Stricken Rock Series: Complete Box Set

by S. K. Logsdon

  I reach my hand out and take his into my own.

  “Listen. I love you with all of my heart, Stace. You are the best man I’ve ever known as a friend. But you’re a male whore who has serious commitment issues. I can’t have a relationship with somebody like that. I love you for who you are. But relationship speaking, I don’t want to date anyone. And especially not a person who includes fucking chicks and threesomes under his hobbies list on Facebook,” I smile, trying to lighten the mood. But I suck at this.

  “Okay. I understand. I’ll lock it all back up. Now come here.” He smiles and tugs me into his arms for a friendly hug. Awe, now this is the best friend I know and love.

  “Thank you.” I hug him tighter.

  Twenty minutes pass and Stacy and I stand together to watch the band finish up there set. Johnathan is rocking extra hard tonight. He looks so hot in his XXL black nirvana T and holey jeans. I catch him look my way a few times as I’m dancing rather well in my red heels to his sexy singing. His voice sounds like a mix between Chris Daughtry with the deepness and huskiness of Sully from Godsmack. If that’s possible. I don’t know, but that’s the best combo I can come up with that relates to how Johnathan sings. I am so starting to dig this rock scene. It’s addicting. Maybe not the trashy whores and strange conversations with my best friend but other than that, it’s euphoric. Larger than life.

  Chapter Eight

  I ride with just Stacy in one of the black Mercedes to the after party. This time it’s at our hotel. There’s a giant club in the back attached to it called Apples. Apparently that’s why Stacy selected it for us to stay here. Not that you’ll hear me complaining. That just means I can get smashed and only have to walk back to my room. Well, if I can get drunk. It takes a lot for me to get to that point.

  We pull up outside the club in the back of the hotel. There has to be two hundred fans and paparazzi waiting behind red ropes for the band to arrive. Stacy pulls up to the valet that has been reserved for band members and employees only. The rest of the guests are required to park themselves and you can only get in if your name is on the list. We slide up, Stacy gets out, and I’m advised to stay put until he retrieves me. He’s such a gentleman. As soon as he gets out, a blonde valet driver who can’t be over twenty slips into the driver’s seat next to me.

  “Hi ma’am,” he says while adjusting the seat the fit his much shorter frame. I nod out of politeness.

  My door opens and Stacy extends his hand out to me. I glide out of the car my hand in his. Feeling like I am about the roll onto the red carpet.

  “You ready for this?” he whispers close to my ear. The hair on the back of my neck excitedly stands attention.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say confidently. Even though I am anything but. I can handle crowds as long as they aren’t touching or bumping into me. Although when I’m touched repeatedly by unknown men and woman I worry about where their hands have been. I know that may sound stupid, but I can’t help that the way I feel. Urine, semen, food, germs, fecal matter, sweat and more all live and breed on a person’s fingers. That’s why I wash my hands like it’s going out of style. The thought of having that nasty stuff rubbed on me makes my stomach churn.

  Four steps into the line up to get into the club and we are instantly bombarded with flash photography from every direction. My eyes can’t take it. This is crazy. I can see spots in my line of sight. No idea why they insist on taking Stacy’s and my photo, but they do over and over again.

  On our way in, I see another Mercedes stop at the entrance out of the corner of my eye. James gets out of the driver side and the crowd goes wild realizing who is in the car. James full body blocks Johnathan when he disembarks from the back of the car along with D, Keith and Price. The hoard of fans scream and the paparazzi shoot photos one snapshot after the other. It’s quite ridiculous really. I am sure there are hundreds of thousands of photos of Stricken all over the wonderful World Wide Web. But they have to snap another five hundred tonight. It’s not like they look any different and their I-fuck-anything-with-a-pussy persona is well-known and documented time and time again. What’s another picture with a slutty brunette with big fake boobs and hooker heels? It gets old quick. That’s why I don’t do tabloids or gossip mags. It’s all bull crap anyhow.

  “Come Em, let’s get you inside,” Stacy says placing his hand on the curve of my lower back pushing me forward. I take two more steps and a bunch of loud over-the-top yelling breaks out. I peer back again and who would have guessed it, Johnathan is plowing past James and headed straight for us.

