Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3)

by Stevie J. Cole

  I made it two steps out of his bedroom and was staring at the Salvador Dali quote when I heard him yell, “What do you want me to do, huh, princess?”

  He barreled out of his room, shoving past me. His large frame filled a good portion of the hallway, and then he held his arms out, his palms flattening against the painted wall as he braced himself. The only way I could get through there was to dart underneath his outstretched arms, and I had a feeling he wouldn’t let me do that. “We’re both broken. But that’s what I need. I need someone to be broken with me. You can’t just walk out like that after you came into my life and knocked me off my diamond-encrusted fucking pedestal. You’re angry and perfect and, God, just…you don’t give a fuck who I am! This shit,” he motioned around his house, “it doesn’t faze you. You are the first person who’s ever liked me, who likes Jagger. Fuck Jag Steele. You know me.”

  I could feel tears pooling in my eyes. I did like him, and I felt the same way. He was the first person who had cared enough to find out about me; he was the first guy who knew me and liked me even though my past was fucked up, even though where I’d come from may be embarrassing to some people. Jag didn’t care.

  “Roxy, you…” He took in a breath and grabbed my chin, forcing it up so that I would look at him. “You make me feel like a real fucking person. All this, the fame, the money, that’s my reality. You—well, I guess that makes you my fucking dream. Don’t take my dreams away from me, because my reality is shit.”

  Shit! That hit me hard. It slammed over me like a tidal wave, drowning me, sucking my breath away. I really meant something to him, and I was pretty sure I was in love with him. Was love worth giving up on because he wasn’t perfect? Because he had a problem? Wasn’t I being a hypocrite if I expected him to accept my flaws, but I wasn’t willing to try and accept his?

  I had to close my eyes; it was too hard to look at him any longer.

  “Look.” I heard him run into his room and slam things around. He came running back out, his arms full of bags and bottles, pipes. As soon as he was before me, he dropped it all onto the floor.

  I stood there and watched as a few of the opaque brown bottles rolled against my shoe and a small cloud of white dust coated everything. There was so much shit in that pile: cocaine, marijuana, pills—my God at the pills—a glass pipe that had now shattered on the marble, straws. I stared at the pile at my feet; it was probably about fifteen-thousand dollars’ worth of inventory.

  “Yeah, okay.” Jag sighed. “I got something like a problem. But I can fix that. I can.”

  We continued to stare at the drugs scattered out around us. This wasn’t a just a problem, this was a lifestyle; this was a way of coping, of functioning. That pile represented how afraid he was of feeling anything. It was a way for him to block out life, to remain numb—it was no different than my cutting people out of my life to block reality out, to make sure I couldn’t feel.

  When you’re hurt, finding a way to stay numb is an obsession. How could I fault him just because his way of dealing with it was more physically destructive than mine?

  Looking at him, I caved. I took a step toward him, rubbing my hand over the stubble on his jaw. I looked into his eyes and saw how lost he was; I saw the worry, the fear, the desperation. It was like looking at my own reflection.

  I was afraid he thought I could save him. I couldn’t. I was in no position to save anyone, because I was a fucking disaster myself. “I’m not your dream. There’s nothing about me—”

  Jag grabbed my wrist, holding it against his face and nuzzling into it. “No. There’s a lot to you. You’re real. And when I’m with you, I don’t feel so numb. I don’t need to be as numb.”

  And I felt the same way.

  For the first time in years, when I was with Jag, I didn’t need to be numb. For both of us to feel that, it had to mean something. It had to be special. Maybe there is such a thing as fate.

  I kissed him. Sweetly. Tenderly. I pulled away just enough to look him in his eyes. “I can’t fix you,” I whispered. I wanted to sob, but I managed to hold myself together.

  He needed to know that I couldn’t fix him. I failed at fixing Sean. I couldn’t fix Jag; only he could fix himself.

  “I can’t fix you, but you can hurt me.” I kissed him again. “Please, please don’t make me regret giving you a chance to hurt me.”

