REBEL
LAUREN LOVELL
Contents
Untitled
1. Blake
2. Blake
3. Blake
4. Blake
5. Blake
6. Rhett
7. Blake
8. Rhett
9. Blake
10. Rhett
11. Blake
12. Blake
13. Rhett
14. Blake
15. Blake
16. Blake
17. Blake
18. Blake
19. Blake
20. Blake
21. Rhett
22. Blake
23. Blake
24. Rhett
25. Blake
26. Rhett
27. Blake
28. Rhett
29. Blake
30. Blake
31. Rhett
32. Blake
33. Blake
34. Rhett
35. Blake
36. Blake
37. Blake
38. Rhett
39. Blake
40. Rhett
41. Rhett
42. Rhett
43. Blake
44. Blake
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other books by LP Lovell
Untitled
High
By
LP Lovell
1
Blake
Holy shit, my head! I open my eyes and groan as the light scorches my retinas.
“Ugh!” I groan, pulling the duvet over my head. I freeze as the bed jostles and fingers trail over my waist. Don’t breathe, don’t move. I try and work my way through my non-existent memory, attempting to remember something, anything…Where I am would be a good start. Who I’m in bed with would be stellar. Of course, he’s bound to look like a badger’s arsehole. Damn, why my drunk brain cannot fathom the basic laws of attraction I will never know. Either way, in my questionable experience, avoidance is key. Right, here goes. One. Two. Three.
I throw the duvet back and spring up out of the bed, ready to make a break for it, at least to the nearest bathroom. I wince against the bright light and stagger sideways, cracking my hip on some stupid piece of furniture.
“Fucking shit!” I brace my hand on the wall, breathing through the pain.
“And there was me thinking you were a lady, Duchess.”
Oh, so we’re onto pet names already? No, hell no! That voice though…it’s so deep and husky and ovary twinging. I still don’t look at him, because then I won’t have to vomit in my mouth later when I think about the fact that I let him in my vagina, and possibly sucked his dick. God knows my entire mouth tastes like ball bag right now. I just have to bee line to the door and run. Denial is your friend.
My head is pounding so loudly I don’t even hear him approach, and I jump when his hand brushes my hip. My bare hip.
“You should be more careful.”
I don’t know why, but his voice draws me in, and I open my eyes to see a chest, a very bare, very muscular chest. Well, kudos to me, the guy has a body. What’s the betting he’s got a face like the back end of a bus?
I drag my gaze up—all the way up until I meet his face. Okay, seriously high fiving drunk Blake right now. He has that whole, sex and sin thing going on. He’s standing here in just his boxers, all those muscles just…muscling. Everything about him screams bad, dirty, amazing things. He drags a hand through his dark, messy hair, and damn I’d love to run my fingers through it, preferably while I sit on his face. And his face... He’s savagely beautiful. Eyes the colour of honey lock with mine and my knees go weak.
Slowly my brain kicks back in. He’s hot…and I undoubtedly look like I got run over. Brilliant.
“Just great.” I grumble, shoving past him to the bathroom.
I slam the door and turn on the taps, drowning out his low chuckle on the other side of the door. I glance in the mirror above the vanity and if possible it’s even worse than I thought. My hair looks like something is living in it, and my make up now looks like I just clocked off my street corner. Oh, and I’m naked, except for a pathetic excuse of a thong that holds more resemblance to dental floss than actual underwear. Wonderful.
I steal his toothbrush, because, I’m pretty sure I shared a damn site more than spit with him last night. Why stop now? Splashing water on my face, I wipe the panda makeup from under my eyes before dragging my mane of blonde hair into a messy bun.
I hear my phone ringing in the other room, and open the door to go get it, but the hot stranger already has it. “Yeah, I’ll tell her.”
“Tell me what?” I snap.
An amused smirk dances over those full lips of his. “Milan said you’re late.”
“Shit.” I crawl across the bed and snatch the phone from his hand, sprawling across his lap as I do so. “Late for what?” I say into the phone.
“The photo shoot you said you would do,” Milly screeches.
“Ow! Quietly.” The photo shoot for one of her weird artsy boyfriends. Apparently he got bored of taking pictures of her, now I have to fucking do it. “Why did I agree to this? And this early?”
“Firstly, it’s ten thirty.”
“Case in point; do not expect me to look like anything other than absolute shit before midday.”
“Secondly, who’s the guy? He sounds hot.”
“What kind of friend are you? You’re not supposed to let me wander off with strangers.”
“Unless they’re hot,” she corrects.
I glance at him. “Eh, the hot ones give you the clap.” She snorts and his lips twitch in just a hint of a smile as his eyes lock with mine. Damn he’s fine.
“Hurry up, bring coffee, and then tell me all.” She hangs up.
I groan and throw the phone down on the bed before sitting up. “I need to borrow a shirt.”
Five minutes later and I’ve managed to sort of make myself look okay. I have one of hot guy’s shirts on and have tied one of his belts around my waist. Dress shirt and stilettos, fuck it.
I can hear the shower running, and I can practically see the water cascading over those muscles now. The thought has me clenching my thighs together.
