BANGED: Rock Stars, Bad Boys & Dirty Deeds

by Lexxie Couper

  We all looked at each other as we processed what he’d said, a hundred emotions flickering across our faces. Finally, I laughed. “Well, I vote yes.”

  “The lady has spoken,” Jared said. “I vote yes, too.”

  “Yes!” Kyle said. “Hell yes!”

  Hector slapped Dan on the back. “C’mon, was there any doubt we’d say yes?”

  * * *

  We went out and celebrated, just the four of us. After the live show, we’d gone out with Dan and his husband, plus our families and friends, but tonight’s dinner was only for the band. We laughed about everything we’d been through, we ate off each other’s plates, and the guys teased me and Jared about our relationship. Jared held my hand the entire time, not caring who saw us together, like he was afraid I might run away if he let go. But he was done pretending, and I was done running.

  I don’t know how we made it back to my hotel room without burning the entire building down. We were kissing and pulling at each other’s clothes as soon as we got off the elevator, stumbling to my door and fumbling for the key to open it.

  When the door shut, I tugged off his shirt and slid my hands along his chest, down his arms, kissing the VILLAIN tattoo and the dark and light triangles on his forearms. One day I’d ask him what all of his other tattoos meant, but later. We had time.

  He let me explore him, like he sensed I needed to touch every inch of his body and mark him as my own. I removed his pants to worship his calves, his thighs, his hips, teasing my tongue along the dark hair trailing down his stomach, lower and lower. I tasted his entire body, kissing and licking and learning what drove him crazy, branding him with my mouth.

  When he couldn’t take it anymore, he spun me around and unzipped my dress, removing the last of my clothes. He trailed kisses across my shoulders and down my back, all the way to the curve of my butt and then up again. He wrapped his arms around me from behind so we stood naked together, skin to skin, him hard and ready against me. In the mirror, I watched as his mouth caressed my neck and his hands cupped my breasts, and for the first time, I agreed with the fans: Jared and I were perfect for each other.

  He pulled me onto the bed and kissed me until I was begging him for more. We broke apart for him to put on a condom, and then he was on top of me again, between my legs. He held my face and stared into my eyes.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you, too,” I gasped and clung to him as he stretched me, filled me, completed me.

  For a minute, he rested his forehead against mine and held me, one body now instead of two. We moved together, slowly at first, savoring the feel of each other, but then picked up speed. I lifted my hips to meet his thrusts, digging my nails into his back. He ran his talented fingers down to that spot that drove me wild, playing my body like he played his guitar, and I swore I heard music.

  I rolled us over so I was on top, and he grinned up at me. I grabbed his wrists to pull them above his head and ran my tongue along the lines of music tattooed around his arms. God, I loved his arms, whether they were holding a guitar or wrapped around me, and seeing them above his head like this, seeing him give himself over to me completely, made me even more excited.

  I rolled my hips, sliding him in and out of me, the crescendo building as skin glided against skin. Our fingers entwined as we moved faster, the friction of our bodies lifting us higher, like an orchestra harmonizing and swelling just before the climax. He buried his face in my neck, his fingers tightening around mine.

  “Maddie,” he moaned, and I knew he was close, too, and that sent me over the edge. I gasped his name against his skin, rocking against him, tightening around him, dragging us both into bliss.

  I released him, and he wrapped me in his arms and held me close. We lay together, breathing heavily and slicked with sweat, but complete. Whole.

  “Not okay?” he asked with his real smile I’d come to know so well.

  “Not okay,” I agreed, tracing a finger along his lips. “I’m much better than okay.”

  Even though the show was over, this was only the beginning for us. I didn't know what would happen with the band, but I knew we’d get through it. Because what we had together was more than music. It was love.

  MORE FROM ELIZABETH BRIGGS

  Thanks for reading More Than Music! I hope you enjoyed it!

  Want to read two scenes from Jared's point of view? Or a deleted scene with Maddie and her friends?

  Leave a review of Banged or More Than Music on any ebook retailer and email the link to ebriggsreviews@gmail.com. Elizabeth Briggs will personally send you the bonus scenes!

  Want to see how Kyle and Alexis got back together? Or what Jared was like before meeting Maddie?

  For a limited time only, sign up for Elizabeth's reader list to get a FREE copy of the prequel novella More Than Exes! Click here to get it: www.elizabethbriggsbooks.com

  Website | Facebook | Mailing List | Fan Group

  OTHER BOOKS BY ELIZABETH BRIGGS

  Contemporary Romance

  The Chasing The Dream Series

  #0.5 More Than Exes

  #1 More Than Music

  #2 More Than Comics

  #3 More Than Fashion

  #4 More Than Once

  #5 More Than Distance

  Young Adult Science Fiction

  Future Shock

  ABOUT ELIZABETH BRIGGS

  Elizabeth Briggs is a full-time geek who writes books for teens and adults. She graduated from UCLA with a degree in Sociology, currently mentors teens in writing, and volunteers with a dog rescue group. Elizabeth lives in Los Angeles with her husband and a pack of fluffy dogs.

