Taming His Rockstar
Samantha Morgan
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Also by Samantha Morgan
About the Author
Copyright
Taming His Rockstar © 2019 Samantha Morgan
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher .
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Cover Design by: Marissa at Cover Me Darling
Editing by: Candice Royer
Formatting by: Clara at
Dedication
To all of the amazing women I’ve met and those I haven’t who battle with the dark days. This is for you. No matter what has shaken your world, you’re strong and you’re all rock stars!
Chapter 1
There is something electrifying about standing in front of several thousand people, all of them looking up at me as if I hold an answer they so desperately want. One of my legs resting on the speaker that moments ago blasted my voice out to the arena but now stays silent as I hold the mic without speaking. My guitar hangs on my back, and I can almost imagine myself in magazines the next day. A long time ago, I would’ve worried about if I was striking the right tone between smug and confident, would’ve hoped my cocky pose was sexy and not awkward, and would’ve prayed I didn’t fumble or take a dive over the side of the stage. Now, I’m way past all of that. I know what they see without having to look at the screens on either side of me. The smug grin. Smoky eyes that scream sex and power. The cocky tilt of my head that proclaims to the world I don’t give a fuck. If rock and roll is a religion, then I’m its goddess, and the people gathered before me are my humble devotees. I know that sounds like I’m bragging, and it would be if those were my words. They are not. And the screams of the thousands of fans that come to catch the final act of my tour is a testament to that fact.
“KD! KD! KD! KD! KD! KD! KD!” they shout, the screams of it reverberating all around the arena. There is no music more compelling than hearing that outpouring of love, and I bask in it. Breathe it in like it’s a drug I’m dying for, and in some ways, maybe it is. They scream so loud it’s a wonder they don’t go deaf from the noise they make. They jump up and down, some of them even crying as they lift their hands. And I bask in it, milking the moment of every inch of dramatic effect I can get from it. Everything I know about showmanship I learned on the job, on stages like this, only smaller, with a lot less people. From seedy cafés and bars where I had to carry my instruments myself, to the small halls I managed to fill after signing my first record deal, and now to the world stages where tickets for my shows sold out hours after they went on sale. I learned when to whisper, when to scream, and when to wait and watch like I’m doing now. I work the crowd every second until I just stand, the energy ramped up in the stadium to unbelievable proportions. The crowd went from thunderous applause and screaming to a deadly quiet that was no less potent in the energy it dispensed. And I bask in it, feed on that energy until it fills me, amps me even higher. This is not just music. It ‘s art. It’s life. It’s my fucking soul. And when I know they are ready for it, I give it back to them. I grab the mic, caressing it like I would a lover, and lean in toward it as I launch into the intro for my latest hit.
Tell me what happened to us
Why you had to go in and give in to the lovers’ curse
Tell me why you still shed those tears
When it was you who tore what we had to shreds
If it’s as painful for you as it is for me
Then you’ll understand why I need you to let me be . . .
Back when I first started, I was told my voice wasn’t a good fit for a female rock chick. Not that any of that matters now. A critic once described my voice as sultry with a hint of whiskey and sex.
“To hear her talk, you’d tell yourself it would never work. Then you hear her sing, and it doesn’t matter what she is saying; you just want to drop to your knees and say, ‘Yes, Mistress.’”
But today, I sang of broken hearts and lost dreams. Only my voice filling the stadium as I told a story of a girl who learned to live with a broken heart. As with most of my songs, these were not just words, but my reality spoken to the tune of a guitar string. My voice rang with the emotions I always keep for my music, hitting every note perfectly and doing what it was meant to do. Move the crowd. They swayed. They shed tears, and when the lead guitar joined me as I sang the chorus, they all sang with me, every single one of them feeling the very emotion I meant to evoke, and that was indeed the power of my voice.
As one critic put it, “What KD’s voice lacks in range, it more than makes up for with an ability to make you feel just what she wants you to. And that’s the true power of a rock star. It doesn’t matter how loud you scream or that you can play a solo riff long enough to make your hands bleed. At the end, the question to be asked is, did you make us feel anything?”
I hope I answered that question. I hope the tears I saw, the voices raised alongside mine and the thunderous applause that followed that performance answered that question. Because in the end, it is why I do this.
Chapter 2
Two hours after I climbed that stage, I climb down from it, drenched in sweat, a big grin on my face and still reeling from the high I always get from performing for my fans. As usual, my best friend and manager is waiting for me backstage with a bottle of water and towel.
“That was amazing,” Jane says with a grin as she runs forward and hugs me. “You were amazing out there today.”
