One Kiss With a Rock Star
Page 22
The formerly gorgeous lobby was a pit. The label was going to bill them a fortune for this shit. And piss their pants with excitement. Half-Life Bad Boys Trash Hotel, Orgy in Chicago Hilton. Those headlines sold concert tickets. Sex, drugs and rock and roll, baby.
As long as he wasn’t doing it. As long as it didn’t go too far. They wanted the illusion of debauchery. The other guys could hold it together. For now. All Lock did was fall apart.
He followed the sound of dry heaves, and there was Moe. Cradled in the arms of some blonde who was rubbing his back. Was she humming a fucking lullaby?
“You’re not a redhead.” She wasn’t. She wasn’t a groupie either. Groupies did not wear cardigans to hotel parties. Smoky shadow rimmed her eyes, but she still somehow looked like a Sunday school teacher sitting right in the middle of hell.
“Not the last time I checked.” She shrugged and kept rubbing Moe’s back. Definitely not a groupie. A groupie would’ve recognized him and dumped Moe like last week’s trash. Unless she had a thing for drummers. It happened. That’s all they were—fetishes that could be tried and discarded before the girls returned to the nice guys back home.
He gave her a lazy perusal. “What are you doing here?”
“I was—I was hoping to meet L-Lock. Do you know where I could find him?” Her pink lips quirked into a wide smile. False bravado. He knew that when he saw it too.
This might be entertaining. He pushed up the sleeve of his shirt, exposing his most photographed tattoo, a serpent coiled around an anatomical heart. She couldn’t miss it. “You a big fan?”
“Oh, yeah. Really big fan.”
She was lying. And sober. Who sat in the middle of this mess sober? She could be some weird star fucker, looking to hook up with anyone famous just to say she did. That can be arranged. Though she wouldn’t be telling anyone, not after she signed his agreement. Not without paying a hefty penalty and having her name raked through the tabloids.
He forced a wide yawn, flashing his trademark tongue stud. No recognition. Maybe she didn’t worship at his alter; she just worshipped celebrity. Worship. She looked like her kind of worship involved hymnals and psalms.
A flash of her on her knees—not in prayer—made him waver. This might be more than entertaining; it might be fun. It had been a long time since he’d had fun.
“I can take you to him. If you’re not too busy.” He waved his hand at Moe, his lucky guitar pick all but forgotten.
“Help me with him?” She tried to force Moe from her lap, but he was 200 pounds of uncooperative asshole. Lock grabbed his drummer by the shoulders and lifted his upper body away from…the church mouse. She was probably a Penelope or a Polly. Pure.
“What’s your name?”
“Hailey. Thanks. I wasn’t expecting to find everyone crashed already. Do you always party until you puke by seven p.m.?” She pulled something out of her purse. A wet nap? And turned around to bend over Moe.
Without a lump of drummer covering half her body, he was shocked to find black fishnets covering her legs. And a short denim skirt barely covering her ass. None of it suited her.
A costume.
“Didn’t you hear, fan girl? The new single went platinum today. They started celebrating at noon. Anyone can party at midnight, it takes a real rock star to get it done in the daylight. Besides, this is half-time. They’ll rally for another round.”
“Oh,” she said faintly. Then she wiped Moe’s mouth and rolled him onto his side. Who was this chick?
He held out his hand, intrigued. Would she break character first or would he? “Follow me, Hailey. Let me lead you down into the belly of the beast.”
And then he knew, without a doubt, she wasn’t a groupie. That lyric. A real groupie would’ve come on the spot, right in her fucking panties. He couldn’t count how many times random fan girls begged him, Say it say it say it. He never did. Why the hell had he said it now?
Want to read more? Three Nights with a Rock Star is available now.
Want a backstage pass?
Visit halflifebooks.com for band extras and behind-the-scenes access to Lock, Krist and Moe from Half-Life.
Playlist
1. Send the Pain Below by Chevelle
2. Break the Rules by Charli XCX
3. Flaws by Bastille
4. Boys Wanna Be Her by Peaches
5. Tainted Love by Claire Guerreso
6. Gods & Monsters by Lana Del Rey
7. Wild Ones by Flo Rida
8. Addicted by Saving Abel
9. Sex and Candy by Maroon 5
10. Chandelier by Sia
11. Because the Night by Cascada
12. Lonely Boy by The Black Keys
13. Everytime by Britney Spears
14. Still Frame by Trapt
15. Ain’t No Sunshine by Coeur De Pirate
16. One Thing by Finger Eleven
17. Black Bird by Evan Rachel Wood
18. Something to Talk About by Bonnie Raitt
Also by Amber Lin
Giving It Up
Allie prowls the club for a man who will use her hard and then ditch her. Hey, it’s not rape if she wants it. Instead she finds Colin, who looks tough but treats her tenderly, despite her protests.
