Crazy.
I watched from backstage as he signed autographs and generally got pawed by a hell of a lot of adoring women, which he handled with incredible ease. He seemed pleased with how they were taking the news. According to Devi, #JessesGirl was trending on social media, which was a good thing, I guessed, since Maggie had also told me that a big-ass spike in song downloads was reflecting the fans’ excitement about Jesse’s new love.
Though it didn’t keep them from throwing themselves at him.
On the way into a signing and meet and greet at a record store, I saw a chick, in broad daylight, peel up her shirt, shoving her perfect, braless boobs in Jesse’s face and asking him to sign them. Which he did with a big black permanent marker. The girl couldn’t have looked any more pleased if he’d just planted his lovechild in her womb.
I tried to pretend it didn’t bother me. Because as the girlfriend of a sexy-as-fuck rock star, you probably had to get used to that sort of thing. Fast.
When I failed at pretending it didn’t bother me, I went ahead and let it bother me, so I could process it and let it go. But I failed at that, too.
* * *
That night, after another massive, sold-out show, there was no clubbing, which was probably a good thing. The last thing I needed was another night of slow, steamy making out in public to really fuck with my head and leave me with a raging case of “blue clit,” as Devi so aptly called it when I texted her to recap the previous night’s events.
While Jesse went to sound check in the early evening, I’d let Devi convince me to take her shopping—keeping her on speed-text while I picked out a vibrator.
So at least I’d gotten that taken care of.
After the show, we piled onto Jesse’s tour buses and drove for the Canada/U.S. border, heading to Buffalo. Jesse and I were sharing one of the enormous buses with Jude and Raf, the tour manager, Mick, and Kenny, our driver. Flynn, Letty, Pepper, and a bunch of crew guys were on another bus that had a ton of bunk beds. Ours had four bunks for the guys and a big bedroom in the back, which belonged to Jesse.
And now, me.
Since we were crossing the border, everyone was on their best behavior. No boozing or partying. The bus was pretty quiet, most of the guys playing cards in the lounge. Apparently we had at least two hours before we hit the border, and I was exhausted. I sat in the lounge drawing in my sketchbook, but everyone kept telling me to just go to sleep. I had no idea if Jesse had put them up to it, but Jesse himself had disappeared into the back and I could hear him playing an acoustic guitar through the open door. I waited as long as I could before I wandered back there, too tired to put off sleep any longer.
The tour bus bedroom was nicer than the one in my apartment. Decorated in shades of cream and white with mahogany leather furniture and clean, modern lines, it had recessed lighting, plush carpeting, and a big closet with all kinds of built-in drawers that I’d already put some of my stuff into. There was one big bed in the middle. Jesse was sitting on it, curled around an acoustic guitar, cradling the neck of it in the crook of his arm like some swooning lover as his dark gaze swept over me. He smiled. That freaking gorgeous mouth… that scruff of week-old stubble… those whorls of thick, dark hair… God, he was beautiful. In a too-easy-to-fuck-you-over kind of way.
I washed up and changed in the washroom and by the time I came out, the lights were dim. Jesse was already in bed.
Naked.
I approached the bed in my pj’s. “So you seriously always sleep naked?” I asked in my most prudish tone.
“Always.”
He’d already tossed his arm over his eyes, his tattooed wrist turned out so that the tender flesh of the inner wrist was exposed. Damn. I couldn’t get over how sexy it was when he did that. I just wanted to kiss that wrist and lick the long, curved lines of his tattoo—a set of wings that wrapped around his forearm and met behind the back of a small figure on his inner wrist. An angel?
His muscled torso was bare, the sheet around his hips, and as usual, he’d kicked the blankets on the floor. I’d already figured out that the man ran hot; if I wasn’t here he probably wouldn’t even bother with the sheet.
I grabbed a blanket, switched off the light and slid into bed, pulling the sheet over myself and tucking myself in under the blanket.
My heart thudded as I felt him move. He shifted closer to me, the bed dipping, making me tip slightly backward… and up against Jesse. The entire length of his hard, hot body, under the sheet with me.
