And I liked it.
I ran my fingers under his balls, cupping him, tickling him between his legs, then moving up and stroking him again. I could feel his heartbeat pulsing under my fingers as I gripped him lightly, slowly massaging him.
And then he totally made my college fantasy of him ravaging me in the shower come true.
He pressed against me, forcing my back up against the tile – now warm from the hot water – and positioned his rock hard cock against my clit. Slowly he worked it up and down, slipping and sliding back and forth over the little nub, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my legs.
I moaned into his mouth as his tongue roughly played with mine.
Then he flipped me around so that my face was pressed against the warm, wet tile. He grabbed my hair at the nape of my neck and pulled back, making me feel deliciously feminine and completely at his mercy.
With his other hand he pulled my ass away from the wall and pushed against my inner legs until I opened them wider. Within seconds I felt the swollen head of his cock slide between my thighs and began to push against my lips.
“Condom!” I gasped.
He moved up right against my ear and growled seductively. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” I whispered, barely able to speak, much less think. How could I, with all that glorious teasing – the bulbous tip pushing against my pussy, almost sliding inside me, but not quite entering?
He sighed as though greatly put-upon… and then all the pleasure between my legs disappeared, as did the lovely, soapy sliding of his arms and chest and skin against my back. I heard his feet pad wetly over the tile… a few moments of rummaging in the next room… and then the soft rrrrrip of paper just a few feet away.
I turned around and watched, entranced, as he positioned the latex circle over the pink head and then slowly rolled it down, down, down his erection, until the entire, glorious length of his cock was sheathed.
“I didn’t say you could turn around,” he growled, and lightly pushed me back against the wall, my face pressed against the tile again.
One of his hands grasped my hip as the other hand positioned his cock. Even though I couldn’t see him, I knew what he was doing because I felt his knuckles brush my ass – and then I felt pressure pushing at my lips, parting them, easing in between them. I gasped and cried out all at once as that knee-buckling thickness entered me, slowly but constantly, inch by inch, never pausing, until he had filled me up completely and I felt his thighs against my ass and his cock deep, deep inside me.
I moaned and braced myself against the tiles as his hands circled around my body and found my soapy breasts, fondled them, stroked them as he rocked in and out of me, filling me, the walls of my pussy sliding around his cock like a velvet glove. A very wet velvet glove, because I was dripping with desire, even wetter than the water from the showers as it beat down on my skin, tickled my face, wrapped me in warmth as an even greater hotness built between my thighs.
He began to thrust harder, deeper. I could feel the insane pleasure of his tip sliding over my g-spot, massaging it with every slippery push as his cock slid deep inside me… then almost entirely out, leaving only the head inside… and then rocking inside me again, deep, hard, thick.
His hands trailed down from my breasts until they found my crotch. He began to toy with my clit again, circling it, stroking it, soaping it, the tip of his finger sliding over it – all as he moved within me, his thickness sliding deep inside me, and outside his soapy skin slipping over mine.
I could feel the heat building and building, the honey-sweet pleasure between my thighs getting hotter and bigger, higher and brighter, out of my control. He rammed and slammed inside me and his soapy-slick fingers slid across my clit, over and over, back and forth, in delicious waves of pleasure that exploded both inside me and out, bringing me up so high so fast that I was screaming before I knew it, the shower water cascading down my face and over my open mouth, my cries echoing off the tile as I struggled to keep myself upright beneath the delirious weight of my orgasm. Somewhere on the hazy outskirts of my consciousness I felt his pelvis slapping against my ass, the vibrations jiggling me deep inside, and then he was yelling, too, bellowing like some wild animal in heat as his hand grasped hard over my pulsing clit and his cock swelled and burst inside me. Then he was slowing down, slower, then stopped. Both our arms were braced against the wall, our fingers splayed out over the tile as the water rushed over us like a waterfall.
After a few seconds I felt his hands against my chest, lifting me up, supporting me, pressing my slippery back against his muscular chest. He used one hand to softly turn my face to the side, and then he arched his head over my shoulder. My eyes stayed closed to the water pouring down over us, but I felt everything, from his cock still hard and deep inside me, to every sensual sliding of skin as our bodies pressed tight against each other.
Then our mouths met softly, sensually under the hot spray of water, and he kissed me for a long, long time.
56
Our encounter in the shower was a thousand times better than the one from two nights ago.
And in a wildly different way, so was the after-party.
After we got dressed (I insisted on putting on some makeup and changing into new clothes on the tour bus), Derek took me on his arm and escorted me backstage – and into the midst of a couple dozen celebrities. Suddenly I wasn’t the wallflower reporter skulking on the sidelines; I was on the arm of the most desired man in a room full of fame and fortune. Hell, the most desired man in the country. Rappers, rock legends, film stars, TV actors – all of them were looking at me like, Who’s this? A couple of the rappers playfully hit on me, then joked with Derek like they were afraid he would come after them (“Awright man, you know I’m jus’ playin’ – I wouldn’t do you like that, dawg – but daaaamn, shorty is tight”). The older rockers and movie stars were courtly and polite, but the women – especially the younger women, the ones who had probably come backstage with an agenda – threw a lot of cold shoulders my way as they ran their hands up and down Derek’s free arm, and laughed at everything he said.
