Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4

by Sasha Marshall

  I’m no prince charming, and tonight I want to stick my dick in something that doesn’t make my heart flutter. I just want to get it wet, and bust a nut. I watch the girls gyrate all over each other, and sip my whiskey, never dropping my eyes from their group. A gorgeous red head particularly grabs my attention. Her body is banging. Her lips are incredibly full, so I imagine what my cock would look like in her mouth. Through the dim, smoky air she sees me. She discovered my identity yet, but she can see a man in the corner watching her. Any asshole in this section has a higher possibility of getting laid, due to the notoriety of the VIP sections in Vegas clubs.

  Red continues to dance, but now she’s dancing for me. Her eyes never leave mine, but my eyes roam as her hands drift down her body. I sip more whiskey, letting my eyes stop on her round, wide ass. I bet that ass would look amazing in the air. I love fucking a woman from behind so I can watch my dick pound into her pussy. Her group moves over to me, and they take damn near thirty minutes to reach me. I enjoy every minute I get to watch the uninhibited women lose themselves in the music and alcohol.

  Red head finally gets close to me, and the moment recognition flashes across her face, I know I’ve got this in the bag. I’ll give it to her; she recovers quickly and assumes I didn’t see the flash of awareness. I don’t give a shit; I’ll play her little game. She straddles my lap and grinds on my lap. One of her friends climbs across the table, tucking in behind me in the booth. She shakes her ass against my back, and the rest of her friends dance in the other bench of the booth, on the table or in front of red. I’m surrounded by pussy, and can’t wait to stick my dick in one of them.

  Red takes the whiskey glass from my lips, places it on the table, and plunges her tongue in my mouth. I glide my own tongue against hers and grab her ass with both of my hands. My cock is rock hard, so I push her onto it and grind it against her. She moans into my mouth, enjoying the friction of my jeans against her panties, so I pull my right hand off her ass and rub it up the inside of her thigh waiting for her to protest. When she doesn’t, I continue my journey, pushing her panties to the side, and plunging my fingers in her. Her pussy is so damn wet. She moans against my mouth, so I push another digit into her, and finger fuck her.

  Arms surround my lower waist, and the attached hands gropes me through my jeans. The hand that belongs to Red’s friend rubs up and down my dick through the material. Red is still moaning in my mouth while I continue to fuck her with my hand. Her pussy juice is dripping down my hand. The hands unbuckle my belt, the button pops, and the zipper goes down. She reaches down and pulls my cock through the hole in my boxer shorts. Her hand works my length while I finger Red. Hands touch my face, pulling me to the left towards the booth table. When I look up, a sandy-haired girl, no more than twenty-two years old is sitting on the table, legs spread wide, dress pushed up, and panty-less.

  I fucking love being a rock star.

  I dip my head between her legs and lick up her cunt. She throws her head back in appreciation, and arches her back. Damn, that’s a gorgeous sight. Red clenches down on my hand, pouring juice down my hand and arm as she reaches her high. I pull my head away from Sandy and peer at Red as she rides the last waves of the orgasm I just gave her. My dick jumps in the girl’s hand, whose face I still haven’t seen. When her eyes open, the Red head smiles at me in thanks, pulls her dress down, and begins her descent under the table. She grabs me by the knees and pulls me forward in the booth, legs under the table. Jerking my pants down, her warm mouth glides over my dick, and I throw my head back in ecstasy. I was right, her lips feel good.

  The girl who was to my back is now to my right, and I stare into her aqua eyes. Her face is shaped by ravenous black hair. Her face is shaped like a heart, and I think she is the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen next to Henley. Suddenly, my interest in the rest of the women wanes. I need to be inside of this dark beauty. She leans over and kisses me, her hand molesting my chest and stomach through my shirt. Her impatience shows as she pulls my shirt out and pushes her hand up the bare skin of my abdomen. Her hands feel so good.

  “Fuck me,” she whispers into my ear.

  You don’t have to ask me twice.

