Rocker Series

by Gina Whitney

  “How ya doin’ tonight, Colorado?” he asked the crowd. The cheers reached ear-shattering levels. The event was sold out all four days. It was a beautiful night to be at an outdoor festival. A girl in the front row threw her black, lace bra at him. Of course, he caught it, inspected it, and then scrunched it into his back pocket—but not before turning to smile at me. I wanted to slap his face, set fire to that bra, and kick the chick who had tossed it in her teeth. My possessiveness hit a homicidal pitch. I went to DEFCON 1, cocking an imaginary pistol in my mind. One of the roadies accidently bumped into me on his way over to Abel with a chair.

  “Excuse you!” I screamed. The fuck! I was ready to throw down. How in the world did I ever think I’d be able to handle Abel? How would I ever deal with his personality, his man-whoring, or the hordes of slutty fan girls?

  The lights dimmed as a single, muted spotlight illuminated him in all his epic glory while he took a seat.

  “Feel free to join in the lyrics, loves,” he urged the crowd, strumming his guitar in concert with the band, their instruments blending beautifully for the start of the ballad.

  The memories of you and me

  Haunting me every minute of

  Every day. One more breath.

  One more taste of my dirty girl.

  You are my heroin. My addiction.

  I want to mainline your love

  until the reaper pulls me under.

  Forever. Forever. Forever…

  Cold and empty is what remains.

  A life without you

  I wanna get high on you

  It’s all right to pray to

  your God because I’m coming

  for you.

  Forever. Forever, Forever …

  I was fantasizing about taming the bad boy. I wanted to be the one he was singing to—singing about. I wanted those words to define what we had. The hairs on my arms stood stock-straight. My skin felt feverish, and my panties were dripping wet. The tears I was holding at bay caused my throat to squeeze tightly. His words both pissed me off and had me deeply affected. The pain in his voice hit a nerve with everyone. He had that kind of disturbing effect on women. However, I needed to keep my eyes on the prize. He was my way out. I deserved it. I deserved him. I would stop at nothing, risk it all—my reputation, my sanity, and my heart. Feeling overcome with angst and passion, I turned to Cindy.

  “Chick, I, um … I could really use a drink,” I muttered. I was praying I would not tip my hand. Otherwise, she would see how in over my head I already was for this rock-god. I needed something to take the edge off, to calm my nerves and make me numb—and turn off the water-works in my panties. Just then, someone tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Looking for some of this, kid?” Dave asked as he leaned into my space. Long live Dave. He was the band’s manager. And as far as I was concerned, he needed a raise right the fuck then. Hell, yeah.

  “Shit, you’re a lifesaver. I’m parched,” I said, smiling as I took the flask.

  “Sure you are.” Nodding knowingly, he moved back to his dark corner. Whatever.

  Now that I had some much-needed alcohol in hand, in a matter of minutes, I hoped to be in happy-land.

  The crowd was screaming their praises to the band. They did put on a ridiculously good show. But it was Ender and Abel’s unplugged rendition of “Sunrise” that brought down the house. Women climbed on top of their boyfriends’ shoulders, dudes lit up their lighters and held them up, and the crowd swayed as one. This was a beautiful tribute to people who were bullied. They were lecturing their audience in song—and the message was one everybody identified with. Everybody’s been bullied at some point. I knew I had, and it sucked. It was the band’s way of saying to those of us who had been bullied, “We stand behind you, with you, and for you. You’re somebody—and you’re everything to us. Let us be your pillar, your strength.”

  And that song got me to thinking. When I set out on my mission to get myself a self-made man, namely Abel, I had no idea how complex and deep he truly was. But standing there on the same side of the stage, watching him sing his ballad against bullying, I had a brief moment of clarity. He was a good man. I could see that clearly. And once I knew that, I started to wonder if I could really play him the way I had planned … I brought the flask to my lips in consternation. Yes, I could, and I was going to. End of story.

  Dropping my head back, I downed the drink, needing the warming numbness of the alcohol. I had never been at a concert where a crowd was literally wrapped around the singer’s finger. It was breathtaking—powerful. All in all, the first night of the festival was epic. How much better would the rest of the weekend be? I was pumped for the lineup, but he was the real reason I was there.

