Rock All Night (The Rock Star's Seduction #2)

by Olivia Thorne

  I shrieked, half-surprised, half-elated – and then just automatically wrapped my legs around his waist.

  Then he kissed me again, our faces at the same level, his lips feverish, his mouth insistent. He stumbled forward and pressed me against the wall like he wanted to fuck me right then, right there.

  I kissed him harder, like I couldn’t get enough.

  I gasped as he broke off and buried his face in my hair, his mouth against my neck, and licked and kissed and bit me all at once, like a wild animal.

  His hands were kneading my ass, clutching at me, deranged with need.

  He shifted me higher, effortlessly, so that his face was level with my breasts, and buried himself in the open neck of my blouse, licking my cleavage, kissing my skin, then switching to my neck, biting me, kissing me with abandon, then back to my mouth, savage and primal and sex personified.

  I felt one of his hands start to pull up my skirt –

  “No,” I gasped. “Not here.”

  He pulled away and looked at me, but I still couldn’t see anything because of his stupid fucking sunglasses.

  I pulled them away from his face and pushed them back into his hair – and there they were, those gorgeous green emeralds, now dark and smoky with desire.

  “The bus?” he whispered, his voice hoarse as he kissed me again.

  “No,” I said, pulling my face away but letting him continue to ravage my neck with his lips. “Somewhere else… somewhere away from all this…”

  “Okay,” he whispered in my ear. “Anywhere you want.”

  “What about the after-party?”

  “Fuck the after-party. I’ve been waiting four years for this.”

  I laughed. “Then let’s go now.”

  He grinned at me, set me back down on my feet – gave me another deep, animalistic kiss – and then pulled me by the hand into the hallway, both of us running at full speed.

  35

  We burst out the back, running like two kids in high school after the police have raided a party – delirious, screaming, laughing. We raced past startled crew members and out into the night.

  The amphitheater was set off by itself, connected by a small, winding road to absolutely humongous parking lots. We ran through the darkness, and when I began to stumble on my high heels, Derek stopped and hunched over.

  “Get on!” he ordered.

  “What?” I asked, confused.

  “Piggyback ride – come on, get on!”

  I jumped on his back, screaming, laughing, and he took off again for the headlights in the distance.

  It was almost an hour after the concert, and the last stragglers were leaving. We raced past cars, Derek running as fast as he could, carrying me like I was weightless, until we were almost to the end of the parking lot. There was a convertible up ahead with its top down – a beat-up, rusty Le Baron, probably 30 years old. Three college-age kids were in it – a male driver, a female passenger, and another guy in the back. They looked like nice, sweet kids – a little on the stoner side with the guys all wearing long, floppy hair and the girl sporting a knit beanie, but more clean-cut than grungy.

  Derek ran up next to them and banged on the side of the car. “Hey man, can you give us a ride?”

  The driver looked up in mild surprise, like he wasn’t expecting hitchhiking requests, much less such forceful ones.

  Then he realized who was doing the asking.

  His mouth dropped open. “Oh my God – OH MY GOD – IT’S DEREK KANE!”

  The girl in the front seat put her hands next to her open mouth like McCauley Culkin in Home Alone. The kid in the back was silent, but his mouth was open big enough to stick a tennis ball in.

  It was all pretty hilarious.

  “Shh, keep it down – can you give us a ride?”

  “Wha– yeah, of course! Get in!”

  “We can’t do that!” I protested, giggling.

  “Sure we can – this guy here – what’s your name, dude?”

  “M-me? I’m Gary.”

  “Gary here’s gonna give us a ride! Come on!”

  I got off Derek’s back, and then he lifted me up like a groom does a bride, hoisted me over the side of the car, and dropped me laughing next to the backseat kid. Then he vaulted over the side himself and plopped down next to me.

  “Thanks, Gary!” Derek said as he slapped the driver on the shoulder in a friendly ‘bro’ kind of way.

  Gary craned his neck around to look at his famous passenger. “Yeah, no problem! Wow – Derek Kane! What’re you – ”

  Derek pointed at the long, empty space in front of the car. “Um…?”

