Groupie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 1)

by C. M. Stunich

  And yet … I can't banish the feeling of his mouth pressing hot and hard against mine, the torrid glaze of his hands across my body. Unconsciously, I reach up to press a finger against my lower lip.

  “Anyway, fuck him,” Pax says as he drapes himself languorously into the leather chair across from me, his eyes hooded and his expression wicked, like a cat who's got the cream. Hell, even the way he moves reminds me of a spoiled house cat. Smooth and easy, wanting for nothing, fully and completely aware of its own beauty. “So what if Michael wants to make an ass out of himself and be miserable? We don't have to share in his misery.”

  I take a few scalding sips of tea and raise my eyebrows at him.

  “So … watch a movie then? That's what you're asking, right?”

  “Oh, a movie,” Pax drawls in that lazy way of his. “A bloody movie. Make it a porn and you've got a deal.”

  “We can do more with Lilith than just fuck her, sweetheart,” Ransom says, curling his arms around my body and breathing against the side of my neck. My heart thrills and flutters and this awful surge of affection just crashes over me. I want to throw my tea aside, turn in his arms and burrow against him, hold him tight, call him mine.

  I want Ransom Riggs as more than just a … fuck buddy. Or a friend.

  But then, I want the other three boys—four boys—in the same way.

  Why does it feel like I'm falling in love five times over when I've just met these guys?

  I force myself to keep sipping my drink, wondering if I'm just one of those people that can't separate sex from love. What if this was all just some huge mistake? Am I setting myself up for heartbreak here?

  “Thank you, Ransom,” I say with a teasing smile. “Do you have the remote?”

  Pax sighs and reclines back in his chair, kicking his loafers off and putting his black socked feet up on the coffee table. Muse—practical as always—gets up to dim the lights while Ransom supplies me with a sleek black remote.

  “What kind of movies do you all like?” I ask, genuinely curious. Kevin would only watch war movies and football, that was it. Thinking on him now, I'm really struggling to come up with a reason why I ever thought I loved him. Hell, I didn't even like the guy.

  “Muse watches cartoons, don't you, Muse?” Pax snorts derisively.

  “I watch Japanese anime sometimes, sure. Hentai, too,” he says with a wild smirk and when I don't seem to be getting the joke, he leans forward, dark glasses slipping down his nose. “That's animated porn,” he says, popping the 'P' sound off the end of his tongue. He should look—and sound—like a complete nerd for saying that, but he's not wearing a shirt and his muscles are long and lean, his body still slightly damp with sweat from the show.

  Why doesn't he ever wear a shirt?!

  “But I also like comedies, action movies, anything superhero related,” he adds, still smiling at me. There's this secretive little twinkle in his eyes that I noticed from the first moment he took the stage tonight. The way he held his guitar, the way he thrashed and flailed and played, Muse is definitely up to something.

  And I think that something has to do with me, the way he's looking at me now.

  “I like horror movies,” Cope says, surprising me as he glances up from his book with his usual soft smile firmly in place.

  “Not romance?” I ask and he shakes his head.

  “No, romance in books is … amazing. In movies, it's too shallow. Besides, the sex usually gets left out. Either that or it's just full-on porn.”

  “Ask him how many times he saw those Fifty-Shades-of-Whatever movies in theaters?” Pax asks, smirking again. “Ask him.”

  “Those are different,” Cope says as he leans back on the couch and crosses his arms over his chest, challenging his friend with a friendly stare. “And ask him how many times he came with me.”

  “Please, soft-core porn for housewives. Boring,” Pax says, putting his hands behind his blonde head and staring at me with eyes the color of a silver sky after a good rain, still grey but bright, full of promise. Despite his picking, he's in a good mood tonight. “Give me a full throttle action flick any day. Something with a fucking plot, an explosion, and a beautiful girl.”

  “So basically James Bond?” I ask, but he just keeps smirking at me as I turn the TV on and start browsing for a movie to watch. “Ran?”

  He thinks for a long moment, cuddling me in a way that comes damn close to bringing tears to my eyes. God, human contact is something I never realized I'd miss so much until it was gone. I broke up with Kevin, had no friends, no family in Phoenix. I haven't been touched like this for six months. It makes the world seem brighter, gentler, more hopeful.