  I was pleading with him. I was desperate, because I had no control. I believed that we belonged together, but I also knew that we couldn’t last because of who he was. Despite the addiction, I felt like I needed him. I felt like no one else would ever be able to truly get me the way he had. It scared me. It made me nervous. It made me sick. But part of me felt it was worth the risk.

  Jag’s fingers scratched up into my hair, gathering it up and bringing my face to his. “I won’t.” He shook his head and his eyes narrowed, searching mine. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.”

  As fucked up as it may sound, I believed that promise.

  Chapter 14

  I woke up to the sensation of Jag groping me and his finger brushing between my legs. A pleased but groggy groan escaped me, and I turned my head on the fluffy pillow to find him smiling.

  “Good morning, princess.”

  I couldn’t speak because he’d already worked his finger inside of me, so I let out an “Mmm” instead.

  Jag laughed and I felt the tips of his hair feather over my skin as his mouth worked down my stomach, lingering on my hips before skirting down between my thighs.

  His warm tongue flicked over my clit, causing my back to involuntarily arch off the mattress. Another deep laugh rumbled from his throat and over my tender flesh. “You like me fucking you with my mouth, huh?”

  My fingers curled into my palms and I let out another drunken, “Mmm-hmm.”

  He pressed a finger deep inside me, flexing and applying pressure in just the right spot.

  I was sore from the night before, but damn his tongue felt good. He pulled his finger out and replaced it with his tongue. The movements were soft and sensual, light kisses brushing over me; and with each passing second, that kiss grew harder until his mouth was covering every inch of me. Each time he flicked his tongue inside me, the metal studs under his lip scraped against my skin and my body tensed up.

  “Fuck,” he groaned, sucking my clit into his mouth while he stared up at me.

  My shirt was still on and I desperately needed to be naked in front of him. I tugged the material over my head, throwing it across his bed, and opened my legs wider for him.

  His hand reached up, grazing the bottom of my breast, and then he pulled himself up my body, his skin causing a heated friction as it swept across me.

  Jag pressed his lips tenderly over mine, the warm tip of his dick barely touching my pussy. “Look at me.”

  Opening my eyes, I stared up at him, just wanting to yell at him to stop torturing me. I tried to push down on him, but he jerked away.

  He arched a brow and one corner of his lip curled, deepening the dimple framing his mouth. “You want me to fuck you?” he groaned, pressing his lips over mine roughly, the stubble from his unshaven face scratching against my chin sent shivers throughout my body.

  He maneuvered his mouth to my ear, biting down on my earlobe before he whispered, “I said, do you want me to fuck you?”

  I felt helpless at that moment. My body had taken over and completely muddied my ability to act like a reasonable person. “What do you think?” I answered in a breathy moan.

  “I think,” he kissed my lips again, nipping at my mouth and immediately placing his lips on my neck, biting down before he groaned, “if you want me to please you, you’re gonna have to tell me you want me.”

  “I want you. Fuck, I want you.” My fingers tangled in the messy tendrils of his hair.

  His mouth worked down to my collarbone and he looked up at me from beneath stray wisps of black hair. “How bad?”

  “Are you crazy…” I stopped and ran my hands through his hai
r. “Bad. Really, really,” I pushed my hips up against him, “really bad.”

  He pulled my nipple into his warm mouth, and his teeth clamped down on the tender flesh. Chill bumps raced over my skin, every muscle in my body clenched, and I drew in a deep breath. Jag’s hand crept between our bodies. He grabbed his dick and pushed the very tip into me, the cool metal of the barbells on his dick brushing against my lips.

  Desire overtook me at that moment. I didn’t care that he didn’t have a condom. I just wanted him.

  “That’s not gonna work.” He sucked in a breath between his clenched teeth, then his eyes shot up to mine, locking on me in a primitive stare. “Have you ever wanted a man as bad as you want me?”

