Rockstar Romance Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle New Adult BBW)

by Emme Rollins

  He playfully slapped my ass. "You're a bad, bad girl, Miss Reid."

  "I know. And I like it."

  He gently kissed my forehead. "Not as much as I do."

  "So, do you think you'll win?"

  "Not a chance in hell," Rick laughed, heading back into the bathroom. "It's not important, anyway."

  "Of course it is!" I replied, trying on the diamond earrings sent over by my stylist. "It's your industry giving you recognition. That has to be worth something."

  Rick headed back into the lounge area of our suite. "Not particularly. They don't buy my albums. It's just the industry slapping itself on the back. Besides, how relevant are the Grammys anyway? They completely ignore rap and hip-hop music, for example. Totally marginalise it."

  "Wait a minute…since when did you like hip-hop?"

  "I don't. But millions of people do so they shouldn't ignore it. Anyway, I'm just getting on my high horse. Let's just have a good time and screw the politics."

  As $10,000 worth of jewellery hung from my ears, I smiled at my reflection. "If you hate the Grammys so much, why bother turning up?"

  Rick moved in behind me and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close to him. "Because, pretty lady," he said, kissing at my neck and making me giggle, "twenty-five million people will be watching on CBS tonight. That's a lot of free advertising."

  I turned around and kissed him on the lips, running my hands over the hard muscles beneath his white shirt. "You shameless media whore, you."

  "Damn right," he smiled. "Show me the money, baby."

  Our moment was ended abruptly by a sharp knock at the door. "It's Anita. Can I come in?"

  I opened it to see my stylist looking flustered. "You okay?” I asked. “You look shattered.”

  "Huh?"

  "Sorry, it's a British thing. It means you look tired, stressed out."

  She rushed over to the Marchesa dress and hurriedly put it into a hanging bag. "Amy, you wouldn't believe the morning I'm having. I've still got four other clients to sort out and they haven't received any of their dresses yes. I could kill some of these designers. They love to get their names mentioned on the red carpet, but do they get their stuff to me when they're supposed to? Do they hell."

  "Sorry," I smiled nervously. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble – it just doesn't fit properly, that's all…"

  She rushed over and took my face in her hands. "Don't be silly! You're my dream client. It's everybody else who's a nightmare, honest. Besides, you're my number one priority today. Rick's receiving an award, after all. Everybody is going to be photographing you."

  "Nominated," Rick's disembodied voice shouted. "Not receiving, nominated."

  Anita leaned in close. "He's so going to win it," she whispered. I held up a pair of crossed fingers. "Right, I'm out of here. I just need to take this downstairs and the seamstress from Marchesa can adjust it. She's busy working on Shakira's dress at the minute – that's if you can call it a dress. I've worn underwear that covers me up more."

  "Well, she's got the body for it," I smiled.

  "I know," Anita replied, rolling her eyes skyward. "Bitch. Anyway, you can talk." She waved an accusing finger at my cleavage, just visible between the folds of my dressing gown. "The gossip pages aren't going to know what's hit them later on."

  I screwed my face up. "Do you think my boobs might be a bit much? I mean, the dress is gorgeous but it really shows them off. I don't want to look slutty."

  She placed a hand on my shoulder. "Firstly, Amy, you are dating the world's hottest rock star right now…"

  "Got that right!" Rick shouted.

  "… so you can't go out there looking as if you're going to a charity lunch with some CEO. Secondly, it's a Marchesa dress. Marchesa doesn't do slutty. And third - if you've got it, baby, you damn well flaunt it. Despite what you may think, every dude in the place tonight will be jealous as hell of a certain Rick Borrell."

  I gave her a hug. "Thanks. It's just a bit daunting, that's all. I've never done anything like this before."

  "Don't worry," she replied, heading out the door. "You're going to be a knockout. And the pair of you together?" She made the sound of an explosion as she disappeared down the hallway.

  I turned back to see Rick propped up in the doorway of the lounge, smiling at me.

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "Nothing," he said softly. "I love all your little insecurities. They drive me crazy, but I wouldn't want you any other way. I love you, Amy Reid."

