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

by Emme Rollins

  He rubbed himself over me, stroking my clit. “Oh, Roger…” With one push, he was buried to the root. “More! Please…”

  Laughter rumbled in his chest. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He began to pump in earnest, driving through the slick recesses, inflaming every inch of my anatomy, while kissing me soundly. We clung together, my fingers digging into the firm expanse of his buttocks. He shifted a moment later, grasping my legs, holding the ankles in his hands, while pounding me sharply. His balls slapped against my pussy. From this angle I was able to reach my nub, rubbing the throbbing mass with a finger.

  “That’s so hot.” Fire blazed in his eyes, as he gazed at me.

  “Oh! Oh-God-Roger!”

  “Yeah, baby. Cum for me, honey. I can feel you want to.”

  I sustained a solid pounding, grasping his thighs, as the tipping point came. The orgasm left me moaning helplessly, when the contractions hit, the first being the most intense. I flung my head against the pillow, shuddering with the impact.

  “Roger!”

  “Oh, God…Brandi…” He pulled free, shifting towards my chest, while stroking himself. I was about to reach for it, but he squirted, catching my chin. A series of expulsions left dollops of cream on my breasts, the fluid turning cold almost instantly. “Ooohh…man…” He rubbed himself, semen wetting his fingers. “Oh, Jesus.”

  My breasts were spotted with cum. “You messy boy.”

  “Sorry about that.” He grinned, passing tissues my way.

  “Thanks.”

  He collapsed on the bed, pulling me into his arms, his mouth touching my forehead. “That was really nice. Watching you turns me on.”

  Those words filled me with a ridiculous amount of pleasure. “Do you want me to go?”

  “Fuck, no.” His arms tightened around me. “Let’s sleep a bit.”

  “Yes, Mr. Vigor. Actually, I should call you Mr. Vigorous,” I giggled.

  “Sounds good.” He’d closed his eyes. “It’s all good.”

  He slept almost instantly, while I thought about things for a while, still not believing that I was in his arms…in his life. I’d never felt so content, but I had to try to keep my head. It’s only sex, nothing more. With that in mind, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, waking at noon. After showering, I spent my time on the computer, checking e-mails and going over the schedule, which seemed to change on a daily basis. The LiveGate people wanted to add European dates, including Australia, but I wasn’t sure how to broach this subject with Roger. He wandered around the bus whistling, his mood clearly favorable. He was naked from the waist up, his feet bare.

  Denise had finally risen, and, after showering, she proceeded to snort four lines of cocaine, which irritated me beyond belief. Her thin frame was hidden beneath the same clothing she had worn the day before.

  “Welcome to the Hotel California,” murmured Ally, who ran an iron over a t-shirt, preparing for tonight’s concert. We would be arriving at our destination within two hours. Roger had disappeared into a small room next to the kitchen, which held a compact weight machine and an elliptical.

  “Does she ever eat?”

  Ally shrugged. “Fuck, if I know.”

  “Where does she get the drugs?”

  “People toss them on stage: roadies, groupies, and hippies. Dealers are at the shows too, but you gotta be careful. Some of that shit is bad.”

  I shivered, suddenly grateful that I had never been into drugs, although I did enjoy a little cannabis now and again. “Poor girl.”

  “He’s gotta let her go. You should mention it to him.”

  “I’ll try to bring it up. How am I going to talk to him about the European dates? They want to add shows.”

  “You got him in a good mood. He should be approachable.”

  “I’ll try after he’s done working out.”

  An hour later, Roger was in the bedroom, watching a movie. I sat on the edge of the mattress. “I have to talk to you.”

  “Uh-oh. You sound all businessy.”

  “Those European dates. They want to add shows.”

  “Fuck!”

  “What about a reduced schedule? What about five shows?”

  He closed his eyes. “I need a break.”

  “You have one after Texas. Five days in the Caribbean.”

  “I want my kid there.”

  This was news to me. “I’ll have to check on it.”

