“Are you okay?” I asked in alarm.
His only answer was to lift up my ass and reposition my legs so that now I was astride him. Suddenly I was riding him as he lay on the dresser, fucking him and not caring that we were destroying the hotel room, just so long as I could have that cock inside me.
We stayed like that for a minute, and I could feel myself getting closer, closer – when suddenly one of the feet of the dresser broke and we suddenly were sliding down a thirty-degree incline.
He shouted in surprise and I was shrieking with laughter as he staggered backwards towards the bed –
And then I slammed into the mattress, and he was fucking me again, twice as fast and three times as hard and I screamed with pleasure and shock and delight as he bit my neck and grabbed my breast, roughly squeezing the nipple as his cock pounded thick and deep inside me.
Again I was getting closer, and suddenly we were rolling off the bed. I screamed as we fell, him onto his back, me jolting down hard on his cock. Then he was rolling me onto my back, my naked body was on the lush carpet, and he kept rocking into me without missing a stroke. The bed had moved with every thrust, but here on the floor, nothing could give way – so my body stayed stationary (except for my breasts, which jiggled and slid as he pounded into me) and I felt him go even deeper, harder, more powerfully inside me.
Suddenly I was over the edge, screaming, and then he was hollering, and I felt his cock explode inside me as my own orgasm jolted every inch of my body. I grabbed his hair and slammed his head down against my shoulder as he thrust away, his cock getting larger, then a split second later smaller, larger then smaller, until his contractions tapered off and mine slowly subsided into low, sweet, lingering bliss.
He groaned and kissed my neck softly where he’d bitten it just a moment ago.
“We need to do that more often,” he whispered huskily.
I laughed. “Might get expensive.”
He looked around the room, at the lamp on the floor, the broken dresser, the cracked TV hanging at a crazy angle off the wall.
He shrugged. “Fuck it… I’m rich.”
And then we went at it again.
78
I woke up the next morning feeling like someone was taking a baseball bat to the inside of my skull. My stomach was doing slow, nauseating somersaults, my body was bruised from our sexual rampage the night before, and my lady parts were tender and sore.
I felt like slipping back into unconsciousness for another week. Maybe two.
I propped myself up on one elbow and surveyed the wreckage.
Damn we’d broken a lot of hotel property.
The only reason I dragged my ass out of bed was that I had promised Shanna I would see her off before her early flight back to New York. So I left behind a gorgeous, naked, sleeping man and got into the shower, hoping that the hot water would wash away my alcohol poisoning.
Nope.
I got dressed, put on minimal makeup, and watched my boyfriend as he slept. He was lying on his front, and the covers were draped halfway off his sculpted ass.
What a view… I just wanted to reach out and touch it…
But obligations called. And if I woke him up by fondling his butt, there was a good chance I might not make it down to breakfast.
Not to mention my head, stomach, and naughty bits might not be able to take another round right now.
I reached the hotel restaurant at about half past nine. Shanna was sitting by the window, already looking put-together and mostly recovered. As I recalled from college, she had that gift. On the other hand, she also had lots of practice.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” she said cheerily as I slumped into the chair opposite her. She touched the massive Bloody Mary next to her plate and asked, “Want a little sumpin’-sumpin’?”
“God, no,” I said, my stomach threatening to leap out of my throat at the thought.
“Best remedy for a hangover ever. Well, no, that’s not true. Best way to never get a hangover is never stop being drunk.”
“Is that your secret?”
“Hell yeah, bitch. Always has been. I’m ridin’ the buzz I woke up with all the way back to New York. Sooooooo… what did you do last night? I know who you did, I’m just curious about the details.”
“Wrecked a hotel room,” I said, and couldn’t help but grin.
“Reeeeeaaaally.” She leaned forward eagerly. “I’m assuming we’re talking a lot of extreme sports sex, and not some kind of wall-punching rock star freakout.”
“No. I mean, yes – the former, not the latter.”
“I’m so jealous…” she sighed, then got a mischievous look on her face. “Last night was just like old times: I wind up passed out, and you end up with the hot rocker.”
“Hey, that was your own fault,” I said as I sipped a glass of ice water.
“What, you ending up with the hot rocker?”
“No, you passing out. Why didn’t you try to sleep with Ryan?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Are you seriously going to go there?”
“What, he’s not good enough for you?” I asked, a little offended on Ryan’s behalf.
“No, he’s hella fine. But he seems to be carrying a certain torch for someone who shall remain nameless hack hack Kaitlyn,” she coughed into her fist.
My already overwrought stomach was doing triple cartwheels now. “No – that’s – unh-unh – ”
“Oh please. He’s so into you, I couldn’t have won him over if I’d been offering free blowjobs and lollipops. Which I was. And it still didn’t work.”
I squinted. “…what does that even mean?”
“It means – fuck what it means. The point is, you’re hogging all the men, Kaitlyn.”
“I am not.”
“Okay, the hot, rich, rock star ones, then.”
“I am not.”
