Rocker Series

by Gina Whitney

  “Don’t.” I put my finger to her lips silencing her. Her words almost broke the barest thread tethered to my sanity. My eyes focused squarely on hers until her little tongue poked out of her lips for a taste of my finger. Fuck me, Beauty was poking her Dom.

  I thrust my hips deeper into her soft, enveloping pussy, and I was gone. Fucking gone. She didn’t say a word, but remained still. However, her delicate hand pulled the back of my neck, trying to pull me closer—deeper. Now, it was me who gasped and quivered. She said something, but I couldn’t hear past the whooshing sound of the blood pumping through my ears or the tingle in my balls.

  I calmed and she relaxed, adjusting around my rings. Then I started to move. My thrusts thundered going in, and slowed coming out. A quick twerk of my hips and I ensured she felt every last ring that decorated my cock. Her only response was her cries that rained down around me. She’d offered herself countless times, but every time I took her, it felt like forever since the last time I’d had her. I meant to draw it out, make her come again and again. Not happening, I thought. My mouth covered hers, swallowing every last moan. With each thrust, my movements became more frenzied. I was falling down the rabbit hole of decadent orgasms and divine pussy.

  The room seemed to recede into darkness…until we were nothing more than impressions of wild tongues, gnashing teeth, and scalding skin. Her slickened thighs cradled me, her nails claimed me, and her pussy owned me. “Come,” I commanded, and tried fuck hard to hold back a few seconds more. “Fuck,” left my lips and I filled her with everything I had.

  Once my breaths evened out, I pushed up on my forearms, taking in her beautiful face.

  Her face was slick with sweat and flushed from coming…her lips curled into a sexy smile. “I love the new hardware, and apparently so do you.”

  “It’s that swollen pregnant pussy of yours. It gets me every time.”

  “Oh, yeah? What about before I was pregnant?” She raised a brow in question. I knew what she was getting at. I had a healthy addiction to her pussy.

  “That was the before pussy, and I’m sure there will be after pussy. Fuck. It’s your fucking pussy.” I kissed her nose, removing my softening cock.

  Peace and quiet swaddled us in darkness, her body seeking the warmth of my chest and my arms sought to secure her tightly. I caressed and massaged her muscles until she fell asleep in my arms. I released my grip and moved from hers, removing myself from the bed. I leaned in and kissed her pouting lips one last time.

  My guitar leaned against the wall. I grabbed it, hitching the strap over my neck, and went out on the terrace. My muse stirred creative juices like no other. I had two songs to finish. One for her, and a lullaby.

  There was nothing like a magical birth to prioritize the frivolous things in a rocker’s celebrity career. There was nothing more important to me at the time than a safe birth and healthy family.

  We pulled curbside at LAX and waited for Mr. Gunner’s plane to arrive. Abel sipped his coffee quietly while I stared out the window, wishing the day that had just started would already be over. Thank god for the heavily tinted windows and tempered glass. The crush of media waiting outside churned around the truck, waiting to hurl a question or take a picture. Today wasn’t a good day for either one of us. I was taking a few tentative steps through the aftermath of my former life, and my throat tightened just thinking about it. However, we both had one old path we needed to travel once more—Morgana. She had been extradited to LA, where she sat awaiting her fair trial. While we waited for our justice.

  Timothy Gunner was tanned to a handsome bronze from his recent vacation to Miami. His hair slicked back, he wore a dark fitted suit with a white shirt and an assured face. His tie hung open and loose around his neck. I turned, studying Abel’s features, as I had many times before. Trying to picture what he would look like in twenty to thirty years. There were only slight differences brought about by maturity. Timothy Gunner was leaner and had a matured face. His eyes were the same color but sat deeper, giving him a sage look. Today, he wasn’t my future father-in-law. He was my counselor.

  A text illuminated Abel’s phone in the darkness. Tell the driver to stay put. Abel lowered the glass divider separating us and repeated what his father had told him.

  It looked like the media swallowed poor Mr. Gunner up until they parted and he knocked on the passenger window. Abel swung the door open and moved us over in one movement.

