“What for, I have no fucking clue,” Ronnie tells me, massaging my clit with one hand, using the other to undo my pants. My body has no clue that there's a moral dilemma going on, that my soul is eternally damned to Hell. All it cares about is the way my pussy feels when he touches me, how good it is to open up, let him in. “But I accept your apology anyway.” His words cut me straight through and bring a gasp to my lips. Fuck a muff, Lola Saints, you really are worthless. You shoulda stayed in Queensland and got yourself married off to the first random bloke that came along, had a few kids, and stayed the fuck out of everyone else's way. You're like poison. I really regret not finishing off my bottle of vodka. I want to get drunk, so drunk I can't remember where or who I am, and then I want to pass out and sleep it off. When I wake up, Ronnie will know. He'll have two kids and there'll be two bodies, and he will be lucky as shit not to get blamed for all this. I thought Naomi's punishments were bad, or Turner's, but Ronnie might just have it the worst of the whole group. Why am I doing this? Why is he doing this? Fuck Tyler Rutledge. I might just kill him if I ever see him again.
I slide my arms around Ronnie's neck, playing with his feathery black hair, touching his snake tats. They suit him so well, enhancing the muscles in his neck, showing off the fact that he's got a man's body. He might be a little skinny, but he's big and hard in all the right places. Strong jaw, sexy lips, hands that move across my body like flames.
“Fuck me, Ronnie,” I growl into his ear. “And do it quick. I want it now.” I don't tell him why. He doesn't need to know that I'm using him like any other drug. I press my face into his neck, smelling the sweat of a good show on his skin, flicking my tongue across the bright red ink of a rose tat for a taste. He was incredible with those drums tonight. I'd always thought he was bloody brilliant, but this was a whole new level. He wasn't just playing music, he was commanding sound and demanding sacrifice. I wanted to crawl on his lap and feel the vibrations around me, savor the sensation of hot breath on my ear. Ronnie's a master with his kit, and I'd be lucky to learn anything from him.
This is why they have God power and we don't. Why Indecency was headlining the show and Amatory Riot was nipping at their heels. Ice and Glass is good, but we don't stand a chance no matter what we do.
I sag against Ronnie, hiding the tears behind a growl and a bite. I scrape my teeth along his throat, loving the way his muscles turn to jelly beneath my tough. I have the power to melt him into nothing, let him evaporate into the wind. But I won't do it, not for some ass crack in a suit. Fuck you, Mr. Rutledge. I might have already failed, but I'm not going to keep failing. I'm not that kind of person, or if I am, I don't want to be anymore. My mum was that kind of person. She'd exploit anyone and anything to get what she wanted. I could die for this, but so what? Somebody already did.
Might as well enjoy myself now.
Ronnie finally gets my pants undone and pulls them down my hips, not far, just enough that he can get a better grip on my chick dick, stroking and caressing with the rough whorls of his fingerprints for texture. He's rubbing my clit gently, not stabbing at it like it's a magic button that'll get his dick wet. He's feeling me, really feeling me, listening to the sound my body makes and, instead of steamrolling over it, he starts up a sympathetic beat. I lean back and look into his brown eyes and trace a nail across his lower lip, stroking him like the strings on a guitar, plucking a shiver instead of a note but getting a beautiful sound nonetheless. Ronnie groans and bites down on my thumb, flicking his tongue over my fingernail and sucking it into his mouth, right up to the knuckle. When he was onstage earlier, he was staring straight at me, channeling my feelings into his music. I tell myself that everyone in the audience felt that way, that I'm nothing special. Still, it felt like I could be.
Can something real ever be built on a lie? I guess I'll have to find out. If I live that long, of course.
“You sure you want to rush this?” Ronnie asks after I slide my finger from his hot mouth and trace his jaw with saliva, slipping skin against skin. “I don't think there are any cops around this time. We could take our time.”
“And get caught, literally, with our pants down by a group of raging fan girls intent on finding out if you're cut.”
