Gisele Vs. Guitar Hero

by Mona Cox

  Gisele Vs. Guitar Hero

  Mona Cox

  Naughty Angel Publishing

  Contents

  Description

  Also by Mona Cox

  Dirty Lil’ Angels

  1. Gisele

  2. Stone

  3. Gisele

  4. Stone

  5. Gisele

  6. Stone

  7. Gisele

  8. Gisele

  9. Stone

  10. Gisele

  11. Stone

  12. Gisele

  13. Stone

  14. Gisele

  15. Stone

  16. Gisele

  17. Stone

  18. Gisele

  19. Epi

  A Note From Mona

  Fiona Vs. Football Player

  Dirty Lil’ Angels

  20. Fiona

  21. Danny

  22. Fiona

  23. Danny

  24. Fiona

  25. Danny

  26. Fiona

  27. Danny

  28. Fiona

  29. Danny

  30. Fiona

  31. Fiona

  32. Fiona

  33. Danny

  34. Fiona

  35. Danny

  36. Fiona

  37. Danny

  38. Fiona

  39. Epilogue - Fiona

  Carla Vs. Cowboy

  Dirty Lil’ Angels

  40. Carla

  41. Chase

  42. Carla

  43. Chase

  44. Carla

  45. Chase

  46. Carla

  47. Carla

  48. Carla

  49. Chase

  50. Carla

  51. Chase

  52. Carla

  53. Chase

  54. Carla

  55. Chase

  56. Carla

  57. Epi

  Lisa Vs. Outlaw

  Dirty Lil’ Angels

  A Note From The Woman Behind Mona

  58. Lisa

  59. Diesel

  60. Lisa

  61. Diesel

  62. Lisa

  63. Lisa

  64. Lisa

  65. Lisa

  66. Diesel

  67. Lisa

  68. Lisa

  69. Diesel

  70. Lisa

  71. Lisa

  72. Lisa

  73. Diesel

  74. Lisa

  75. Lisa

  76. Epilogue

  Also by Mona Cox

  Dirty Lil’ Angels

  Gisele Vs. Guitar Hero

  By Mona Cox

  Copyright 2017 by Naughty Angel Publishing

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.

  Join Mona’s Moaners and receive a bonus chapter from this book!

  Description

  He plays the guitar very well. Those fingers are very flexible. I know something else they could play with…

  Stone Slayer. Bad boy rockstar.

  Loose cannon with a hot body. Those eyes. That face. That body. That voice.

  I mean, he takes his shirt off on stage and millions of women watching all around the world drop their panties…

  So what happens when this rock god becomes the subject of my next interview?

  Do I handle myself in a professional manner and ask him those hard hitting questions that do justice to my journalism degree?

  Uhmm, that’s exactly what I do - in Imaginary Land!

  No, ten minutes with this rock & roll icon and he and I are making sweet, sweet music together.

  But what happens when the record stops? When the last track is played?

  Is he taking me platinum?

  Or am I just a one hit wonder? *** It's the cute single girl versus the Big Bad Guitar Hero in this installment from Mona Cox. Guaranteed to be sweet, sassy, and fun. No cheating or cliffhangers. Happy Ending? Always, babe ***

  Also by Mona Cox

  Alicia Vs. Billionaire

  Ashley Vs. Boss

  Natalie Vs. Prince

  Christine Vs. Professor

  Kim Vs. Stepbrother

  Lisa Vs. Outlaw

  Carla Vs. Cowboy

  Fiona Vs. Football Player

  Becca Vs. Biker

  To Lana

  Dirty Lil’ Angels

  Hi ladies!

  If you’re like me, once you finish, you’re not going to want the story to end!

  To receive exclusive sneak peeks, (before anyone else!), bonus content not seen anywhere else, giveaways, and tons more swag, visit me and my Naughty Angels on Facebook at Dirty Lil’ Angels.

  We’ll make it worth your while…

  :)

  Alexis

  1

  Gisele

  I sit back in my chair in Ashley’s office, trying to figure out why we’re watching a video of Stone Slayer. I mean, not that he isn’t totally hot—God, with no shirt on, I can’t help but drool over him, just like every other female in America—but seriously, shouldn’t Ashley be writing an article?

  Shouldn’t I be writing an article?

  We watch Stone dance around the stage, abs rippling, and finally, I break. “Okay, spill the beans. Why are we watching this?”

  “Have you not seen the news?” Ashley asks, tapping the spacebar on her keyboard to stop the YouTube video.

  “News? What news?”

  I’d certainly heard a lot about politicians and the national debt and the fact that we have an opioid crisis on our hands, but unless Stone Slayer is high on opioids, which really wouldn’t be surprising, actually, I can’t see how any of that would relate to his latest concert at the Barclay’s Arena.

  “Ohhhhh … just you wait,” she says with a gleeful smile. “You have to be the only person in all of New York City who hasn’t watched this video about seventeen times already this morning.”