  Abel bellowed out to the crowd, “Thank you, and goodnight. See you tomorrow night. Enjoy Dire Straits up next.” He bowed gracefully. The band waved and departed the stage. I moved aside to let them pass, hoping to get a moment, a second, alone with him. Grabbing the heavy draped curtain for support, I waited. The band filed past me, Abel included. His gait hurried and deliberate, he did not even stop to acknowledge me. Did he have somewhere to go? Did I do something to warrant his disapproval? Or was he bipolar, maybe? Cindy hip-bumped me into the present.

  “Let’s party!” She practically ran after the band down the narrow hallway. A tented, outdoor venue was the site for the after-party. It was a perfect night for it. It was set up in the back of the festival to drown out the screams from the concert, enabling us to talk and party while the next band performed.

  The party guest list was made up of lottery-picked fans, media, photogs, and us. I had a funny feeling about it. Cindy would hear none of my drama; she had her Fourth of July juju for Woody displayed proudly. If aura had a color, hers would be blinding. Not even I could spoil the night for her, at least not knowingly. If Abel pissed me off, or worse, hurt me, I’d retaliate. That was my go-to defense. I would fuck him before he fucked me. It might not be right, but it was who I was. It defined a part of me—the part that was vindictive.

  During our set, I flirted with Gia. What can I say? I was drawn to her. I felt a magnetic pull, a yearning from somewhere inside my soul. It was more than getting my cock wet. I knew that feeling all too well. And it wasn’t that. It was something else—something I didn’t like, something that made me feel weak, like a pussy. And I ate pussy; I wasn’t one.

  No, it was fucked-up. Above all, I had to resist giving in to that particular need. Because if I started, I would never get enough—and fuck that. My life was a rollercoaster of fucking, gigging, partying, and more fucking. I didn’t need to be tethered to some chick who would constantly be yanking my chain. And what the fuck was going on with her and Ender? I didn’t like how I felt about that, either. Fuck it all to hell. I’m out! We were celebrating. I was not getting pussy-whipped by some chick who was flirting with my mate.

  Dave offered me a much-appreciated beer. I loved my scotch, but that night wasn’t a scotch night. Beers and shots were our usual celebratory libations. But still, I was on edge. Big Abe desired some attention. And who was I to deny my cock anything?

  The tent was a bit of a mob scene, with photogs snapping away, their close-range cameras clicking. However, it was getting on my nerves.

  “Get that light out of my fucking face dude or lose it.” I stepped up to the cameraman. I wasn’t in the mood for it. I was wishing I had brought my bike like Woody and Ender had done. They had the right idea. Problem was, the last time I took a ride post-gig, the fucking cretin paps almost ran me and my bike into a ravine. Motherfuckers. And I was very protective as all get-out of my Custom Chip Foose Harley; one scratch on it, and the motherfucking apocalypse would descend. After that incident, I called in a favor and Chip delivered. Chip Foose normally didn’t fuck with bikes. He was a muscle-car gear-head. Muscle cars were my other addiction. Give me a hemi and I’ll give you a taste of what Hell’s like. Fuck, yeah. A Harley between my legs, purring like a kitten, was the best sound ever. I
would slow my breathing and heart rate to become one with my Slut. Yeah, that’s what I called my girl—Slut. My Slut. When I downshift, it’s like putting my fingers in a slut’s pussy in search of her G-spot. I would hit that sweet spot—and open her wide. Take her for a good long ride. My Slut felt nice, vibrating with power under my dominant body. Fuck, just thinking about it got my dick hard …

  And then, as if on cue, Cindy entered the tent with Gia, both of them looking lost until Ender greeted them with a tray of Patrón shots. He was up to something, likely looking to get Gia fucked up and take her home. It would be interesting to see how she played it. I didn’t normally obsess over girls, but fuck if this girl wasn’t under my skin like an annoying splinter. Dave’s hard hand slapped my back, bringing me out of my reverie.

  “Dude, let’s hit the bar,” Dave said. “Shots?” He smiled and I nodded knowingly. The bar was nicely set up with all the top-shelf liquors. There were a few of Puff’s Ciroc girls passing around shots. They wore leather get-ups with five inches of fucking glory on their feet. How in the world they managed to walk was another story. I needed to get one of those babes wrapped around my waist.

