Groupie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 1)

by C. M. Stunich

  Cope opens the door to the Bat Cave and I step inside, climbing up on the bed and kicking my heels off onto the floor. He does the same, shedding his shoes and tossing aside the three belts he had wrapped around his hips. I watch him as he undresses part of the way and crawls over to me.

  I roll onto my back, my feet facing the headboard, my own head pointed toward the bedroom door and try not to gasp when Cope pushes my new little black dress—another gift from Muse—up my thighs. His hands are warm and calloused from his drumsticks, gently caressing my leg as he kisses his way down the inner part of my thigh, my knee, my calf. He even kisses the aching arch of my foot, sore from dancing in the silver peep toe pumps.

  The whole night's been like foreplay, Cope's hands holding my body, pulling me close, his mouth never too far from mine. I know my core is slick and wet and ready, but I don't rush him, enjoying his easy, practiced touch. This is a man that's made love to a lot of women yet clearly has taken his time to get to know their bodies. Maybe he asks a lot of questions?

  “Just tell me what you like, what you want,” he whispers as he massages my sore foot with his thumbs, drawing these deep, sensual groans from my throat. There is nothing in this world so fucking exquisite as having your feet massaged after wearing heels all night. Hell, it almost makes the torture of wearing the damn things worth it in and of itself.

  “I have no idea,” I whisper back, because I don't. Sexually, I don't really know myself at all. I spent too much time worrying about Kevin and what he might want. Cope pauses and sets my foot down on the bed, tearing his white tank off and coming to lay next to me on his side. His fingers skim across the waistband of my new silver panties, just as glittery and sparkling as my shoes.

  “Like I said before, I'm down for pretty much anything,” Cope says with an understanding smile. “No judgment, I swear.”

  “My ex-boyfriend,” I start, hating that I'm bringing up Kevin yet again, “didn't really do much for me. If I wanted to come, I pretty much got myself off.” Just thinking about having sex with that man makes me sick. One of those awful times he climbed into bed with me after a late night at the office—or more likely a late night out fucking some random girl—and mounted me in his rough, clumsy, amateurish way, he was giving me a disease. A fucking disease.

  I close my eyes and put a hand over my mouth to keep from being sick.

  No, no, fucking no. I can't let Kevin ruin another second of my life.

  “I'm sorry,” I say with a deep breath as I drop my hand and Cope sits up so he can look down at my face. “I'm ruining this.”

  His smile is understanding and completely adorable.

  “You're not ruining anything,” he promises, pushing my dress up a little further and leaning down to press several kisses along the waistband of my panties. “If it's too much pressure, you can let me take over. I told you: orgasms are my specialty.” His smile is sharp and gleaming with mischief when he glances up at me.

  “Okay,” I whisper back, heart pounding, wishing I was experienced enough to tell him what I want, not even knowing if I could do that if I really tried. It's like I'm learning to have sex all over again from scratch, like I came onto this bus a virgin or something.

  “Then let's start with a cock ring,” Copeland says, moving to the headboard and tugging open one of the drawers. He pulls out a small purple-black ring and a bottle of lube, coming back to lie next to me. “This is a fancy one,” he says as he sets the lube aside and stretches the ring over his fingers. It looks hard at first, but when I reach out to touch it, the material is soft and smooth. I think it's silicone. “But they all work pretty much the same.”

  One end of the ring is thicker than the other, and there are several buttons there that are just as soft to the touch as the rest of it. Cope runs his thumb over these and presses one down, making the ring vibrate in his hand.

  “You know what a cock ring's for, right?” he asks and I try not to sound like a complete idiot.

  “It … stimulates the clit?” I say, feeling like a student with a teacher—a very, very sexy teacher with a rock-hard bulge in his jeans.

  “It does,” Cope says, his eyes piercing in the darkness, his smile losing a little of its mischief, filling with heat instead, “but it also helps keep blood in the penis, engorging an erection, making it last longer. And for me, it increases sensitivity.”