I felt jealous again – but it was different from the other night. That was a gnawing feeling of deprivation, an ache that I could never belong, that I could never have what I wanted. Now I was on the inside of the circle, just me and Derek, and the others were intruders trying to force their way in. Now my jealousy was equal parts anger that they were trying to steal him, disbelief that they could be so bold to try it right in front of my face, and smug satisfaction that they didn’t have a chance.
You can try all you want, bitch, but I know who he’s going home with.
Everything I just said makes me sound terrible. I know it; I cringe to write it down. I had, even if just for a moment, turned into one of those hoochies from the other night. The gold diggers and players clawing at the king, trying to be his queen.
I could suddenly see why so many beautiful women pursued rock stars, and athletes, and movie stars. I’m sure some did it for the money – but I think it was primarily the fame. The limelight is like a drug. All that attention is intoxicating. When everybody is fawning over the man of your dreams, and you start basking in that reflected glow… it does something to you. It warps the way you see the world. It certainly did for me.
I felt like the belle of the ball – Cinderella on the arm of Prince Charming. Except Prince Charming was all tatted up and wearing sunglasses indoors.
There was champagne – and this time I drank it. There was also whiskey and pot and cocaine, in which I did not partake. But two nights ago the world had seemed cold and sharp-edged and ugly. Now there was a golden haze over everything, and not only was I in love with Derek, I was in love with life.
Somebody else noticed it, too.
Derek got pulled aside by Miles to go speak to some famous music producer, which left me alone – until Ryan walked up, all smiles.
“Somebody’s having a much nicer night than the last time I saw
her at one of these things.”
I giggled back. (The champagne was taking its toll.) “A much nicer night, yes.”
“And to think, all of this was made possible by my advice,” he said sagely, in a self-mocking kind of way.
“That whole ‘let yourself go and live a little’ part? Yeah… I suppose I should thank you for that.”
He waved me off, his eyes half-closed, like Ahhhh, don’t mention it.
I smiled. “It was good advice.”
Then, with his eyes still half-closed, he put out his hand and motioned his fingers like More – more – gimme more, the same way Stephen Colbert does when he wants his audience to keep howling for him.
I grinned and played along. “It was really good advice.”
He turned his head away and kept motioning for more.
Now I was laughing. “It was an absolutely brilliant stroke of genius.”
He put out a hand like Okay, you can stop there.
“It was nothing,” he said nonchalantly, still playing up the self-mockery angle. Then he grew serious, though with a smile. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I’m just a little worried about my journalistic integrity.”
He made a face and blew out air through his lips. “If you were interviewing the President or a Congressman or somebody important, then, yeah. But we’re just three guys and a crazy chick who get up on stage and play songs.”
“You’re joking, right?” I asked, stunned. “You guys are incredibly important!”
He swept his arm around at the room. “Don’t confuse the trappings with being important, Kaitlyn.”
“What about the people you inspire? What about kids who are where you were four years ago, in their parents’ basement, following their dream? You’re important to them.”
He bobbed his head modestly and nodded in grudging assent. “Well, okay, yeah, those are the people I want to be important to, so that’s fine. But believe me, you’ll be giving them a dream, too: the hope that, one day, they too will be able to get a beautiful Rolling Stone writer to question her journalistic integrity.”
I laughed and swatted him on the arm. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he grinned, and walked off into the crowd.
As he left, though, his words played again in my head:
And to think, all of this was made possible by my advice.
I intentionally ignored the whole part where he had confessed to falling in love with me years ago. The fact that he was happy to see me happy… that was confusing enough.
But despite my fog of giddiness and champagne, I remembered something else besides the ‘let yourself go and live a little’ part:
Be careful. He’s my best friend, but… just be careful. Don’t give too much of yourself away. Not completely.
I like you way too much to see you get hurt.
It was like hearing the whispers of a ghost echoing down a long, dark hallway.
Unsettling.
Disturbing.
And then I forgot everything as I felt the sting of somebody slapping my ass HARD.
“OW!” I yelped.
I was about to wheel around and give Derek hell –
When I realized it wasn’t Derek.
“What up, Blondie!” Riley cackled, then darted in and sloppily kissed my cheek. She reeked of sweat and Jack Daniels.
“UGH, get off me!” I shouted, pushing her away violently.
In retrospect, I think it was the champagne that emboldened me to do that.
She backed away into the crowd as she pointed at me. “One day, Blondie! One day, I’m gonna tap dat ass!”
And then she bumped into a stunning brunette…
Wheeled around and got an eyeful…
And then smacked her rear end, too.
The brunette was not quite as unreceptive as I was.
Which Riley took immediate advantage of as she began sucking on her face.
I watched the whole display with an expression I usually reserve for roadkill.
“Looks like I have competition,” a voice rumbled behind me.
I turned and saw Derek grinning.
I rolled my eyes. “If you died, and then the whole rest of the world except for Riley died, too, you still wouldn’t have any competition.”
