Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3)

by Stevie J. Cole

  He fell silent again, listening to whatever Carlos was saying as he walked over to his couch. I was speechless. My insides were turning; that was romantic as hell, but it scared the shit out of me because I couldn’t lose my job.

  “Well, I’m in town until the thirteenth, so if you could just let her off until then, I would appreciate it. I’ll be sure to make up for it, throw some parties there or something…Thanks, man. Yeah, I’ll see you around, Carlos.”

  Jag hung up his phone and tossed it onto the couch. A smug look crossed his face as he turned back to me. Wrapping his arms snugly around my waist, he pulled me into him. “Now you have no excuse to leave me. You’ve got nothing else you need to do. And since I pretty much just got you vacation against your will, I’ll make sure your expenses get covered. The least I can do.”

  I huffed, trying to hide the huge grin wanting to pry its way across my lips. “You are unbelievable.”

  “Yeah, you keep saying that. Hate to see what you think when I finally fuck you.”

  I laughed. “I don’t believe you’re going to, ever.”

  “Oh, trust me, princess. I will when I’m good and ready.”

  *****

  I stood in his oversized bathroom that was covered from ceiling to floor in white and grey marble. My entire apartment could have easily fit in this one room; hell, his shower was almost the size of my kitchen area. Training my eyes back on the mirror, I coated my lips with a shade of electric pink lipstick and rubbed them together. I snapped the lid on, laid the tube down on the counter, and stared at the black dress hung on the back of his closed bathroom door. I grabbed it from the hanger and read the tag out loud. “Prada,” I said, shaking my head.

  That dress probably cost more than I made in a month, possibly two, and he’d just bought it without thought, on a whim. Because he could.

  I slipped it over my hips, delicately pulling my arms through the thin straps and reaching around to carefully zip it up. I spun around to look at my reflection and caught sight of his ridiculous closet. Moments like this brought me back to reality, forcing me to realize that Jag was in no way a normal guy, despite how many times I’d said he was. He wasn’t.

  I had been praying for normal and this…this was not anywhere close to it.

  I wiped away a stray smudge of lipstick, deep in thought about what a nice little daydream this all had been. It was a vacation from the real world and I knew it would end. Jag was leaving to go back on tour the next afternoon, and I figured that would be the end of this. He would have hundreds of girls groping him, begging to fuck him; he would be back in his rock star world and I’d be here, just another one of the girls left in his wake.

  When I walked back into his bedroom, I found Jag lying on his bed, arms crossed behind his head, resting against the sleek black headboard. His lips lifted at each corner and he let out a low growl. “Fuck, you are hot. That dress is killer on you, princess.”

  “Thanks. That was really sweet of you to get it for me.”

  “I knew it would look amazing on you.” He pushed himself up from his bed and made his way toward me, his bottom lip tightly gripped beneath his stark white teeth. “Makes me want to fuck you instead of going to dinner; after all, you did say you believed I liked you the other day…” He grabbed my hips and yanked me to him, his hard-on pushing against me through the thin material of my dress.

  My heart tapped unevenly my chest. A tingly heat washed over my neck and bled down to my fingertips.

  “But,” Jag let go of me and strode to his dresser. He picked up his wallet, shoving it in his back pocket as he grabbed his keys and jingled them in the air. “Fucking on an empty stomach’s not a good idea. You’d probably pass out, and I suck at CPR.”

  Moments like that, I knew he was fully aware of what he was doing to me, and it managed to both piss me off and turn me on. He was cocky and arrogant, and I was ashamed that those personality flaws did nothing but make me want him even more.

  I slipped my feet into the strappy pair of Chanel shoes, listening to the heels clack against the marble floors and echo from the tall ceilings as I followed him out to his car. This life he was allowing me to live was so far removed from what I’d been used to. For a short while, I had been Cinderella, with a fucked-up rocker as my Prince Charming.

  *****

  The sun crept below the horizon. I watched the vibrant oranges and reds fade into a dark blue. Within seconds the sun had disappeared behind the rising hills, and the white lights from the Hollywood sign burned against the dusky sky. For the first time, I didn’t feel trapped by that sign. It didn’t loom over me at that moment.