  “Emily!” he yells and this time I can hear him. I stop completely. Stacy doesn’t; I feel him press his hand firmly against my back to try and make me move into the club. I don’t budge. My feet glued in place.

  Two more long strides in black motorcycle boots and Johnathan is now standing in front of me out of breath and looking fine as hell. He glares at Stacy again. I pretty certain he’s still angry about earlier. I’m not, I have no choice but to move on from it. Or lose Stacy and that’s never going to happen.

  “Can I help you?” I raise both my brows. I now have lines on my forehead, I can feel them. Call the Botox doctors, Em has lines!

  Seeing him standing toe to toe with me is seriously amusing. I can see the headlines now. ‘Rock star misogynist extraordinaire pushes through crowd to seek out midget redhead.’ Well it probably won’t add the misogynist part, but it should. Yep, our pictures will be in the papers tomorrow. Big time! Johnathan towers over me. I feel like a minnow next to a great white shark. Bait meet prey, he’ll eat you up and spit you back out tomorrow because he wants another minnow that’s prettier and sucks better barnacles. Gosh, could I be any more of a bitch? I think it’s automatic with this man. He brings it out in me. That and soaking panties. What a really screwed up combo that is.

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He latches his hand onto the crook of my elbow and pulls me closer to him and out of Stacy’s grasp. I can’t see Stacy but I can imagine he’s angry right about now. I can’t stop staring up into the giant rockers eyes. In this dim light, the club sign eludes gives his eyes this bluish green crystal like appearance and they are even more breathtakingly beautiful.

  “I’m fine, big man.” I pat him gently on the chest. He sighs and gently smiles down at me. I can see the damn paps are eating this up.

  “You could have waited to have this conversation inside you know?” I say, toned down a bit. I don’t need all our business aired.

  He bends forward, placing his face right next to mine. His lips brush against my ear. The touch is so soft and supple. Closing my eyes and inhaling him deeply, he smells so wonderful like cigarettes, laundry detergent and some kind of body spray or cologne. I hold back a sensual sigh I’m desperate to release. Even in the middle of this crowd it feels like such an intimate moment. A bubble all our own. I seriously need to get my head screwed on straight. I can’t be feeling this way.

  “I was worried that once you got inside I might not find you. Or you’d not talk to me if I did.” He whispers into my ear.

  My heart thuds like a rocket in my chest like it trying to break free. I just want to grab onto his shirt collar and pull him down into a hug and hold him for a while. So lame, I know, but I can’t help the way I feel. He so close and smells so good. I can’t tell if he’s playing a game or being serious. Two can play at that. I lean closer to his face and brush my own lips from the side of his soft cheek to right outside his ear.

  “No need to be worried, John-a-than,” I say slowly and sensually then I lick my lips loud enough so he can hear. Man I am so good at this. I’ve never been a seductress but I am learning quickly.

  “I would talk to you any....time.” I nudge my nose against his ear lobe. I hear a light feral sound arise out of his throat. I know I am affecting him. This is so hot and it’s turning me on. I just hope it’s working on him too in the same way it is me.

  I feel a tug at the back of my dress. I stand straight
up again away from the wonderful place against Johnathan. Missing his skin on mine already and turn around to find Stacy in all his sexy glory tapping his foot rather annoyed on the ground behind me. He is pissed. Johnathan hasn’t released his hand from my arm and I can feel the slick heat searing into me. Standing between two very hot and annoyed men, I can’t decide what to do. Swapping my head back and forth between the men holding up the line into the club. I yank my arm reluctantly out of Johnathan’s hand and walk around Stacy. Eat my dust! I’m going in alone.

  A tall dark skinned bouncer with the most gorgeous hazel orange eyes pulls the heavy steel door open for me. “Thanks.” I bow slightly. What is wrong with me? I am so flustered and hot and horny and confused. This is so not going to be a good night. Best friend tells you he’s been in love with you for ten years- check. Hot rock singer flirts- check. What else should I add to this list?