  “Seventeen times?” I scoff. “He’s hot, sure, but unless he’s going to take his cock out and start waving it at the crowd, I just don’t see why people would be that obses—”

  Which is when, I shit you not, Stone pulls his cock out and starts waving it around.

  He

  did

  not!

  I stare in shock at the screen, my eyes taking in every detail. Holy fuck, he has a nice cock. I mean, I know I shouldn’t be staring, but c’mon, he’s literally waving it around for the whole world to see! It’s not like I forced him to do that.

  So, why not admire it while he has it out on display?

  Long—oh god, so long, a foot?—and fucking meaty. I don’t know who could even get that into their vagina. Are there vaginas that are that big? It seems … impossible.

  Right in the middle of a particularly sexy grind toward the camera, right when I feel my panties practically drown in a puddle of pussy juices, Stone gets dragged off the stage by men in jackets with “SECURITY” in gold letters emblazoned on the back, which is why Ashley hits the space bar again, freezing the frame just as Stone is facing right toward the camera, mouth open …

  And cock hanging out. Giant cock hanging out.

  I’m still staring, I’m not ashamed to admit.

  “So he’s your next interviewee,” Ashley says into the sudden silence.

  “What?!” I holler, whipping my head around so fast to stare at her, I’m sure I’ve given myself whiplash. If I have to submit a workman’s comp claim, I’m going to blame it all on Ashley.

  “You need to meet him over at the W hotel in…” Ashley checks h
er iPhone for the time, “thirty minutes. I figured I should give you enough time to get over there and write down some questions before the interview starts, although I imagine ‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ is going to be at the top of that list.”

  I stare at the computer, Stone’s face frozen into a yell, and then … I can’t help myself; my eyes flick down to his cock again.

  I think there are stallions with smaller cocks than he has. Not, mind you, that I’ve been spending a lot of time around stallions or anything, but shhhhiiitttttt…

  Ashley pats me on the shoulder, jostling me from my thoughts. “Okay, now you need to go to your desk and start writing questions out,” she finally says, when I don’t move.

  “Right. Of course.”

  I drag my eyes away from the frozen Stone on the screen, and hurry to my desk, whipping out a pad and pen. I do my best thinking with a pad of paper in front of me, as old school as that is. I start scribbling down questions as quickly as they come to me. Whatever this jackass thinks he has gotten away with, no matter what kind of a softball interview he thinks he’s going to get from a Blush reporter, he’s really going to regret this move when I’m done with him.

  My shock over seeing his cock is gone. I’m no longer hot and bothered and wondering what it’d be like to wrap my lips around that monstrous cock—okay, whom am I kidding? I’ll go to my deathbed with that image in my head—but no! I'm now pissed.

  I mean, my god, there were probably children in that audience. There are for sure children who have watched the video since it went viral. He may have enough money to buy his way out of legal trouble, but he doesn’t have enough money to buy his way into a softball interview. If he wants someone to play nice with him, he picked the wrong reporter to be interviewed by.

  Whatever caused his severe lack in judgment—whether it was alcohol or drugs—he's going to regret it when I'm done with him.

  2

  Stone

  I sit back on the couch of my hotel room at the W, and sip some morning coffee. Man, what a night. I hadn’t watched the tapes of the performance at Barclay’s yet, but just based on how my body feels, I'm pretty damn sure I must’ve knocked it out of the park.

  I hear a knock on the door. “Come in!” I call out, hoping it’s room service with my vegetarian omelet. I'm starving.

  I hear the key reader register in the door, and then the door opening.

  “Hey Stone,” Frances says, peering around the corner of the door at me.

  “Hi,” I say, cocking my head at her weird behavior. She’s normally bouncy and happy and cheerful. She’s certainly not normally hiding behind doors.

  “Have you seen the morning news yet?” she asks nervously, sidestepping into the room and closing the door behind her, shoving her thick glasses up her nose.

  “No. Why? What’s up?”

  I reach for the remote and she hollers, “It’s okay!” I freeze, my hand over the remote, and just stare at her. To say that this is unusual is … the understatement of the century.

  “I … uh … well, I have the video on my laptop. I don’t know why you did that, Stone, but we need to clean this up, and quick.” She pulls her laptop bag off her shoulder and begins riffling through it for her laptop.

  Oh fuck.

  Why I did what? I want to ask.

  But I can’t.

  So I just stare at her, waiting for her to produce the video, the evidence of whatever it was that I did this time, dread coiling in my stomach. For her to be acting like this, it can’t be good.

  I was on stage, at a concert. Surely I couldn’t have done anything too horrible, right?

  But if that were true, why is Frances acting like I murdered someone?

  With shaking hands, she finally gets the laptop set up, and then swivels the screen toward me.

  “Last night, Stone Slayer gave an … unusual concert performance,” the morning show host says with an awkward yet somehow gleeful smile. “I think our editing team has cleaned this up to the point that we can show a clip of it on our show. Let’s watch.”