  “Christ almighty,” he barked and set his briefcase between his legs on the floor. “Abel.” He nodded, addressing him, and then turned his attention to me. We were all in a row across the back seat. It wasn’t like I could get up and hug him. “Gia, don’t you look lovely.”

  “Thank you,” I answered. I thought about saying more. However, this wasn’t a social call.

  He unzipped the top of his briefcase and pulled out a thick file folder. Page by page he flipped, making notes along the top and sides while we sat in awkward silence. Abel continued to sip his cold coffee while I pulled the wrapper off the water I held. I couldn’t sit still. It was nerves, and I had to pee again. I’d start biting my nails, but Chance would kill me.

  My fidgeting drew his attention and he exhaled with regret. “I’m sorry, dear.” He reached over, putting his hand on mine. “There’s no need to be nervous. This is your video deposition. You won’t be going to the trial, nor are you expected to.” His eyes lowered to my stomach and my hands, protectively cradling around it.

  “Okay.” I nodded. I knew all this. However, it didn’t take any of the worry away. I just wanted to put it behind me—us. And this was one more step in that direction.

  “She’s been charged with two counts of attempted murder, extortion, bribery, fraud, and a few other minor offenses. Does that sound like she’ll walk freely anytime soon?” His brow raised in question.

  “No, sir,” I responded immediately and Abel squeezed my thigh. It definitely didn’t sound like she’d get out anytime soon. However, I watched the news. Mistrials, hung-juries, and injustice happened all the time. Look at Casey Anthony…and that was off the top of my head. I watched the crime channel and picked up a thing or two. Shit fucking happened, and I prayed we wouldn’t suffer at the hands of injustice.

  “Have some faith, Gia. Not too long ago…” He trailed off, letting his words hang in the stale air around us. And I knew what he was getting at. Not too long ago, I almost ended my life. Not too long ago, I lived in the bowels of hell with my mother. Not too long ago, I didn’t know Abel or have the life living inside of me. Oh, I was familiar with not too long ago. He was right, but I was still scared. I laced my fingers through Abel’s and squeezed, trying to draw from his strength. He applied steady pressure, letting me take what I needed. I sighed and he released, keeping his fingers intertwined with mine.

  The District Attorney’s office was a federal building that also held the ADA—Assistant District Attorney—and clerk. Huh… For some reason, I thought they’d reside in a courthouse. We drove around the massive brick building, the American flag and state flag waving in the breeze. We had an appointment, but Mr. Gunner called to make sure security was ready. Abel spotted three satellite trucks parked in front, and god knows who followed us. But, so far so good.

  The meeting was scheduled for ten thirty AM, and the two detectives that interviewed me at the house would be there. That gave me a smidgen of comfort. John was older—seasoned. Brad, younger and newly decorated. We took the elevator to the third floor, Abel’s hand firmly holding mine. We walked alongside Mr. Gunner to the deposition office. John and Brad met us in the hallway, greeting us warmly. Abel nodded, Mr. Gunner shook their hand, and then we continued past them into the office.

  “You know I’d go in if I could. But I can’t and it’s fucking killing me.” His voice was grave, and the words sounding more bitter than I’d ever heard before.

  “I know. I’ll be fine.” I leaned in to kiss him, but he threw his arms around me and held me for a moment.

  “I
’ll be right here waiting for you. Okay?” He tilted my chin up and I nodded.

  Mr. Gunner cleared his throat and I knew it was time. Abel released me, and I entered the cold, air-conditioned room without looking back. I could do this. I’d been through worse. This was for me, my family, and the safety of my child. Not to mention, I did nothing wrong. I was the victim. It was time to finally close out this chapter of my life. I had learned and grown a great deal over the last few months, and I was ready to move past this. No more running and hiding from secrets. Morgana need to pay for her part. The door closed, latching shut behind me, and I sat in the chair Mr. Gunner slid out for me.

  His warm, familiar smile held my feet to the ground and kept my heart from pounding out of my chest. I squeezed my eyes closed to gather myself. One breath in. One long breath out. I pushed everything aside and let the pain of my past give me the strength I needed.

