experienced before.

  Home was once a sleek, loft apartment that she could barely afford. More often than not, it was completely trashed no matter how many times she cleaned it. If she was lucky, her husband would be passed ou. On a typical, day the place would be trashed but her husband nowhere to be found. That home didn't make her happy. It waited like a like dark shadow stalking her every day. It made her numb with sadness but it was the home she returned to every night for years.

  Until her home changed. She shrugged off that one like a jacket and found her apartment where she lived alone. It was better in some ways. With no one else around it stayed clean. She furnished and decorated it to her liking but it still didn't feel quite right. She felt like an imposing guest in someone else's home. Like she could stay for as long as she needed, but it would still never be her place.

  And then Torsten crashed into her delicate world like a storm. He swept her up in his tornado of a life, and she felt more at home with him in train cars, hotel suites, and castle towers than any of her previous so-called homes. No matter their physical location she felt completely at ease to be herself in his presence. Somehow he had that effect on her. She felt accepted, cared for, and comfortable. She felt at home.

  She had no idea what kind of place he had but she was about to live there with him. Permanently.

  That thought only made her feel even more at ease with just a touch of excitement coursing through her.

  I wonder if he's got a sense of style or if it's a total man cave.

  Judging from the venues, rooms, and cars he picked, he definitely had style.

  As their train veered off the main track to stop at their private station, she looked out the window at the familiar city. Torsten's hands drifted over her shoulders to wrap around the front of her gently.

  "You probably want to stop at your old apartment to get your things," he murmured into the back of her neck as he kissed her there.

  "Yeah, I should."

  "Or do you want to come home with me first? So we can rest after this long journey." He sank his teeth into her neck and sucked until she squirmed. "Or not rest."

  "A tempting offer, my vampire king," she said in her worst fake Romanian accent, turning to face him. "But I'll go to my old place first and start packing. I want to move in with you as soon as possible."

  Torsten's face broke into a grin so wide, she saw his happiness beaming through. He couldn't play cool or contain his joy any more than she could.

  He raised her hand to lips and kissed the center of her palm. "I'll drive you in the car I have waiting for us here. I'll drop you off then come back with a van. We'll move you in before night falls, my love."

  "You have a van, mister Maserati?"

  "We used it for touring around Norway back in the day. It's white and windowless, too. Perfect for kidnapping!"

  "How dare you trigger me with past trauma!" she joked with a playful slap to his chest. Her kidnapping in Romania seemed so long ago and so benign in hindsight. Everything turned out okay as long as she was with him.

  The train slowed to complete stop at their platform. Whoops and cheers sounded in the other train cars. She wasn't the only one happy to be going home.

  Torsten's awaiting car, this time, was a cherry red BMW M8.

  "Okay, I don't know much about cars but I thought these only went up to M6?" she remarked as she stepped inside.

  "Yes and no. This is an M8 prototype. It was never officially released for sale," Torsten replied coolly as he shifted into gear and accelerated. He laughed as Helena flailed against the passenger seat and gripped the edges with white-knuckled hands.

  "I should also mention this is a supercar."

  "Meaning it goes really fast?" Helena adjusted her seat belt and her hair, trying to get her bearings but smiled to herself. She enjoyed the thrill, yet still felt safe next to him.

  "Exactly, my love."

  Th
ey arrived at her apartment within ten minutes.

  "Fuck, I'm surprised the cops didn't pull you over."

  Torsten shrugged. "They wouldn't be able to catch me, anyway."

  "Mm-hmm. You sly devil." She leaned across the seat to cup his chin and give him a kiss.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer as their tongues danced, embraced, and melted against each other.

  "You're pulling me out of my seat," Helena said into his mouth in mock protest.

  "So?" He sucked gently on her tongue. "I don't want you to leave me, even if it's for a few minutes."

  "The sooner I get inside and start packing, the sooner we'll be home together." Home. She could get used to the new, fuzzy feeling in her core from that word. Home.

  "Hurry that beautiful ass up then."

  "You have to let me go, asshole!"

