Suspended: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance

by Zoey Oliver

  So have I. And I can’t wait any longer.

  I lower my thick shaft to her entrance and push, ever so gently, and then with more force until the head of my cock slips inside her tight walls. Her legs tense, and she takes in a sharp gasp of air, looking at me, eyes wide as my girth penetrates her.

  I hold myself there and kiss her until her breath softens and I feel her thighs relax. “I’m going to go slow, as slow as you need.”

  She nods, and I inch in further, using all the restraint I can muster. I pause again, and she lifts her chin to me, mouth parted, and I flick my tongue along her lips and kiss her over and over as I thrust my hips gently, teasingly, entering her deeper little by little.

  Her hands slide down my back, and she arches, grabbing my ass and pulling me into her. “More,” she breathes.

  I rock my hips, working the full length of my cock into her, ignoring how badly I want to clench my ass and thrust, so ready to be completely inside of her, to be fully one with her. Instead, I watch her face carefully as I move deeper, ready to stop if she flinches even a little.

  But she doesn’t. She parts her mouth and tilts her head back, closing her eyes, and lets out a long, low moan. “God, yes.”

  I begin rocking my pelvis, sliding my thick shaft in and out of her tight pussy, my hand running across her body, caressing her stomach, playing with her breasts. I dip my head and take her nipples in my mouth one at a time, licking and sucking them as she begins to let out little moans over and over.

  The sound of her pleasure makes me throb inside of her, and I pick up speed. It is the most glorious feeling, to finally be with her the way I’ve wanted to for so long, and I want it to be amazing.

  I reach between us and press my fingers to her clit, stroking her in small circles. The muscles in her stomach clench, and she bucks her hips. “Yes, yes,” she whispers.

  I stroke her clit and pump my cock into her faster. She moves with me, rocking her hips, squeezing her legs against me.

  “Look at me, Abi,” I say, desperate to see her pretty green eyes.

  She peeks at me through heavy eyelids, her expression filled with lust. “Fuck me, harder,” she whispers.

  I don’t hesitate to comply with her wishes, driving my hips harder, our bodies slapping together with the most satisfying sounds as I pound her sweet pussy.

  “Ooohh, yesss,” she pants, bucking her hips and wiggling her ass.

  I’m trying to hold out, but she looks so fucking delicious underneath me, with her back arched like that, her nipples hardened into points, and she feels so damn good I can barely stand it.

  I thrust into her fast and hard, but I know I’m not going to last much longer.

  “I’m coming!” she whimpers, and her face twists into the most beautiful expression of ecstasy I’ve ever seen.

  Her legs shake, and she cries out, then her pussy clamps down on me as her whole body tenses into a powerful climax, and I know I’m done for.

  My balls tighten, and I gasp, coming harder than I ever have before. I lay against her, holding onto her tightly, shuddering at the intensity of my orgasm as it rocks through me.

  As soon as my breathing evens, I lift myself up so I can see her face and look into those emerald eyes. She has that beautiful post-orgasm glow I love to see her with, and my heart skips a beat as I look at her. My eyes get watery, and a lump forms in my throat as I lay with her. I’m so damn happy that I’m scared it’s just a dream.

  “I hope it was worth the wait,” I say, brushing my hand to her cheek.

  “Yes, so much,” she says, giving me a shy, gorgeous smile. “Was it good for you?”

  “Oh my God,” I shake my head and give her a wide grin. “It was amazing.”

  She bites her lip. “Really?”

  I wrap my arms around her tightly. “Really. So damn good that we’re going to do that again and again and again. I’m not letting you out of this bed until I can last longer than a few minutes with you — but goddamn woman, it might take a lot of practice, because you are so fucking hot, I can’t handle it. I’m pretty sure I’m going to need medical attention by the time we land in Africa.”

  She throws her head back with a laugh and swats at me. “You’re not just saying that?”