  The club is full and nearly everyone is wearing some form of denim. Must have been a serious prerequisite to chill with rock stars. I know it was in the eighties but shit we’re in 2013. At least the florescent colors are out and now black, red and gray are the staples. I feel out of place. Sure, a pinup fifties inspired Rock-a-Billy dress is hot and I feel rather sexy in it. But the women in this place are in nothing but shorty short shorts and tanks or less than tanks like bras with rhinestones and I’ve never seen so many hooker heels in my entire life. I thought the last club was bad. This is way worse.

  Slowly, I move to the side and attempt to blend in with the crowd. I find a small two seat black and chrome tall table and prop my butt up on the stool. It’s well cushioned. My butt is thanking me. If any of the guys are searching for me, I have yet to be found. Which is an actual relief. What was I thinking doing this rock star life? It’s exciting, sure. But, Jesus, there is a woman ten feet in front of me sliding her ass into some not attractive dude’s crotch who’s all sleeved out, wearing a white t-shirt and dark jeans. And she’s sporting daisy duke cutoffs, black cowboy boots, and an apple red button up shirt tied just under her very large, very fake breasts. Makeup is glued to her face. But she is pretty in a trashy kind of way. It probably helps the fact that she’s five nine-ish and her legs are perfectly long and smooth. Shit! She even has some kind of shimmer on them. I would have never through to do that to myself. I thought wearing this dress was nice enough. I did what Stacy suggested and applied eyeliner, white eye shadow and even mascara tonight. All of them a first for me within the past year.

  I’ve never told Stacy this but I think I might have become a recluse. Sure he probably figured that out on his own. But seriously I have. Now I find myself thrown into this whole otherworld of sex, drugs and rock n roll. And when they say that on T.V or magazines which I don’t read, it’s true. There is so much sex and drugs. Well I don’t know what kind of the guys partake in but I know it’s minimally alcohol and cigarettes. I’d hate to ask what else. That is something I just have no interest in knowing. Probably because I’d somehow find myself lecturing them on the do’s and don’ts of life and snorting coke is seriously on the DO NOT list.

  “You want to dance?”

  I look around like a fool to see who is talking to me and find myself staring at a handsome, long dark haired, tattooed covered man I’ve never seen before.

  “Um…Hi?”

  “Do you want to dance, beautiful?” He offers his hand. I gaze down. No wedding ring and it’s big and calloused, which tells me he has to be a musician. Another damn rocker. Go figure.

  “Do I know you?” I ask. Although I am sure I haven’t met him before. Not that I’d mind or anything. He’s rather tasty and his name isn’t Stacy or Johnathan. Or at least I hope it’s not. How weird would that be?

  “No, but I know who you are.”

  Oh, this is even juicier. He knows me or maybe just of me.

  “And who am I?” the corners of my mouth instinctively raise into a flirty sly smile. I just pray it doesn’t make me look constipated. I’m just learning this relatively ancient thing called flirting. Universities should seriously offer a class in it. I would have enrolled first thing.

  “You work for Stricken. Name’s Emily.”

  Ok, wow that’s hot. A sexy long-haired musician not only knows where I work but what my name is. How odd is that? Most men who fuck around with whores couldn’t spit out a first name if their life depended on it and this hunk of burning love knows mine. Cue the butterflies in my tummy. I feel like a giddy teenager being asked to dance by the hottest boy in school. Well, I was a teenager once and I did dance with the hottest boy in school. But that was totally different. Yep. Totally.

  “Yes. You are correct, fine sir. And how did you come across this information?” I lean seductively and offer my ear, tucking strands of my hair behind it as I do. An obvious invitation to flirt but hey I don’t know what else to do. I can’t just sit on this damn bar stool and twiddle my thumbs together. Now that would look even more ridiculous.

  He leans in, following my lead, I can feel his hot breath on my skin. A shiver flows over me. His scent is enticing a mix of mint and clove? I can’t be sure.

  “I’m a guitarist for a local band here in Tucson called Blades of Mace. I also happen to be one of Stricken’s biggest fans. Seen your name plastered all over the internet, after that hot stunt a few days back when you manhandled Johnathan Striker. And my buddy Josh, our bassist, is friends with Keith. Who according to him has been going on and on about you.” He winks and slides his hand into my lap, snatching up my hand. Hot damn is he smooth. I should get some tips from this dude.