He tempts her, but kindness and a few mindblowing orgasms aren’t enough to put her back together again. Two years ago her best friend betrayed her in the worst possible way; she’d be stupid to trust a man again. Especially one like Colin, whose criminal past threatens them both.
When her rapist returns, Allie must fight for the man she loves—and her life—hoping her newfound power will be enough to save them all.
Excerpt from Giving It Up
I set down the cup on the cracked countertop and stood to kiss him. I started off light, teasing, hoping to inflame him. This was all calculated, a game of risk and power.
He kissed me back softly, gently, like he didn’t know we’d started playing. He held his body still, but his mouth roamed over mine, skimming and tasting.
It wasn’t a magical kiss. Angels didn’t sing, and nothing caught fire. But he wasn’t too rough or too wet or too anything, and for me it was perfection.
I rubbed against him, undulating to a rhythm born of practice. His hands came up, one to cup my face, the other around my body.
I sighed.
He walked me backward, and we made out against the round fake-wood table, his hands running over my sides, my back. Avoiding the good parts like we were two horny teenagers in our parents’ basements, new to this. I shuddered at the thought. This was all wrong. His hands were too light. I was half under him already, my hips cradling his, so I surged up and nipped at his lip. Predictably his body jerked, and he thrust his hips down onto me.
Yes. That’s what I need. I softened my body, surrendering to him.
“Bed,” he murmured against my lips.
We stripped at the same time, both eager. I wanted to see his body, to witness what he offered me, but it was dark in the room. Then he kissed me back onto the bed, and there was no more time to wonder. The cheap bedspread was rough and cool against my skin. His hands stroked over my breasts and then played gently with my nipples.
My body responded, turning liquid, but something was wrong.
I’d had this problem before. Not everyone wanted to play rough, but I was surprised that I’d misread him. His muscles were hard, the pads of his fingers were calloused. I didn’t know how he could touch me so softly. Everything about him screamed that he could hurt me, so why didn’t he?
I wanted him to have his nasty way with me, but every sweet caress destroyed the illusion. My fantasy was to let him do whatever he wanted with me, but not this.
“Harder,” I said. “I need it harder.”
Instead his hands gentled. The one that had been holding my breast traced the curve around and under.
I groaned in frustration. “What’s wrong?”
He reached down, still breathing heavily, and pressed a finger lightly to
my cunt, then stroked upward through the moisture. I gasped, rocking my hips to follow his finger.
“You like this,” he said.
Yes, I liked it. I was undeniably aroused but too aware. I needed the emptiness of being taken. “I like it better rough.”
Colin frowned. My eyes widened at the ferocity of his expression.
In one smooth motion he flipped me onto my stomach. I lost my breath from the surprise and impact. His left hand slid under my body between my legs and cupped me. His right hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head back. His erection throbbed beside my ass in promise. I wanted to beg him to fuck me, but all I could do was gasp. He didn’t need to be told, though, and ground against me, using my hair as a handle.
That small pain on my scalp was perfection, sharp and sweet. Numbness spread through me, as did relief.
The pain dimmed. My arousal did too, but that was okay. I was only vaguely aware of him continuing to work my body from behind.
I went somewhere else in my mind. I’d stay that way all night.
At least that’s what usually happened.
Want to read more? Giving It Up is available now.
Also by Shari Slade
The Opposite of Nothing
Callie Evans would rather hide out in her DJ sound booth than face the fact that she’s in love with her best friend, notorious campus hottie Tayber King.
Tayber turns hooking up into an art form–no drama, no commitment, no lies, and nobody gets hurt. Nobody but Callie, that is. When she sees an opportunity to explore his sexier side using a fake online profile, she grabs it. Now her uninhibited alter-ego ‘Sasha’ is steaming up the screen, and Callie is breaking all of Tayber’s rules.
As Callie and Tayber get closer, online and off, she knows she has to confess. And risk losing him forever.
Excerpt from The Opposite of Nothing
She changed into a tank top and threadbare shorts before slipping into her desk chair. I’ll just check my school email, ten minutes tops. She was lying to herself, bargaining with the devil. I will not open his profile. I will not send him a message. Making that fake profile for herself last month had seemed like such a good idea at two o’clock in the morning, after a few beers with Jessa and a few agonizing hours of watching Tayber hook up with some random girl at The Brick. She just wanted to know what she was missing. In graphic detail. Sasha let her find out. Except it had only made her wanting worse, and it was such a wrong thing to do. So she’d stopped. At least a dozen times.