  “Absolutely not. I swear on the Crown—” I move my hand to between her legs and give her a dead-serious look, “—this is the second-best thing on earth.”

  She frowns and looks at me in surprise. “What’s the best thing?”

  “These lips,” I say, brushing my finger against them. “From the first moment I kissed these lips, I knew I loved you, Abigail Strathmore.”

  Copyright © 2017 by Jess Bentley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Rory vs. Rockstar was adapted from an existing work for which Jess Bentley owns rights.

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  Prologue

  "You think we have time for one more, girls?" Ashley asked, but her hand was already signaling the waiter who was heading over. "Besides, this waiter is fucking hot."

  "I mean, it's not like we have a plane to catch or anything," Lisa said, a smile on her lips. "We just got off the plane. All we're doing is sitting here drinking with no real place to go."

  “Please," Rory said nodding her head as the waiter put another Cosmopolitan in front of her. He was awfully quick bringing those Cosmo's out as soon as Ashley had ordered another round. Rory began to wonder whether they were in a pitcher in the back, already pre-made for the girls after the first round, just waiting till they were ordered.

  Awfully sneaky.

  "Please what, babe?" Alicia asked turning to her.

  Rory rolled her eyes. "Please, not everyone has nowhere to be," Rory said. "I mean, I still have a flight to catch in an hour."

  "Oh right," Alicia said, as if realizing for the first time that Rory had to go. "Why, again?" she asked.

  "Oh my God, because I live in Southern California?" Rory asked, with a faint touch of exasperation. "You know, like you did while we were growing up. And when we went to school at USC. You know, before you moved out here."

  Rory didn't realize if maybe she had come across a little bit too intensely and immediately felt bad for how she had sounded.

  "I mean, I just miss you so much sometimes," she quickly added before Alicia began to think she was being berated. "Why don't you ever think of coming back to California?"

  "Um, because New York City is totally the center of the freakin' world," Alicia said, as if explaining a matter-of-fact statement to child. "You need to come to the capital of the world, babe."

  "Ugh, I hate big cities," Rory said before taking a sip of her drink. "Give me an island next to the ocean any day of the week and I'm happy with whatever else."

  "Really?" Natalie asked her. "What about Manhattan? That's an island."

  “An island without three million people living on it," Rory replied with a smile.

  "What about if two million of them were hot guys?" Kim asked.

  Rory chuckled. She might not always get along with her friend Alicia, who she had grown up with and known all her life, but she couldn't deny that Alicia had some friends that definitely made life a blast.

  The girls had just returned from a Spring Break visit to Myrtle Beach. And while they had fun, Rory was beginning to miss the quiet environs of Montcove—the island community that she had spent summers for as long as she could remember, and where she now lived.

  Rory had grown up with her best friend Alicia Sullivan in LA, and Alicia had even visited Montcove a few times. The two had been practically inseparable as they had matured from little girls to young women. They’d shared everything with each other—their first crushes, the first time they kissed a boy. When Alicia had lost her virginit
y the two had stayed up all night talking about it. And when Rory had finally lost hers a week later, Alicia persuaded her to go to Tijuana together to celebrate.

  Now, Alicia was getting married to Derek Lowell, a client of hers from Carter Jeffries. She was living the fast paced New York City lifestyle and had wanted as part of her engagement celebrations to spend a week during Spring Break with her girlfriends. Rory didn't mind it. For a while at least it was even a pleasure to get distracted by all that Myrtle Beach had to offer.

  The hot guys walking along the beach were more than enough to eye candy to enjoy each morning as the girls nursed their hangovers on the beach, working on their tans.

  But now that week was over. Those days were gone and all she had left to prove they even went, was new bikini shaped tan lines.

  But that’s okay. Rory was looking forward to taking over the world with her T-shirt business. And she knew she’d see her friend at Alicia's wedding in 6 months.

  That's right. The wedding!