  Cleaned it up? What the—

  There I am, dancing around on stage, doing all of the same moves I do every night and then …

  I unzip my pants and start waving my cock in the air like I just don’t care. Except, because this is a video being shown on a morning show, there’s this giant gray blob over the top of my cock.

  But I know what’s behind that gray blob. I know what I did, even if I can’t remember any of it.

  Oh lord almighty, I'm fucked.

  Thank god my assistant pauses the video when the bouncers start dragging me off stage, and I don’t have to watch myself make an ass out of myself any longer.

  “Sir, I’m not sure what you drank or took beforehand to make you do that, but we’re in a world of shit now.” She’s biting her lower lip and I know she’s right, but the thought is making me ill.

  I can’t let her know how much this is affecting me. I can’t let her know that it was news to me just as much as it was to the rest of the world that I did this.

  I plaster a smile onto my face, forcing it on there even if I want to rage against the world.

  “So what now?” I ask, flipping the laptop lid closed. I can’t stand looking at me anymore. The Gray Blob Cock being dragged off stage.

  “Well, we’ve been getting a lot of interview requests this morning—” I bet we have “—but the one I actually accepted was Blush.” At my confused look, she says, “It’s a women’s fashion magazine and they do some celebrity interviews, but they’re mostly known for lipstick and hemline advice articles. I can’t imagine you’d have any real reason to have read their magazine before.” I just stare at her, not even deigning to respond to that comment, and she takes that as encouragement to continue. “I think that they’d be the nicest to you, since they don’t normally do a lot of celebrity interviews, so they probably don’t know how to ask the really hard questions. Plus, this is a huge scoop for them, so they’re going to be on their best behavior in hopes that you’ll continue to grant them interviews.”

  If I still have a career a month from now…

  “Frances, you haven’t mentioned police yet. What’s going on with that? I imagine I could be arrested for public indecency.” I try not to let the panic overwhelm me at the thought. I certainly am no stranger to being arrested for doing stupid shit, although I used to actually have fun doing that stupid shit. Now, I just get to watch it played out on national TV.

  “Ted is on it,” she says with a shrug. “He thinks he’s going to be able to plead it down. I’ll keep you updated on that.”

  I nod my thanks. At $3,000 an hour, Ted damn well be able to get some sort of magic to happen. Maybe I can do community service. My eyes flick back down to Frances’ laptop, closed on the coffee table, like a coiled snake in the hot sun.

  A lot of community service.

  “But,” she checks the time on her phone, “you need to get ready to talk to Blush. The reporter should be here soon.” I set my coffee cup down on the table, about to push myself up to get ready when she stops me with a hand on my arm. “Stone, you have to fix this. Whatever you say, whatever you do, you need to make this better.”

  I nod again.

  Her advice is completely impossible, and completely true.

  In other words, I'm fucked.

  3

  Gisele

  I’m pacing in the lobby of the W, unable to sit and wait patiently in a chair like any normal reporter would. I’m jacked up on nerves; what will it be like to meet Stone in real life? What will it be like to actually interview him? What will my backbone say when it comes time to nail his ass to the wall? I mean, I know I should. I know he deserves it. But I have to admit that a small part of me is star struck.

  Or, more appropriately, awestruck. I have never, in all my 26 years, seen a cock like the one he’s apparently carrying around. It's massive. It's giant. It's … impressive. I’m a girl, okay? I can’t help but pay a
ttention when I find out that a rock star is packing something like that.

  Is this how he gets dates on a Saturday night? I bet if he whipped that bad boy out and started waving it around in any Manhattan bar, he’d get three phone numbers shoved into his hand before he could get it all the way out of his pants. Girls have backstabbed their best friends for less.

  But I can’t let that sidetrack me. I can’t let that soften what I’m going to say to him. I’m gonna grill him within an inch of his life. He’s going to feel like a charred steak by the time I’m done with him. I can’t let my guard down, not even for one sec—

  “Hi, you must be the reporter from Blush,” I hear behind me.

  I whirl around, my hand on my heart. He gave me a fucking heart attack! First whiplash, now a heart attack. If I live through today, it’s gonna be a goddamn miracle.

  “I’m Gisele Taylor,” I say, putting my hand out to shake his.

  Which, I’ll admit, the whole time, I’m staring into his intense blue eyes. God, they’re sexy. I feel like I could fall right into them. They’re deep and endless and they crinkle just a little in the corners when he smiles.

  And then, we touch. Have you ever touched an electrical outlet when your finger was wet? That shock that runs through your whole body? That’s what we felt when we touched each other.

  Or rather, that's what I felt when I touched him. I’m not sure if he felt the same way or not. I could be all alone in this feeling. Fuck, that’d be embarrassing if true. There's nothing like a little ol’ Blush reporter, drooling over an untouchable rock star.

  That thought reminds me of why I’m there, and what he’s done, and I pull my hand back a little too quickly, a little too obviously. I can’t let him know what I’m thinking. C’mon Gisele, grow up. He’s just a human being, like everyone else.