  He leans over me, pressing a kiss to my lips that's a lot less gentle than before. It's almost … commanding. Copeland is a nice guy, and he's nowhere near as aggressive as Pax, but he also likes to be in charge. I can feel that in the way he kisses me, presses my body into the mattress, slides the vibrating ring between my thighs.

  I gasp with surprise when he presses it against the outside of my panties, teasing me with slow, easy rubbing motions that massage all the best parts of me. I know my underwear is already soaked, too, so he must be able to feel that, the proof of my arousal.

  My lower lip is still sore from Michael's kiss and the sensation of Cope sucking it between his teeth almost breaks me in half with desire. He teases the fine line of pleasure and pain, kissing and licking and tormenting my mouth the same way he tortures my clit with the ring in his hand.

  I can feel the tickling sensation of wetness running between my ass cheeks onto the bed. That's how fucking wet I am and it's driving me crazy. Cope must take some sort of cue from my face or my kisses because he moves away and settles himself between my thighs, taking my panties off and tossing them aside. I get excited when I think he's going to put the ring on and enter me, but he doesn't. Instead he drops low and slips the cock ring into his mouth.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, but then any chance I had of iterating a single other word is blown to bits when he puts his now vibrating tongue against my bare heat. My hands clench into the bedspread and before I can stop it, an orgasm rolls right over me, tearing me apart as Cope takes hold of my hips and continues to tease and caress with the hot slick vibrations from his mouth.

  My body bucks and thrashes enough that when the orgasm finally passes, I'm shaking and flushed from head to toe, completely embarrassed.

  “Did you like that?” he asks, sliding the ring from his mouth when he glances up at me. His smile tells me he already knows the answer to that question, but when I just glare at him, he gets comfy and props himself up between my thighs. “Well?”

  “You're going to make me say it, aren't you?” I ask as he grins and finally sits up, grabbing the bottle of lube and opening his jeans. His cock is curved and beautiful in the half-light, and I find myself squeezing my thighs together in anticipation as he squirts lube into his hand and slicks his palm down his shaft.

  He pauses when he realizes I've stopped talking, and stares at me.

  “I liked it,” I whisper and Cope laughs, stretching the ring over his fingers.

  “You're supposed to put these on when you're semi-hard,” he says as he flicks his eyes back to mine, “but with you, there's no such thing. I'm always rock-fucking-hard.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be the nice one?” I whisper as he slides the silicone ring down to the base of his shaft and smirks at me.

  “Am I?” he asks and then he presses one of the buttons on the ring a few times until he gets the vibration he's looking for. I notice his eyes are already half-lidded with pleasure when he leans down over me. “Who told you what? They must've been lying.” He kisses along the side of my jaw and finds my opening with the now vibrating head of his shaft. I almost lose myself and come again, just from the newness of the sensation. “If you want a nice guy, you should try Muse. I think I'm really just an asshole with mommy issues.”

  “I don't believe that at all,” I whisper, sucking on the silver ring in the center of his bottom lip. Cope indulges me for a moment before taking over the kiss again, and I surrender happily to his touch. I don't really want to be in charge right now; I want to let go and not think about anything beyond this moment. “I think you've got a good heart.” />
  “Maybe,” Cope says and then he's pushing inside of me with his cock.

  The groan that escapes my lips is damn near a scream, and I find myself tossing my head back, arching my body so drastically that I end up with my head hanging off the edge of the bed. Cope grabs me and holds me still, using his engorged shaft to pump into me. It really does feel bigger with the ring on, stretching me to my limit at the same time it vibrates every part of my core. With each thrust, the side of the ring with the buttons bumps my clit just right, teasing the hardened nub with pleasure that'd be too intense to take all at once. Instead, it's just a bit of a tease to match up to every one of Cope's forward thrusts.

  With my head back like this, I can see all the way down the hall to the door that leads into the kitchen. The bathroom door on the right opens, letting out a burst of steam, and then there's a pair of legs in grey sweatpants, a pair of tattooed feet.

  It's Paxton.

  “Miss Lily,” he says as he pads down the wood floor towards me and drops his towel near the end of the bed. “What's all this then?”

