The Rockstar's Virgin by M. S. Parker
It helped that she went slowly, almost torturously slow. I wanted to fuck her hard and fast, but this was what Hazel needed. And what Hazel needed was what I needed.
I leaned up on my elbows and pulled Hazel down for a kiss. As I did, I rocked my hips up to meet hers, and she moaned. I loved hearing her that sound, throaty and deep. I did it again, then again, and then I lay back and held her hips in my hands, slamming up into her while she rode me with wild abandon.
Her eyes screwed shut. She was close. I held her tight enough to leave bruises, but I didn't care. Heat swirled in my balls, tension building and building. Hazel cried out suddenly, her back arching back and thrusting her tits out. Her walls squeezed me, pulsing as she exploded inside. I couldn't wait any longer. I needed to fuck her.
I spun us until I was on top, then hoisted her legs over my shoulders and began violently slamming my hips against hers. Hazel screamed as another orgasm crashed over her. I felt her milking my cock, urging me to release. And fuck. I did.
I came with a roar. My body shook with the force of it, and it was all I could do to hold myself steady as I unloaded into her. It was so intense, so amazing. When it was over, I collapsed next to this innocent sex goddess and gulped down as much air as I could. Somewhere along the line, I'd forgotten to breathe.
Heh. Go figure.
I'd found someone who took my breath away.
Thirty-Nine
Hazel
I woke up to the sounds of activity outside my trailer. It made sense since we were due to leave at nine. What time was it?
I tried to move to the bedside table to grab my phone, but I was trapped. Looking down, I realized the heavy ropes secured around my midsection weren't ropes at all. They were Sean's arms.
Oh god. How could I forget?
My sleepy morning fog evaporated in an instant, and I remembered everything that happened last night. Sean apologizing. Then sex. Lots of sex. I think we fell asleep sometime before dawn, but I couldn't be sure since time felt like it was both flying and not moving at all.
And now what?
Well, I felt pretty well fucked. There was an ache between my legs that wasn't entirely unpleasant. It was the kind of thing I could happily get used to waking up to. And Sean stayed last night without me even having to ask.
Maybe this was okay. It was a road romance. Those things happened, right? Two people finding each other while they headed in the same direction, but who would part ways afterward as friends. And that was something I could deal with, right? I was sure people did it all the time.
“What are you doing?” Sean asked groggily.
I turned my head on the pillow to look at him. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were still heavy with sleep. He was adorable.
“What do you mean?”
He shook his arm. “You're tapping on me.”
I looked down and realized I'd been tapping my fingers against his arm while I thought. I stopped immediately. “Sorry. Didn't realize I was doing it.”
He chuckled. “You're weird. I like it.” He squeezed me tighter, dragging me closer into his warmth.
“I need to check the time,” I said. “Let me up?”
Sean shook his head. His eyes were closed again. “No can do.”
“Sean, we could be leaving any minute.”
“Too bad. You're warm and soft, and I want to hold you a bit longer.”
Though I was warmed by this sentiment, I didn't want the whole tour to be late getting to the next location because the lead singer was missing.
“If you let me go, I'll get coffee.”
There was silence, and for a moment I thought Sean had gone back to sleep. Then, slowly, his arm loosened.
I laughed and slipped out of his hold, then check the time on my phone. “Shit. We've got half an hour before we're set to depart.”
Sean raised his head and fixed me with a bleary expression. “You better hurry with that coffee then, hadn't you?” He followed this with a devilish grin that made my stomach do a somersault.
The circus was moving out, and I battled against hordes of roadies and black boxes on my way to grab some breakfast before we left. There was a cafe across the road from the arena that I'd been told made amazing breakfast sandwiches, and I'd be damned if I left here without one. Especially since I was starving. Starving. Apparently having an all night screw fest was a good way to burn calories.
I grabbed a couple coffees and breakfast sandwiches and headed back to the lot. I figured Sean would be back on his tour bus, but I found him having a smoke just outside my trailer. He'd changed clothes, now wearing an Alice in Chains t-shirt and a slightly different pair of worn jeans. He always looked so casual when he wasn't on stage. I preferred him that way, even if the leather pants did make his ass look phenomenal.
“I was just going to bring these over to you,” I said, handing him his food and coffee. “You didn't have to wait here.”
“Not waiting here.” Sean took a puff and exhaled, blowing his smoke off to the side and away from me. It was sweet. “Well, I am. But not with the intent of leaving.”
I cocked my head a little. “What do you mean?”
Sean tossed the cigarette butt to the ground and stomped it out. “I'm riding with you for the next leg.”
I blinked in surprise. “You're what?”
“Christ, baby.” He grinned. “All this loud rock music has made you deaf.” Sean strode toward me, wrapping his free hand around my waist. “I'm riding with you today.” He pressed a smoky kiss to my lips, then smacked my ass. “Now get in the trailer.”
This was not how I expected my day to go. I thought I'd be spending a quiet day reading in my trailer, maybe even taking a nap. But now it looked like I was going to get a whole day with Sean.
A. Whole. Day.
How was I going to entertain him all day? What if he realized how uncool I was and took back everything he said last night?