  "I'll be in New York City for your wedding," Rory said to Alicia, dreading the thought of actually leaving her island paradise and heading into Manhattan.

  "Yeah, but that's in the Hamptons so you won't actually be in New York City," Alicia replied back. "It's not the same thing."

  Well, thank God for small favors.

  "Attention passengers of United Airlines Flight 43 to Los Angeles," the overhead speaker called out. "Boarding will begin in twenty minutes."

  Right. They were going to call out the Elite Super Diamond Prestige Award Members first and then all the other variations of passenger, so Rory was pretty sure she'd be the last person to board the plane.

  "I gotta go, ladies," she said, however. "Gotta get that seat. If I board late, they may just throw me off the plane if they're overbooked."

  Natalie, Kim, Lisa, Carla, Brittney, Becca, Ashley, Christine, and Alicia all gave a variation of the eye roll. To go through all the reactions took at least a minute.

  The hugs took another ten minutes.

  Detaching herself from Alicia took another five.

  "Promise to come visit, okay?" Alicia said with glossy eyes as she hugged her best friend for the eighth time. "And I promise to come by soon too!"

  Promises made, Rory headed towards her gate. Her head spinning from the booze, she had no doubt she'd sit down and fall asleep once she boarded.

  And then...Southern California.

  Different from what Alicia lived in.

  But...there was something about how it felt.

  Something was going to happen.

  Her life felt as if it was about to change.

  She didn't know how.

  But Rory definitely felt excited.

  One moment it was sunny like an Indian summer on the island of Montcove, and the next moment it would turn into a monsoon. Thankfully bad weather didn’t linger for long and things were mostly peaceful. At least they were, till a few years ago when the peace was disturbed when Montcove suddenly became a celebrity vacation destination.

  It took just one celebrity marriage to kick Montcove’s status as an obscure vacation island into oblivion. Where the residents were used to a few thousand tourists a year, now they saw hordes of Hollywood celebrities renting villas and hotels and driving around in their fancy cars. With Hollywood stars came business opportunities, and much to the dismay of local residents, plenty of outsiders had bought up properties and set up shop to cash in on the buzz.

  The old German bakery was now a luxury rent-a-car, while the shabby Windwood Hotel had been turned into a luxury rehab. In the three years since the boom started, the residents had seen everything—A-list celebrities, the fanatic tourists who came for celeb spotting, and of course, the dreaded paparazzi.

  As good as that was for the economy of the island, many of the residents still found it a nuisance they could do nothing about. It was on one such summer night that the rain gods decided to come down over the island. The residents ran in to take cover, the celebrities rolled up the windows on their expensive sports cars, and the paparazzi rushed to save their expensive camera lenses.

  Chapter 1

  The wind hit Arsen in the face, determined to do some harm. Beads of sweat mixed with rainwater trickled down from his longish hair as he walked past the main door of the villa. Loud voices, clinking glasses, and smoke fumes trailed him, but he couldn’t care less.

  Enough’s enough.

  His vision was blurred, thanks to a healthy combination of too much vodka and sleepless nights. For a moment he thought about the cops, only to realize that he wasn’t in LA anymore.

  “Podunk town,” he muttered as he opened the door to his red Ferrari and thumped himself down on the driver’s seat. A barrage of swear words left his mouth, and Arsen cursed the day he had agreed to this arrangement.

  After a year full of scandals, freak incidents, and decadent overindulgence, he thought that this time away from LA would allow him to do what he did best—make music. Instead, he spent his time getting high, getting drunk, and dwelling in the misery of a songwriter’s block. The ideas had stopped coming, the words all but disappeared, and in the ten days that he and the band had been in Montcove, he had barely written a single verse.

  To everyone else, Arsen was in a temporary slump. For them, a triple Grammy-winner shouldn’t take long to churn out a whole bunch of new hit songs. Deep inside, however, he knew that this was no random writer’s block. Everything that had happened to him since his band, Insurrection, took off three years ago had been surreal, and it all led up to this point. Everything was at stake in this game, and only he held the dice.