“Okay, just the lead singer and the bassist of Bigger, then.”
“I am NOT!”
“Whatever, Ms. ‘De Nile Ain’t Just A River In Egypt.’”
“Can we talk about something else?” I fumed.
“Okay… how’s the article coming?”
I groaned. “Next topic.”
She waved her hand. “I get it, I get it – you’re too busy ‘researching’ right now. You can write it when you get home. When are you headed back?”
Again, my stomach started roiling – but for a different reason this time. “I… don’t know.”
“Well, you can’t stay in Never-Never Land forever, Tinkerbell.”
My immediate reaction – from the depths of my subconscious – was, Why not?
But I didn’t say anything.
She frowned at my silence. “Kaitlyn… you’re going to have to come back to real life sooner or later.”
“I know,” I grumbled.
She continued offhandedly as she took a bite of French toast, “And he’s going to go back to his.”
“What does that mean?”
She gave me a You’re an idiot look. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
She doubled down on the look. “You really need me to fuckin’ spell it out?”
Now my hackles were up. “Yeah. Fuckin’ spell it out for me.”
“He’s a rock star, honey. And a scorchin’ hot one, at that. You’ll go home, back to your life, and write a great article… and he’ll go back on tour, singing to throngs of adoring models and groupies every night… and… doing what rock stars do with models and groupies.”
She edited the end of that sentence out of deference to me. She must have seen the pain on my face.
“I’m not saying you guys won’t hook up every once in awhile and have an incredible weekend,” she continued in an effort to soothe me. “I’m not saying he won’t fly you out to the occasional show, and you won’t still have mind-blowing sex and a lot of fun and – ”
“You’re wrong,” I said, my voice low and angry.
“What, you won’t have mind-blowing se
x and a lot of fun?”
“It could work,” I insisted.
“What could work?”
“A… a relationship.”
“Yeah, if you’re all three of those ‘See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil’ monkeys rolled into one,” she snorted. “Although I guess it’d be more like ‘See No Sexin’, Hear No Sexin’, Speak No Sexin’.”
When I didn’t hit her with a comeback, she stared at me for a moment – then looked around like she was searching for a hidden camera. “Wait a second, am I being punked? Are you the same Kaitlyn Reynolds who almost didn’t come out here because Derek Kane is a man-whore who uses women by the dozen – excuse me, the hundreds?”
I bristled. “I was afraid about crossing a line – as a journalist. And about everything I might have lost when I walked away from him in college. And if I did sleep with him, maybe I’d built it up too much over the years and it would never match up to reality – ”
She rolled her hand in the air like Come on, keep going. “…aaaand I seem to recall something in there about him sleeping with lots of other chicks.”
“I was wrong.”
“What, that he slept with lots of other chicks? And that he’ll continue to sleep with other chicks? No, I don’t think you were wrong about that one.”
I gritted my teeth and didn’t say anything.
She sighed again and reached out across the table to touch my hands.
I pulled my fingers back as though her touch had scorched me.
“Kaitlyn,” she said in a kind but tired voice, “I would love nothing more for you than for Derek to fall completely in love and give you everything you want, which I assume is a big-ass rock on your finger and him never looking at another woman’s ass till death do you part. But honey… you’re not looking at this realistically – ”
“He said I was his girlfriend,” I blurted out.
That stopped her.
For a second.
She raised one eyebrow. “…really.”
“Yes.”
“He said the actual word ‘girlfriend’? About you?”
“Yes,” I snapped. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“No, no, I just… did he use the ‘L’ word?”
I froze. The fact that he hadn’t yet… bothered me.
“…no.”
“Were you guys arguing at the time, maybe?”
I didn’t say anything.
She narrowed her eyes, seeing she had hit pay dirt. “And was anybody naked at the time, or did a certain someone want to get naked, and the other someone didn’t?”
My memories of that night were scrambled and hard to pin down… but more than anything, I remembered the trancelike sex and the many, many orgasms.
I looked down at the table in silence.
“Kaitlyn… I’m not saying he didn’t mean it… but you know his past. Do you really think he’s going to change his spots just because of you?”
I glared at her – mostly because she was voicing every insecurity I had. “You’re saying it’s impossible?”
“No, I’m not – well, yeah, sort of. Guys like Derek Kane don’t change everything about themselves like that. They might say it, and they might mean it, and they might actually follow through for awhile… but… in the end… Derek’s Derek. He is who he is.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he’s a player.”
“So what does that make me?”
“A fuckin’ pendulum. You swung from one extreme of ‘No no no no no’ to the other extreme of marriage and houses and 2.5 kids – ”
“I’m not thinking about those things,” I hissed.
“Okay, then, you’re just thinking you’ll be the long-distance girlfriend of a guy who’s slept with way more people than I have, which is saying something. And you think he’ll be loyal, and faithful, and never ever step out with one of the supermodels on the Sports Illustrated bathing suit cover who’s throwing herself at – ”
“You were the one who said I should come here and sleep with him,” I interrupted.