  “Good fucking luck.”

  The child was with Clair, and there were issues that had yet to be resolved. “What do I do?”

  “You have to call my soon to be ex-wife.”

  “Will she talk to me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t you call her?”

  “She won’t take my calls.”

  An idea suddenly sprang to mind. “If I can get your kid, will you do the European dates?”

  “Only five?”

  “Six including Australia. Two shows, one in Sydney, the other in Adelaide. I guess that’s seven.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Do we have a deal?”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  He sat forward. “I want some guarantee that you’re gonna stick around. The shit is gonna get real, and I need support. Being with you is...amazing. You calm me. I like you. I don’t know how much you know about my past, but things got real bad in Georgia. I was in a psych hold. I thought I lost my fucking mind. I can’t go through that again.”

  This revelation was stunning. He was asking about my level of commitment, not professionally, but personally. This was far more than a job, which made me incredibly happy. “I don’t have a lot going on, Roger. I don't have a husband or a kid. I’m a free agent. I’ve only been on the job for one day. You don’t know anything about me. I could be a weirdo for all you know. Are you always so candid with people you just met?”

  “No.”

  “I was hired to take care of you…but I really like you too. I want to help you.”

  He touched my face. “There’s something about you, Brandi. You’re a mother hen, but you’re a sexy hen. I…like what I see. I wanna give Sharon a raise for finding you.” His look darkened. “I’m worried once you get a load of my bad side you’ll disappear.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Even if I drive you off the cliff?”

  I smiled. “I’ve got a pretty strong constitution, Mr. Vigor. My skin’s Teflon coated. It takes a lot to shake me.” He was far more vulnerable than I suspected. He’d shown his heart by wearing it on his sleeve. I hugged him, but he shifted, pressing his face into my breasts.

  “It’s warm and snuggly here,” he murmured.

  I tingled at the contact, but I had to focus. “About the schedule.”

  “If you can get my kid to the Caribbean, then I’ll do those dates.”

  “And Australia?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Awesome.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve never talked to Clair before. I wish you luck.”

  As he kissed me, I began to formulate a plan of attack, but those musings dwindled, my body vibrating with need, while his hands unbuttoned my shirt. This job was incredibly distracting. I rubbed his cock over his jeans, feeling the hardened bulge, which only inflamed me more. The shirt was off now, exposing a lacy pink bra, but that too hung loose, having been unhooked. Not as shy as the day before, I grasped him, attacking his mouth, sliding my tongue inside to meet his. I shifted, kneeling over him, while he struggled to release himself from the form-fitting jeans.

  “Oh, yeah…” he murmured against my mouth, his hands grasping the fleshy mounds of my breasts. “Oh, honey.”

  I tossed the shirt aside, lowering my panties, kicking them to the floor. I straddled him, impaling myself on the length of his shaft, groaning. “Oh, Roger…it’s so nice. It’s soooo big.”

  His hands went to my hips. “Fuck me, Brandi. Fuck me.”

/>   My clit felt massive, having engorged just from the thought of having sex, but it was being with Roger that led to these intense reactions. All he had to do was look at me, and I was ready for him. I bounced on him, my breasts flailing wildly, while our mouths met for a kiss that seemed to go on forever. I rubbed myself against his pelvis, feeling the heated length of him deep in my core, massaging the silken portal of my vagina. Being as wet as I was, the ride was gloriously smooth, each stroke like liquid velvet. The edges of release beckoned, enticing me with the thrill of what was to come. Strong fingers closed over my thighs, which were my least favorite asset, because they were too large and dimpled, but it didn't matter, because Roger seemed to like them.

  “Oooh…” I flung my head back. “It’s so good! Oh, fuck…me…ooohhh…” He thrust, filling me to the balls with a shaft so long it felt like it was in my stomach. This sent me careening into the abyss. “Oh, Roger! Oh, yes, YES!” I moaned loudly, while he buried his face in my breasts, groaning. He stiffened inside of me, jetting heated cream; only he wasn’t supposed to do this, as I was not on the pill.