  She pushes Red’s head further under the table and pushes me out of the booth with my dick hanging out. Before I can turn around, she’s out of the booth, and spinning me back to her by the crook of my arm. Damn, I love a woman who doesn’t mind taking control. Shit is sexy. She pulls my pants up, pushes my dick back in, and buttons my jeans. She takes me by the hand and pushes her way through the lounge.

  I follow her to the men’s VIP restroom as she pushes through the door like she is supposed to be there. She shouts a low but firm “out” to the men in the room, and they leave. She leads me to the row of black marble vanities, turns around, pushes her tight dress up, and places her hands on the marble, ass in the air.

  I pull a condom from my back pocket, pull my pants down enough to get my dick out, roll the rubber down, pull her ass cheeks wide, and push into her. She lets out a loud moan that makes my dick twitch. I watch my cock work in and out of her, hitting every wall of this sweet little pussy. I watch Raven in the mirror as her eyes close and she enjoys every pump I give her. I reach down and pull her tits out of the top of her dress and then watch them bounce each time I thrust.

  The door opens, and Tyler from the band Carcus walks in. He smiles at me and pisses in a stall rather than the urinal. I don’t stop my rhythm; just continue giving her all I’ve got. She moans and talks dirty while I fuck her pussy. I alternate between watching her tits bounce and my dick plunge inside of her. She screams out and her pussy clenches around me. She collapses onto the marble vanity, but I keep fucking her, hands on her ass, spreading it wide. As I draw closer to the end, I reach down to her and grab a head full of hair pulling her off the vanity, wrapping one arm around her stomach. I fuck her as hard as my body can manage attempting to milk my balls, not seeming to find the last little stimulation needed to get me there.

  “Fill my pussy up,” she growls.

  That does it. I tip over the edge and give her a few last final thrusts emptying my seed into the condom. I hold her for a few moments as the last shivers run up my spine from the orgasm I just banged out. When I’ve entered my right mind again, I drop my hands and pull her dress down, then reach for my pants.

  “That’s one of the best lays I’ve had in a long time,” she says as fixes her hair and turns on her heel, leaving me along with Tyler in a stall.

  “You’re a sick fuck,” I say to him.

  He flushes the toilet and steps out of the stall laughing, “Dude, I was trying to wait it out. I couldn’t go out of the lounge and piss. I didn’t think you would ever stop fucking her.”

  I smile, “I had a lot of frustrations to get out.”

  “She just left your ass in here.”

  “I prefer it that way,” I say.

  “You don’t know who she is, do you?” he asks.

  “Should I?”

  “She is the ‘it’ model right now. She did the SI swimsuit cover this past year, and does a lot of Victoria’s Secret too. Gorgeous girl.”

  “Yes, she most certainly is,” I agree.

  “Well she apparently liked fucking you, so you should get her number so you can do it again,” he punches me in the shoulder playfully.

  “I might just do that.”

  Chapter 16

  Henley

  Two weeks have passed since Red and I have Memphis’ truck delivered, and I haven’t heard a word from him. I sent a short note with my contact information, asking him to call me if he ever wanted to talk. I also included dad’s information. I hope the silence means he is sifting through the evidence and is considering contacting our father. It is an odd feeling to discover that I’ve had a brother I never knew existed all these years. I want to spend time with him, figure out what makes him tick, and form a bond with him. We all deserve that after missing out on twenty-nine years of
his life.

  A knock on my door brings me back to the here and now. I pad my way through the house to the front door and hear a commotion outside. I see Cory and Maurice through the window pushing the media back. Fuck, they found my house. I open the door, and my goons squeeze through.

  “Sorry Ms. Hendrix, we’ve alerted the authorities to remove the media from your property,” Maurice says.

  “Please call me Henley. What in the hell is going on out there?” I ask.

  “Apparently, Jagger Carlyle’s paternity test was publicized, and they can’t find him to hound, so they are attempting to gauge your reaction to the news,” Cory advises.

  Shit. I slink down the wall to the floor and let that wash over me. Jagger has a baby. It really is his, and this changes everything. How does it not?

  “Henley, it isn’t his baby,” Cory says.