  Gary looked back over the steering wheel. “Oh – sorry!” he apologized, and accelerated down the road that led out of the parking lot. “So – what are you doing here, man? I mean, I know you just had a show – AWESOME show, by the way – ”

  “GREAT show,” the girl said.

  The backseat guy just nodded mutely, his mouth still hanging open.

  “Thanks!” Derek grinned.

  “But – don’t you, like, have… people to take you places? I mean, not that I’m not totally stoked to help you out – ”

  “Aaaah, sometimes you just gotta get the fuck outta there. I was goin’ crazy, you know? It’s just – the pressure. I had to escape, even if it was only for a little while. You know what I mean?”

  “Oh, yeah, totally,” Gary said in an incredibly serious voice, with the girl and the other guy both nodding in agreement.

  “I totally understand,” the girl murmured.

  Which I found pretty funny, because the biggest pressure they probably had was an English quiz on Monday. Or their parents finding their pot stash.

  Then I remembered I was on an all-paid assignment to interview the biggest rock band in the world and was about to sleep with the lead singer, so I really shouldn’t be talking.

  “We really appreciate this,” Derek said, and held out his hand to the girl in the front. “What’s your name?”

  “Anabelle,” she said as she shook his hand in complete and utter shock.

  “Nice to meet you, Anabelle. And you?” he asked the guy on the other side of me.

  “S-Scott,” the kid stuttered.

  Derek gave him a whassup nod. “Good to meet you, Scott. Hey, you guys know of any nice hotels around here?”

  “Uhhhh… no,” Gary said. “We drove up from San Diego.”

  “Oooh, no good, can’t do San Diego.”

  “I could check on my iPhone,” Anabelle said helpfully.

  “That would be awesome,” Derek said, and she fumbled to get her cell out as fast as she could.

  “Who’s your friend?” Gary asked.

  “Who, her?” Derek asked innocently. Then he looked at me… grinned… and said, “She’s a huge reporter for Rolling Stone. We’ve got to do an interview, like, right away.”

  “I thought you didn’t give interviews,” Scott said, shocked. I couldn’t tell if he was surprised about the interview, or if he was still processing the whole ‘biggest rock star in the world sitting three feet away from me after bumming a ride’ situation.

  “I don’t. That’s why this one is so important,” Derek said gravely.

  “Ohhhh,” Scott said, suitably impressed.

  “Siri, what’s the closest hotels to where I am?” Annabelle asked from the front.

  There was a beep, and the familiar voice said, “I found fifteen hotels fairly close to you.”

  Anabelle peered at the screen. “There’s a Doubletree, like, one mile away – ”

  “Perfect,” Derek said. “The Doubletree it is.”

  36

  The Le Baron pulled up in the Doubletree’s parking lot. Derek and I piled out of the car, but not before he took about a dozen selfies with Gary, Anabelle, and Scott. I got drafted into being the unofficial photographer, and I used Anabelle’s cell phone to snap a couple of pictures of them all together. Predictably, Derek hammed it up for the camera.

  We s
aid our goodbyes and left his adoring fans in the car, looking dreamily after their hero.

  When we got to the front desk of the hotel, nobody was in the lobby except the clerk behind the desk. Thank God she was fifty-something and had no idea who Derek was – I’m not sure I could have taken another fan freak-out. Though she did keep looking at him from out of the corner of her eye, like she’d seen him somewhere and couldn’t quite place him.

  Oddly enough, he registered as ‘Arthur Lee’ and claimed he didn’t have a driver’s license.

  “Who’s Arthur Lee?” I whispered when the desk clerk was out of earshot.

  “Lead singer of Love, this awesome, underappreciated band from the ‘60s. I always register as him when Miles isn’t handling things.”

  I frowned at him. “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  “What if they look him up?”

  “Then they might hear some really great music.”

  The clerk came back asking for payment. Pessimist that I am, I was half expecting Derek not to have any money on him – after all, he was a rock star, right? Don’t they have people like Miles taking care of their every whim?

  And I had left my purse on the bus. So part of me was waiting for everything to crash down, like it had been too good to be true.