  I can't speak, not with Cope fucking me the way he is, but I reach my hands out and grab Pax's sweatpants, pulling them down his hips. He never wears underwear, so his half-hard cock is free in an instant, getting harder by the second as he watches us.

  He doesn't hesitate, not even for a second, sliding his hand down his shaft and then stepping forward to put the head of his cock between my lips. The way my head is tilted back, my throat is completely open, and I encourage him to push all the way in by dragging him forward by his pants.

  “Fucking hell,” he growls as I deep throat him, his body so intimately acquainted with my face. I'm literally staring at his balls as he starts to move inside of my mouth. For such a cruel asshole, Pax takes it fairly slow, listening to my cues, stopping when I dig my nails into his skin, thrusting harder when I groan around the fullness of his shaft.

  With Pax as deep into my throat as he is, I have to completely relax, let my entire body succumb to the pleasure of having these two men inside of me. Normally, when I get close to coming, I tense up all my muscles. Not this time. The feeling coiling inside of me is completely different, this tingling rush of vibrant emotion that builds with each movement of Cope's hips.

  The three of us find this perfect rhythm together, our bodies synced, pleasuring one another in the most intimate way. Pax comes first, groaning and fighting not to just fuck my mouth, but when he tries to pull away, I grab hold, encouraging him to stay for those last few thrusts. His seed fills my throat and then he's sliding out, leaving me to swallow and gasp at the frenzied motions of Cope's hips.

  Seeing his friend come in my mouth must've revved him up because he goes fast and hard, driving me into the mattress, bringing me over the edge even before he gets there. I end up coming around him with these intense pulses of muscle, these squeezing, milking sensations that he somehow manages to resist.

  “Fucking ring,” he whispers as he pulls out and slides it off his slick shaft, tossing it aside and mounting me again before I can even recover a single breath. Cope fucks my sweaty, aching body, pulling me toward him so my head isn't hanging off the bed anymore. I wrap my arms around him and hold him close as he finishes with a low, deep groan, almost a sob of relief. “Holy shit,” he whispers as he pulls away from me and invites me to sit up, join him in the nest of pillows near the headboard.

  Pax is already there, and I end up sandwiched between the two men. Pax's body is still moist and warm from the shower, and Cope is hot and slick with sweat. I nestle between them, Cope's arm around my waist, his face pressed into my neck. Pax slides down and lays his head against my tummy.

  Nobody says anything as I curl my fingers in the dark wet strands of his dirty blonde hair.

  I try to think of something clever, but by the time I do, I can feel the soft breath of both men feathering against my body in sleep. A few minutes later, Ransom is pushing his way into the hallway and padding down the wood floors toward us. Without a word, he climbs into bed and lays horizontally, cradling his head against one of my calves.

  “The nightmares,” he whispers into the easy darkness of the room, “they're so much better when you're around, honey.”

  I don't think I've ever felt so wanted by anyone as I do in that moment.

  “Welcome to Nashville,” a voice whispers in my ear, waking me out of a fogged dreamy stupor. A careful hand slides down my side and over my belly, tugging me close. “I made some tea—darjeeling this time. Want a cup?”

  “Are you a tea connoisseur, Derek?” I ask as I roll toward him and find his hazel eyes hidden behind the thick dark frames of his glasses. I'm not sure when he joined us last night, but I'm glad he's here now, holding me close and gazing at me with bright interest and that enigmatic smile of his.

  “Actually, yes,” he says, his silver-black hair falling across his forehead and over one side of his shaved head. It's wet and warm from the shower, a single drop falling onto my lips as I look up at him. “When I got emancipated, my first job was working in this tea/magic shop in California.”

  “Magic shop?” I ask as Muse flashes a grin and sits up, pulling me along with him. I'm happy to go until I realize that I'm completely naked. I mean, it shouldn't be a big deal since I've been having sex with—and cuddling—these guys in the nude, but I pull on a pair of Muse's sweats and a shirt that I think actually belongs to Michael. Oops. I'm not sure how it ended up in the pile of clothes spilling from the Bat Cave floor into the hall, but there it is. It even smells like him, spicy and warm.