  “Anything with a happy ending. I don't care how the movie goes so long as it ends on a high note. I usually read spoilers before I watch anything. I can't take that awful sinking disappointment when things go to shit at the end.”

  I hand him my tea to set on the side table and make myself comfortable in his lap, the two of us reclining back against the arm of the couch, our feet pointed towards Cope. When he starts absently massaging my foot, I have to pinch my arm again to make sure I haven't died and gone to heaven.

  At least Dad would be there, pops into my head before I can stop it and I grit my teeth.

  “And you, Lilith?” Muse asks, still watching me, studying me with his gold-grey eyes. “What do you like to watch?”

  “Besides strange blokes getting their cocks slapped by a woman in leather knickers,” Pax inserts, and I ignore him.

  “I'm open for pretty much anything,” I say and then realize how that sounds, groaning and burying my face in Ransom's hoodie, his warm chuckling vibrating up through his chest.

  “Yes, well,” Pax says as he gets up and comes over to kneel down next to us. “So am I.”

  For a second, I think he's going to kiss me, but he doesn't. He kisses Ransom instead, making the other man go completely rigid beneath me—just not in that one place where he should. Pax pulls away before anything else can happen and sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest like he's just made the first move and expects us all to follow.

  What a dirty trick.

  Seeing the two of them kiss … makes me much less interested in watching a movie.

  “Dick,” I whisper, but I know Pax can see me smiling, can see my hard nipples through the thin white fabric of my tank top. I scroll through dozens of movies before I decide on one that I think they'll all like. As soon as I press play, Paxton make this disappointed sound in his throat and Muse chuckles.

  “I'll make popcorn,” he says, pulling out a yellow and white popcorn popper, pouring kernels in with a clattering metallic sound and turning the machine on. By the time the credits are done rolling, we're passing around a giant metal bowl of popcorn slathered in butter and salt. Muse even slices up some strawberries and tosses them with sugar and Cool Whip, making me wish he were my fucking husband. I could marry his face off for that.

  Dad would've liked Muse, I think as I blink away sudden tears. That's the way with grief, insistent and needy, clinging to your soul with greedy hands. Sometimes, like an unruly child, it'll take a brief nap. But when it wakes up again, it comes at you with all of its previous vigor and then some.

  “The fuck is this about anyway?” Pax asks, gesturing at the movie and making me smile.

  Dad definitely would not have liked Paxton Blackwell.

  Somehow, the thought is soothing, knowing that even though Dad is gone, he still lives on through me. His likes, his dislikes, all the things he taught me, they're all still here, coiled protectively beneath my heart.

  “You'll just have to watch and see,” I say coyly and for about an hour, the five of us sit there together and watch, eating popcorn, throwing out occasional commentary, chatting idly.

  It's just about thirty seconds into the first sex scene of the film that things start to change.

  I swear, I can feel the air getting charged with sex as the couple on-screen gets naked—all the
best parts hidden beneath sheets, of course—but touching, kissing, fucking each other so sensually that we don't need to see everything to know what's going on.

  I shift my body and feel Ransom's hard cock inside his black pajama pants.

  When I turn and glance over my shoulder at him, I find his eyes glittering, his lips slightly parted. Me, I've been wet and wanting since Paxton kissed Ransom, so it's not a difficult transition for me to make, watching the movie one minute and turning around to straddle Ran the next.

  Without a single word, he pushes his pants down and I slip out of my baggy pj bottoms—these old oversized gym shorts I used to wear to paint in. When I stand up, they fall right to the floor, no panties underneath.

  Putting my hands on Ransom's sweatshirt covered shoulders, I lower myself onto his bare cock, our eyes locked, his own hands curling around my hips. As the couple on the screen behind me moans and rolls together in a tangle of sheets, I ride the darkest, twisted, most hauntingly beautiful man I've ever met in my life.