Nonetheless, I did what he said and stepped into the trailer. I noticed he'd made the bed. Odd.
“It's a thing,” he said.
“What?” I turned to see him entering behind me. He closed the door.
“It's a thing, the bed. I like to make the bed after I get out of it.”
He must've seen the expression on my face. I cocked an eyebrow but shrugged. We all had our things, I supposed.
“Does Brad know you're here?” I asked.
“No, but he will. I told the other guys to let him know so he wouldn't shut down the whole city to go look for me.” Sean sat down on the bed and unwrapped the breakfast sandwich. I didn't have much furniture other than a bed, table, and the smaller table and chair I used for my desk, and they were attached to the floor so it wasn't like I could move them around to make a breakfast nook.
“So, what do you want to do today?” I asked, starting in on my own sandwich.
Sean took a bite and grinned. “I'm sure we'll figure something out.”
“You ready, baby?” Sean smiled, mischief glittering in his eyes.
I snorted. “I've been ready for the past ten minutes. But you keep failing to deliver on your promises.”
“I've been building up,” he purred. “And now you're about to get it.”
“Bring it on.”
“Be careful what you wish for.” Sean slapped a card on the bed between us. Then another one. “Miss a turn. Pick up two cards.”
I burst out with laughter. “That's your big move?”
“Hey, I've only got one card left now. I'm owning you.”
“You haven't played Crazy Eights much, have you?” I slapped down another two on top of his. “Pick up four.”
Sean's jaw tightened. “I'll make you pay for that.”
“I'd like to see you try. You're all talk and no trousers.”
I was riding high on my forecasted Crazy Eights win and should have known better than to bait him so much. One second I was holding my cards and trying to figure out my next move, the next I was being tackled and pinned t
Sean loomed above me, grinning maliciously. I squeezed my thighs together as heat suddenly flared between them, anxious to see what kind of punishment he was about to mete out.
And then he started tickling me.
“No!” I howled. “You can't!”
“I can and I will.” His tone was low and dark and sent shivers of longing up my spine. But all I could do was laugh as he mercilessly tickled me into submission.
“Okay, okay! You were owning me! You're the best Crazy Eights player that ever existed!” I gasped between breaths.
Sean kept tickling, pressing my body down against the mattress so I was completely immobile.
“Not good enough,” he hissed into my ear.
“You're not all talk. You're way more trousers than you are talk.” I giggled.
Sean, now appeased, stopped tickling. He stayed above me, though, staring into my eyes as our breaths mingled in the inch of space between us.
“You know what we should play now?” His cock lengthened against my thigh.
My lips parted with desire. “What?”
Sean leaned down to the hollow of my ear, lips brushing over my skin softly. I shuddered and waited, heat flooding my thighs.
“Go fish.”
His weight rolled off me before I even had time to process. I sat up, heart pounding in my chest. “Are you serious?”
Sean hit me with the full force of his lopsided grin. “How else am I supposed to dominate you?”
My insides turned to magma. “I might be able to think of an idea or two.”
Sean's fingers interlaced with mine, and he stretched them high above our heads. We were lying on our backs, listening to the trailer roof rattle. “You've got such little hands.”
“Would you prefer I had big man hands?” I squeezed my fingers around his. “You've got the money. We could make this happen, you know.”
“I think you're onto something.” He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. “Let's kidnap Lou Ferrigno and get you some proper hands. Not these little raccoon ones.”
“Hey! I do not have raccoon hands.”
“Maybe I just think you do because you eat like a raccoon.” He imitated a raccoon stuffing food into its face with little grabby hands. I smacked him.
“And what about your hands, huh?” I asked. “Are they so perfect?” I pulled them up for my inspection. Long, slender fingers. Callouses. Wide palms. Shit, they were perfect.
“Too many lines,” I said after a moment, letting go.
Sean laughed and pulled me against his chest. “Too many lines? What does it take to please you, woman?”
“Not much more than this,” I said softly.
We were both naked still, tangled together like creeping vines. We had a whole day of travel ahead of us, and I couldn't think of anything better to do with my time than joke about stupid shit with Sean and pretend the rest of the world didn't exist.
“Me neither.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “It's moments like this that I get photography.”
“What do you mean?”
He rolled onto his side and rested his head in his hand, watching me. I rolled onto my side too.
“Taking a picture is the closest we can come to capturing a moment, you know? And the best photographers are the ones who capture the most of that moment's essence. It's an art to take a feeling and translate it into a picture. That's why I like your work so much. You're so good at doing that.”
I blushed and looked down. “Thanks.”
Sean tipped my chin up and smiled at me. “Could I see some more of your work? As much as I love looking at photos of myself...” He wrinkled his nose.
I laughed, delighted he wanted to look at more of my photos. I rose from the bed and quickly grabbed my laptop from the table, and we curled up in the corner of the bed to go through them.
Sean was unexpectedly silent as I scrolled through some of my favorite shots. Landscapes, buildings, sometimes random people on the street who'd made me feel something just from looking at them. Just as I was starting to think he actually hated my pictures and was regretting bringing me on this tour in the first place, Sean spoke up.