I grin as we both make our way to my dressing room, security tailing us. “When have I never been?”
“Melbourne . . .”
I stop in front of my dressing room and stare at Jane. “You realize as my manager you’re supposed to kiss my ass and tell me things I want to hear?”
“Yeah, I think I’ll pass on the whole ass-kissing thing. Wouldn’t want Travis to see that and suddenly start getting ideas,” Jane replies as she opens the door to the dressing room and pulls me inside.
“Wait, what ideas would he be getting?”
“Nothing,” Jane replies as she pushes me down on the couch and pulls my jacket off. “Now, you need to change your clothes. You have a couple of minutes before your meet and greet with the
fans backstage.”
But the look on my face proves I have other things on my mind. Specifically, what ideas Jane’s husband could be having about Jane and me.
“Not going anywhere until you tell me what ideas you kissing my ass would give Travis.”
“I think you know, and before you say anything, we were drunk, spent a few minutes imagining it, and in the end, had to drink some more to get the taste of the puke out of our mouths.”
I stick out my tongue suggestively. “No. I bet you guys jumped into bed and then proceeded to have wild, raunchy sex to console yourselves.”
“God, you have a dirty mind.”
“And you love me because of it,” I remind my friend as I begin to take off my leather boots. “It’s what pays the bills around here, remember?”
Jane must find my comment funny enough that she chuckles out loud. Not that I blame her. I can’t remember the last time I saw a bill, much less paid one. I just know someone handles it. And yes, I know it sounds a little weird to say that. But I figure considering all I have to juggle, it’s okay for me to leave something as insignificant as paying the bills to someone else. Plus, there’s all those years I spent worrying about where the money for the next bill was going to come from. The journey from there to now, where I ran an empire worth a couple hundred million, was not smooth nor pretty. But somehow, I found a way to turn a career as one of the leading female rock stars into a business empire I’m pretty proud of. And Jane has stayed by my side through it all.
From the day she called me to tell me she had seen one of my videos and was interested in meeting me. That was fifteen years ago, and it has been one hell of a ride. And I can’t imagine it being possible without Jane. So much so that when she told me I was bigger than she could manage on her own and advised me to join a large management outfit, I told her pointblank I wasn’t going to do that. Instead, I told her she could hire whomever she wanted to. As long as in the end, she was the one who made the decisions. It was a relationship that quickly turned from business to a friendship, and five years ago, when she fell in love with the cute blond playing the drums on one of my tours, I was honored to stand by her side as bridesmaid. And when she chose me as the godmother to her two sons, she gave me two more hearts I hold dear to mine. So dear I sometimes spoil them more than I should. But the way I figure it, it’s my duty as a godmother to spoil them.
Someone knocks on the door, and I let Jane answer it as I struggle out of my clothes.
“He says everything is set for the meet and greet,” Jane relays as she comes back. She catches me naked save for my underwear, staring into a mirror. “Don’t worry. Have two kids and you’ll be running away from those.”
“Didn’t hear Travis complain when he was sticking it to you in the bathroom before the concert,” I reply without looking away from the mirror.
Jane’s cheeks turn red. “How did you hear that?”
I turn around and cock a hand on my hip. “Maybe it was seeing the both of you walking out looking like you were not just doing something naughty. Or trying to at least. Didn’t help with you giggling like some high school girl. Then there was the sound of you moaning and then telling Travis to be quiet.”
“That’s a lie,” Jane says, and I can bet she’s wishing I was just playing. But I’m not, and it’s so fun to pull her leg, so I give her my smuggest smile. “Well, he’s my husband, and I don’t see any reason to be embarrassed.”
“Far as I can tell, you’re the only one who seems to be embarrassed about it.” I walk to my closet and pick out a black T-shirt. “As for me, it just reminded me that it’s been so long since I got poked.”
“Well, tonight may be your lucky night.” Jane hands a pair of jeans to me. “I took a look at the fans gathered backstage and saw a few studs that may catch your fancy.”
I sigh as I pull the pants up to my hips. “Yeah, like I’ll take that chance to see my name in tomorrow papers and a description of what I sound like when I come.”
“That is if he can even make you come,” Jane chimes in with a giggle, and we give each other a high five and burst into laughter. She finishes with the makeup. “Well, it’s the last night of your tour. You get a couple of weeks off before you go back into the studio. Maybe you can find a nice guy before then.”
I groan. “I’m talking of finding a guy to plow me, not some long-term commitment that would probably end two weeks after the first time he finally gets what he wants. I want to get fucked hard, Jane. Like against the wall, head-hanging-upside-down fucked.”
“Oh boy, you’re really horny tonight.”