  The weathered, wooden table had seen better days, and the dirty floors needed a proper cleaning. I fixated on the mundane things at this time because of stress. The more stressed I became…the more I fixated on frivolous things.

  Mr. Gunner rose, addressing the ADA and appointed counsel for Morgana. “I’m Timothy Gunner. I’m representing Gia Mastro, who is being deposed. She’s my client and my daughter-in-law to be. As you can plainly see…she’s ready to give birth anytime now. This is a happy time for my son, and our family. If you”—he pointed to the wormy counselor with the two-dollar suit on—”do anything to upset or cross the line in some obscure way, I’ll make it my life’s mission to have you disbarred—counselor.”

  The worm sat with his hands clicking his pen. Click. Click. Click. I didn’t know what that meant—his silence. However, I didn’t have a good feeling about it. The ADA was a woman. Ms. Gale. She ignored Mr. Gunner and offered me water. I accepted and thanked her.

  “I will be making objections to questions on evidentiary grounds and preserving these objections on record.” Mr. Gunner spoke to the worm and pointed to the stenographer that sat to our left. “Typically, objections are based on relevancy or privilege,” he further clarified.

  Ms. Gale quietly wrote on her yellow legal pad while the worm glared at Mr. Gunner. I took a sip of water. Now, the worm’s attention was on me. He smirked, showing his yellow stained teeth. Smoker.

  “Hey.” Mr. Gunner snapped his fingers and Ms. Gale jumped.

  The worm directed his attention back to Mr. Gunner. “Duly noted. Can we move on?” He had a bored look on his face. Which meant one of two things: he didn’t give a shit about defending Morgana, or he was a stupid fuck. He leaned into the large desk and folded his hands in front of him, glaring at me, probably hoping to evoke intimidation. “Miss Mastro, when did you start dating Mr. Gunner?”

  My eyebrows rose, feeling off balanced from his question. I hadn’t been prepared for that.

  “And at the time,” he continued without giving me a chance to answer his first question, “were you aware of his relationship with Miss Devu? And that they had a legally binding contract between the two of them for said relationship?” The smug smirk on his face sent an angry rift through me.

  Well, shit…guess we’re playing dirty.

  Two hours and twenty minutes later, we made our way through the sea of reporters and paparazzi. The worm had asked every question he could to shake my credibility, but between my answers—the truth—and Mr. Gunner’s assistance, I don’t believe he had much to use against me in the unlikely event the case went to trial. Mr. Gunner informed me once we left that we shouldn’t have to wait long to find anything out, and that he would bet on Morgana’s team backing away from pushing it that far. It’s really in their best interests to admit defeat and move on.

  Abel tightened his hold on my hand and pulled me behind him—his dad close behind me. A crescendo of camera shutters clicked around us while microphones were shoved in front of Abel’s face. He muscled his way through with a few “Get the fuck out of my face or lose yours.” Thankfully, the car was a few feet away. My stomach tensed hard and little legs moved tightly across my tummy…then it was gone. No, I thought, but kept the pain to myself and walked.

  The driver nodded in concern before opening the door. Abel lifted me into the vehicle and slipped in behind me, his father closing the door behind him. It was impossible to block the voices of the lawyers and the deposition. The events of the day, just another episode that would forever change my life, continued to loop inside my head as we made our way back to the airport. Mr. Gunner was in a hurry and had to catch a flight back to Colorado. Work. The hushed tones of Abel and his dad speaking softly did little to pull me out of my trance as I glanced out the darkened window watching the cars go by. The vehicle slowed and the drone of jet engines thundered overhead. I knew we were close.

  The vehicle pulled to the left and parked. “You did well, Gia,” Mr. Gunner said, successfully breaking me from my thoughts. “There’s nothing to worry about. I don’t want you spending another second worrying. Put your focus on the beautiful grandchild that’s coming.” He cupped my cheek, and I managed a weak smile, agreeing to his statement.

