by Nikki Wild
“Please give it all to me, Lex… every last drop inside you. I need it… I crave it…”
That seemed to do the trick.
His movements grew erratic, uncontrollable. Lex lost his grip on himself, rocking his hips against mine over and over, his heavy balls slapping against my skin as he visibly prepared for his own, stunning climax…
But his cock was pressing against my center so perfectly, and I loved being fucked in this position…
It was inevitable that I was about to come, myself. I steeled myself, shifting my weight against the headboard as I clenched up. Finally, the building tension shoved me off the precipice, leaving my gasping body moaning with complete orgasmic pleasure as I came hard against his hips, over and over.
As I burst through the multiple climaxes, Lex finally seized up, his limbs locking as he buried his rock-hard erection as hard into my slickened chasm as it would go. He let loose a roar, and I felt rope after rope of his thick, hot seed spurt into my body, surging deep inside.
After we came together, we collapsed down to the bedding and sheets, fulfilled and brought to the brink of satisfaction.
I nestled up against him as he rolled onto his back, completely spent from the consummation of our love. I felt his heart beating powerfully beneath his ribcage as my head slipped into place, and his arm wrapped around me.
“You mean the world to me,” I heard him whisper as the throes of sleep came for me. All I could do was nod, quietly murmuring my agreement.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“I love you too, Riley.”
I felt safe.
I felt secure.
And I felt like the world was truly ours.
Epilogue
Riley
Six Months Later
As far as proposals go, dragging Gloria Van Lark into court was a pretty damned good way to get me to agree.
She had been true to her word, going to extreme lengths to sabotage my career. Gallery after gallery pulled my work. Lex kept me levelheaded through all of this. We were just gathering the evidence we needed.
The case was still tied up in court, but the world-renowned curator had lost a tremendous amount of influence in the art community, and her reputation was irreversibly tarnished as the truth of her escapades came out. Even if her lawyers were able to wheedle her out of any of the charges against her, despite her admissions, Gloria Van Lark would never enjoy even half the power she’d previously wielded.
And things were turning around quickly for my work… As it just so turned out… the Spinnoc museum was owned by an art collective known as the Reinholdt Group. The founder, Charles Reinholdt, had dedicated his life and his great fortune to preserving priceless art across the world for many decades. With Gloria out of the way, the Reinholdt Group reached out to me directly.
My work made it to the Spinnoc after all…
Lex helped pull a few strings and landed me a functional visa so we’d have time to set up a proper wedding. It beat getting hitched in Vegas…
My friends had taken my move overseas better than I could have expected… Connor and Reiko started dating not long after I left, and the two of them still come visit every once in a while.
They make a cute couple. Independent, working hard on their businesses together…
Connor even has a second location in the works.
On the day that Gloria Van Lark was marched into court, Lex proposed to me in front of the courthouse with one of the most beautiful rings I had ever seen. I couldn’t possibly say no to such a stunning declaration, and I agreed on the spot – under the condition that we take the engagement slow, and truly come to learn each other.
He didn’t see a problem with that… But he seemed to want to do most of his learning in the bedroom.
I didn’t see a problem with that either…
And Lex?
Lex Lambert is still the same smug, confident, world-class football player that he was before. He still leads the English National team, although the team manager saw to it that a certain backstabbing rival was dishonorably removed from the team.
Maybe his face wasn’t on a cereal box, but even that was only a matter of time. The sponsorship would be coming up again soon, and this time, Lex was the odds-on favorite.
Not that he cares. There are two things Lex is 100% invested in, me, and football. Well, I should say us, because after we talked it over… he decided to reverse the vasectomy.
We’re going to try for a baby.
I’m out of my mind happy, and Lex is completely confident that this is going to be the year that England finally earns back its glory and retakes the World Cup…
And when he does…
I’ll be in the stands, cheering him on, with my brand-new wedding ring glistening in the sun. I might even have our beautiful baby in my womb, ready to meet the world. I’ll watch him lead his team towards victory as a beloved national icon and the most capable, loving man I’ve ever met.
I like the sound of that.
Maybe I’ll paint that, too.
The End, but you’re STILL not done! Turn the page because I’ve got more bonus novel surprises waiting for you! Once again you can find a full list of the included bonuses by going to the table of contents!
You are the reason I write!
-Nikki Wild xoxoxo
My entire catalog is FREE TO READ for anyone with a Kindle Unlimited subscription! You can check out all of my sexy bad boy novels by clicking RIGHT HERE!