  My fingers dug into the molded leather sides of the seat as Jag wove in and out of traffic. He floored the accelerator, only to slam on the brakes a few seconds later. The sight of cars whizzing past and bright red flashes from brake lights nearly sent me into a panic. I closed my eyes to block out the numerous near-death experiences.

  Jag laughed and I opened one eye to look at him. “What?” I asked.

  “You scared?”

  “Uh, yeah. You suck at driving.”

  He slammed on the brakes again, cussing under his breath at the driver in front of us.

  “Oh, that a fact?” he asked, directing his eyes back to the road to swerve around the car he nearly rear ended.

  Opening the other eye, I said, “I really don’t want to die. I’m not ready.” My pulse pounded in my temples, and my palms grew slick with sweat.

  “Oh, come on. I’m not gonna kill us. I haven’t fucked you yet, we can’t die until I do that at least.”

  I huffed and closed both eyes again. “Just tell me when you get off the interstate, okay? I want to stay oblivious your shitty driving until we are going about forty miles per hour, okay?”

  “Sure thing.”

  I pressed my head into the headrest, flinching every time he’d slam on his breaks, slap his hand over the steering wheel, and curse at someone for driving too slow.

  I felt the car veer to the left and slow, then round a curve.

  “You can open your eyes now. I told you I wouldn’t kill us.”

  I blew out the breath I’d been holding in. “Thank God.”

  “You like this song?” he asked, turning the volume up and immediately belting out the lyrics.

  I nodded, watching him sing. That got to me because it caused flashbacks to watching Pandemic Sorrow’s videos on MTV. That made it hard to separate Jag from the rock star, and it made the moment seem surreal. I was getting a private show by one of the world’s biggest rockers; for the past two weeks I’d shared his life, seen what he did, had him touching me, kissing me, telling me I was gorgeous, and it wasn’t until things like this happened that it clicked that he really was that guy.

  I can’t explain it. I wish I could. But the closest I can come to describing what being with Jag Steele felt like would be to say that, at times, it was like a never-ending, intense, irrational fairy tale. It made me feel how I imagine Sleeping Beauty would have felt the moment she realized she was really a princess. It was like an imperfectly perfect daydream. It was a phenomenally constant state of fucked-up bliss.

  And what’s not to like about that?

  Dinner did nothing but build the sexual tension. Jag couldn’t keep his eyes off me, eyeing my thighs, biting his lip, and letting out barely audible groans.

  The waitress cleared the plates from the white linen table cloth, blushing when she made eye contact with Jag. “Would you care for any desert this evening?” Her voice shook slightly as she cleared the last plate.

  Jag arched a brow at me, flashing his white smile. “Her,” he said, pointing his fork at me. I felt my cheeks flush from embarrassment, although that comment did turn me on.

  The waitress’s eyes rounded and widened. “Um… I…” She stammered over her words, and Jag erupted in a fit of laughter.

  “They have really good cheesecake here. I fucking love cheesecake, you wanna try it?”

  I nodded,
still unable to speak from the inappropriately sexy statement he’d just embarrassed the waitress with.

  She smiled nervously and spun around to escape the table.

  “Jag!” I scolded.

  He shrugged. “Well, it’s the truth.”

  “Doesn’t mean you say shit like that in a restaurant like this.” I glanced around at the upscale, stuffy atmosphere, worried someone had overheard him and was silently calling me a groupie-whore in their head.

  “Tell me.” He leaned over the table and folded his arms.

  “What? Tell you what?”

  “Tell me you believe me. Tell me you know I like you.”

  “Jag, really?”

  He nodded. “I love hearing it.”

  “I think you like to make me grovel.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “How is that groveling?”

  “Because by me saying that, I am practically begging you to fuck me.”

  He chuckled and cocked his head to the side. “Is that what you think?”

  “Um-hmm.”

  “Grovel…nope. I like hearing it because you are the only girl that didn’t just assume I liked her. You are the only girl I ever had to chase, you are the only girl that I’ve ever cared if they believed I liked them. I like that I like you, and I like hearing you say that you believe it. It makes me feel real.”

  I smiled and then whispered, “I believe you, Jagger Steele. I believe that for whatever reason, you like me.” I paused, watching him gloat. “And I like that you like me.”

  The waitress returned, walking slowly and coughing when she got within ear shot. I figured she was announcing her arrival in an effort to protect her virgin ears from Jag’s filthy mouth.