  Fuck. I was exhausted. Abel and he took a moment to speak privately outside the vehicle. That was until the media started infringing on their privacy. I wouldn’t say I’d ever get used to this circus, because that would be a lie. However, Abel made every effort to shield me as much as possible. At our home, I lived in a bubble of security. He made sure our home was safe from prying eyes. Well, as safe as hired security could make it. I almost forgot what it was like to be out with him in public. The mayhem that surrounded him. I don’t know how he’d become so well-adjusted. Ha. Abel and well-adjusted really have no business being in the same sentence.

  “What’s so funny, Beauty?” he asked, forcing a smile. And that pained me. Here I sit, being consumed by my own thoughts. I’d never considered it—what he was feeling. How this affected him… I would be blind to think this had no impact on him or his life whatsoever.

  “I was just thinking how well-adjusted you are.”

  “Pfft,” he muttered. “You mean maladjusted don’t you?”

  Sometimes I forgot how witty he could be. We needed some downtime. And the Fourth of July party couldn’t come at a better time.

  He hadn’t a clue of how I or others viewed him. Sure, he had his addiction and shortcomings. But he was something a lot more to me. “You are my rock. Do you know what that means? It means you protect me. A redeemer or protector. Your words are always with the intent to uplift, encourage, and please me. There is never self-pity, complaining, envy, or anything selfish about you—at all. So, maladjusted isn’t the word I’d use to describe you. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes for one day…just to know how I see you.”

  “I just did, Beauty. I just did…” He smiled, but his voice broke.

  I searched his face. His thick, dark hair and green eyes held so much adoration and understanding. The female in me couldn’t help but gush, and the lover in me felt honored to call him mine. I lifted my hand to his face, gently palming over the stubble I loved, and leaned into his open collar…breathing in his warm, spicy cologne. He was more than a man. A fiancée. A rock god worshiped by many. He was more than my north, south, east, and west. He was my center. My gravity. My morning, noon, and night. My physical, living, breathing compass… My rock.

  July Fourth

  We decided to keep our house as the venue for the biggest party anyone had seen yet. The party was outdoors, around the enormous infinity pool. There were some traditional red, white, and blue decorations. However, it also had the opulence and seduction of Gatsby. A huge white tent was set up on the far lawn to the left, just in case of inclement weather. The sound guy set up on the opposite side of the pool, across from the tent. I was surprised there weren’t any instruments set-up. However, that didn’t mean a damn thing. If the boys wanted to play, they would play.

  Gigantic oscillating fans blew cool air for anyone that was hot and di
dn’t intend on swimming. Which, looking at how most were dressed, swimming wasn’t an option. Three bars were set up in a triangle near each other, and people were already buzzing around with drinks in their hands, chatting away. He hired a catering service to help Michael and a serving staff. The staff were both male and female, and beautiful…every last one of them. They wore black pants with white shirts and passed around trays filled with champagne, wine, tropical drinks, and hors d’ oeuvres.

  I saw Mr. Gunner standing by a raw seafood bar looking too good to be anyone’s father. His tan slacks and white cuffed shirt looked crazy sexy. Jesus. Abel’s mother wore a cream tweed Jill St. John summer suit and looked…well, like Abel’s mom. She was beautiful, but the sorted history left me with a bad taste in my mouth.

  Three men shucked oysters, clams, and served a cold seafood cocktail Abel adored from Italy. I looked at my watch, checking the time. Chance went to pick up Cindy and they should be back any minute. Who, despite my begging, decided to stay at a hotel. Something about getting lucky and not feeling comfortable fucking in my house with McPrick around. There was no sense arguing; her stubborn ass would never budge.

  The mix of people varied. The fabulous and fashionable. No doubt some of the executives and their wives. Then we had the girls. Whose girls I couldn’t say. Abel’s answer was: they’re at every party for every band and were unattached. Fucking-fan-girl-hardcore groupies. The die-hard bitches that traveled from city to city. The girls that had names like Candy or Penny Lane. The bands felt they owed them for their loyalty.

  We provided all the desired amenities for a true Gatsby inspired Rock and Roll banger—his words. Alcohol, food, pool, music, and chicks—his words again. Though, he clarified he only had eyes for me. I never doubt him for a moment.

  “Where’s my girl?” Cindy yelled into the crowd of people, her long, blond tresses reaching her waist.