“Let 'em watch,” Ronnie replies, leaning down and cutting my soul in half with a kiss that makes my ears bleed. I swear to the ancient gods of another time that I can hear a chorus of howling devils in my skull when he touches me. He's a bad boy in all the worst ways, a real bad boy. Ronnie's not some jersey wearing pussy fuck sauntering around with a few tattoos and a lip ring, riding a bike his trust fund bought for him. He is really and truly messed up. Four kids, four different mothers. No sexual standards – pretty sure he's fucked just about everyone on the tour. He's an addict with chronic depression and a lack of will.
But I like him.
Fuck me swingin', but I really do.
I kiss him back, moaning into his mouth as he slips his fingers back inside, teasing the wetness out, soaking my thighs and the hood of this here beautiful car with my desire. Ronnie manages to get his cock out with his other hand, letting it spring free, stiff and proud, removing his hand from my pussy and using the juices to stroke himself. I watch hungrily, my eyes fixated on him pleasuring himself, seeing the way my body affects him. I hope it hurts, hope it's throbbing for me, hot and insistent, desperate. I want to hear him grunt and groan while he fills me, pounding me like I'm one of his drums.
“Now,” I snap at him, enjoying the foreplay but wishing we could save it for somewhere a little more private. At the very least, I bet that bodyguard's in there spanking his dirty monkey. I'd rather not have him doing it to me, thank you very much. “Have you got a condom?” Ronnie grins and pulls a handful out of his pocket, scattering them across the floor and saving only one.
“Thought we might be seeing more of each other, so I brought some just in case.” He grins and uses both hands to open the package, tearing the wrapper slow enough that I damn near slap his fucking face off. He tosses the garbage to the floor and makes me watch while he puts on a show of slipping the latex over his cock, groaning and rolling his eyes to the ceiling like he's in whore's heaven. All seven sweet inches of him gets wrapped in plastic and we're ready to rock. I'd consider myself a risk taker, but I always like the boys to have a puppet for their Muppet, if you know what I mean. Not that I'd mind riding hard bareback with Ronnie fucking McGuire, but we'd have to work up to that. “Can I tell you a secret?” he asks, reaching down and cupping my ass, pulling me down the hood of the car with a squeak of sweet cheeks against metal. I keep thinking he's going to take my pants off, but Indecency’s drummer has other ideas. Ronnie crushes me tight against him, pushing my knees up to my chest and exposing my lady parts for all the world to see. Hope they have security cameras because this is going to be an event to remember. My heels are smashed against his body, just underneath his armpits, my bunched up jeans like a shield between our torsos. “It's a secret nobody else will ever admit to, even though they all know it's true.”
“And what's that?” I ask as he rubs the length of his shaft against my crack. Fuck, damn, and holy bloody hell. My stomach's twisted in knots, tight with anticipation, and my pussy's pulsing and throbbing, begging to be filled. Ronnie leans over and whispers softly, just loud enough that I can hear him over the chanting crowd outside the parking garage.
“I'm a better lay than Turner fucking Campbell.”
Ronnie thrusts into me with a single stroke, balls to the wall so to speak. I moan and claw at the hood of the Mercedes, scratching at the metal with my nails. I hope the owner doesn't mind if we add a little character to his ride. He's so deep I can feel him bumping against my cervix, and it's like he's all the way in, inside my belly, taking hold of me, enrapturing me. Tears spring to my eyes with the sheer, raw pleasure. Oh, God, it's been awhile since I've really, truly just been fucked. I think I'm in heaven. Ronnie moves inside of me with powerful thrusts as the car creaks beneath us, shocks absorbin
g the motion with a gentle bounce. Don't know if the engineers had this in mind, but damn, they did a good job.
“Oh, fuck, yes,” Ronnie groans and my heart explodes in my chest.
“Yeah, that's what I want to hear, baby. Tell me how good I feel,” I growl, goading him on. Little Lola's been known to like her dirty talk. Rawr.
“So fucking good. You're tight as hell. Must not get out much, huh?” I lean back on the car and watch him, my eyelids fluttering, drooping with the rush of dopamine to the brain. The wet sound of our bodies sliding together echoes around the empty garage, giving me the chills. Ronnie grunts and sweat starts to drip down his forehead, into his eyes, along his swollen lips. I want to see him get as hot and bothered as he did when he was playing tonight.