I took a breath, quietly, and ignored him.
His hand snaked beneath the sheet; he placed it on the curve of my waist, his grip gently tightening, and drew me closer against him.
The son of a bitch was spooning me. Naked.
“Let’s play a game,” he whispered, his hot breath tickling my ear, his voice low in the dark. “Actually… let’s make it a wager.”
“Mmm,” I murmured noncommittally, pretending I was half-asleep. It was really my only line of defense. My heart slammed in my chest, my pulse pumping between my legs. It was getting really hot in here, really fucking fast.
Unfortunately I hadn’t yet had the opportunity to take my new vibrator for a test drive, so all the horniness from last night had only been compounded by hanging out with him on and off all day, watching him up on stage tonight, and enduring his many kisses… when he went on stage, when he came off stage, when we posed for photo ops throughout the day. I just kept taking the kisses, the hugs, the familiar gropes. It was all just for show, just part of the act.
Of course, we didn’t exactly have an audience in the bedroom at the back of the tour bus in the dark, but still. I knew he was up to something.
When he ran the warm, wet tip of his tongue up the back of my neck, I was sure of it, but I still shivered, hard. He groaned in response and pushed in closer, so I had to push back or end up flattened beneath him. He ran the tip of his nose up the nape of my neck, through my hair, making me shiver again. Then he whispered in my ear, “Bet you give in before I do.”
Evil.
The man was pure evil.
His fingers dug into my waist, holding me still as he shifted himself… fitting his very large, very hard cock right into the notch at the top of my ass, at the base of my spine… setting off sparks in that killer erogenous zone that was hardwired to my clit. I gasped and bit down, tasting cotton as I ate pillow once again. It was like the guy had some sort of manual. Press these buttons to drive Katie crazy.
I felt the tickle of his hot breath against the back of my neck as he laughed.
I stiffened, pulling away from him.
Fuck this.
The man thought he could play me like an instrument?
I tossed the covers aside and stumbled out of bed in the dark. Yes, I was hot for him. Did that mean I was just gonna spread my legs and let him have at it?
Not so much.
I started peeling off my clothes. First the stretchy camisole, then the pj pants, and last, my panties. At the moment, despite the incessant ache between my legs that told me all I really wanted was for Jesse Mayes to shove his big, gorgeous cock inside me, as deep as he could get it, and pound me stupid, I didn’t really care how much I wanted him. There was no fucking way I was ending up just another conquest in his long line of broken hearts. Worse, some kind of one-hit wonder that he fucks right out of his system. Yes, he was hard for me this minute. What did guys call it? Available pussy. Well, I was definitely available. But if I gave it up, what happened tomorrow?
I’d seen the groupies at his shows, angling to get backstage. Maybe he wouldn’t fuck any of them until our deal was done, but that didn’t mean I’d be able to hold his interest any longer than any of his previous lovers had, which, apparently, wasn’t very long.
If the illustrious Elle barely got a year, I’d be lucky to get a week.
I went around the other side of the bed and slipped in behind Jesse. I grabbed his hip and shoved my naked body up against his backside, exactly the way he�
�d done to me.
Two could play at this fucked-up little game.
He started to turn toward me, but I bit his earlobe. Hard.
“Ow! Fuck,” he complained.
I soothed the hurt by licking his ear, and then his neck, the way he’d done to me. “If you lose this stupid wager,” I said in my sweetest voice, nuzzling the hair at the nape of his neck, just like he’d done to me, and shoving my pussy up against his ass, “you play your next show naked.”
“No fucking way,” he said, swallowing. His voice was low, rough, his breaths coming faster as I slithered against him. “I’ve done it with Dirty. When I was younger and stupider. I’m not doing it in my solo show.”
I relaxed away from him an inch, my breasts still touching his back. I made sure he felt my hard, swollen nipples dragging against him. Yes, I was torturing myself, but as long as I was torturing him too, I didn’t care. I ran a fingertip down his spine and stroked that lovely notch at the top of his ass, which made him buck against me. The groan he let out gave me goose bumps.