He laughed, then circled his arms around me, nuzzled up against my back, and whispered in my ear, “Hey… you feel like getting out of here?”
Mmmmmmm.
“I so feel like getting out of here,” I whispered back.
And then Killian ruined everything.
57
He strolled over to us, smoking a joint and strumming his guitar.
“‘Ello, luv,” he smiled at me, then looked at Derek. “We still on for tomorrow, yeah?”
Derek stared at him blankly – and then closed his eyes and winced. “Oh, shit, I totally forgot…”
I frowned. “Forgot what?”
For the first time ever, I saw something other than a look of placid contentment on Killian’s face. He looked flat-out disappointed. “Aw, c’mon now… I’m happy you two are in the midst of connubial bliss, but you promised, mate.”
“Connubial…?” I slurred, now firmly in the grips of the champagne. “I don’t think that means what you think it means…”
I giggled, realizing I sounded a lot like that quote from The Princess Bride:
Inconceivable!
You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.
Which I thought was hilarious.
Come on, cut me a break. I was drunk.
Everybody else, though, was ignoring me.
“Killian…” Derek said, sounding like he was about to try to weasel his way out of something.
“You promised,” Killian said, standing firm.
“Promised what? What’s wrong?” I asked, now slightly alarmed.
“Bring her along! I’ve got more than enough – the more the merrier!” Killian turned to me and asked enthusiastically, “You want to go to Joshua Tree tomorrow, luv?”
“I don’t know,” Derek said, suddenly far more adult and wary-sounding than I’d ever heard him before.
“Joshua Tree?” I frowned. “Like… U2?”
Killian chuckled. “Yes – exactly! They named the album after it. Joshua Tree National Park. We’re going tomorrow for an overnight stay.”
“Don’t you have a concert?”
“Nope. Specifically for this reason,” he said, frowning at Derek like You PROMISED.
“Get Ryan to go instead,” Derek suggested.
Killian snorted derisively. Compared to what he normally acted like, he was a full-on riot of emotions. “Ryan’ll never do anything. You know that.”
“Ryan’ll never do anything what?” Ryan said, suddenly materializing beside Killian from out of the crowd.
“Where’d you come from?” I asked, surprised.
“You guys looked like you were having a band conference. Ryan’ll never do anything what?” he repeated.
“Joshua Tree,” Derek said simply, as though that explained everything.
Apparently it did.
“Damn straight Ryan’ll never do anything,” Ryan agreed.
Killian pointed at Ryan but made a face at Derek – like, See? What did I tell you?
“And he’s trying to get Kaitlyn to go along,” Derek explained.
“Oh, hell no.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use this much profanity, ever,” I teased Ryan.
“There’s a good reason,” he said darkly.
“Bah,” Killian said, flapping his hand dismissively. “Just because you’re a prissy wanker doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t partake.”
“You prissy wanker, you,” Derek repeated. Ryan just rolled his eyes.
“Partake in what?” I asked. “Why doesn’t anyone want to go to Joshua Tree with Killian?”
“Yes, why doesn’t anyone want to go to Joshua Tree with Ki
llian?” the guitarist said plaintively, like a five-year-old child who only got a package of underwear for Christmas.
Derek sighed heavily. “It’s not that I don’t want to go, it’s just…”
“It’s just what?” I asked.
Derek paused, then gave me a mischievous grin. “He wants to do shrooms while we’re there.”
“…shrooms?” I repeated, not quite understanding in my drunken state.
Then I got it.
“MUSHROOMS?!”
“Say it a little louder, luv,” Killian griped. “The coppers outside the stadium didn’t hear you.”
“You want to go take drugs out in the desert?!”
Killian seemed to consider that a baffling question. As in, who wouldn’t want to?
“…yeah!”
“It’s an annual thing,” Derek explained. “Ever since he came to Athens, he has to go to Joshua Tree every year and trip on shrooms. It’s like his annual ritual or something.”
“Exactly,” Killian said, sounding comically dignified. “It’s my annual ritual.”
“And every year Derek goes with him,” Ryan said.
“And trips his balls off,” Killian added.
“And every year he tries to get Ryan to go, too – ” Derek said.
“But Ryan’s a prissy little wanker who won’t partake,” Killian sniffed. Then he leaned in close to me. “Don’t be a prissy little wanker, luv.”
“I… uh… I’ve never dropped shrooms before,” I said, a little bit frightened. Okay, a lot frightened.
“You ‘drop’ acid. You just ‘take’ shrooms,” Derek said.
“You can drop shrooms,” Killian said.
“Yeah,” I said, annoyed at being corrected.
“Nobody says that,” Derek scoffed.
“Well, Kaitlyn can drop shrooms if she wants,” Killian said magnanimously, and then gave me puppy dog eyes. “Please, luv? Do it for Queen and country.”
“She’s not British,” Ryan pointed out.
“Pretend you are.”
“The fuck’s going on over here?” Riley shouted as she stumbled over. “Is this a band conference?”
Rock All Night (The Rock Star's Seduction #2) Page 20
