Dirty Rock: A Rock Star Romance

by James, Vicki

  She couldn’t resist me for long. I wouldn’t let her.

  Like every drug I’d ever taken.

  I needed just one… more… hit. I was totally in control.

  Totally.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The night passed.

  Another day, too.

  By the time I’d spent three nights in that hotel room, I began to go a little crazy. Room service was starting to bore me, and I was pretty sure one of the concierge guys had tipped off a few fans. I’d definitely heard female, youthful giggles outside my door once or twice.

  Fucking arseholes.

  Come ten o’clock the following night, and with no news from Julia, I had to get out of the room. Wearing my grey sweatpants, a baggy black hoodie, and a black baseball cap, I threw on some old trainers and stuck my earphones in before I hit play on some of my Slipknot favourites. Corey Taylor blasted it out like only he knew how as I made my way down the corridor and into the hotel lift. A guy Dicky had hired was standing there, dressed in a suit. I had no idea why he needed to be formal to protect my arse. He never spoke, like some kind of Queen’s guard who’d been trained solely to push a button and stare straight ahead when I got in the lift.

  “Heading out for a run. I don’t need you, so stay here,” I told him, only for him to respond with a curt nod.

  The dude was living his life in a coma, and I couldn’t imagine anything worse as I made my way to the foyer and pushed out of the lift, offering him a grunt of thanks, to which he just nodded again in response.

  Pulling my hood up over my baseball cap, I glanced side to side. The coast looked pretty clear, even when the doormen opened the glass door and nodded their ‘You’re welcome,’ before I’d even offered a thanks.

  Everyone in this hotel—everyone in this part of London—was stiff. That’s what money bought. It bought respect and class. Rigidity. Boredom. Fake pleasantries. Fake happiness. Fake smiles. Fake cheeks, lips, foreheads… even arses. They were all in comas, too, and they had no idea about any of it.

  The world, it seemed, was too dull for me again.

  All I wanted to do was run. I hadn’t wanted to run since high school, but that night, I wanted to step out into the rain, watch my breaths fall from me in clouds of white air, and I wanted to tear through the streets of London like I was nobody. Burning off some of this energy I had building up was the only thing on my mind as I listened to Slipknot scream through their emotions on ‘Til We Die.

  It rained and rained, soaking me through to the bone, but I started to run, and I kept on running. I thought about home, where Ma and Caleb would be sitting around the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading their books. I thought about Presley and Tessa, snuggled up together, planning a wedding. I thought about Big D, Hawk, Coops… and Julia. I thought about her seaside home. The beauty of it all.

  I thought about the repercussions if people found out I was chasing the fucking publicist.

  If people found out that I… what? Cared? I guessed so.

  I’d smoked too many cigarettes over the years for my lungs to handle this sudden burst of exercise, as well as the cold, wintery nights of London, but I kept on pushing, even when I became so out of breath, I was convinced I was about to have a fucking heart attack. It quietened my mind, and it made me feel free. The paparazzi weren’t around in that weather. No fans were going to stand outside the hotel staring up at a window during this kind of cold. Everyone on the streets was hiding under umbrellas or behind steamed up glasses. Dicky wasn’t barking orders. The rest of the band weren’t telling me what to do. There wasn’t a schedule to stick to. I had no expectations to live up to. Right there on those streets, I was just… Rhett.

  I’d always thought that success would make me happy. That knowing I’d dreamed, worked, and achieved would silence any doubt I’d ever had in my mind about why I was here, and what I stood for. But I was beginning to realise that success never fixes us. It doesn’t heal the shit inside we can’t reach out to hold and rub better. Success isn’t the cure; it’s just another disease. One that puts us under the microscope, dissects who we are, and breaks us wide-fucking-open. Success doesn’t lighten the darkness. It shoves us down into those deep black holes we’ve been avoiding, and it forces us to look at what’s within.