  Resistor

  (A Black Halo novella)

  by

  Madelynne Ellis

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  RESISTOR featuring BLACK HALO ~

  Sex is the last thing on his mind, or he wishes it was…

  Spook Mortensen has one rule when it comes to relationships: just say no. He has his reasons. Good reasons. His policy of total abstinence has kept him out of trouble for years. Sex ought to be the last thing on his mind, but whenever go-getting sound engineer Allegra Hutton shows up, she doesn’t just hijack his libido, she downright screws with hit. The only way to deal with her is to tie her up.

  Alle realises she’s upsetting Spook’s rhythm, but she’s under no illusion that he’s the right top to warm her bottom.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This is only the start of Spook’s story. It gets worse from here on in.

  Other Black Halo titles:

  Come Undone

  All Night Long

  Remastered

  Come Together

  All Fired Up

  ONE

  Allegra Hutton stared at her image in the backstage mirror and almost wailed at her reflection. Her crazy red hair was already working its way free of its binding, so that bright frizzy copper strands stuck up at alarming angles, competing with her fascinator for attention. Her cheeks were flushed, and the same blush was making her décolletage look blotchy. Why had she agreed to do this? Where in her job description did it mention addressing monstrously large crowds full of industry insiders and A-listers? She wasn’t even a somebody within the music industry. No one spoke her name in awe, or got stars in their eyes at the prospect of meeting her. Nor was she witty enough to deliver a decent speech. She was, however, a pushy idiot who hadn’t learned when to step back.

  For the most part, her eagerness to succeed and willingness to fight her corner had served her well in her chosen career as a sound engineer. Instead of being stuck digitizing old classics and mixing bippity-boppity pop aimed at seven year olds, she’d got to work with an assortment of up and coming rock bands over the last few months. Too bad she hadn’t concentrated on that and not fought for this particular assignment too. She hated being overlooked, but the only thing she was going to achieve tonight was making the most enormous fool of herself in front of a crowd of her peers and an enti
re bank of photographers.

  Cameras — her brow creased into a severe frown — she never liked photographs of herself. She always looked too ungainly and big… and well… big.

  They’re not interested in photographing you.

  No — the press were here for the stars, not the industry worker-bees. Stars like Spook Mortensen…

  And there it was; the real reason why her stomach was in knots and she was trembling so hard she’d already sloshed water down her front. He’d see her. She’d walk out there, and Spook would be in the crowd; him and the rest of his band, Black Halo. God help her, they were even nominated in the category she was announcing. What would she do if they came on stage and she had to shake hands and congratulate them?

  Allegra plucked the fascinator from her hair, and released the knot she’d spent hours constructing, letting the glossy ringlets spill over her shoulders.

  Be brave, is what she’d do. If she opened the envelope, and the card said Black Halo, then she’d congratulate them, deliver some air kisses and look professional.

  Simple.

  She would not melt all over them, or say anything stupid or inappropriate. And she definitely, definitely wouldn’t challenge Spook over why, after they’d had such a good time together, he hadn’t called her. Because honestly, why had she even allowed herself to imagine he would? Just because she’d tempted him once, didn’t mean she’d shot to the top of his dating list. It wasn’t as if he’d been desperate to dive into bed with her. Sure, stuff had happened, but most of that had been down to her insistence.

  She’d pushed him too far. He’d warned her. He’d told her he couldn’t give her what she wanted. But she’d been absolutely certain that he could, so she’d kept on asking until he’d delivered.

  Was it really any wonder he hadn’t called?

  It might have seemed their chemistry was off the charts on her end, but Spook had countless women willing to serve his every need. Why would he choose the pushy one, the one who refused to listen or take no for an answer? He wouldn’t, quite simply, and he hadn’t. Like every other man in her life, he’d been scared off by her inability to rein herself in. Fact was; she’d always been more Amazon than nymph, curvy, rather than waif-like, and far too eager to prove she was every bit as good as her overachieving brothers.

  “Ms. Hutton, are you ready?” The backstage hand enquired, letting her know with a wave that this was her cue. “Just follow the steps down, then straight across the boards to the podium in the centre. The winners will come onto the stage from the right.”

  “OK, thank you.”

  She took a deep breath, levelled her shoulders, and then clutching the golden envelope that contained the winners name, walked out to face the audience.

  TWO

  Spook’s heart damn near stopped when he saw her walk out onto the stage. The black shimmery dress clung to her hourglass figure and fanned out behind her ankles forming a short train. Her hair — bright, burnished copper — shone against the deep midnight hue of the fabric. She looked radiant up there. Perfect. Too perfect, exactly as she’d been when she’d lain stretched across his knee, her bare bottom raised eager for the heat of his palm.

  Oh, fuck! If he’d known she’d be here, he wouldn’t have come. He’d have made his excuses, perhaps insisted that he needed to stay in Sweden with Ash. Their lead guitarist hadn’t been quite right since he’d collapsed on stage during their last live performance.

  But he was here, and God help him, so was she. The one woman he couldn’t let himself be near, unless he wanted to risk his goddamned sanity. Allegra Hutton did things to him that no other woman had done in over seven years.