  At that point my chest heaved from anticipation, from the ungodly amount of desire he’d forced me to endure. Each ragged breath caused my breasts to drag across his defined pecs, each moment that he held himself only an inch inside me caused my body to clench down and my nails to dig into his shoulders. “Never,” I panted. “Now stop torturing me.”

  He pushed into me a little more. “Are you mine? I want you to be only mine, princess.”

  I nodded, biting down on my lip as he slowly pushed into me.

  “And I’m yours. Only yours. You need to believe that.” He pushed in another inch, kissing me tenderly before he whispered through his clenched jaw, “And I swear I won’t ever fucking hurt you.”

  Then he slammed into me, and the feeling of him pressing against the end of me caused a loud, unbridled moan to fly from of my mouth.

  Jag sat up for a second to grab both my wrists and pin them beside my head. “You make me feel real,” he whispered, and then he thrust into me so hard it caused my head to bang against his headboard. “Fucking real.” He drove himself into me harder.

  Never in my life had I been fucked the way Jag did. This was absolutely fucking. It was hard, rough, raw, and completely filled with lust. He bit down on his lips, his eyes clenched as he pushed into me over and over, each thrust harder and more determined than the last.

  The lower part of his stomach brushed over my clit, sending waves of intense pleasure through me with each rough movement. His hold on me tightened. Sweat beaded and rolled down his face, causing strands of hair to stick to his cheeks.

  Heat consumed me and my legs went weightless as a violent wave of relief rushed over me, making my entire body weak. The harder I came, the tighter I grew, and the more destructive his being inside of me felt. My legs clamped around his hips in an effort to make him slow down, but all that did was make him fuck me harder.

  “The way your pussy feels when you get off is fucking unbelievable,” he panted, slamming into me one more time before he pushed deep into me and tensed up. His entire face tightened and then he collapsed on top of me, our damp skin slapping together as we both fought to catch our breath.

  My heart was banging, slapping against my ribs in hard uneven beats, and I felt dizzy from the intense amount of endorphins coursing through me.

  Jag grabbed the side of my face, his thumb stroking over my jaw as he turned my head to face him.

  He looked drunk and completely satisfied as he murmured, “You know what I just did there?” He laughed.

  “Besides fuck me?” I panted. “Because that’s all I can think about at this moment, how you just fucked me like nothing else.”

  Nodding, he laid his lips against mine, pressing his sweaty forehead against me. “I just made you mine. I ruined you. I fucked myself into your soul just then, that’s what I did.”

  And that I believed.

  There was no way any other man could fuck me like that, and if there was ever a person that could fuck themselves into somebody’s soul, it was absolutely Jag.

  “And I meant it.” Jag sat up and ran his fingers over my naked body. “I meant it. I won’t hurt you. I promise. And I never break a promise.”

  ****

  Jag pulled into the record label’s parking lot and the crotchety-looking guard let the gate up, waving him through. As soon as Jag put the car into park he reached across the console and grabbed my face, pulling me toward him for a kiss. “I’m gonna fucking miss you.”

  I had to divert my eyes from his because he looked so sincere. Everything that had happened the day before, the sex, the fact that he’d told me he wanted us to be a couple—it all made me feel strange, and I hadn’t figured out exactly how to handle it just yet.

  I swallowed hard, the lump burning as it forced its way back down my throat. “I’ll miss you too.”

  “I don’t want to go. I really don’t. I’m afraid you won’t be able to handle this.”

  I shrugged. “Handle what?”

  Jag laughed and shook his head. “I’m pulling you into my life, which is not normal. Fame. I’m scared you can’t handle the fame.”

  “It’s not like I’m famous or anything. Nobody’s gonna care about me.”

  He arched a brow and smiled at me like I was a naïve child.

  “Princess, I do good to take a piss without someone snapping a picture. To the media, to the fans, this is like a fucking fairy tale. A rock god falling for a…”

  The smile I had faded and his expression went blank for a second. His cheeks stained with an embarrassed red. “I mean, I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t trying to make you feel like…”

  “Like I’m not good enough to be with someone like you?” I snapped. I couldn’t help it.