  Inside me had somehow become… empty, and while running through one of the busiest capitals in the world and dodging black cabs and red buses as the rain poured down on my body, it dawned on me that, despite the fame, I was alone.

  That wasn’t how things were meant to be. It wasn’t how things were supposed to go. I’d done everything right, and I’d made it all come to fruition, yet it still wasn’t good enough.

  The dream had sold me a lie, and that made me really fucking angry.

  As I ran through Piccadilly circus, I glanced up at the famous giant screens and saw an advert for Youth Gone Wild’s Devil’s Doormat Tour that was being screened on Channel 4 the following weekend. Now it was over, the whole world was going to get a backstage, exclusive sneak peek into life with the band, as well as the tour itself—different clips from different arenas showing one consistent thing: just how fucking good we were at what we did.

  I saw the image of me up on that screen, sweaty, ecstatic, projecting that I had it all as I sang to the crowds. My eyes crinkled at the corners on every close up, and there were several shots of me laughing with the guys, joking around as the fans screamed for more. That version of me was within, but he’d gone to sleep, and I had no idea how to be that guy again.

  I watched as my face shone out over London. I was the British musician’s dream… so why the fuck did I still feel like something was missing inside? What more would it take to keep me satisfied?

  The public couldn’t get enough of us.

  Yet Julia had had enough of me.

  It stung like a bitch, and by the time I came to a breathless stop outside the hotel, I was about ready to set my rage free. I ripped my earphones out, not even acknowledging the doorman who let me back into the hotel with a friendly welcome. I didn’t look at the coma guy in the lift. I didn’t even say thanks.

  All I could feel was this out of breath, out of control annoyance surging through every part of my body.

  This sober anger that made me wonder why? Why hadn’t she fucking come to me? What else could I do for her, too?

  As I trudged down the hallway to my room, I finally looked up.

  I froze mid-step, staring at the sight of Jules standing outside my room with a bag at her feet.

  She had one foot pressing back on the door and her arms folded over her chest as she stared back at me. She was wearing that little green bomber jacket again, with her hair hidden behind a red beanie hat—one that matched her bright red lipstick.

  I allowed myself a glorious moment to just take her in as rain dripped off the peak of my cap, and my heavy breaths filled the silence.

  The anger began to fade, bleeding out of my chest like the rain dripped from my body. The sight of her brought a sense of calm I’d been missing since the day I’d walked away from her home. That void within me began to fill with… something. Something I couldn’t describe or explain.

  My attention fell to her tight little top that hugged her tits. Those jeans I loved so much. White pumps that made her look like she could chase my arse around London without so much as breaking a sweat.

  She was perfect without trying, and I needed to be closer.

  Eventually, I began to walk to her, the weight of my rain-soaked clothes heavy and annoying. After removing my cap, I brushed my wet hair back from my face and stood over Julia’s petite body.

  Chocolate brown eyes ran down my chest, down my legs before they slowly drifted back up to my face again.

  Perfect little Julia Speed.

  “What took you so long?” I asked quietly.

  “I was scared.”

  “Of…?”

  “Catching you with another woman, like so many times before.”

&nbs
p; “Would that bother you?”

  She searched my eyes. “Maybe it always has done.”

  “And here I always thought you had a thing for Presley.”

  “Presley?” She frowned.

  My smirk grew. “You know. Your golden boy. The one you swoon over.”

  “I love Presley, Rhett, but I don’t think about fucking him the way I think about fucking you.”

  I dropped my head, letting my lips hover over hers as I stared straight into her eyes, and I pressed a hand on the door behind her. “If you come inside that hotel room with me, Jules, I’m not letting you walk out for at least two days. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes.” She inhaled deeply, her chest rising, and her cheeks flushed in that beautiful pink that made me want to lick every inch of her skin. Her perfume invaded all my senses, and I could practically taste her on my tongue already. Sweet fucking honey.