  “Oh, Brandi!”

  I fell upon him, while my breathing slowly stabilized. My heart thumped inside my chest. “You didn’t pull out.”

  “Fuck! Sorry.” His face was near my neck, the warmth of his breath scorching me.

  “We have to be more careful.”

  “I didn’t think about it. I lost it, watching you come.”

  “It’ll probably be okay.” Jeez…I sure hope so.

  We tumbled to the bed, where he leaned over me, while wetness leaked onto my inner thighs. He touched my tummy, moving his hand lower. “You took it all, didn’t you?” He was impish, boyish, but utterly charming.

  “That’s so crude.”

  His lips were on my neck, his body over mine. “I don't want to do the show tonight.”

  This was alarming. “What?”

  “I want to stay here and fuck you again.”

  “Stop that. You know you can’t do that.”

  He groaned. “I wish I could.”

  Chapter Nine

  The venue was in Dallas, and, after we arrived, the tour bus parked in a private area, which was surrounded by high fences. Our entourage was ushered backstage, while the opening band played, warming up the masses with a rollicking beat. Because of the time constraint, Roger had gotten ready on the bus; Ally helping him with his wardrobe. He’d gargled with honey and vinegar, preparing his voice for two hours of abuse.

  I’d tried to call Clair Simon earlier, but I wasn’t able to reach her. I had a monumental task before me, and I was determined to obtain permission to have his daughter, Cailey, in the Caribbean within the next day. How I would accomplish this was beyond me, but none of these concerns mattered at the moment.

  The evening had only just begun, the chaos, the thunder of the crowd as we raced to the stage after passing through various forms of security. Ally, Lauren, and I waited in the wings, where the sound and lighting people were going through the last minute checklist. There were several women dressed in risqué clothing with six-inch heels, standing together and smoking. I imagined they were the wives and girlfriends of the opening act, but once that band left the stage, the women lingered, laughing and preening.

  Lauren held a phone to her ear. “They’re on in a minute.”

  “Who are those women?”

  “Man-eaters,” she laughed.

  “Great,” I muttered. There would be no way to compete with a posse of hookers. Ugh. I wondered if I had the power to remove them? But that wasn’t my job, was it? To make matters worse, Denise stumbled into my line of sight, wobbling precariously in her shoes. “Oh, good grief.” Seeing me, she headed in my direction.

  “This is the shit, isn’t it?”

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  “Where’s Roger?”

  “He’s getting ready to perform.”

  “Oh.”

  “Where have you been?” She smelled like she had doused herself in cheap perfume.

  “Hangin’ with peeps.”

  Powdering her nose, more than likely. “It’s about to start.”

  “Yeah,” she glanced around dispassionately. “Wonderful.” Then she walked away, disappearing through a back door.

  “It was nice talking to you.”

  “What?” Lauren was by my side.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “Man, those bitches look like they’re ready to pounce, don’t they?”

  My look was grim. “Yeah.”

  The crowd suddenly erupted, as Trash was announced: chanting, clapping, screaming, and whistling. From the first beats of Kill Me, Bitch, people were on their feet, shouting their approval, flinging panties onto the stage along with what looked like tiny packets of folded paper. Ally said those were drugs. The audience was throwing drugs at Roger, knowing full well that he had been to a rehab facility only a few months ago.

  The three of us stood at stage right, watching from the wings and dancing, shaking our butts to the music. It was fun to be with people who, not only worked for Trash, but enjoyed the lifestyle and loved the music. I would never get tired of hearing these songs. Seeing Roger strut his stuff as Ax Stevenson, tearing up the stage in too tight jeans that clung to every inch of his ass, blew my mind. I experienced several surreal twinges, while standing there—staring at him, knowing that he had had his hands all over my body. He had given me so many amazing orgasms, and, as a result, I sported several small bruises on my neck from where he had nibbled on me.