  The arrogant wind grew fiercer as his red Ferrari sped down the hill to the town center, swaying harshly to the songs of Frank Sinatra, one of Arsen’s idols. He didn’t know where he was going or what he was going there for; he just wanted to be away from that Villa, from everyone inside it, and most of all, from himself. Or at least the rock star persona that he’d built up over time.

  Arsen grabbed a half-finished bottle of Jack Daniels that sat on the passenger seat and tried to keep his eyes on the road. The rain blurred his already diminished vision. His mind was sending him warning signals. He should’ve pulled off, parked by the side of the road, and asked Don to come pick him up instead. In the back of his mind, he was aware that he shouldn’t be driving at all. But he was desperate to get away from it all: the drugs, the booze, and the scantily-clad sexpots who routinely threw themselves at him.

  In all the extravagance, the band had forgotten why they got together in the first place—to make music. All that mattered to his bandmates now was partying, spending money, and utter decadence. Arsen pulled off the bottle cap with his teeth and took a big swig. He flinched as the liquor hit the back of his throat. A few days’ worth of booze rumbled inside his body, and he amused himself by wondering what his DUI reading would be if he were pulled over.

  He instinctively took a sharp right turn and barely missed a slow-driving SUV. Fuck. I hope that’s not the paparazzi, he thought. I gotta get away from this shit. A laugh escaped his lips as he thought about wrecking a paparazzi truck. Especially the truck that belonged to this one paparazzo that he was sick of.

  Agitation coupled with frustration was driving him to a point where he felt claustrophobic every time he was in the room with his bandmates. They refused to work hard—or work at all—and as always, he knew that as the lead guitarist and the main songwriter, the onus was once again upon him to come up with a full album’s worth of hit songs.

  The record label was pressuring him for new material, and their agent was burning up his ear with his own demands, but Arsen had struggled to come up with anything. His fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel as he thought of the countless deadlines.

  Neon lights from the billboards flashed by the corners of his eyes as he took another swig from the bottle. Fuck. His throat burned and he realized that he hadn’t eaten anything all day or maybe for the last couple of days
. Who could remember? Time and hunger ceased to matter when you were high all the time.

  “And now, the end is near, and so I face the final curtain.” Singing along with Sinatra, his voice automatically found the harmony after years of handling backup vocal duties.

  I should find a hotel. Sign in under an anonymous name and spend a few days by myself. The plan seemed sound to him. Maybe that will finally help me get my groove back. Or maybe I should just check myself into a rehab.

  Arsen had thought about that a few times, but then rejected the idea as it would’ve simply created a huge stir in the media and spread panic among the record company executives. As it was, the members of Insurrection had enough public scandals going on at any given time.

  Lights flashed into his eyes from a car across the road and he squinted, barely able to see where he was heading. One last sip remained in the bottle and Arsen grabbed it tightly with an intention to finish it in one go.

  As he lifted the bottle to his mouth, he saw something zip across the street, maybe a dog or a cat, about twenty yards away from where he was. Arsen brought down his foot heavily on the brakes, and the whiskey bottle went flying from his hand as he hurriedly turned the steering wheel.

  The wheels of the car lost traction and Arsen felt was if he were driving on ice. The car veered sharply, there was a big bang, and Arsen felt a sudden impact on his face. Then it all went blank as Arsen Ford, the greatest guitar player of his generation, passed into blackness.

  “I’ve lived a life that's full. I've traveled each and every highway,” Sinatra sang to the empty, dark street.

  Chapter 2

  A little over fifteen hours before…

  Half her mind was still lost in last night’s hazy dream. The other half was struggling to make sense of the rapidly spoken words that was the voice on the other end of the phone. The dream had been fantastic, though she struggled to remember the details. But she knew how it felt. Happy. The voice yapping away on the phone, her mother’s in this case, was anything but.