“Yeah – sleep with. Have a good time. Get your rocks off. Not fall head over heels in love and expect a future full of roses and ponies.”
“So what are you saying I should do?” I asked coldly.
She shrugged. “Enjoy the ride. Enjoy the hell out of it.”
“And then?”
“And then… come back to reality, babe. ‘Cause wherever your head is right now, reality ain’t it.”
79
My goodbye to Shanna wasn’t exactly the warmest in the history of our friendship. We switched to slightly less incendiary topics – like all the drama surrounding her sex life, which was always a conversational winner with her – and then I saw her off to her taxi.
“You know I wasn’t trying to bust your balls, right?” she slurred before she climbed into the cab. She’d had a couple of ‘the world’s best hangover cures’ by the end of breakfast, not to mention a few mimosas. “You know I’m just worried about you, right?”
“Yeah,” I grumped, though I said it more to get rid of her than out of any sort of real agreement.
“My original advice still stands.”
“Which was what?”
“Go live life – and write the fuckin’ article.”
“That’s what I’m doing. Well… except for the writing part.”
“Yeah, I know. But I have a collorary… corror…”
“Corollary?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” she said, and pointed at me like I’d said the magic word. “Little fucker’s hard to say when you’re drunk… coro…lary…”
“Which is…?” I said impatiently.
“What? Oh, yeah – go live life… but make sure it’s actually real life.”
I frowned. “Versus what?”
“Versus a fantasy.” She said it like vershus a fantasy as she stumbled towards the cab. “Fantasies are awesome – fuck yeah they’re awesome – but sometimes you gotta know when to come home and write the fuckin’ article.”
“What if real life can be a fantasy?” I challenged her.
She paused, halfway into the cab.
“If you figure that one out, let me know how to do it,” she said, toppled into the backseat, and waved as the cab took off into the sea of San Francisco traffic.
80
I was pretty pissed at Shanna, and definitely riled up. I wanted to yell and vent – but the one person I couldn’t yell and vent to was the one sleeping in my bed.
Make that his bed.
That I had slept in.
See, it was already complicated.
And it was complicated even more by the fact that I was afraid everything Shanna was saying might be the truth… even if I wouldn’t admit it to myself.
If I hadn’t still been feeling nauseated, I might have gone back to the restaurant and started a bender. (A Kaitlyn-sized bender, not a Shanna or – God forbid – Riley-sized bender.) But I still felt like somebody had dumped a whole bunch of ick into my stomach, so I headed up for the band’s suite instead. I reasoned that Derek was still sleeping, and there was no way that Riley was up… so no danger there. And I might just be able to catch a sympathetic ear from Ryan.
When I knocked on the door, though, all I heard was a soft British voice saying, “Come in.”
“It’s locked,” I said.
“Just a minute,” Killian called.
A few seconds later, the door opened to a thick fug of marijuana stank and a lead guitarist in black silk pajamas – along with his omnipresent guitar and doobie.
“Mornin’, luv,” he said amiably, and ambled back to a seat in the main room.
“Morning,” I said, and looked around the room anxiously. “Is Ryan here?”
“No, he had something to take care of,” Killian said as his fingers danced across the steel strings.
My head whipped around, perhaps a little too sharply. “Something, or someone?”
He smiled. “
You know I don’t kiss and tell, luv. But… no. Just some sort of money thing. Banking and such.”
“Oh,” I said, and wondered why I felt a tiny bit of relief.
“You alright?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You seem a bit stressed.” He took the joint dangling from his lips and held it up a few inches from his face, as though offering it to me. “Might I suggest a bit of my favorite medicine for that particular condition?”
I couldn’t help but grin. “Thank you, but no.”
He nodded and replaced the joint in his mouth. “Suit yourself. Anything in particular got you down?”
I was about to say ‘no’ – but then I hesitated. Killian had really opened up to me on the way to Joshua Tree. I knew it was part of the deal we’d made so that he could go tripping on shrooms… but closing myself off to him now, when he was being so kind, seemed rude.
“…I just had a fight with my friend. Well, more like a… an unpleasant discussion.”
“Ah, the bird who knows her herb.”
“Yeah. Her.”
“I like her.”
I crossed my arms. “Yeah, well… I usually like her.”
“What’d she do?”
“It’s not so much what she did, it’s what she said.”
“Which was…?”
I stood there feeling uncomfortable.
Killian patted the cushion on the chair next to him.
I sighed… relented… and walked over and sat down.
“She said I needed to stop living in a fantasy and come back to the real world,” I grumped.
“I myself prefer fantasy to the real world,” he said, right before he took another drag.
“Well, yeah. You’re a rock star.”
“Being a rock star has nothing to do with it,” he said, in that voice pot smokers use when they’re trying to keep as much smoke in their lungs as possible.
I frowned. “Isn’t that the fantasy world you’re talking about?”
“Oh no. Being a rock star is more of a nightmare than a fantasy.”
I stared at him. “What?”
Rock All Night (The Rock Star's Seduction #2) Page 28