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Novels by Nikki Wild
Bad Boy Fighters:
KNOCKOUT (A Bad Boy MMA Romance)
* * *
Bad Boy Bikers:
ROUGHNECK (A Dark Biker Romance)
Saving Landon (A Bad Boy Biker Romance)
Saved by the Bad Boy (A Devil’s Dragons Biker Romance)
Pride and Pregnancy (A Devil’s Dragons Motorcycle Club Romance)
Rough Rider (Outlaw Kings Motorcycle Club)
* * *
British Bad Boys:
Royal Prick (A Bad Boy British Romance)
Arrogant Brit (A Bad Boy British Sports Romance)
Rock Hard (A Bad Boy British Rockstar Romance)
Played (A Bad Boy British Romance)
* * *
Bad Boy Rockstars:
Illicit Behavior (A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance)
Rock Hard (A Bad Boy British Rockstar Romance)
* * *
Bad Boy Stepbrothers:
Lust (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance)
Richard (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance)
* * *
Bad Boy Billionaires:
Protect And Serve (A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance)
Illicit Behavior
A BAD BOY ROCKSTAR ROMANCE
Copyright 2016, Nikki wild
All Rights Reserved
My entire catalog is FREE TO READ for anyone with a Kindle Unlimited subscription! You can check out all of my sexy bad boy novels by clicking RIGHT HERE!
* * *
Do you want new release notification, a chance to be an ARC reader, special limited time discounts, and FREE EXCLUSIVE Nikki Wild content? Click here to sign up for my WILD mailing list today! Signup is easy and I will NEVER send you spam or share your e-mail address with anyone.
1
ILLICIT BEHAVIOR
Trent
“Dude! These groupies are totally ready to go!” My dreadlocked bastard of a bohemian guitarist laughed, splashing his bottl
e of beer in an arc.
The two hot young girls wrapped around him cooed a chorus of flirtatious giggles. They must have been just barely eighteen, clad in tight, low-cut shirts that made their silky, angelic breasts practically burst out of the seams.
Despite my lack of interest, I wasn’t about to rain on his parade. I lightly raised my own bottle of music festival beer to him, shaking my head.
“You go on ahead, man. Not feelin’ it tonight.”
No matter where we went, fans were throwing themselves at us – and my band-mates were always eager to take the free, willing pussy back to the bus for a fresh bang.
In fact, my bassist and drummer were already back there now, getting their freak on with a few nameless groupies now.
“Serious?” Waylon asked drunkenly.
His limber playing hand slid under a skirt and along a tanned, tender ass, drawing a blush from the groupie’s cheeks. The sight made my cock almost twitch.
Almost.
“You sure you don’t want to try a piece of this Alabama ‘tang?” He pressed on. “Plenty to go around. I’m not greedy.”
The groupie twosome puffed their chests and wiggled provocatively for me, giving me the deepest pair of sultry, lustful looks that they could muster.
They looked cute.
Cute, and too young to be acting like this.
“Think I’m just gonna relax and ride the vibe,” I reaffirmed. “Go get your dick wet.”
“If you say so!”
“And ladies,” I continued, turning towards the girls, who settled down and looked at me almost fearfully. “Don’t keep him up all night. This guy needs to be shredding licks same time tomorrow.”
They nodded respectfully, but Waylon jumped up to his feet, his dreads scattering around his face briefly.
“Ain’t gonna happen. This train rides ‘til sunrise! Ain’t that right, ladies?”
They chuckled with big, goofy hero-worshipping grins on their faces. He scooped them up against his sides, and soon they stumbled off towards the back of the after-party, heading for our bus.
Joke’s on them, I thought to myself. Waylon’s a two-pump chump on a GOOD day.
Truth of the matter was that I’d been in a funk. For the last few weeks, I had turned down sex left, right, and center from even the most flexible little minxes.
A constant stream of the hottest goddamn chicks around went fucking wild for us on the regular.
And why shouldn’t they?
We weren’t just anybody.
We were Trent Masters and the Whiplash, the hottest fucking rock band in America.
On national radiowaves dominated by DJs making music off of laptops, mainstream child stars glammed up and given backing bands, and egotistical personalities lacking substance and spitting shit…we brought something better.
Something harder.
Something real.
Something apparently sorely missed.
Our latest album, Twelve Machines, was flying off the shelves across the country. The last two singles went platinum. Hell, talks of a Grammy nomination were already in the pipeline.
I was on top of the fucking world.
Or I should have felt like I was.
But all I felt was empty inside, and even the quick fix of endless sex didn’t quell the tension.
It was hard to think I was taking advantage of these girls when they grinded up against me at after-parties like this, always seeming so desperate to give my cock the old spit-shine.
It just didn’t feel right.
But… I couldn’t tell what I wanted instead.
What I needed.