  They both laughed as she twisted and squirmed in his arms. He released her reluctantly after one final kiss.

  "Maybe I'll come in for one last fuck in your bed for old times' sake," he said in a low voice filled with lust.

  "If you do that we'll never get any moving done." Helena scooted away until she pressed against the passenger side door. "We can fuck on every available surface in your house once I'm moved in."

  "Our house," he corrected with a sly grin. "Go on, then. I'll be right back, beautiful."

  "Love you," she mouthed, blowing a kiss as she stepped out of the car and closed the door behind her. She loved being able to say it freely now. Love lifted her spirit like wings.

  She saw him mouth, "Love you too," through the dark tinted glass, his pale blue eyes shining brightly as ever.

  He waited for a moment, watching her go up the short staircase to her front door and pull out her key. Then with a loud engine roar and squealing tires, the supercar peeled down the street at highly illegal speeds.

  He was already gone when Helena shoved her key into the lock and her heart stopped.

  The gentle force of inserting her key pushed the door open.

  It was unlocked.

  Someone was in her house.

  Chapter 36

  Helena

  Helena froze at the front door. She wracked her panicked brain trying to remember if she locked her front when she first left for the tour six weeks ago. It felt like a lifetime ago.

  Fuck! I can't remember. My neighbors would have called or emailed if something was fishy, though. If it was really bad like a break-in, the police would reach out to me.

  With those thoughts giving her confidence, she pushed the door open further. The foyer looked normal enough. She took two tentative steps inside and immediately regretted it.

  Her place was completely trashed.

  Shattered glass littered the floor, from the vase that once held flowers in her foyer. Holes and dents decorated the walls where her pictures once hung.

  Through the foyer into the kitchen, the refrigerator and pantry doors hung open. Dry foods scattered across the counters, floors, and walls. All her drawers were pulled out and her kitchen utensils tossed carelessly out of them.

  She rushed to the kitchen as quickly as she could, trying to be silent but a loud crack sounded when she stepped on shattered glass. Ignoring it, she scanned the torn-apart kitchen, desperately searching for what she needed.

  There you are!

  She picked up the large kitchen knife from the floor just in time.

  "Helena?"

  She whipped around in the direction of the hoarse, scratchy voice that said her name, and gasped at the person she saw.

  The man she once loved, who, at one time, she believed would be the only man she'd ever love. This man who lied and broke her heart countless times but convinced her to stay because she believed his excuse of, "I'm not a bad person, baby, I'm just sick. We made vows to stay together in sickness and in health".

  She finally made the decision to leave him and her old life in the past and start anew, with a love that she never knew was possible. And the shell of that man stood before her.

  Six months had passed since she last saw Lars. She thought he couldn't possibly look worse than then, but the figure hovering a few feet away like a ghost was absolutely frightening.

  He was deathly pale and thin, blinking at her with sunken, bloodshot eyes. He was the same age as her, 26, but looked like he aged at least twenty years. His hair, once full and a beautiful auburn color, clung to his scalp in thin, lifeless wisps. When he opened his mouth to wheeze in air, she was shocked at the amount of tooth decay. Several of his teeth were also missing. Lars had a radiant, beautiful smile at one point.

  Helena thought she felt the entire range of emotions possible for Lars. During and after their marriage she felt love, denial, betrayal, hurt, hate, anger, then finally nothing. But staring at this weak, lifeless man standing in her kitchen, she only felt pity.

  "Oh my God, Lars," she whispered. The blade in her hand still pointed straight at him.

  "You can put that away, baby. A toothpick can knock me down." His attempt at a laugh sounded like a death rattle.

  She kept the knife pointing at him, remembering how manipulative he could be. "How did you get in my house? How long have you been squatting here?"

  God, I hope I can keep him occupied and Torsten gets here soon.

  He held his hands up in a surrendering motion, visibly trembling. "Can I sit down?" he rasped, nodding at the only bar stool that stood upright.

  She nodded in reply, keeping her eyes and the blade trained on him. "Talk. Now."