I close my eyes for a second, willing this headache to go away. When I open them, hot guy is standing in the doorway, covered in nothing but a towel. A few stray droplets of water track down his chest and into the gutter that lays between his abs.
I stand. “Well, thanks for the shirt, and…other stuff.”
His eyes narrow his lips pulling into a wry smile that makes my heart splutter like a blushing school girl, and trust me, those days are long gone. I move past him but he grabs me by the arm, tugging me flush against his hot body. And then he’s kissing me. To me, a kiss is just a sloppy, drunken dance floor prequel to a dirty fuck in a bathroom or the ever classy one-night stand. An orgasm can make you see fireworks, but a kiss…. never. Until now.
He kisses me like he’s fucking my mouth. It catches me off guard, and before I know what I’m doing, my hands are cupping his face, my nails scratching over his stubble. Fingers slide beneath the short hem of the shirt I’m wearing, squeezing my arse. His thigh presses between my legs, rubbing against my barely covered pussy, and I whimper against his lips like a desperate slut.
He kisses me until I feel like I can’t breathe, and then he pulls away. “Goodbye, Duchess.”
“Bye, hot guy.”
I stagger out of the hotel room and drag oxygen into my depleted lungs.
For once, I wish I could remember last night.
2
Blake
I catch a taxi to the address Milly gave me. It’s in Brooklyn, in some warehouse, loft thing.
A hippie looking dude opens the door. He looks like he needs a good wash and a haircut. Dear god, I sound like my mother, and that is never a good thing.
“The wanderer returns,” Milly shouts, shouldering her way past the guy in the doorway. “What are you wearing? I can see your nipples.” She eyes my shirt with a raised brow.
“You’re hardly in a position to judge fashion choices, Milan.” I glance at her Louboutins coupled with trackies.
“I’m short.” She folds her arms over her chest, tossing long dark hair over her shoulder. “But I don’t have my nipples out.”
“The shirt is the hot guys. And my nipples want to be seen.” I hand her the coffee I picked up on the way over.
She laughs. “You don’t know his name?”
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
Hippie guy moves next to Milly, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “Oh, Blake, this is Noah.” I roll my eyes. Milly has the worst taste in men, artists, musicians, writers, you name it and she’s on it. This one looks stoned out of his face.
“Hey. So, what shots do you want?”
“I’m an erotic artist.” He drawls slowly. “But, my art work is very exclusive…”
I smile. “Oh. Don’t worry about that. In fact, there are a couple of magazines in England that would probably pay you good money for the shots.”
“More than a couple,” Milly mumbles. I laugh, imagining my father’s puce face as he looks at the image of his naked daughter plastered all over some tabloid. Gold.
I do the shoot for Noah. Milly back brushes my hair and smudges my eye makeup. Apparently the look they’re going for is desperately troubled…and naked.
When we’re done, Milly kisses him goodbye.
“Thanks, Blake.” He grins. “Don’t ever let it be said that you British girls don’t know how to have fun.”
I laugh. “We redefine the word.”
“So, where are we going tonight?” I ask Milly as soon as we get in the back of the town car.
“Stone invited me to their gig.”
I wait, but she says nothing. “Okay, who is Stone, and what gig?”
“I swear you listen to nothing I say. Stone, the guitarist from Pandemic Sorrow.” I don’t listen because she dates a lot of weird men.
“Nope and nope. Between, Noah the hippie, Julian the poet, and god knows who else I can’t keep up.”
“Pandemic. Sorrow. Big rock band. They’re playing at Madison Square Garden.” Okay, never heard of them, but they must be a big deal if they’re playing Madison.
“How do you know him?”
She shrugs, a small smile playing over her lips. “I met him back at that gig in Miami. Remember, that bar, Note?” I frown because no, I do not remember. “You went off with that surfer guy for like three days after…”
“Oh, yeah. Bahamas and a boat load of Tequila. Good times.” She sighs. “So you met him in Miami. And why are you now seeing him in New York?”
She shrugs, grinning. “We connected. He liked my accent. I liked his pierced dick, and the rest is history.”
“Ah, I haven’t done pierced dick since that time I had my tongue pierced and got it stuck on Cam Robinson’s Prince Albert.”
She snorts. It was awful. I had to go to A&E, and really what can you say to explain what was possibly in your mouth that could rip your tongue piercing out?
“Anyway, the rocker…You haven’t seen him since Miami?” I ask. “Just checking, seeing as you’re making this sound like some love story.”
She rolls her eyes. “Once. When he’s in town, I see him, and when he’s not, I see Noah and Julian.”
“And every other emotionally damaged weirdo you can find.” I add, checking my phone.
“Life is a party…”
“Just keep dancing. Or fucking. Whichever.”
“Tomato, Tomato.” She slides her enormous sun glasses onto her face.
I would never tell her, but her rock star parties are my favourite. Sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll. What’s not to love?
3
Blake
I watch from behind the metal railings, right in front of the stage, as the lead singer practically fucks his fans with his voice. What is it about rock stars? It must be the arrogant bad boy swagger. I’m not into the groupie thing, and yet he has even me ready to throw my knickers at him.