  “So now come dance with me.” He smiles a big megawatt smile.

  Oh shit, there goes my stomach; I think it just plummeted to the ground. I nod and he gently coaxes me off the seat which feels like a lot further down than I remember. Hand in hand, I tag along behind him onto the full dance floor. The disco ball and spinning above our heads and red and white strobe lights are lighting the way. The club is medieval appearing, or to me it is, or maybe a club version of Christian Grey’s red room of pain. The walls are deep red, the floor is black. The bar is also black but has a strange black leather padded wall effect. The ceiling is all mirrors with thick silver chain swags. Totally trippy when you’re not intoxicated, I can’t imagine what it’ll look like once I get a few dozen shots in me. To me the space screams bondage, sex and drugs. This damn disco ball that’s directly top of me is the only harsh light in the room. The rest is dark and seductive. Totally hot and the corners are nearly pitch-black. I am sure tons of people have fucked in them a time or two.

  Song change ‘Pon De Replay’ welcomes me to the dance floor. This is my jam. Dancing in my bedroom growing up is going to pay off now. Time to show off what I do in my four inch heels. My new dance partner stands and sways like a typical man. Smacking him sexily in the chest I pull him closer to me by his shirt. His eyes widen. Yep, that’s right baby, you’re going to get a show. Rocking my body back and forth popping my hips and rolling my stomach and butt left-right-left-left. Right- left- right-right. Whipping my hair around gently pulling my hands through my hair, down my sides, over my panties, to my inner thighs and back up. I’m bait and I’ve just hooked my catch. Biting his pierced lower lip he eyes me up and down. I can feel my juices pooling in my panties. This is so hot! Living in our own little dance bubble, I can feel all other dancers on the floor moving away. Space is opening up around us. He keeps doing the guy dancing. I turn around and back my butt up against him with sexy sways. His hands lock onto my hips and I lean back into his six foot toned frame.

  Song change- ‘Pour Some Sugar on me.’ The best song ever! I rub my backside against him to the beat of the song. He tucks his face in the crook my neck, kissing it sensually. I close my eyes, savoring his soft pecks. His breathing is heavy in my ear making my toes curl. Mmmmm this is so good. Slowly his hand glides over my flat stomach down over my panties and onto my inner thigh. The core of my body is burning with desire. I don’t know this man but I want him to touch m
e. I want him to rub my clit and give it to me hard. I stretch my arms over my head and them around back of his neck and pull him in closer. The mint on his breath is intoxicating. Oh god his hand is so close to my pussy. Only a few more inches and we are in fuck-me territory.

  I open my eyes. I need to turn around. I have to turn around. I desperately need his mouth on mine. I want this stranger in my pants and I haven’t even had a damn drink. I let go of him long enough to face him and press my breasts against his stomach. His eyes are burning with hot steamy unadulterated lust.

  “You’re so hot.” He licks his lips. Oh yes this is going to happen. I am going to make out with my first rock star.

  His eyes widen like saucers not in a good way and I feel a foreign hand firmly planted on my arm and I’m yanked out-of-the-way. Oh shit! Not again!

  “Who in the fuck do you think you are?” Johnathan booms, chest-to-chest with my hunky dance partner. Johnathan’s nearly twice the size of this dude. My poor dance partner’s face is contorted with misunderstanding. Mine looks about the same.

  Quickly his eyes glaze over to anger. “What do you mean who the fuck do I think I am? I’m Coby. That’s who the fuck I am.” He presses himself up against Johnathan harder. Oh no, this is not going to end well.

  I step up to the side of them. I couldn’t fit in between them even if I wanted.

  “Take it easy boys,” I say firmly.

  “I want to know who this motherfucker thinks he is touching you like that,” Johnathan yells; his hands are clinched into fists at his sides. He is super pissed. Why? I haven’t the slightest fucking clue. He’s like a damn roller coaster of emotions. This dude seriously needs some Xanax.

  “Is he your boyfriend?” Coby questions me, looking into my eyes. He is so sweet and gentle with me even though he has a big giant about ready to pummel him to the ground. He extends his hand to the side and rubs alongside of my arm. My heart skips a beat.