  “What are we toasting to?” Dave asked, raising the shot glass to his parched lips.

  “Here’s to suckin’ and fuckin’, and not catchin’ nothin’!” I crowed, downing my drink. Dave nearly choked to death.

  “Went down the wrong pipe,” he sputtered, coughing his brains out. I patted his back.

  “There, there, candy-ass,” I cajoled. He turned red, and that only made me laugh harder. Maybe this night wouldn’t suck after all …

  But then Ender joined our party of two, making it a party of five.

  “What’s up, Holmes? Abel, you up for going to club Blue tonight?” he asked. “I called Bobby, got us a booth.” He laid his accent on a little thicker than usual—which meant one of two things: either he was extremely comfortable and relaxed, or he was showing off his pussy-tease cadence. I wasn’t digging option two.

  “I’m up for any place but here,” I said, meeting Gia’s gaze. Immediately, she lowered her eyes to the floor. Good girl. At least she knew her place. And that pleased me more than it should, making me smile. Cindy stepped forward, putting herself between me and the bar. Looking up through her thick lashes, she asked, “Wanna do shots with us? I’m in need of some liquor, and the faster the better.” She smiled up at me, then turned toward the rest of the gang.

  “I’m up for shots, darlin’. Name it.” I motioned for the bartender to take our order. He was busy eye-fucking Gia. I slammed my fist down hard on the portable, wooden bar, nearly splitting it in two.

  “Fucker, I’m talking to you!” I glared at him. He knew he’d been caught ogling Gia. He hustled his lanky ass over and asked what we wanted to drink.

  “Five shots of Jamo,” Cindy replied, smiling brightly. Gia rolled her gorgeous eyes. I hung back to get a better look at their non-verbal dialog between the two girls. Both of them were very obvious in their body language. I read women perfectly. It was clear to me that there was a story behind Cindy’s grin and Gia’s leer. There was a battle waging—but which of them would win was the question. My money was on Gia. She didn’t look like the type of chick to run from a challenge. Her eyes told me more than her voice ever would.

  Ender stepped up to help pass out the shots. Shaking his head, Dave looked at me, then at Gia. He knew me well enough to know something was going on. Even if that something wasn’t ever going to amount to anything. Thick stratus clouds of sexual tension hung heavy between us. Interesting.

  “Here’s to?” Ender began to say.

  “I got this, E,” Gia piped up, saluting us. “Here’s to good friends in hard times, and hard friends in good times.”

  “Hear hear!” Cindy cheered on with a fist pump. We all shot down the fiery whiskey. The burn was long and steady. My eyes were closed, savoring the sensation. I took a moment to reflect on her toast. While it was sassy and cute, I didn’t like the fact that Gia had called Ender “E.” The fuck?

  “Woody and Jake still doing press?” I asked Ender. He looked toward the back of the tent before responding. We always flipped a coin to decide whose sorry ass got to suck ass with the press. The last two times, I was the one the duty fell on—and both times I nearly bit the reporter’s head off. Those scumbags always claim it’s “off the record.” Nothing’s off the record—ever.

  Dave asked the lanky barman for three beers. Instinctively, I turned, looking for Woody and Jake. Sure enough, they were walking over—and they looked none too happy. That made me grin.

  “I don’t know about you, but after seeing those Ciroc girls, I’m really chubbed up,” Woody said, grabbing his dick and laughing. But when Cindy stepped out from behind Ender, his face turned a bright shade of red.

  “What’s chubbed up?” Cindy asked, addressing no one in particular. We all had a good laugh. Her flushed cheeks matched Woody’s. Then she decided it was time to go to the ladies room to relieve herself, which made us laugh even harder.

  “We’re all going in the limo. No separate car shit, boys.” Dave announced sternly. Sometimes we split up. We all had custom, chromed-out bikes and cars. We loved to ride hard. We were all testosterone-rich, come-filled speed-junkies. Road rash was a battle scar we wore proudly. Even in that we were competitive.