  “What’d you say?”

  “Jagger isn’t the child’s father.”

  “How long has he known?”

  “Ms. Davenport advised us two days ago of the results. The statement was issued to the public at four yesterday.”

  “Why didn’t someone tell me?” I ask.

  “Ma’am, you have been busy in the studio,” Cory says.

  Jagger doesn’t have a baby. I can’t believe he didn’t call and tell me the results. My stomach sinks as I realize, Jagger has moved on from me. He no longer wishes to incorporate me in his life, not even as his friend. Everything he said weeks ago was bullshit.

  I shower and my goons take me to the studio. It takes twenty minutes to lose the vultures that are camped out on my street. I find they have a sad existence. They wait in the shadows for one picture, only one picture, of someone deemed worthy enough by society to add a monetary value to those pictures. There is no ambition amongst the paparazzi. They ride the coattails of the rich and famous, hoping to exist in their space for only a moment in time. Our lives are not worthy of privacy.

  Rhys is waiting for me at the studio door when I arrive, “You heard?”

  “Yes. When did you know?”

  “This morning, boo. Found out from the television. Bullshit way to find out if you ask me,” Rhys voiced my exact thoughts.

  “I thought the same thing.”

  “How you doing with all this, Hen?”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter how I feel, he didn’t have the decency to call and tell me. I had to find out from the papz who camped out on my street this morning.”

  “It matters.

  I sigh. He’s right, at least it should matter. It feels like no one cares about that anymore. It’s time to put my big girl panties on, distance myself from the bullshit, and try to minimize the damage to my heart.

  “There’s no crying in rock-n-roll,” I whisper.

  Rhys bursts into a fit of laughter, flings his hands in the air, pretends to chew on gum, paces back and forth, and in his best Tom Hank’s voice, “Are you crying?... Are you crying? ARE YOU CRYING? There's no crying! There's no crying in rock-n-roll. Red Newman was my manager, and he called me a talking pile of pig shit, and that was when my parents came to see me play the drums! And did I cry?... No! No! And do you know why?... Because there's no crying in rock-n-roll! There's no crying in rock-n-roll, no crying!”

  When he finishes his amazing performance, half of the studio is applauding him. Rhys screaming in an excellent Tom Hanks imitation brought the people out to watch the show. I am still giggling when Griffin and Kai approaches.

  “That should be the name of our new album. It’s fitting with our history,” Griffin says.

  “That is genius,” Kai agrees.

  “Hen, you are a goddess! There’s no crying in rock-n-roll!” Rhys says again in his Hank’s voice.

  “Sounds like a good title to me.”

  After Rhys’ reenactment of Tom Hanks, I slip into a private restroom and send Jagger a text.

  Me: It would have been nice to hear it from you, instead of the papz camped out on my lawn.

  I wait out the reply for fifteen minutes and leave the restroom with no word from him. Coward.

  I work on the album until midnight. I break for food and pick up my phone to order takeout when I see I have a text from Jagger. He replied an hour ago.

  Jagger: I don’t know what the fuck you want from me. What do you care either way? You were already done with me no matter what the fucking test said. You can’t have it all, Henley. I am not the father of her child, just like I told you all along. You had no faith in me whatsoever. I needed you to stand by my side through this bullshit. You could’ve at least been there as a friend, but you abandoned me. I won’t forget that anytime soon. You don’t get to come crawling back now that you got the outcome you wanted. Fuck you, you selfish bitch. The only thing you have ever cared about in this fucked up situation was how you looked to the rest of the world or if that cunt would name her child Caleb. It’s always about you. Contrary to popular opinion, the world DOES NOT revolve around you. You didn’t deserve to hear it from me. Have a nice fucking life.

  I read the text several times not quite able to digest his venomous words. Was I wrong in not standing by him? Wasn’t I the one wronged here? God, it’s all such a cluster fuck in my head. Why is he so angry with me? I get angrier each time I reread the text, and the tears rush to my eyes, full of both heartache and rage. After the fifteenth review of the text, I throw my cell phone against the wall, and watch it explode into pieces.