I drank another swig from my bottle of beer, watching the other bands delight in the attention. We were in town for this badass music festival called the RipFest, and we’d shared the stage with some serious rock legends and decent upcoming talent.
They were having fun. Even the older, crustier guys looked like they were having a blast, likely filled with enough drugs to bring down a Bull Rhino in its prime.
It’s not like I wasn’t grateful… I was just… Lost.
The constant attention was overwhelming – too much of a great fucking thing. I had to be careful about the shit I said, because rock stars were even closer to scandal in this day and age.
Everything constantly recorded, rumors spread with the speed of a tweet and the snap of a camera on some girl’s iPhone.
It was all about being careful and avoiding the wrong kind of spotlight. Blogs are eager for clicks, and the whole world is ready to tear you down to build an audience.
I’d paid my dues.
No more practicing in oily garages and filthy bars. No more struggling in hard labor and backbreaking jobs to make ends meet. I wasn’t going to let some little misstep tear me down.
Despite the bullshit, the throne on this rising fucking star felt grand.
But as the light grew brighter…the shadows only grew filthier. Despite all the fame, all the success, all the money and women and the fancy toys. I knew the truth.
The world is a filthy place.
And I am the reigning king of the filth.
2
Angel
Summoning every drop of charisma that I could find, I smiled and plunked down the glasses at the four-top bar table for the graying, slovenly bikers. I rattled off the orders as I sloshed the drinks in front of them in turn, each of them smiling grotesquely.
“Four drafts: Bud, Bud, Miller Lite, and Abita. And four shots of Fireball, because why not,” I added mirthlessly.
“Thanks, darlin’,” the closest biker chuckled, lifting his shot and suddenly grabbing a nice handful of my ass.
I flinched and drew back from him, preserving my pride – and my job – by not responding poorly to the harassment.
“Can I get you guys anything else?”
It was less a question, and more a growl.
“One other thing.”
He dropped his menu on the ground, and looked at me expectantly.
“Step onto that.”
I was used to this by now, and I suppressed a heavy sigh and a filthy look. Instead, I stepped meaningfully onto the discarded menu.
“We’ll take one of you,” he grinned.
“You can’t have one of me.”
“But darlin’, you’re on the menu!”
They broke into riotous laughter, as if this was the cleverest fucking joke ever.
It was pretty funny the first time someone did it to me. Months ago… People are less original than they think. I heard this one twice a week.
“Looks like we’re fresh out,” I responded, scooping the menu off the floor and strolling away.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw their laughter die down, and they were looking at me with annoyance for not playing along.
To hell with ‘em.
To hell with everything about this stupid goddamn job.
I hated working this ancient, decrepit dive bar. The money was just good enough to keep myself afloat, and bartending was fun enough, but not somewhere like this.
If it wasn’t bikers, it was rednecks.
If it wasn’t rednecks, it was thugs.
If it wasn’t thugs…
A shiver went up my spine. I didn’t like to think about that.
Old Greg owned this place, and he was a friendly enough guy. Hell, he’d been a godsend. A lifelong resident of this backwater little town, he was old enough to be my grandfather. His best patron was our sheriff – someone who turned a blind eye when I was brought onboard to tend bar at sixteen.
At least that was no longer a problem. I’d turned eighteen pouring drinks.
When it was slow and I was cleaning glasses or wiping surfaces, I dreamed of exactly what you’d think a bright, young girl who dream about in a place like this:
Getting the hell out of Riverton.
That was the name of this place. The town, not the bar. Well, the bar too, technically.
Riverton Bar, in Riverton… On Riv
erton Avenue.
Remember when I said people aren’t original?
That applies to the friendly ones, too.
Dropping the drink tray off at the stack, I passed back around the counter and checked on my other patrons – several working-class stragglers, downing cheap beer specials, an older fellow nursing a whiskey neat, and a few older crones sipping heavy martinis.
Satisfied, I began taking stock of my liquors. I was gonna have to pop open a bottle of Crown soon, and we were still out of half our rum…
While I checked things off on my clipboard, I noticed someone approaching the bar. I didn’t think much of it, and I continued my work for a moment. I was busy, and the shadow could see that.
Whoever it was, he could wait a minute.
Ticking a couple of more checks, I finally turned around to see the same biker from before – the jester of the group.
Well, more like the leader, from the way the other bikers regarded him. He was leering at me for some reason, and I felt a pit deep in my stomach.
“You forgot something,” he grumbled.
“Sorry,” I answered, letting my tone demonstrate how unapologetic I really was. “My memory’s a bit fuzzy. What was it?”
He sat an empty shot glass on the counter.
I glanced at it, then back up to him.
“I wasn’t kidding. I really don’t remember. What was it again?”