  Grinning from ear to ear, I pushed my hair behind my ears and looked up at his gorgeous face. "I love you too."

  Chapter Two

  "We have 44 floors before we hit the lobby."

  I leaned back on the elevator handrail and looked across at Rick. His eyes were burning through the ruffled fabric of my red designer dress. "There's no time," I smiled, licking my lips. "We only have a minute or so before we reach the ground floor."

  Rick walked towards me, pure lust etched all over his face. He placed a hand on my waist and slowly moved it up the side of my body, stroking at the curve of my left breast through the fabric and causing me to sigh. Our tongues briefly danced with each other, our lips barely touching. "You look irresistible," he growled.

  "I know," I teased, glancing at the elevator display. "32 floors to go."

  "I need to fuck you," Rick whispered. "And you need to be fucked."

  My legs almost buckled as his hand slipped inside the slit of my dress, slashed to the thigh and giving perfect access to the soaking wet panties beneath. I moaned out as I felt him gently tug at my underwear.

  "21 floors left. Say it, Amy. Tell me what you need."

  My nipples were sensitive and hard beneath my dress, my insides flooded again with warm juice. I felt a stitch at the side of the seam of my panties give way as Rick pulled at it further. My resistance was in tatters, even as I glanced at the number of floors ticking their way downwards.

  "Say it."

  "I need…" I stammered, my voice breaking. "I need to be fucked."

  Without a further seconds warning, he ripped off my panties in one swift, strong movement. I yelped out as the flimsy, drenched fabric tore from my body, the elastic stinging against my skin as it snapped. I almost lost balance on my high heels as the combination of the lingerie being ripped off me and the weakness in my legs from sheer, unadulterated arousal made me fall forward slightly. With just seven floors to go, Rick spun around and slammed a fist into the emergency stop button, causing the elevator to suddenly come to a halt in mid-air.

  I fumbled with his belt, pulling at it violently and erratically. My initial excitement had turned to complete and utter abandon as I desperately wanted him inside me. I momentarily felt the hardness of his fully erect cock as I pushed his underwear down but I wouldn't have time to stop and admire his manhood. Rick had pulled thousands of dollars of dress fabric upwards and kicked my legs apart. The immediacy of his actions seemed like a blur; suddenly, I cried out as inch after inch of steel-like hardness rose up into me. My heels lifted off the ground as the full force of his erection travelled deep inside me, filling my soaking wet pussy and sending a shockwave of pleasure through my body.

  The elevator rumbled and shock as I wrapped my legs around him, locking my ankles together for stability. Five inches of Christian Louboutin heels dug into his hard, muscular ass – but he didn't flinch. Strong arms held me up; long, slow, considered thrusts retracted then stretched and consumed my inner walls again and again. We kissed passionately and frantically, like our lives were about to end. I opened my eyes to see myself in the mirror opposite, pure ecstasy all over my face as stroke after rock-hard stroke slipped into me.

  As I felt my stomach tighten and an orgasm start to build, I smiled momentarily at my reflection. I liked the look of being fucked hard. I liked it a lot.

  Rick's cock began to pulsate and I clung onto for dear life as my body began to shake. The elevator made outrageous noises, the steel structure holding it up c
reaking and groaning as the box itself slammed against the walls of the shaft. Inside my body, Rick's warm, thick cream flowed inside me and mixed with my own juices.

  The noise of the elevator barely concealed my screams as a crashing, devastating orgasm ripped through me. He continued to pulsate inside me, delivering several more hard, determined thrusts that shook me to my core. As he gently lowered my body, I almost collapsed from legs that felt like jelly. But, as usual, Rick was there to be my strength. He held my still shaking body tight, kissing at my neck and lips, and whispering in my ear how much he loved me. As my breathing slowly returned to normal, I tried desperately to stop tears of joy from running down my cheeks.

  "Oh, Mr Borrell! We were very worried for a moment there."

  Rick and I exited the elevator to a concerned-looking hotel manager and dozens of people wondering what was going on. I giggled to myself, sure they would know.

  "The elevator was making all sorts of noises. Our maintenance team were just on their way to free you when it started moving again."