  I smiled brightly and took a moment to soak her in. “You’re beautiful.”

  “You’re wet.” Her lips twitched.

  “Join me, won’t you?”

  I wrapped an arm around her waist while my other flashed a key card over the door, and I pushed it open. We stumbled over the threshold, with me kicking her bag into the room before the door slammed shut behind us. Holding her felt right. Having her there felt right. I pushed her up against the nearest wall I could find, and I bent at the knee, bringing my eyes level with hers.

  I knocked her beanie hat away and dug my fingers into the back of her hair, holding it and twisting it against her scalp. Her head fell back, and her pretty little face with those perfect cheekbones angled up to me.

  “You’re driving me crazy,” she began, blowing out a breath, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  “Good. I want to be in your thoughts.”

  “But I’m scared.”

  My smile faded as I studied her.

  “I want to be here, Rhett. It’s taken everything in me to wait twenty-four hours. I’ve tried to tell myself I don’t want it again—you again—but the lies I tell myself are the ones that hurt the most, and I can’t deny it anymore. You’re more than I ever expected you to be. You’re more than I…”

  “What?” I whispered, desperate to hear such soothing words from her panicked heart.

  “You’re more than I can handle.”

  “No.” I pressed my lips to the curve of her neck, feeling her react instantly. The way she arched her back from the wall, the way she wanted to get closer to me—it set me on fire when my bones should have been shivering from the cold. “You’re the only one who can handle me. No one else can do what you do. You and I are the only ones awake and ready for each other. Everyone else in the world is asleep. I don’t want to end up like them. You’re the only one who can save me. You’re the only one strong enough, Jules.”

  “You won’t want me forever. I know you better than you know yourself.”

  “The fuck you do.”

  I hoisted her up into my arms and wrapped her legs around my waist. I was desperate to be inside her as I walked across the room and looked up into her eyes. Sober and struck by her beauty, I laid her down on the bed and stood back. The two of us were still fully dressed, and I had no desire to strip her naked and rush this through. She was here with me, and I wanted to take every second of it slowly.

  With Jules, I never knew which time would be the last.

  I ran a finger down her neck, through the dip of her breasts, over her stomach, and brought it to a stop at the edge of her jeans. I teased her belly with the stroke of my finger before I leaned over her and pressed my hands into the mattress at the sides of her head.

  “I’ve got you,” I breathed down on her. “Bet on me. Bet on Rhett.”

  Her smile grew slowly. “Bet on Rhett, huh?”

  “Yeah.” I grinned back. “Put your money on the underdog and see what happens. If anyone’s going to surprise you, it’s him. It’s me.”

  Then I kissed her, and I took my time stripping her out of her clothes.

  I tasted every inch of her skin, and whenever Jules trembled, I ran a hand over her muscles and calmed them with my touch. Every time her eyes flickered, and I thought she looked worried, I held her face in both hands and told her to bet on me. Every time she closed her eyes, I told her to open them up and watch.

  I needed her to see…

  I needed her to take this all in and remember it on the days when we’d forget.

  I needed her to look at my face when I pushed inside her—to see that it meant more because she meant more. I needed her to watch how she built me up, made my chest feel like it was going to explode, and how fucking much I struggled not to come inside her after two minutes flat. I needed her to feel this thing I was feeling, whatever the fuck it was, because it wasn’t normal, and I was just as freaked out as her.

  I missed that ache in my chest when it wasn’t there now.

  It was only ever there when she was.

  My hair fell forward as I laid over her, holding one of her knees up against her chest while I drove into her slowly, devouring that expression she wore every time I hit her sweet spot over and over again.

  “Jules,” I croaked, tensing my jaw as her eyes flickered open to latch onto mine.

  Her hand gripped my wrist, and she rode that final high wave with me. “I know, Rhett. I know.”

  She didn’t, but I let her believe she had me all figured out.

  She had no idea what I was beginning to feel as I came hard and held us together.