The crowd goes wild, crushing us against the railings as they press forward, probably hoping to catch a drop of his sweat. Milly informed me that this pussy magnet is, in fact, Jag Steele, and Stone is his brother.
They’re on their last song when Milly starts dragging me through the crowd, which pretty much becomes a full contact sport as I have to elbow my way through people. The security guard lets us back stage with barely a glance. As soon as we set foot in the back stage area I feel positively over dressed, an achievement let me tell you.
“Jesus, these bitches make me look like a damn nun.”
Milly laughs. “Welcome to rock groupies. They come pre-stripped, and they’ll get on their knees for a signed tit,” she says in a sing song voice.
“Hey, I’ve been known to get on my knees for a signed tit.”
“My signed tit, your knees, it’s different.”
“Uh-huh.” And for a certain Irish actor, I would get on my knees again, as long as he talks dirty to me in that accent.
The band comes off stage, and I wait for Milly to do her thing. The way Stone says her name, ‘Milan’, it’s like he’s rubbing his dick all over it.
The singer walks straight out the back, ignoring everyone, and the bassist…the bassist saunters past me like he owns me, dragging his eyes over every inch of my body until I feel like he’s stripped me naked and come on my tits. It’s quite a skill.
“Blake, this is Stone.” Milly introduces us, eyeing me in warning.
I’ll give it to the Steele boys, the family has good genes, really good genes. He watches me through dark eyes rimmed with eyeliner. I’m not a fan of the emo look, but on him, it works. He has that brooding, misunderstood musician thing going on. Just how Milly likes them.
His hair is damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead, just like his sweaty t-shirt is sticking to his body in all the right places.
“Hey.” He gives me the obligatory chin lift and then proceeds to shove his tongue down my bestie’s throat. And that’s my cue to leave.
Rock music blasts around the back stage area. Various people are scattered over sofas, leaning against the bar, but wherever I look, there are half naked girls. I order five tequila shots from the bar, because if you’re going to party with rock stars…
“My kind of girl.” I turn around and come face to face with the bassist.
“I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
He smirks, stepping into my personal space. “I’m Rush Wilder, sweet thing. Everyone knows me.”
“You or your dick?”
“Well.” He laughs. “You’re welcome to get acquainted. Cushion?” He holds out a cushion with the band logo on it. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt your knees.”
I laugh, and for some reason, I like him. He’s shameless. “See how drunk you can get me, and ask me again.”
I’ve completely lost track of where I am or why. All I know is I’m in a hotel suite, and there are lots of people here. Everything is trashed, furniture is overturned, lamps and glasses smashed on the floor. I’ve never seen so much drugs, booze and public sex in one place. Music blares and the room spins. I dance, my hips swaying to the beat as I throw my head back.
The girl dancing with me laughs, tossing her purple hair over her shoulder. Her black dress has diamond shaped holes cut out of it, showing her tanned skin. She runs her hands over her body as she moves, and she’s beautiful. Everything about her is sensual, confident, perfect. Moving closer to me, she runs her hands over my stomach and her fingertips set my skin on fire. I glance down as her black painted nails lightly trail over my body, and…I’m in my bra. Where did my top go? She steps closer, p
ressing her body against mine, and dropping her face to my neck, kissing me gently. Her lips are barely a whisper against my skin, but it feels so good. I’m too hot, too sensitive, too much. Tilting my head to the side, I allow her more access, and then I spot Rush, leaning against the back of a sofa watching us. The look in his eye makes me lean into her kiss and thread my fingers through her hair. I am completely in the moment, ruled by sensation and instinct alone. There is no thought, just feeling. So when she lifts her face from my neck and presses her lips to mine, I kiss her back. I kiss her because she feels good. Her lips are soft and she tastes of vodka and cranberry.
Goose bumps prickle my skin as she sweeps her fingers over my shoulder, sliding my bra strap down.
“Let’s go,” she whispers against my lips, and I let her lead me down the hallway to a bathroom. I let her kiss me and touch me, and I like it. Shoving the cups of my bra down, she sucks one nipple and then the other, grazing over the sensitive skin with her teeth. Her touch is gentle, sensual, attentive. I’ve never been with a girl before, but now, I wonder why. Her lips skim down my body until she’s crouched in front of me. She smiles, her teeth so white against her red lipstick.
“What’s your name?” she asks in a southern accent, shoving my skirt up and dragging my lace thong slowly down my legs.
“Blake.” My voice is thick, husky, laced with sex.
She slowly rises again, brushing my hair away from my face. “I’m Stevie, you’re beautiful Blake.”
“Sit.” She says, patting the top of the toilet.
My head spins with all the tequila and it’s like I’m not really here. I do as she says and sit on top of the toilet. She grips both my thighs as she leans over me, nipping at my bottom lip. I’m so hot. I press my back to the tile, relishing in the coolness. My heart hammers against my ribs as the room starts to spin. I’m vaguely aware of her pushing my legs apart, and then her lips are on the inside of my thigh, moving, up, up, until her tongue brushes my clit, sending little tremors skittering over my body. My back bows away from the wall and my fingers find her hair, teasing through the soft strands.
Rebel Page 1