  Rick shrugged. "Not a problem. These things happen. Besides, it gave us ten minutes to talk about our evening. I'm very nervous, you know. That little delay was just the thing I needed."

  "Of course, Mr Borrell. Good luck!"

  We both tried desperately to stifle a laugh and managed only as far as our limousine waiting outside. As we got inside and kissed, Rick looked at me with shock. "Shit! Did you pick up the panties I ripped off you?"

  I looked at him in horror, my eyes feeling as if they would bulge out of my face and dangle on stalks like a cartoon character.

  His face broke into a smile as he pulled them from his inside jacket pocket.

  "You bastard!"

  "But I'm a sexy bastard, right?"

  I kissed him again, lingering for a second on his lips. "The sexiest bastard I've ever met."

  "Whatever happens tonight, I'm going to be endlessly turned on by the fact that I know you have no panties on."

  I felt a warm rush between my legs and bit my lip. "That'll turn me on too," I said seductively. "But not as much as the feeling of being fucked that I'll have for the rest of the evening."

  "Shit, Amy, I'm getting hard again. Ready for another round?"

  I shook my head. "You're out of luck, Romeo. We're here."

  As we pulled up at the Staples Center, I stepped out onto the red carpet. Rick took my hand and we slowly walked down the pathway to endless camera flashes and people calling our name. As if having sex in an elevator wasn't rock 'n' roll enough, this really felt surreal.

  "Amy! Amy! This way! Is that Marchesa, Amy?"

  I nodded, wondering for the life of me why people were shouting my name. Why did they want photos of me? Why did they care what I was wearing? I suddenly felt like a rabbit in the headlights and grabbed Rick's hand tightly.

  He kissed me gently on the forehead and whispered in my ear. "Don't worry, Amy. Just enjoy yourself. Everybody will want a little piece of you tonight."

  "Why are they shouting my name?" I asked quietly.

  He turned and smiled at me. "Because you're devastatingly beautiful and impossible to ignore."

  I felt my face break out into the widest, happiest smile and I looked deep into the gorgeous eyes of the man I loved as the world seemed to spin around us.

  Chapter Three

  "And the winner for 'Album of the Year' goes to…'This Charmed Life' by Rick Borrell!"

  Rick and I turned to each other, our jaws hanging. "Holy shit, Rick! You won! Get up there!"

  I caught myself leaping up and down on the video screens at each side of the stage as Rick headed up to collect his award. He glanced back at me, flashing a cheeky smile, and my heart felt like it would burst out of my chest.

  "Thank you,” he grinned as he held his Grammy. “Please, not too much applause. That’s how fascism started.” The crowd burst into laughter. “Well, this is where I break down in tears or say something incredibly witty," he laughed as he held his Grammy. "But since I'm not really the crying type and I assumed that Coldplay were just going to win this anyway, I'm a bit lost for words." As the screens focused on a close-up of his face, he looked right at me. "Instead, I'm just going to thank you for appreciating that I don't need to be part of the band to be a credible artist. And…this is for Amy, the most beautiful woman in the world. You make me a better musician and a better man. I love you. Thank you."

  Dozens of cameras spun around to focus on me as Rick made his way back off the stage and into the audience. He threw his arms around me, holding me tight to him. I could feel his heart beating as we kissed and I ran my fingers through his tousled dark hair. "That was lovely. You looked so handsome up there. I'm so proud of you. Are you going to stop whining about the Grammys not being relevant now?"

  "Okay," he smiled, settling back into his seat. "I don't want to get too settled into the establishment. But that was cool. I'll take it."

  "So where's your award?"

  "They keep them backstage. They need to engrave my name onto it, you know."

  "Where are we going to put it?"

  "Well, we need a doorstop for the kitchen."

  I playfully slapped his knee. "Knock it off. Stop trying to be so nonchalant. You're not fooling me."

  "That's what I love," he whispered. "I never could and I never want to."

  Several hours later, after some hot and not-so-hot performances, we headed out of the Staples Center and towards Sunset Boulevard. We had been invited to Red Light Management's post-Grammy party at Skybar. As we headed to our limo, we were accosted by an interviewer from Entertainment Tonight.