  “Fuck, no. See, that’s not what I meant. I’m not good enough to be with you.” He grabbed my hand, stroking over my knuckles gently. “I’m really not. You are way outta my league, but the media is a bunch of fucking arrogant dick dribbles. They’re used to seeing me with models, other celebrities, so you,” his eyes scanned over me and a smile curled his mouth before he planted a hard kiss on me, “you are incredible…unbelievable.”

  He shook his head as though to regain his train of thought.

  “The media is gonna spin this—us—like I fell for a fan, when you really were anything but. I’ve never had to work so hard to get a girl to give me attention, you hated me. This is a killer story for the media—to the fans an even more amazing story. You’re with me now, princess, which means you can’t escape fame. Your life is about to be invaded, and that is what I’m afraid you won’t be able to handle. You’re gonna blame me for fucking up your life… that’s what I’m scared of. I can’t protect you from that, and I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not worried about that,” I lied. I didn’t want my life invaded, but like he’d said, I was with him, it was too late.

  “Okay, you tell me that in a few days,” he snorted, pushing open his door. I watched in the rearview mirror as he made his way around his car.

  The way he walked was sexy as hell, it was so certain and hard; the way his clothes fell on him, the way his hair laid, everything about that man was irresistible.

  He opened my door and yanked me out, immediately kissing me again. “I’ll call you. And you know that you’re gonna have to come visit me. A month is too long for me.”

  “Really? You’ve gone your entire life so far without me.”

  “And I was miserable. So, like I said, you’re coming to see me. I’m incapable of accepting no. And your boss would do anything for me, so…”

  “Okay, Jag. So miserable, I’m sure. Just surprise me, okay?”

  He laughed and grabbed his bag from his trunk, tossing me the keys as he walked to the front of the building. “I’m full of surprises. You gonna take care of her, right?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to drive your car!”

  “Well, I don’t want to leave it here. So you’re stuck with it.”

  “I’m not driving it to my apartment. It would get stolen!”

  He shrugged. “The key to my house is on there. Stay there if you want.”

  “Jag!”

  He was crazy.

  His lips spread across his face, his white teeth gleaming. “Do whatever makes you happy, princess.” H
e paused, shifting his feet beneath him before scraping the toe of his boot over the pavement. “You can come in if you want.”

  I didn’t want to drag this out any longer. I didn’t want him to leave, and I was certain this was the end of this little affair we had pretended could work out.

  “No, I need to get home. I’ve neglected laundry and bills because of you.” I glanced up. “Be careful, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t go jumping off stuff.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He took a few steps toward me and gave me a short, sweet kiss, then shot his gaze back to his car. “How about you don’t wreck my car?” His fingertips trailed gently down my sides before moving away.

  “I’ll try not to.” I was emotional.

  I kind of wanted to cry; I felt sad that he was leaving, and that seemed weird and wrong and ridiculous. I’d only been with him for two weeks. How could I already feel so strongly about him?

  “I’ll call you, okay?” he said before disappearing through the door.

  It sounded like he was reassuring me, not making a statement.

  All I could do was nod because I really wanted to believe that, but part of me just couldn’t see where I fit in with Jag’s lifestyle of glitz and glamour, fame and rock. Where did I fit into a dream? My life had been a nightmare; I was just a pathetic Cinderella waiting for the chime of a clock to turn all this back into rags and a busted-up pumpkin.

  Starting his car, I swallowed and tried to figure out what all the knobs and buttons did. This car cost more than some houses did, and I was terrified I would wreck it. Not like he didn’t have two other cars parked in his garage, but still, it made me a nervous wreck. There was no way in hell I would leave this car parked out in front of my apartment complex, and I was not going to stay in his house without him.

  Thirty minutes later, I punched in the code to his gate, pulled into his driveway, and waited. Ten minutes after I’d gotten there, Layla drove up. As I was walking toward her car, she got out, her jaw completely unhinging and her eyes bulging.