  He’d walked away. He’d deliberately walked away from her. Yet here she was, right in front of him as if destiny was laying down the law, telling him he couldn’t dream of her and simultaneously stay his distance.

  And, oh, he’d dreamed of her all right. She’d haunted his thoughts ever since that day in April. She was the only person he couldn’t block out. There was just something about her. Something that obliterated every fucking shield he had in place. Shields he’d spent years perfecting. They’d been impervious until she’d torched them all with her smile.

  Unblinking, Spook watched her stand at the podium, and wondered if his imagination had finally got the better of him, given how often she’d been on his mind of late, tormenting him with her absolute willingness to submit.

  The memory of that moment — watching the plump, peaches and cream skin of her arse turn pink — never failed to heat his veins.

  He liked inflicting pain.

  And Allegra Hutton, as much as she’d squirmed, had loved having him dish it out.

  She’d been so damn sure of what she wanted, so insistent and so eager for what he could give.

  They ought to have been a match made in heaven.

  The reality looked more like a one way trip into his personal hell. There were reasons he’d cut himself off from pursuing physical relationships. Good, sound, solid reasons.

  She shouldn’t have been able to make him feel like this — excited by her presence, tingling with the need to warm her arse. Shit! He mentally chastised himself when he found himself checking that he was wearing a belt.

  It didn’t matter one way or the other because they were never going to pursue that avenue together. He was not going to bind her with it, or trail the pointed tip against the curve of her spine, or snap the end against her perfectly rounded rear.

  Thwack! The image of it ignited desire in his cells.

  “Spook! Spook…” Xane punched him in the shoulder. “With me,” he laughed, cat’s eye contact lenses glowing in the dark. “We’re up.”

  “What?”

  It was obvious enough to work out, when everyone around him was clapping, Xane was bounding his way onto the stage, and their most recent hit was blaring from every speaker in the place.

  Spook followed at a more sedate pace, taking the time to accept congratulations from folks he passed on the way up to the stage. Honestly, he didn’t want to go up there, but as he and Xane were the only two members of the band in attendance, there didn’t seem to be a whole lot of choice. At least he wouldn’t have to say anything. Xane was always happy to hog the mic.

  He would however have to face her — Alle. And touch her.

  At minimum, a handshake was in order.

  “Fuck!” He complained under his breath as he watched Xane press a smacker to her lips. That was just out of order. It was not allowed. And worse still, there was now a palpable air of expectation. However, that didn’t mean he had to follow suit and kiss her, even if she was bent forward expectantly.

  Xane was already speaking to the crowd as Spook held out his hand to thank Alle for the award. Sparks zapped through his synapses at the contact. They raced up his arm and straight into his heart.

  Fuck!

  He sucked down a breath, just to remind his lungs how to inflate.

  Alle tugged. She took the damned initiative.

  Treble Fuck!

  Her lips were soft and giving, but he refused to linger. He wished he could believe in some sort of forever with her, but to give it a chance required sacrifices he was too afraid to make. To let her close, he’d have to tear down the walls he’d built, trash the safety net he’d so carefully constructed. And then what? There was no guarantee of a happily ever after, so why even contemplate the possibility?

  Why risk everything? Better, safer, that he kept his urges and desires locked up. Giving in to them had only ever got him into trouble. The sort of shit you didn’t so much wallow in, as struggle not to drown. He’d been drowning when he’d met Xane. Black Halo — Xane — had saved him, which is why he did his damnedest to keep them both intact.

  “I thought you’d call,” she said as they broke apart.

  Spook didn’t respond. He turned to the audience, took the trophy from Xane, held it aloft and said “Thank you” into the microphone, all too conscious of Alle’s presence behi
nd him.

  He should have called. At minimum, he ought to have told her that it’d been fun, but he wasn’t up for a repeat. He hadn’t done it of course, because that was an outrageous lie. And he didn’t lie.

  “You OK?” Xane asked as they exited the stage. “You seem a bit rattled.”

  “I’m fine.” He wasn’t about to admit that he was relieved they were leaving the stage, because that would involve admitting why. Instead, he shoved his hand into his jacket pocket. Relief flooded through his tensed limbs as his fingers closed around the lucky guitar pick he had stowed there. Ever since his prized Washburn had temporarily gone missing in Amsterdam, he’d felt ill at ease without the security of the instrument’s weight upon his shoulders. The pick didn’t bestow the same level of comfort, but it was less conspicuous.

  Carrying his guitar along to an awards ceremony, at which he wasn’t scheduled to play, would have drawn too much attention, and attention wasn’t something he cared to invite. He and the other guys from Black Halo underwent dissection by the media on a regular basis already, and now, with yet another award to their names, they were no doubt set for increasing public scrutiny. It rather made him wish they’d all stayed back on Lake Vänern, chilling, healing and pretending the world outside didn’t exist.

  “Another one for the tour bus dashboard, eh?” Xane nudged him as they headed into the stage wings, where they both paused to stare at the silver statuette, this one a stylized figured holding a microphone. “Reckon Cave Troll will like her?”

  “’Spect so.” Troels, their driver had most of the band’s trophies superglued to the tour bus dashboard, much to their PR manager’s disgust. “What do you think she’s doing?”