“Then I guess you’re not doing me,” I said, sounding a hell of a lot more sure than I felt.
“Katie…” He blew out his breath through gritted teeth as I stroked him again.
“Jesse,” I whispered.
He rolled back, almost crushing me, but I slipped out of the way. He lay on his back, looking at me in the near-dark as the bus rumbled along. His eyes were in shadow, his dark eyebrows drawn together. His bicep flexed, his hand shifting under the sheet as he adjusted himself.
I hoped he had the hard-on from hell.
“You lose,” he growled, “and you give me a private show. Naked.”
I stretched, leisurely, arching my back, and pretended to yawn a little. “Not gonna lose,” I mumbled as I cuddled into my pillow and went to sleep. Or at least, pretended to go to sleep. As I lay there aching in the dark, I really didn’t know who I was torturing more.
Jesse groaned and grumbled. I opened one eye to peek at him. He was still on his back, and I watched as he gave his cock a single pump, then said, “Fuck,” and threw his arm over his eyes in defeat.
And when he said, “You’re gonna kill me, Katie Bloom,” I smiled.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
* * *
Katie
By the time we arrived in New York City a few days later, I’d more or less wrapped my head around the whole crazy rock ’n’ roll routine.
Each night was pretty much the same. Concert. Rabid fans. After party. After-after party. Fake make out.
Followed by a raging case of blue clit.
Even on the nights when there was no show, there were always so many events to go to, to “be seen,” that it felt like Jesse was always performing in some way. It was pretty inspiring, actually, to be around someone who was living his passion twenty-four-seven. And of course it was thrilling to be on the receiving end of some of that potent, seductive energy.
Somehow, I was even managing to hold my own in the insane battle of will otherwise known as our fucked-up little bet. Though I didn’t feel as confident about actually winning the bet as I pretended to be. I just knew I couldn’t lose.
But Jesse wasn’t showing any real signs of giving in either.
It was our third day in NYC, following two sold-out shows, and I was wandering SoHo with Flynn after lunch, dipping in and out of shops looking for the perfect gifts for Devi and my sister, when Jesse called me.
Jesse had never called me before.
Normally Flynn just coordinated my “schedule” with Jude, and took me where I needed to be, which was wherever Jesse wanted me to be. Days were a little calmer than the nights, but no less packed. Usually Jesse sprang out of bed mid-morning, long before I was coherent, went for a run or a workout with Jude, then spent some time with his guitar. By then I was up and we had breakfast more or less together, though sometimes the other guys were also in and out, and Jesse was often on the phone, so it wasn’t exactly quality time. In the afternoons he was scheduled up the ass with interviews, meetings and appearances, some of which I accompanied him to—mainly the ones where any kind of camera was involved. There were none of those today, and no show, and no one had yet told me what we’d be doing tonight. I hadn’t really expected to see Jesse until the evening.
But here I was, standing in the street listening to the slow, sexy classic guitar riff at the beginning of Heart’s “Magic Man,” completely confused as to why it seemed to be coming from my purse… when I remembered that Devi had programmed it into my phone as Jesse’s ringtone before I left Vancouver. I’d forgotten to change it.
Flynn raised an eyebrow as I dug my cell from my purse. Blushing, I turned away and answered. “Hey, Jesse.”
“Hey, beautiful. Meet me for an early dinner at five? Flynn knows where.”
“Okay. Sounds good.”
“Perfect.”
He hung up. I grinned at my phone a moment, then tucked it away and continued shopping.
For the rest of the afternoon I pretty much floated around, light on my feet, with this stupid-happy feeling percolating in my chest.
I was having dinner with Jesse.
I never had dinner with Jesse. His dinners were always on the go or over a meeting, while I ate with myself, Flynn or whoever happened to be around when I was hungry.
I met him at five at a cool little bistro-bar, where he obviously knew the owner. We were shown to a private table at the back, behind a partial wall. Jude and Flynn had the nearest table, which was far enough away that we were on our own.