  Dave made two phone calls, first to security, and then to the limo driver. Security swiftly ushered us through throngs of screaming fans inching close enough to grab at us. Be it your hair, an arm, your belt buckle, or your cock, they latched on to any part of you they could. It was a vicious sea of opportunists. Thankfully, the driver was standing with the door open to welcome us. I nodded my hello, and let the girls in first. Gia moved to the end of the curved seat. I chose to sit on the back bench, which gave me the strategic advantage of facing forward. After all, I had to see where we were going. And Gia was cock-center—bull’s-eye.

  The rest of the crew filed in, looking for comfortable places to sit. Not me. I was already fucking comfortable. Jake closed the door and immediately started making cocktails for the crew. I accepted a beer. I decided I would be low-key, chill out, and breeze a few babes; take it nice and easy. The banter was light with heavy eye-fucking going on between Woody and Cindy. Gia seemed to be fascinated by a piece of invisible lint on her dress. Nervously, she wrung her hands. I made her nervous. And that made my cock twitch and thicken painfully. Fuck. I adjusted myself with no shame. There’s no shame in having a big cock. It’s just a shame when you don’t.

  Despite her anxiety, her daring eyes met mine. A playful smile pulled at the corners of her lips—those perfectly heart-shaped lips, lips that would be Nirvana wrapped around my cock, killing me sweetly. Gia adjusted her position to face me head-on. Purposefully, she crossed and uncrossed her toned legs, serving me an agonizingly slow glimpse of her pussy. As in “look what I got for you, Abel.” Fuck me.

  I lost my breath for a moment and grabbed the door handle to brace myself. I needed to tether myself to something tangible to keep from fucking losing my shit in my pants. The air-conditioning button was above me. I turned that fucker on high. I never took my eyes off of her, though. Something snapped in me. My blood pushed through my veins with the force of Niagara Falls. I wanted to take her over my knee right then and there for that display. She was being a perfect little brat. The thought of her perfect globes under my hands had my heart pounding. My resolve was to own her—mind, body, and motherfucking soul. I extended my hand to her. She accepted it with a sly smile. There was no smiling for me. My dick fucking ached.

  I helped her onto my lap, my jeans playing cock-block. Ender was the first to notice. He frowned. Woody, Jake, and Dave’s eyes followed, but they each went back to their conversations. I paid them no mind. I had a gorgeous girl perched on my lap who needed schooling. Now she had my full attention. I fought it all I could, but I was fucking done with that.

  “You like to poke the snake, little girl?” I asked
, pulling her hair away from her ear as I nipped at her.

  She shuddered under my touch. I placed my commanding hand on her thigh to quiet her. Soon her body would come to know my touch, crave it, and need it. I would be the only nourishment she would need.

  “I needed to get your attention somehow, right?” she whispered, leaning into my chest and craning her neck toward my ear. “I’m trying to keep your attention. Tell me how a girl can do that.”

  She pressed her ass into my already rock-hard dick. Keep doing that, sweet girl … I never make promises, especially if I can’t keep them. Maybe, just maybe, I’d do a casual thing with her—just for the night. What could it hurt?

  “Well you’ve got it, babe. Let’s focus on tonight. Tonight you will be mine. I don’t like sharing. Are we clear?” I told her straight out how it would be: I didn’t fuck around or mince words. When I wanted something, I took it. And I wanted her. Even if it was for only one night.

  We arrived at Blue. The line as usual was wrapped around the mansion-styled building. Security was at the door to walk us in, as per Dave’s instructions. With Gia at my side, I made my way in amongst the screaming fans. We had a tremendous and loyal following. I made a mental note to thank Jake for heading up our social media. He and Dave constantly tweeted and posted pics on Instagram. Fans loved that shit. Carlo, the club owner, joined us as we walked in.

  “Glad to see ya, man.” He shook my hand hesitantly. I only nodded. I didn’t do that man-hug shit; the other boys did. That was Ender’s thing. It was a cultural affirmation for him. Carlo looked past me to see Gia peeking out from behind me.

  “Who’ve you got here, Abel? Sweet thing, isn’t she? What’s your name, sweetheart?” He grabbed Gia’s hand to kiss it. I stepped between them to circumvent it. That prick was not putting his fucking lips on what was mine. And she was fucking mine.