But nothing stopped him from messaging her. There it was, blinking away. She should ignore it. Delete, delete, delete. It wasn’t even for her. Not really. It was for Sasha. And she’d sworn she’d never be Sasha again.
Tay: Hey
How could three tiny letters be so suggestive? She could hear him in her head. He’d say it kind of soft, but forceful, like the whole universe of his carnal experience could be contained in one word. She pictured him hunched over his laptop, shaggy hair eclipsing his face, shirtless, bare feet hanging off the end of his extra-long bed.
She had to answer. She wanted him any way she could have him.
Sasha: Hey yourself.
Tay: Why am I always happy to see you?
Sasha: Because I’m awesome like that?
Tay: You are. I’m looking at your picture right now. So beautiful.
Not me. She’d sent him a picture of her cousin, on spring break in Cabo three years ago, filling out her bikini and pulling a duck face for the camera.
Sasha: Not really
Tay: Inside and out
Sasha: Laying it on thick tonight?
Tay: I can’t stop thinking about you.
It was torture. The ninth level of Hell. Everything she’d ever wanted him to say was there on the screen, except it wasn’t really for her.
Tay: I wish I could touch you.
And she was burning, flaming. If he were saying these things in person, she’d disintegrate. She tugged on her tank top, pulling the thin cotton away from her itchy skin.
Tay: Is that okay?
She was practically molting, slipping right out of her skin on the spot. This disastrous attraction might kill her. She squeezed her thighs together and shifted in her seat.
Sasha: I want to touch you too.
Tay: Skype?
Sasha: Can’t, still no webcam.
Shit. This was going to be the end of it, again. Who didn’t have a webcam? She held her breath, waiting for the little indicator to flash that he was answering. A full minute. He was probably frustrated, pulling that mop of hair out of his face now, tugging it into a tiny ponytail. A minute and a half. He’d lost interest. Any second now his light would go out.
Tay: Too bad
She exhaled, a rush of relief that left her giddy.
Sasha: Sorry
Tay: Don’t you want to see me?
Sasha: More than anything
Tay: I want to see my hands on you.
Was he touching himself now? She traced a figure eight over the soft skin below her navel, chasing the flutter building there. She’d never be able to tell him the truth, and this was never going to be enough.
Sasha: You’re touching me now
Tay: Where?
Sasha: My belly
Tay: Lower. I’m touching you lower. I’ve got my fingers between your legs and you’re so wet for me.
Want to read more? The Opposite of Nothing is available now.
Other books by Amber Lin
How to Say Goodbye
Chance of Rain
The Bandmates Series
Three Nights with a Rock Star
One Kiss with a Rock Star
Second Chance with a Rock Star
The Lost Girls Series
Giving It Up
Selling Out
Tempting Fate
Historical Romance
Letters at Christmas
Falling for the Pirate
Betraying Mercy
Other books by Shari Slade
Copeland College Series
The Opposite of Nothing
Finding Always
The Bandmates Series
Three Nights with a Rock Star
One Kiss with a Rock Star
Second Chance with a Rock Star
Anthologies
Summer Rain
About the Authors
Amber Lin writes edgy romance with damaged hearts, redemptive love, and a steamy ever after. Her debut novel, Giving It Up, received The Romance Review’s Top Pick, Night Owl Top Pick, and 5 Blue Ribbons from Romance Junkies. RT Book Reviews gave it 4.5 stars, calling it “truly extraordinary.” Since then, she has gone on to write erotic, contemporary, and historical romances.
To stay up to date with upcoming releases, sign up for her newsletter.
Shari Slade is a snarky optimist. A would-be academic with big dreams and very little means. When she isn’t toiling away in the non-profit sector, she’s writing gritty stories about identity and people who make terrible choices in the name of love (or lust). Somehow, it all works out in the end. If she had a patronus it would be a platypus.
Sign up for her newsletter to stay up-to-date on all the latest releases, happenings, and events.
Acknowledgements
A huge thank you to Sahara Hoshi, Elisabeth Lane, Zoe York, Lea Shafer, Carolyn Crane, and Dayna Hart for your help in making this book shine.
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except for use in a review, the reproduction or use of this work in any part is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.
One Kiss with a Rock Star © 2014 by Amber Lin and Shari Slade
Cover design by Book Beautiful
ISBN: 9781940518190
Kindle Edition
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