“Play me like I'm one of your drums,” I say, and he moans, squeezing my hips harder, bruising them in a vise grip. “I want to see your face when you come.” Ronnie throws his head back and closes his eyes for a second. When he drops them back to me, they're full of fire. I can't help it; the look just undoes me, and I start to moan. I don't hold anything back. I don't care if anyone's watching. Fuck 'em.
The car continues to creak and groan as we slam against the hood over and over and over again. The motion sets off the car next to us and a piercing alarm fills the air, masking his masculine sounds, my screams, the slap of skin against skin. I keep expecting the bodyguard to burst through the door with his pants around his ankles, but he never shows up. Instead pounding footsteps echo from further away in the garage, just barely audible over the alarm.
Ronnie and I, we don't give a fucking shit. This is our time.
“Make me come,” I tell him, reaching down between my legs and rubbing at my clit in a vigorous circular motion. I know how I like it. For me, it really is a magic switch. “If you make me wait again, I'll cut your nuts off in your sleep and make ya eat 'em.”
“Fuck, you have nice tits,” is all he's got for a reply. I reach up with my free hand and let them loose, watching as they bounce around while my vision blurs and the pressure in the base of my spine builds. Just as I see the two security guards swing around the corner, I loose it, screaming my head off as I come hard, blinded to everything but the pleasure amassing between my legs. The explosion is intense, muscles contracting, hands scrabbling at the car's hood.
Ronnie's grip tightens even more and he slams in with a few last good thrusts before groaning and collapsing on top of me, dark hair stuck all over his sweaty neck and face. His expression is just freaking precious, like he's run a marathon and inherited a million bucks all in the same day. I hug him to my chest as the two security officers, both men and probably both pervy as hell, pause a few feet away and exchange a glance.
I smile at them, and I try not to be too nasty about it.
“Is that your car?” one of them asks, and I push out my lower lip, shaking my head.
“No,” I say as Ronnie sits up reluctantly, untangling himself from my arms. He pulls his cock out with a groan and snaps the condom off. “But you boys sure did miss out on a fuck of a show.”
I slide down the hood and land on my feet, pulling my pants up while Ronnie does his. He looks around for a second and tosses the full condom onto the hood of the Benz.
“Hey, we're both rock stars, right?” he says, and I grin while he licks my juice off his fingers, giving the guards a raised brow and a smirk. He puts his arm around my waist as I fix my tits, putting them back where they belong and leaning over to grab my jacket. “If there's any damage to the car,” Ronnie says, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a condom with an Indecency logo on the wrapper. “Bill me.” He throws it onto the hood next to the used one and off through the parking garage we go.
When I climb into the van a few minutes later, I find Cohen in the backseat with Hayden Lee. Nobody else in the band seems surprised that she's there. She must've gotten in while I was working on my “mission” with Ronnie.
“Hope you at least sucked him off this time,” Cohen says as I slip into the center row of seats and glare at him in the rearview mirror. At least he looks like shit still. Two black eyes, a swollen nose, split lip. Ronnie really did a number on his hideous fucking face. Scummy germ leech cock sucking budgie fucker. I keep my notes to myself, draping my arms over the back of the seat. I feel so good right now. It'd be hard as hell to rain on my parade; Cohen, bless his rancid little heart, tries his best. “Lord knows that's where your one talent lies. Certainly not much of a drummer.” He snorts and Hayden giggles. I wonder why she's playing with him. She doesn't like him anymore than I do. This is all one big game to her.
“Oh, I did more than just suck him off,” I say, watching in the mirror as Cohen's face twists into a real nasty expression, like he's just got a gerbil shoved up his ass or something. Honesty, Joel, and our guitarist, Chris, keep to themselves. As usual. KK turns around in her seat to stare at me, eyes like soggy baseballs jammed into her flat skull. “I gave him a big, wet slice of Lola-land.” I lift my ass off the seat and give it a little slap. KK frowns.
“As soon as we get to the hotel, I want you in his room. Tyler thinks it's important that you're with him when he finds out about Shannon.”
The smile slides off my face.