  “What the fuck?” Rhys asks.

  “Fuck him!” I scream. “Fuck Jagger Carlyle!”

  I turn on my heel and head for the exit. I’m suffocating in this studio. I need out now.

  ***

  Henley

  We work day-in and day-out on the album, recording song after song. Sometimes I leave the studio, and as I fall asleep at night, the songs replay through my head, and I realize something is missing. This extends the recording process even longer. Kai often has some of the same revelations about songs we’ve recorded. He is an amazing producer, and like me, he isn’t complacent with music. We are perfectionists striving for the perfect comeback album for Abandoned Shadow.

  I haven’t heard from Jagger in the two weeks since I discovered he won’t be a father. I’ve thought about sending a card that says, “Congratulations, you aren’t going to be a daddy to that psycho skank’s baby.” No? You’re right, that’s probably not a good idea. I will keep my Hallmark card ideas to myself for now. If music doesn’t work out, I could always launch a new line of cards for those situations no one writes cards for. Congratulations you aren’t pregnant, you don’t have an STD, you had your first threesome/gangbang/train ride, you lost your virginity, you took her virginity, you graduated high school without getting pregnant, you screwed a celebrity, you escaped a relationship with crazy without knocking her up, and my favorite… Congratulations, you got him to put a ring on it, and you will never have to suck his cock again. I got mad skills, yo.

  In the meantime, I purchase the car I’ve always wanted. I am not having sex, so an Audi R8 is the next best thing. I choose the Phantom Black Pearl bad boy with black interior and orange stitching. This daddy will go from 0-60 in 3.3 seconds. You drooling yet? You should drive the damn thing. It’s almost as good as a man.

  Late Thursday evening, Koi calls. I haven’t heard from him much since I discovered I have another brother. It’s just Kai and I in the studio blending vocals. I let voicemail pick up the call, so he begins a barrage of texts.

  Koi: It’s important

  Me: Blending vocals.

  Koi: Jagger’s drank himself into oblivion, and won’t let us take him home. He will only talk to you.

  Me: I guess he is shit out of luck then. I want nothing to do with him.

  Koi: Look, I’m not what is going on between the two of you, but he is piss ass drunk, and will embarrass the entire band. We’ve had enough bad publicity over the last several months, and it all surrounds him. We can’t afford t
o take another hit before nobody gives a shit about our music anymore. This isn’t “As Jagger Turns.” I’m begging you to help me out here. Please just do it for me?

  Me: Fuck, where is he?

  Koi: We are drinking at McGully’s.

  Me: That’s a thirty-minute drive. Give me a minute; I will have to bring him back here with me. I can’t sleep until the song is done.

  Koi: We will follow you in case he gets out of hand.

  Me: K

  I turn to Kai, “I have to go get Jagger. He’s shit faced, and needy. I will be back in an hour to finish if that’s cool.”

  “Yeah, no prob', Hen. Be careful,” he says.

  I turn the motor over on the Audi, and slam it into gear. I weave in and out of traffic towards McGully’s. The song we’re working on is in my head, so I have little time to give Jagger much thought. I still need to distance myself from all of it. I pull into the bar twenty minutes later, yeah I said 0-60 seconds right? Kip and Rhys are outside the bar and make their way over. Kip gushes over the car, and Rhys compares it to fucking a crazy girl. Reign her in and tell her whose boss.

  “Where’s he at? I need to get back to the studio.”

  Kip motions towards the bar, and I follow. He leads me to a big booth in the back of the bar, away from the other patrons. The corner it sits in is dark, so the boys probably haven’t been seen, but when I walk in, they instantly take notice. I smile my big Hollywood smile, and sign autographs. I give a few hugs, take some pics, and make my way back to the booth.

  Jagger is sitting beside a blonde who is rubbing his back. His head is on the table, and I am pretty sure he will regret this tomorrow. I notice the blonde seems comfortable with him, and the pang of jealousy that rips through me has me teetering on the edge of rage. Fuck this. I turn on my heel and walk away.