Jesse hugged me and gave me a quick kiss. Just on the cheek, but no one could really see us where we were. Then he pulled out my chair for me and said, “You look hot.”
Which I did. Literally. I’d caught some sun in Central Park and I was shimmering with sweat. I’d come straight from my shopping spree and it was a hella hot day, so I was wearing a new sundress.
Jesse, as usual, looked amazing in a short-sleeve white button-up shirt and well-worn gray jeans, his sunglasses pushed up into his thick, dark hair.
I tossed my tote bag on the chair between us, my sketchbook sticking out of it. Jesse ordered for us and as soon as the waiter departed with our order, he asked, “What is that?”
“My sketchbook.”
His eyebrows went up. “You draw?”
“Sometimes,” I said, buttering myself a bread roll. In fact, in the first week of the tour I’d drawn more than I had in the last year; I’d already sketched everyone on our tour bus and was starting on the guys on the other bus. But for whatever reason, I didn’t feel like saying so. “So, you come to this place whenever you’re in New York?”
“Usually.” He eyed my sketchbook again. “I’ve seen you with it at sound check. I thought you were writing. Like keeping a journal.”
I shrugged. “I just like to draw.”
Our drinks came and I dove into my SoCo and amaretto. Before I knew what was happening, Jesse plucked the sketchbook from my bag and started flipping through it. I slammed down my drink, a little harder than I meant to, and snatched the book from his hands.
His dark eyebrows furled. “What was that? Raf?”
“I dunno.” I closed the book on the sketch of Raf. “Lots of people in there.” I stuffed the book back in my bag and gave him my most serious stink eye.
“It’s really fucking good.”
“Just something to keep my hands busy. Baking on a tour bus seems unlikely.” I sipped my drink again, keeping an eye on him this time, but he made no further attempt to molest my privacy. “You have your oral fixation, right? Well, I’ve got a thing with my hands.”
He sipped his bourbon, which I’d come to learn was his drink of choice, eying me over the rim of his glass. “I’ve got something you can do with your hands.”
Sweet Jesus. We didn’t even have our appetizers yet and the man was already flirting. No, not flirting. Daring. Because of our stupid bet. And quite obviously he was doing his damnedest to make me lose it.
But all I had to do was remind myself of that “private show” he was expecting if I lost, and I rallied my resistance.
“No need,” I said coolly. “Busy enough sketching Raf.”
Jesse’s eyes narrowed a little. Raf was an interesting-looking dude. He wasn’t the sex god Jesse was, but he had an easy smile, attractive caramel-macchiato skin and a crazy Sideshow Bob hairdo that got him plenty of attention. It wasn’t like I could make Jesse Mayes jealous, but I suspected his giant ego wouldn’t appreciate me paying Raf a compliment, even indirectly.
Evidently, I was right. He eyed my sketchbook again, like it was killing him not getting to look inside it.
“And Dylan,” I said. Because fuck yes, I’d drawn him too, all six-foot-forever of him, kilt and all. “And Zane,” I added. Mostly to be cruel, but it was true, the sex Viking of rock was in there too.
Jesse’s eyes narrowed further. “Heartless,” he said, and I grinned.
For the rest of dinner the sketchbook was there between us, taunting him. I managed to steer the conversation toward other things, briefly, and got him talking about his day. Apparently his sister was in town and he was supposed to meet up with her, but she’d bailed on him, so he’d ended up running errands with Jude and later having a meeting with someone from his record company. I would’ve been happy to hear more, because his life sounded pretty fucking interesting to me. For one thing, I’d never been in a meeting with a record company exec. For another, I definitely didn’t have a sister who was a supermodel. Becca was pretty and all, but shit. I’d stalked Jesse’s sister on Google after he told me her name, and as it turned out, Jessa Mayes was drop-dead gorgeous and had modeled for more fashion labels than I’d ever heard of.
Rock Star Romance Ultimate Volume 2 Page 45