  He sucks my nipples through my thin white tank, layering one torrid sensation on top of the next. His shaft is wide and warm, taking over me, spreading my hips and stealing my breath. I keep my movements slow but steady, careful to keep my clit from rubbing against his pelvis. No, I don't want to come yet. I have other plans.

  I work Ransom with expert arcs of my hips, letting my body tell me what to do, favoring instinct over experience. And when he finally comes, this rough gasp tearing from his throat, pushing me down into his lap, spilling his seed inside, I get this primal feeling of satisfaction. Triumph, almost.

  And then I stand up.

  Before Ran can even catch his breath, I'm climbing onto Cope's lap and sucking his lip ring into my mouth. I kiss him, but only briefly. What I'm doing right now, this isn't about kissing or foreplay; this is about claiming, owning, pleasing.

  Making these guys—my boys—feel good makes me feel good.

  Is that so wrong?

  Besides, my grief is squalling and loud tonight and this, this is the perfect distraction.

  I unbutton Cope's black skinny jeans and free his curved shaft, straddling him and not caring that I'm making a mess, that I still have Ransom all over me. I lock eyes with Cope the way I did with Ran and take him inside of me. His moan is one of relief, of letting go, and I see that even bringing that girl, Cara, up for a second tore him apart inside.

  I try to make the pain a little better for both of us, riding him with the same easy rhythm, keeping myself from toppling over the edge. It's hard, the way my body's thrumming and pulsing, wild with pleasure, giddy with the animalistic simplicity of this act.

  I'm a woman and I want sex, lots of it. And I want these men, all of them.

  Somehow, it feels liberating, wild, but also like it was meant to be.

  Mine, I think as I dig my fingers into Cope's red hair and listen to the shuddering release of his orgasm, the exquisiteness of feeling him come while he's buried inside of me.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Pax murmurs, but he doesn't get up. No, he knows I'll make my way over there.

  I swing myself off of Cope, his fingers trailing along my hips as I tear myself away from his warmth and tear my tank top over my head, Muse's hands taking hold of my waist and pulling me to him. He's already shoved his sweats down in eagerness, the quivering warmth of his cock already slick with lube. A bottle sits on the table between the chairs, and I smile as I sheathe him inside of my dripping warmth. If the boys are bothered at the idea of sharing me like this, they don't act like it.

  Muse settles his hands on my ass, each touch of his body against mine like torture. I want to let go and feel my orgasm annihilate my thoughts, tear through me and leave me with an easy, relaxed after-sex glow. But not yet. Not yet. Not yet.

  I breathe out slow, controlling the rush of pleasure as I rock myself against Muse's pelvis, clamp down around his eager shaft and milk him with my body. It's so … naughty that it feels almost wrong. Which, of course, only makes it feel more right. I tried to do the expected, 'normal' thing my whole life and it did nothing for me, got me nowhere. Maybe I was never destined for that kind of path? Maybe I need to forge my own path?

  First, I claim my sexuality.

  Next, it's time to make a plan for my life.

  I take Muse's face in my hands, stare at his hazel eyes through his glasses and fuck him with my swollen pussy until his resolve cracks and his mouth parts with a final groan, giving up what Cope and Ran already gave me, making me feel just that much more complete.

  Of course, even at the time I knew that it would take more than just my boys to save me from my pain, more than just me to save them from their own, but together we could fill the holes in each other's hearts, stop the bleeding long enough to recover, to open our eyes and realize that anything is possible if you believe, want, and try hard enough.

  “Oh, Lilith,” Muse whispers against my breasts just before I pull away. I give him a kiss on the forehead and move over to Paxton.

  I knew I had to save him for last. He's too fucking alpha to just let me go like the others.

  “Get the fuck over here,” he growls, grabbing my wrist and pulling me into his chair with him. Like with Muse, his cock is already free, already slick from the wild pumping of his hand. I straddle him, guide his shaft inside of me and let out my own growl of frustration. I'm so worked up that I have to really work not to come right away. “You're such a naughty girl, Lilith Tempest Goode,” he whispers in my ear, his voice rough with sex, with angry passion.