  "Congratulations, Rick, on your award. Does this mean the end of Beautiful Losers?"

  "Thanks, Shelley. No, probably not the end. But I think it's pretty fair to say we are on permanent hiatus for the foreseeable future. Sorry to rush, got to go."

  As the car pulled away, I turned to Rick. "That's going to ruffle some feathers."

  "What?"

  "About the band being on hiatus. We hadn't made any comments about it up until this point."

  Rick kissed my cheek. "I don't care. Right now I want to show off my woman and get completely shitfaced."

  "Your woman?" I gasped in mock indignation. "I didn't realise I was up for ownership."

  "You're not. That's why you're mine and only mine."

  "Sexist pig," I giggled. "You just set back women's rights by about fifty years at least."

  "About time someone did. Everything went to hell the moment we gave you lot the vote. Oh, here we are."

  I playfully slapped him as we stepped out and into the Skybar. As we made our way past the paparazzi and into the club, Rick gently placed a finger under my chin and closed my gaping mouth. My jaw had literally dropped when I saw who was in the room.

  "Try to remain calm," he said. "They're just people."

  In addition to the dozens of industry managers and producers, I tried to pull myself together when I saw the huge stars around the room. Alicia Keys, the Dave Matthews band, Miley Cyrus, Lionel Richie…not all of them were the most rock 'n' roll of stars, but my mind was officially blown nonetheless.

  "Lionel…that's Lionel Richie…" I stammered.

  "Yup, it is. Go and say hello. Ask him if it's you he's looking for."

  "Shut up," I laughed. "I'm not used to shit like this. It's Lionel fucking Richie, for God's sake!"

  "Even better. Let's go and say hello to Lionel fucking Richie. He'd appreciate you using his full name."

  My encounter with the former Commodore was going to have to wait until another day. Jake Walker, the manager of Beautiful Losers, pushed his way through the throng of people in front of us and slapped Rick on the arm.

  "Rick! Congratulations on the win."

  "Thanks, man."

  Jake looked me up and down. "Amy, you look gorgeous as always. Do you mind if I steal Rick away for a second?"

  Before I had chance to answer, Rick interjected. "No, if this is about bu
siness you can wait. I'm here to party, Jake."

  "Well, it's just about something slightly concerning that a little birdie told me a few minutes ago."

  "And what little birdie would that be, Jake?"

  He pulled out his smartphone and held it up to Rick's face. "The kind that goes tweet, tweet. Fuck, Rick, it's all over Twitter! Apparently you told some Entertainment Weekly reporter that you were quitting the band."

  Rick shook his head. "I didn't say that. And it was Entertainment Tonight."

  "Weekly, Tonight, whatever. Rick, don't kill the cash cow! Let's get this little solo thing out of the way and then we can get back in the studio and start organising the next tour, yeah?"

  "There won't be a next tour," Rick sighed. "I'm done writing songs for other people for the time being."

  Jake moved in closer, his eyes narrowing. "Those other people are your bandmates, Rick. Don't let your ego get the better of you. After your little vanity project has come to an end, we could make an absolute fortune by reforming the band."

  Rick's tone changed. He was starting to get irritated. "My vanity project, as you put it, just netted me three million album sales and a Grammy. Meanwhile, what's your brother written lately? Or is he too busy getting high off my song royalties to put together any new tunes?"

  "Rick, you bastard!"

  The room audibly gasped as Sean, Jake's brother and the band's lead guitarist, stumbled through the crowd. "Right on cue. Speak of the devil," Rick said, gently moving me behind him. "He's high as a kite, Amy," he whispered. "Just stay back, okay?"

  "You son of a bitch. You've just told the world that the band is finished! Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you know what that means for my income?"

  Jake held his arms between the two men. "Whoa there, gentlemen. Let's all just calm down a little, okay?"

  "Keep your brother under control," Rick scowled at Jake. "Written anything lately, Sean?"

  "Fuck you!"

  "Eloquent as ever," Rick sneered. "You've just reminded me why I write the lyrics."

  Sean lunged forward, staggering on unsteady legs. "You're nothing without my hooks. You're just a poor man's John Lennon. All words and no tunes."