“You're fucking talented, Hazel.”
I smiled, still looking at the last photo on the screen. It was a brick wall back in Seattle I used to pass every day on my way to work. One day I stopped and snapped a photo of it, just as the sun was slanting just right and something seemed to play between the shadows and light.
“Thank you.”
He reached for my chin, turning me to face him. “I mean it, Hazel. You're really talented. Like, Rolling Stone, National Geographic, famous photographer talented. You've got such an amazing career ahead of you.” He smiled and let go of my chin, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip. “I heard about the Rolling Stone cover. You absolutely deserve it.”
I knew this was just a road romance, but it felt so real. He stared into my eyes with such intensity I had to wonder if he was seeing something nobody else had ever seen before. He was so tender, so sweet.
I missed him already, and the tour wasn't even over. I had to stay in the present or else I would drown in sadness that hadn't happened yet.
“Thanks, Sean. That means a lot.”
When he pressed a soft kiss to my lips, I wondered if I'd ever be able to kiss him without getting dizzy.
Forty
Sean
We parked at a rest stop a couple hours outside of Abilene. Hazel went to grab us some food, and I wrestled with whether I should take this rare opportunity to call my brother or not. I was feeling more like Sean than I had in a long time, but I didn't know whether that was a good thing or not. The Rock Star kept me cold, but he also kept me safe.
In the end, I decided to dial the number and walked around to a deserted strip of grass at the back of the rest stop to do so.
I spoke with the receptionist first, who remembered me. Unfortunately. She finally put me through to my brother's room. The man who answered didn't sound like my brother. His voice was gravelly and strained.
“Hello?”
“Hey, bro,” I said, trying to sound more lighthearted than I felt. “It's Sean. How are you?”
“Well, this is a surprise.” He laughed. It was dry. Bitter. “I've been better, but I'm in a pretty good place.”
I gritted my teeth, unsure of what to say next. I never knew what to say when it came to Dave. It was always easier to act – to stop giving him cash to blow on drugs, to kick him off my road crew after he nearly botched one of our performances. But never to talk. Even after all these years, I still hadn't figured out which combination of letters could adequately communicate how I felt about him. And though I hated admitting it, I was afraid of which combination of letters he might use back.
“I had a call about some family therapy thing awhile back,” I said. “I'm sorry I couldn't make it.”
“It's fine, man. You know the whole thing here. Healing starts from within and all that garbage.” He blew out against the receiver. “Apparently the chemical addiction in my head keeps coming back because I'm shit at practicing mindfulness. Whatever the hell that is. Can you believe that?”
At least if he was complaining, it meant he was feeling better.
“You're there,” I said. “You may as well try out the whole program while you're at it, instead of just brushing it off as something you'd never do.”
There was a guitar pick in my pocket. I pulled it out and started fiddling with it, knocking it over my knuckles this way and that.
“How long was this conversation you had about the family therapy?” Dave asked. “You sound just like them.”
“And why is that a bad thing? They're the professionals, Dave. They know what they're doing.”
“They're professional money suckers is what they are.” He scoffed. “If they knew what they were doing, do you think I'd keep ending up here?”
The pick fell from my fingers to the ground
Yes, I wanted to say. Because until you actually want to change, you won't.
But I couldn't say that. Part of what held my tongue was the guilt. Part of it was that I knew it would send Dave off into one of his famous rants. If he didn't want to change, why would he be in rehab? Why didn't I believe in him? Wasn't he the one who knew himself best?
I swallowed and clenched one fist, trying to calm myself down. He always knew how to get under my skin without even trying. And the best way was to laugh in the face of the rehabilitation I was paying for and say it didn't work, when in reality, it might if he tried.
“I'm glad to hear you're doing well.”
Dave cleared his throat. “I am. Rehab is...tough. But I'm about to go into a halfway house, so at least I won't have all this new wave bullshit shoved down my throat twenty-four seven anymore. That's enough to push a man to drugs.”
I hated when he made jokes like that. Like the fact he'd nearly died more than once didn't matter. Like just because he couldn't remember the times I'd sat beside his hospital bed for hours, listening to his rasping breaths, I would forget them too.
“Do you need me?” I asked.
I half hoped he would say yes, that he would ask me to leave the tour. And if it came to that, I would. I'd leave in a heartbeat. I knew it would cause a problem with the band, but I didn't care. I cared about my brother. Sometimes I forgot that I did, just like I forgot about everything else I cared about. But now we were here, having this conversation, I wanted a reason to not retreat into my stage persona again. I wanted a reason to stay Sean and be useful to someone as Sean.
But I knew Dave wouldn't say yes. Because Dave didn't need anybody. Or at least he pretended not to. Nothing had changed in that respect since our early days. He had such a selective memory it was easy for him not to think about all the money and opportunities I'd provided over the years – hell, the money and opportunities I was still providing – and hold true to his belief he was in this alone. I tried not to fault him for it. If I hadn't been so intent on pulling him on this whirlwind ride with me, if I'd left him alone, he wouldn't be in rehab right now.