  Paxton lets me ride him for several minutes, his grey eyes locked with my green ones. But then he gives up and slides both our bodies to the ground, pinning me against the heated wood floor with his weight, holding my wrists above my head. Paxton moves inside of me with harsh, angry thrusts, slamming our pelvises together as the others watch, panting and trying to catch their breath. They watch as Pax drives their come inside of me before spilling his own with a ragged, breathless sound.

  It's the sudden flash of affection on his cruel face that makes me come, too, squeezing and tightening around him as I raise my hips and let out a shout, not bothering to hold anything back in here with these men. No, it feels too good to be bare in front of them.

  As I tilt my head back and watch flashes of white pleasure explode in front of my eyes, I catch sight of a pair of bare feet, a hand wrapped around a cock.

  It's Michael, watching us from the hallway.

  But by the time Pax has caught his breath and is ready to let me up, I glance over my shoulder and find … nothing but darkness.

  I tell myself I imagined the whole thing, but … I don't think I did.

  Oh, Michael.

  “Hey.”

  A warm hand caresses my shoulder and I lean my cheek against it, thrilling at the touch.

  “Lilith,” the voice whispers again, giving me a small shake. I press a gentle kiss to the man's knuckles, disturbed by how foreign they feel when all of my instincts say that this hand should be as familiar to me as my own.

  I crack my eyelids and find Michael leaning over me, a tight frown on his face. He's shirtless and his hair's still damp from the shower. Part of me thrills at the sight, my body heating up, my thighs clenching tight, but then I remember what today is.

  Atlanta. Vanessa. Michael must be up for his breakfast date.

  “Yeah?” I ask sleepily, sitting up as he removes his hand, leaving this icy cool spot on my shoulder that aches for his touch with a strange sort of fierceness. “What's up?”

  “I need you to do me a favor,” he says, still frowning, violet eyes flicking to the side like he can barely look at me. That's when I remember last night, catching sight of him in the hallway with his cock in his hand. Did I imagine that? I'm still not sure. What I am sure of is that I fucked four guys, one after the other, like some kind of wildcat in heat.

  And it felt great.

  I was a wildcat, and those were my males, seeking their pleasure in me. And I t
ook from them everything I fucking wanted.

  My cheeks flush a little and I lift my hands up to cover my face.

  Yeah … I think I'm going a little bit crazy in here. Maybe I need to get off this bus more? I promise myself that I'll at least go out and shop later, get some more raw ingredients so I can cook up a nice dinner. Michael could even invite his brother and Vanessa if he wanted.

  Or maybe that's just me wanting them to spend time together where I can see them because … because my wildcat is territorial and hungry. I groan low under my breath as Michael drags my hand away, the place where his fingers curl around my wrist burning with pleasure.

  “Can you come to breakfast with me?” he asks and my heart goes nuts, pounding in my chest and ringing between my ears. He wants to tell her about the kiss now? At their first meeting? “Bring one of your boyfriends,” he adds, pausing dramatically. “Well, except for Pax. You can't bring him.”

  Michael gets up and pads away before I can respond.

  “I'll go,” Copeland says groggily, sitting up slowly next to me. The blankets fall around his bare body, making the wild pounding in my chest even worse. He glances over at me, turquoise eyes dark in the shadows of the Bat Cave. The other three boys sleep on peacefully around us.

  “Okay,” I say with a smile, remembering the genuine smile on his face when he watched me try—and mostly fail—to dance the Charleston at our impromptu lesson. “Let's see what this is about, shall we?”

  Cope and I climb out of bed, pulling on pj's and finding Michael already dressed when we enter the kitchen.

  “What the fuck are you two doing?” he says, raking a hand through the dark, wet strands of his hair. “Get dressed. We have to meet Tim and Vanessa in fifteen minutes.”

  “What do you need us for?” Cope asks, but Michael just rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose like he can't be bothered to explain.

  “Can you just do this for me?” he snaps, pacing frantically, dressed in a purple button-up with most of the buttons undone, a leather jacket, and a pair of dark jeans. He's wearing leather combat boots that are completely free of scuffs as well as a fine dash of liner around his eyes. “Tim's going to be there and I just … don't want to do this alone, okay?”