  Because that had just felt like making love.

  Something I’d never done with anyone else before her in my entire life.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I looked around the bathroom and found some fancy bubble shit to throw in the bath I was drawing for Jules. I heard women liked that stuff. When I turned and got a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror, I paused and studied my reflection.

  For as long as I could remember, every time I’d stared at my own blue-grey eyes, I’d seen such intensity. Such fire. I thought it had been my secret gift, something I had that nobody else did. That intensity was meant to be there, to fuel the drive that would lead me to chase my dreams. Passionate, brooding, sarcastic, driven, focused, challenging, a rebel with a cause… I was all those things, and I’d admired that about myself for so long. The black hair. The strong, stubbled jaw. The dark tattoos on fair skin that made the muscles in my arms pop. The etchings over my pecs and toned stomach. I’d gotten off on being the bad boy for so long. A man with his own demons. A man with his own reasons to succeed.

  Right there, though, I saw something different. I almost looked good.

  Decent, even.

  That sparkle in my eyes made them seem lighter. There was no scowl or deep frown on my forehead, and every bit of my smile was uncontainable. No subtle smirks or smug half-smiles.

  I was grinning.

  Genuinely happy.

  It scared the fuck out of me.

  Clearing my throat, I quickly looked away and adopted a small scowl that felt comfortable as I walked back into the bedroom to find Jules laying there, naked.

  She was looking out towards the window that offered nothing but a sheer drape and the night sky beyond it. Her legs were curled up, and she rested her arm under her head while her other hand splayed out on the duvet beneath her. Her toned legs and tight arse made for one hell of a visual treat, and that flip of my stomach made the scowl fade away in an instant.

  I crawled on the bed until I hung over her and kissed her arm, her shoulder, her neck, her cheek.

  “I need to take a bath. I stink,” I whispered in her ear. “I went running before you got here and seduced me.”

  “Running?” She flipped over onto her back, giving me the most glorious view of her tits. “I thought the only thing you ever ran from was your problems.”

  “I got ninety-nine problems, baby, making you come ain’t one. Hit me—Ouch! Fuck, that hurt.” I laughed, rubbing my chest where s
he’d slapped me with the back of her hand. She was smiling so brightly that everything about her looked different now.

  “Want to come and take a bath with me?” I asked quietly, dropping my lips to her collarbone and dragging them across her skin. “Fuck, you’re so soft. I can’t stop touching you.”

  “And you stink,” she reminded me with a small chuckle.

  “You’re not comfortable with my compliments, are you?” I held her gaze as I ventured down her chest, finding her breast with my tongue before I dragged her nipple through my teeth and watched her mouth part.

  “I’ve… oh…” She paused as I did it again and swirled my tongue around the sensitive bud, her body arching into me, and her legs spreading without control.

  I pressed a finger into her heat and looked at her as I played with her nipples, teasing her into a frenzy. “So soft,” I mumbled, building her up quickly before I slid a finger inside her.

  Her hands went to her hair, and she dug her nails in. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The way her lips parted, and she gave herself to me so fully made me feel like a fucking magician. She was so responsive, so receptive to my touch—it felt like we’d been doing this together for a lifetime already.

  I moved to the other nipple, wrapping warm, wet lips around her cold, hard peak. I moaned around it before I dragged it out and made it pop, blowing a cool stream of air over it. “Tell me, Jules. Tell me why you can’t take a compliment from me.”

  She panted, but she had no idea what I’d asked or what her response should be. I manipulated her into begging me quietly, teasing a finger in and out of her while making her clit buzz with the build-up of a fiery orgasm she wasn’t going to forget in a hurry.

  When she finally came, contracting around me, I held still before carefully grinding down on her G-spot over and over again—a slow goodbye to the moment.

  “You’re as sweaty as me now. I definitely think you should take a bath with me.”

  She held her arms up. “You’ll have to carry me. I’m broken.”