“Every night, Jane. I finish a concert, and it’s all I can think about after. Someone to pour all of that energy into.”
“Uhm, how about Bob?”
“Ran out of batteries after the Ireland concert. Didn’t bother to replace them since I was no longer enjoying that anymore.”
Jane begins to lead me toward the door, stopping to pick up the black jean jacket that completes my ensemble. “Well, like I said, it’s the last night of the tour. You may get lucky and find some male groupie stud to do all that with.”
“Don’t think you should be telling me to have sex with my fans, Jane.” I give her a look. “You know, with you being my manager and all.”
Jane scoffs. “Yeah, like I’m the sensible one here. Now remember to smile and try not to look like we’ve been talking about sex for the last ten minutes.” She pauses as she considers their brand. “On the other hand, maybe that’s exactly what you should do.”
I chuckle, then smile as I walk out to meet my fans.
Chapter 3
His name is Pete, and he’s one of the stagehands. I had seen him around a few times during the tour and even struck a conversation with him twice. I chose him because, well, he’s hot as fuck and tried to flirt with me once. That night, I saw him standing close to my trailer smoking a cigarette, and in that moment, I’m horny enough and just drunk enough to not think too much of my decision. So, I stick my head outside my window.
“Hey, Pete, you want to come in for a drink?”
He seems to hesitate for a second before he nods and flicks the cigarette away, stopping to crush it under his boot. I watch him walk up to my door, and I have to admit I like the way he moves. He’s strong, that I know from the muscles that fill out his T-shirt and the ease with which he has hefted a log of wood that looks twice as heavy as I am.
“You know I’m not calling you in here to have a drink, right?” I say after he’s inside the trailer.
He smiles at me. “I think I figured that out already.”
Then he just stands there, almost as if he’s waiting for me to make the first move. I don’t blame him. Most guys have no clue what to do when they come across women like me. Almost as if they assume powerful women get aroused differently than other women. It’s left to me to make the first move. So, I move close to him and wrap my hands around his neck as I go on tiptoes for a kiss. He kisses me back, a little hesitantly, but quickly gets into the act. His hand moves to my waist, and I moan at the strength in his palms. I lean in closer, rubbing my body against his and purring so hard even I know it has been way too long. I decide then that I’m about done with the making out part and want to get down to the main event. But Pete has other ideas. Or to be more honest, he seems to have no ideas at all. Not when I lean in close and push my breasts against him. Not when I reach between us and stroke his erection through his pants. He stays with his hand on my waist, kissing me but not doing much than that. Once he moves his hand to my ass and then moves back, almost like he’s afraid to offend me. And that’s another thing about being the poster face for the female badass rock star. People automatically assume I’m the same defiant, strong woman they see on stage and on the posters. It means they leave me to take the lead and dictate the pace, and while that can be hot at times, I wish Pete would use that big, brawny strength of his to rip off my shirt and throw me on the bed. I wish he’d hold me down with those mass
ive arms and push himself into me, those powerful hips thrusting in abandon as he fucked me recklessly. I know better than to wait for any of that to happen, so I do what I always do. Take control, pulling my shirt off and pushing him back on the bed with one finger and reaching for the belt around my waist.
“Get naked,” I growl at him, watching how his eyes seem to glaze over at the tone of my voice. Great, I picked up another tame hunk. Either I have the worse luck in that regard, or there’s something about me that just attracts guys like Pete. Still, it has been a while and need overshadows preference. I finish undressing and look up to see Pete’s naked too, and for a moment, I stop to admire the beauty of the organ jutting out from his hip. All the vibrators and dildos in the world can’t compare to the magnificence of a pulsing cock. “Condoms in the drawer,” I inform him as I climb into bed with him and begin to kiss him.
I watch him put the condom on and wrap my hands around him as soon as he’s done.
“You’re not one of those guys who kisses and tells, right?”
He shakes his head.
“Great, wasn’t planning on doing much kissing anyway,” I say as I stroke. “Put your hands on me.”
He does as I ask, strong hands stroking across my body and pawing at my breasts. I figure with his cock in my hand, I can make him do anything I want. I just wish I didn’t have to. I wish he’d pull me down right now and get behind me. Fuck me with my head on the pillow and my ass in the air. The man lying down passively on the bed waiting for me won’t do that unless I ask him to, and I’m not in the mood for that. So, I straddle him and position myself. Then I sink down and moan as he fills places that haven’t been filled some time, and for a little while, I forget all the things I would’ve preferred and focus on what I’m getting. And three hours later, after a couple of orgasms on both sides and when I get tired of telling him what to do, I send him out of my trailer.
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