  That was when Derek whipped out a wad of bills thick enough to choke a mule. After a bit of back and forth about not having a credit card, he slipped the desk clerk a hundred bucks, and we were on our way to the best room in the hotel with a warning to be out by 11AM.

  “You carry around that much money on a regular basis?” I asked as we stepped inside the elevator – right before he pinned me up against the wall playfully. My heart thumped hard with a rush of adrenaline as my back hit the mirrored wall.

  “Uh oh, you’re not a golddigger, are you?” he teased as he leaned in close for a kiss.

  I gave him an acid little smile, then nipped his lip as punishment.

  He just laughed. “I was poor for years. Now I don’t walk around with less than a thousand bucks, ever… just in case.”

  After that, all talk of money ceased.

  In fact, all talk ceased, period.

  37

  You know how sometimes you’ve wanted something so badly for so long, and you’ve built it up in your mind, you’ve hyped it to the point where it’s just unbelievably, incredibly wonderful in your fantasies – and then you actually get it, and the situation falls flat? There was no way it could have ever lived up to your expectations, because your expectations were sky-high, and instead it’s just a gigantic disappointment?

  Yeah. This wasn’t like that AT ALL.

  This was one of those occasions where no matter how good you hoped it might be…

  …it was better.

  Holy fucking hell it was better.

  38

  We stumbled out of the elevator, our legs entangled, him straining his head forward to kiss me as I twisted away, laughing, nervously saying “Wait!” as I scanned the hotel hallway.

  Nobody around.

  So I turned back around and let him ravish me, his lips insistent, his kisses wild, his passion uncontrollable.

  He backed me up against the wall opposite the elevator and kissed my neck, licking it lightly from collarbone to ear.

  “Wait – we have to get in the room,” I gasped as he nibbled my ear, then went back to kissing my neck.

  He lifted me into the air. He pulled one of my thighs the way he wanted it, and I immediately got the message: I wrapped my legs around his waist. If we’d been naked, he could have fucked me just like that, against the wall.

  “We have to get in the room!” I whispered in his ear, and moaned as I felt his cock beneath his jeans pressing hard against my pussy.

  In answer, he lurched down the hallway still carrying me, with my legs wrapped around his waist, a travelling display of indecent public affection. We probably would have looked either scandalous or comical as hell to bystanders, but when you’re in the middle of foreplay in a public place because it’s so goddamn hot that you just Can’t WAIT, then you don’t really give a rat’s ass about what imaginary lookee-loos would think.

  “Find the room,” he whispered hoarsely in my ear as his fingers dug into my ass, travelled beneath the edge of my skirt, touched the line of my panties, and stroked the soaking wet skin beneath.

  I scanned the walls, looking for the little plaques with Rooms 400-418 This Way –

  “Oh my fucking god,” I whispered as his finger slid inside me and caressed me from the inside.

  I pointed the way with a suppressed moan, and Derek stumbled to our room down the hall, doing pornographic things to me all the way there.

  Again he pressed me up against the wall, but this time he paused long enough to insert the card into the lock and open the door. Then we spilled inside the darkened room, slammed the door shut, and the frenzy began.

  His hands were tearing at my clothes, I was feverishly trying to rip off his – his sunglasses clattered somewhere on the floor, my blouse was flying through the air – it was like a race to see who could get the other naked first –

  And then I remembered back in Athens, and how slow, and long, and deliciously drawn out it had been.

  “Wait,” I gasped, and put my hands on his as he tried to pull off my bra without unhooking it. “Wait.”

  He groaned, but stopped. “Oh my God, PLEASE, Kaitlyn, don’t do this right now – ”

  “No, it’s not that, it’s…”

  I looked up at him in the darkness. The only light from the room was through the windows, but it was enough to see the outline of his face.

  “…I want the night we should have had four years ago,” I whispered.

  I could see the side of his face change, could tell from the way his cheek pulled up that he was smiling.

  “Okay,” he whispered, and nodded. “Okay. But after that…”

  His voice changed to a low, throaty growl.

  “…I get to do whatever I want to you.”