  Lars sighed defeatedly. "I got in with your spare key that you left taped inside the drainpipe outside. Some things never change, eh?"

  "Why are you here? How long have you been here?" she snapped.

  Lars raised his hands again, this time in a 'calm down' motion. "I'm getting to that, baby. Jesus, you always gotta jump down the throat with questions. You journalists, I tell ya. And look, I resent the term squatting. I'm not a fucking bum, I'm in an awesome band now, as a matter of fact. We're gonna be bigger than Mjolnir, baby, just you fucking wait."

  Oh. My. God. He's like a rambling, senile 80-year-old. Definitely high as a kite right now. Wait, does he have drugs in my fucking house?

  "That's great, Lars," she answered tersely. All her pity began to dissipate and turn to annoyance. In just a few months, she somehow forgot what a self-righteous prick he was.

  "But anyway, I owe some people money and decided to lay low for a while. We're waiting on gigs to pay up, so I'm in between living spaces right now. I figured my sweet old lady wouldn't mind me crashing for a while. Maybe we could go back to the good old days." He smiled a black, rotten grin and Helena felt her stomach churn.

  "Those days are over. We're divorced. We'll never go back to that." God fucking damn it, Torsten, where are you?

  Lars narrowed his eyes at her. "So I've been hanging out here two weeks, baby. And you're just now getting home. Where've you been?"

  "How you do even know how much time has passed? You're blitzed out of your mind," she spat. Keep stalling. Keep stalling. Come on, Torsten…

  "I'm a drummer, baby. Keeping time is what I do best. Seriously, where the fuck have you been?" He rose to his feet and Helena tightened her grip on the knife. For the first time, he seemed bigger, stronger, and more threatening.

  Fuck. He put on a good act of being a sad little weakling. Of course, there's no sincerity left in him but you've got to keep stalling.

  "Since when do you fucking care? I haven't seen you in six months. What the fuck do you care where I've been for two weeks? I'm moved on from you, that's where I've been." She raised her voice, hoping Torsten could hear if he was near the door.

  "Moved on with Torsten?" he demanded bitterly.

  She froze, the shock written as plain as day on her face. How the fuck did he know?

  "Everyone in the metal scene is talking about you two since that stunt in Romania. Fucking cheap trick. Torsten knows all the tricks to make the headlines and
steal the bitches."

  "What?! It was not a trick! Plus he didn't steal me, I already divorced you. And furthermore, I'm not a bitch."

  "Whatever, baby. He's a smart fucker, I'll give him that. But he definitely paid those amateurs to kidnap you so he could come in like a hero."

  "You're lying! You always lie. He told me the truth about everything. Even that you two lived together and were like brothers." Her hand steadied on the knife as though exposing the truth to his face gave her strength. “He was never behind any of your fuck ups. It was all you!”

  Lars shrugged his skinny shoulders. "Suit yourself, baby. Hope you're enjoying the cock that's fucked every pussy in Norway and abroad."

  "Like yours hasn't? While we were fucking married?" She couldn’t believe the hypocrisy coming out of his mouth.

  Lars' tense expression fell to one of surprise that mirrored Helena's. "Oh wait... so you don't know?" He brought his hands to his mouth and started giggling maniacally.

  Helena's confusion grew as Lars' laughter went on. Her eyes darted to the front door which remained halfway open. The street outside remained empty. No Torsten in sight.

  "What the fuck is so funny?" she demanded. Lars' giggling evolved into a full on belly laughter as he wiped tears from his eyes.

  "Baby, don't you know that Torsten is married?"

  Chapter 37

  Torsten

  Torsten raced home in his supercar and arrived within fifteen minutes. He custom built his home just outside of the bustling city of Oslo. It wasn't mansion sized but it would be enough for him, Helena, whatever family they would have, plus a few guests.

  He pulled into the detached garage where four of his other vehicles waited patiently for their turn. But they would have to wait a bit longer.

  He jumped from the car and left the garage as quickly as he entered, speed walking through a side door into the main house.

  "Angie? Are you home?" he bellowed, his voice echoing off the tall glass windows.