  I start to change it when he swings his legs out of his bunk bed and notices me standing there. “I didn't realize …” I trail off and drop the fabric as he averts his eyes and stretches his arms over his head.

  “No big deal,” he says, and then excuses himself to the bathroom.

  “Magic shop?” I ask again as I meet Muse at the end of the hall and he lets us out into the cold, bright sunshine filling the kitchen. Glancing at the clock over the stove, I realize I've slept way past noon. I know that I was up late last night—really fucking late—but I don't like the idea of sleeping away my time here. I don't have much of it left.

  “Yeah, like occult type stuff. We sold incense, organic herbs, special blend teas.” Muse stops at the counter and grabs a steaming mug, handing it over to me and watching as I breathe in the sweet, easy scent of the tea. It's a little fruity with a gentle herbal smell that lingers on the back of my tongue. “Runes, tarot cards, how-to books on magic and past life regression.” He pauses to take a sip of his own tea and closes his eyes in bliss. “The owner was this crazy old guy, but I guess I made some sort of impression on him because he insists on sending me care packages with tea and other random trinkets.”

  We move over to sit on the couch and Muse taps a pink and black book with his black painted fingernails. Love Spells: an easy how-to guide for beginners.

  I bite my lip and try not to laugh, but Muse is already grinning.

  “I know, right? I guess that's a sign that he thinks I need some help in the love department.”

  “Have you ever been in love?” I ask as he settles back in his purple zip-up sweater and black wifebeater. There's something casual and easy about Muse that I like. He's relaxed, and he doesn't try too hard. He's not trying to please anyone or make them happy; it's just something he does naturally by being himself.

  “Nope,” he says, not at all ashamed of that. “I've never really had time for it before.”

  I finally take a sip of my tea and feel my lips curl into a smile.

  “This is really good,” I say, lifting up the mug in salute. It has the band's logo on the side in purple cursive.

  “Better than coffee?” he hazards and I chuckle.

  “Maybe.”

  We sit there in companionable silence for several moments, studying each other. Now that I really look at him, I can't believe I thought he was the oldest of the bunch. He has this edgy boyish quality to
his face that makes me wonder what he'll look like in a few years. I mean, he's handsome as hell already, but I could see his features hardening up just a bit, giving him a more distinguished look later on.

  Of course, then I glance down at his chest and ab muscles beneath the fabric of his wifebeater and it's fairly obvious that there's not a lot of growing to be done down there. Muse is … well, he's ripped.

  “Have you?” he asks finally, drawing my attention back to his face. It's fun sitting here with him, drinking tea with bare feet and matching black sweatpants. I could do this everyday for the rest of my life and never get bored of it. “Been in love, I mean.”

  “I thought I was,” I say as our eyes stay locked and we take turns lifting our mugs to our lips. “With my last boyfriend, Kevin. But … maybe I was just scared to see what else was out there? He was around when my mom and sister died, and I guess I just sort of glommed onto him.” I tap a red fingernail against the side of the mug. “Five years I dedicated myself to that guy, and he …” I don't have to finish my story; I already told Muse what happened and I don't want to say it again. “Now that I think about it, maybe I've never been in love either?”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Muse says, finishing his tea and setting it aside. He stands up and pads around the side of the couch in his bare feet. I notice that his toenails are painted black, too, and I smile. “We're only twenty-one,” he says as he grabs a black guitar case, almost completely covered in different sized and shaped band stickers. I see Beauty in Lies, Rivers of Concrete, Tipped by Tyrants—the three bands from this tour—as well as a few others I don't recognize: Indecency, Amatory Riot, Ice and Glass. “We have plenty of time to fall in love.”

  He sets the case on the couch, clicks open the latch and pulls out a black acoustic guitar with white bats all over it.

  “Do you want to hear a song?” he asks as I blink surprised eyes at him and set my tea in my lap, my fingers enjoying the warmth of the mug as I squeeze the ceramic with nervous hands.