  The tone of his voice – the sheer, sexual desire in his words – took my breath away.

  I was a little afraid.

  But I nodded.

  And then he leaned over and kissed me.

  39

  We slowed it down.

  Waaaaaay down.

  He kissed me softly, our lips verging on swollen from our frenzied passion before. Now every kiss had a salty little sting to it that added to the luxurious pleasure of his mouth against mine.

  He slowly undid my bra behind my back – and, like four years ago, he didn’t let it fall off right away. He gently pushed the strap off my right shoulder, letting it drift and tickle my skin… and then he nudged the left strap until it slid down my arm. Then he kissed my lips… and my chin… then tilted my head up with his hands… and let his tongue dance softly, lightly down my throat, to the tiny hollow between my collar bones, to the upper swell of my breasts. He kissed me, his lips moving downwards, pressing the satin of my bra down, down, until I felt his mouth hot and damp on my swollen, erect, aching nipple, and he sucked.

  I moaned, and a shiver ran down the entire length of my body.

  My bra dropped down my arms, baring my chest completely to him.

  His fingers glided along my back – rough hands, masculine against my softness – as he moved his mouth from one breast to the other, slight wetness tracing over my skin. He took the other nipple in his mouth and stroked it with his tongue, slicking me down, making me almost cry with desire as he sucked and licked and circled and nibbled it so lightly, mixing a tiny whisper of pain with pleasure as he pressed the swollen tip between his upper teeth and his lower lip.

  I pushed him away. Even in the darkness I could tell he was confused – until I started tugging at the hem of his shirt. Then he complied and lifted his arms over his head, and I peeled the cloth slowly up over his skin.

  I felt the ridges of his abs, and I had to stop just to press my palms against his body,
feel the hard planes and valleys of the muscles beneath my hands. Jesus. He was in even better shape than four years ago. I let my hands move up under the shirt, and I felt his pecs, massive and firm; felt the soft tickle of his chest hair; found the tight hardness of his own nipples, and tweaked the tough, tiny nubs between my fingertips, rubbing them sensuously.

  He grunted, and I felt his cock strain under his pants, pressing against my leg.

  It reminded me that there were other things I wanted access to, and hurried me up a little bit.

  I went back to pulling his shirt up, and he helped me get it over his head, then shrugged it off. The entire time, I felt my breasts slide softly against his belly and chest, my soft curves caressing his hard muscles, and I wanted more than anything to feel him inside of me, to feel his chest grazing my nipples as he moved in and out of me, his body sliding against mine.

  I moved down to his belt and undid it, faster now, forgetting the whole ‘slow things down’ mantra. As my hands worked in the dark, he put his fingers in my hair, luxuriously sifting through my curls as he planted tiny kisses on my cheeks, my temples, my eyebrows.

  I was breathing hard as I undid his belt, unzipped his pants, and fumbled to pull them down. That was when I first felt it, soft yet hard, scorching hot, a tiny dab of wetness and then rock-hard pressure against my arm.

  His cock. His thick, long, succulent cock.

  I gasped and put my hand around it, tentative at first, then possessively.

  It filled my grasp, and I remembered four years ago as I stroked him, bringing him to orgasm, feeling him expand in my hand, over and over, lightning fast, dousing my fist with hot wetness as he came.

  I ran my hand up and down his entire length, feeling how swollen he was, how huge, how turned on, how near bursting.

  Oh my GOD I wanted him inside me so bad.

  Derek groaned and lifted my face to his, kissing me softly as my fingers slid up and down his cock. I was overjoyed to relive that fantasy from my freshman dorm, feeling his wetness slick down my palm as my skin slid over his.

  He kicked off his boots, peeled off his socks, and kicked off his jeans, somehow managing to do it all while still kissing me, and me still running my circled fingers around his glorious cock. I became very aware that he was fully nude, and though I was half-naked, I was still in my skirt and boots. The feeling of power was intoxicating. It was like he was mine, MY plaything, and I let myself indulge in the fantasy as he moaned into my mouth as I stroked him, up and down, a little firmer, a little faster.