My time with Ronnie almost made me forget my complete and utter failure as a human being. A young mother is dead because I didn't have the guts to speak up. I look down at the floor and try to focus on how good my body feels, on that dirty, sexy, angry pulse from below that's begging for another go. Calm ya tits, Lola. Just relax and think about something else right now. You can't dwell on Shannon or Chelsea, but you can save Eve. And Maria. Don't think about Marta either. Don't you dare!
I snap my head up before KK can register any sense of discomfort and pass it onto Mr. Rutledge. She reports everything to him, so I still can't be positive my tight-lipped smile won't be on her list of concerns, but I've got to do my best to keep her observations to a minimum. Sir, I think Lola's on the rag. Sir, I think she's got stomach upset. Sir, can I lick your balls and suck on your taint? Stupid bitch.
“So, Hayden,” I begin, looking up into the rearview mirror and finding the ho with her legs spread wide and her snatch on display. Cover ya sash ya fuckhead. She's got on a black mini and no panties, a pink tee (pre-ripped, of course), and black lace wrist warmers. Hayden thinks she's such hot shit, but her voice isn't much better than Naomi Knox's, and everyone knows that she doesn't write any of the songs. In all reality, she's expendable. Probably why she so readily jump into Tyler's lap and became his pet dog. And now, instead of being my second target, she's sitting here smelling up the van with her fishy crotch. “What brings you here? I thought Amatory Riot was staying in Oklahoma City.”
Hayden smiles, but it's not a nice expression. Kind of makes her look constipated, really.
“They are,” she says, voice sickly sweet, blue eyes sparkling. “But Tyler thought I deserved a day out, so he drove me here himself. He thinks I have the it factor. After all of this crap is over, he wants me to try a solo career. Under his guidance, of course.”
“Of course,” I say, mimicking her accent as best I can. It's not difficult. I just try to imagine what I'd sound like if I'd grown up convinced I crapped diamonds. Hayden either doesn't care that I'm making fun of her or doesn't get it. I'm guessing the latter.
“Besides, you try spending the day with Naomi latched onto your ass like a Goddamn tick ready to pop. She doesn't trust me anymore.” Hayden stops talking and her voice changes, not a lot, just enough that I know she's upset about something. Look, the little skank has emotions. Who knew? “Dax either.” She sighs and swipes some brunette hair over her shoulder. “We're just lucky they haven't told anyone else what they know. If they had, this would all be over, and most of us,” Hayden meets my eyes in the mirror, any emotion I thought I might've seen wiped clean from her face. “Would be sitting in jail.”
Nobody responds to that, and I wonder if they're mourning inside for what th
ey've done, or if I'm the only one. There's nobody on that bus I trust enough to ask. I use to really care about these people, believe that together, we could work through anything. Now, I feel like I don't even know them. Whatever light was in them has been eclipsed by darkness. Tyler made sure of that. I wonder briefly what might've happened if we'd never taken that meeting with him, never agreed to sell our souls for a shot at fame. I mean, we were just starstruck. Who wouldn't be, going from shows at the county fair to a full country circuit tour with one of the most promising new stars of the rock scene? I wish I'd known then what it felt like to have blood on my hands. I'd have told Tyler to go fuck a duck and gotten the hell out of there.
Certain mistakes are impossible to rectify, but sometimes, if you try hard enough, you can put enough good out into the world that it doesn't matter so much anymore. Two wrong deeds don't make a right, but two fucking awesome ones sure do help.
When we roll into OKC, we don't stop at the original hotel. As I hold Lydia's sleeping body against my chest, I listen to him talk about the security breach that happened today, about how a group of girls got into the stairwell and attacked a cop. Hard to believe anyone would go that far to meet a rock star, but I guess there's a couple spoiled grapes in every bunch.
Our new hotel isn't much farther away, but by the time we get there, all of my bandmates are asleep with the exception of Trey. He's been staring at his phone for hours, absorbed in something I hope has nothing to do with this mess. I still feel like we should include at least him in our conversations. After all, Hayden said every single one of us was a possible target. If whoever's behind this is willing to kill innocent women to get at us, there's no telling what else they'll do.
Tough Luck (Hard Rock Roots) Page 12