  Roger’s ballad about the heartache of love was about to begin, and Lauren passed me a joint. “Thanks!”

  “No problem.”

  I loved this song, like all the others. The three of us sang along.

  On that lonely road, I knew you cared

  I’d follow

  You never wanted to be alone

  I held you while you cried

  On that lonely road, only you knew why

  But now you’re gone

  It’s a dark road, baby, cause we all lied

  I promised to hold you, until the end

  But the fever’s gone now, yeah, it died

  It’s the lonely road

  Lonely road

  On that stretch of highway

  I’d follow

  You were the one, I saw you there, naked, bare

  I held on, but you let go

  On that lonely road, only you knew why

  But now you’re gone

  It’s a dark road, baby, cause we all lied

  I promised to hold you, until the end

  But the fever’s gone now, yeah, it died

  It’s the lonely road

  Lonely road

  This song was also blazing a path up the charts, another sad, hurt ode to his divorce. He had clearly suffered from the effects of the marriage breaking down, as the raw, edgy quality of his voice resounded. The crowd had settled to listen, but there was a constant undercurrent of noise, the screams of thousands of voices along with piercing whistles. What would it be like to be the muse who inspired music like that, even if it were written in despair? I envied Patti Boyd in that moment. George Harrison had written Something for her, and it was one of the most romantic love songs of all time. Then Eric Clapton had written Layla for her. Lucky girl.

  Once the show ended, I felt light-headed and slightly drunk, but that was expected, although I wasn’t out of it like poor Denise. I hadn’t seen her most of the evening, so I had no idea what drugs she took, but it was worrying. The horde of female barracudas that had been waiting in the wings swarmed Roger, which set my teeth on edge. They pounced on him the moment he left after the encore, their hands tearing at his soaked t-shirt, fingers sliding into his jeans, as notes were stuffed into pockets.

  Security descended, tearing the women away, some kicking and screaming, clawing at the burly bodyguards with inch long acrylic nails. Ally and I watched, finding it ridiculous. Roger was ushered out of the ar
ea, but his head swiveled in my direction.

  “Hold up! Brandi!” he shouted. “Brandi!”

  I raced towards him with Lauren and Ally on my heels, the three of us rushing for the elevators. The door closed with several security people along for good measure. They would escort Ax to the car, which would take us to the hotel. We would be spending the night in Dallas, recuperating from being on the road all day. We were ushered to a waiting limo, which smelled of leather with hints of air freshener. I sat with Roger with Ally and Lauren across from us. Before the door closed, a woman’s arm appeared, which was a surprise.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” murmured Roger, grinning.

  I stared at the stranger, seeing someone who did not fit the stereotype of a groupie, as she wore tailored slacks and an expensive-looking blouse. She dripped with jewelry, and her perfume was lovely, a light, floral scent.

  “Hello, Roger.” Her voice had taken on a sultry edge.

  “Is Stuart in town?”

  “No, he isn’t. I’m here for a charity event, but I skipped out early.”

  “Nice of you to stop by, Virginia.”

  She smirked slyly.

  I could only stare, marveling at how the atmosphere in the limo had changed, the vehicle driving towards gates which were littered with hundreds of screaming girls. As we passed through, they pounded on the car, some of them pressing their faces to the glass leaving smudgy lip prints. I worried they might slash the tires and disable us, but we continued on, although several of the more aggressive women gave chase, pounding on the trunk, until we slipped onto the road, speeding up.

  “I was hoping to talk to you,” she said, fingering a sparkling diamond bracelet. “The way we left off…it was unfortunate.”

  “Well, your husband kinda interrupted, honey. There was nothin’ I could do about it.”

  It dawned on me then who she was. She was the wife of the record company owner, Stuart Hadley! Oh, my. I could feel the chemistry between them, picking up on the energy, which was far too vibrant. I had to set aside my personal feelings on this matter, knowing that Roger probably had a woman in every port, so to speak. I focused on my phone, texting Ally.