  Jag grinned at her. “Can you bring the check? Depending on how horny watching her lick her fork makes me, I may need to make an abrupt escape from here…unless being famous gives me a pass on fucking her right here on the table.”

  Every muscle in the waitress’s face went limp, her jaw dropped, leaving her mouth dangling open in a stupor. She blinked several times as she placed the plate in front of us.

  I guess Jag’s mouth takes some getting used to.

  I kicked Jag’s shin underneath the table, which caused him to jump and yelp a little.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “He’s a drunk and has no filter on his mouth, obviously!”

  She smiled.

  “I’m not a drunk!” He shot a nasty look at me while reaching under the table to rub his leg.

  “I’ll bring the check right now,” she said, and hurried away, holding her hand over her mouth to conceal her giggle.

  I glared at him. “I cannot believe you. Shit like that embarrasses me.”

  He frowned. “I’m sorry, princess. I won’t do it again. I promise. I get a little carried away sometimes.”

  Jag handed me a fork, and after I’d had a bite, he cut into the cheesecake. He stuck the fork in his mouth, his eyes rolling back in his head as he licked the decadently thick dessert from the prongs. “Fuck, that is so damn good.”

  The waitress returned once more and laid the tab on the table, then immediately ran away, probably to avoid another comment from Jag.

  I took another bite while he fished cash from his pocket and stuck it in the folder.

  “Who carries cash these days?” I asked, almost immediately regretting that question.

  “People who buy drugs…”

  He took another bite and I tried to ignore that comment.

  Jag moaned, pulling the fork from his mouth and dropping it onto the tablecloth. “Shit, that is almost as good as your pussy. Almost. You ready?”

  My skin flushed.

  I placed my fork on the table and wiped my mouth with the freshly laundered napkin. “Yeah.”

  “Good. I really want to give your pussy a good fucking with my tongue before I tear it up with my dick.”

  Comments like that should have pissed me off, and they would have coming from anyone else, but with Jag, filth like that caused a hitch in my chest. Talking like that was the way Jag did romance, and, for whatever reason, it worked.

  His words were the most potent form of foreplay, and the fact that I would have to endure a thirty-minute car ride with him, thinking about finally getting to fuck him, I was certain would be a pretty cruel form of torture.

  *****

  We barely made it to Jag’s front door before he slammed me up against it and kissed me hard, his tongue snaking into my mouth. His hands desperately groped over me, trailing from my shoulders to my breasts. After a few moments, he pushed away from me, leaving me panting while he unlocked his door.

  He tossed his keys on the counter, combed his hands through his hair, and strutted toward his bedroom, spinning around and motioning me to follow with a single finger and a deep-seated grin.

  Shit. I don’t know if I can actually do this. I’m so worked up, so nervous.

  This was all too real. I wanted him. He wanted me. And fucking him was just going to let him burrow deeper into my soul.

  Had he just slept with me at the beginning, it would have been completely meaningless, which would have made it safer for my heart. But waiting, even though it was only for two weeks—which with Jag seemed like a fucking decade—gave this act meaning. Waiting made it more than just a fuck, it meant there was something between us. It meant that we cared about each other on some level. He respected me enough to make me wait when he could have easily had me long ago. That realization made my stomach knot up.

  I followed Jag into his room, expecting him to grab me and throw me down on his bed, but he didn’t. Instead, he grabbed the nearest guitars, strumming out some chords.

  I cocked my hip to the side, anxiously tapping my foot on the floor as I watched his skilled fingers pluck over the strings; all I could think about was how that skill transferred over to the way he touched me.

  Falling back onto his luxurious bed, the comforter fluffed up around me and sent a poof of Jag filled fragrance into the air. I inhaled and all that scent did was make me wetter than I already was.

  “Don’t you have to go back on tour tomorrow?” I asked, the thought of it making me sad.

  Jag didn’t respond. He walked to his iHome and flipped through some songs, and music blared through the speakers in his ceiling. It was a song from their first album, actually, one of my favorites.

  Suddenly, I was really hot.

  Nervous.

  Uncertain.

  I sat up the moment Jag reached the bed, and he immediately pushed me back down, climbing on top of me as he growled, “Oh, no, princess, where do you think you’re going?”

  Straddling me, he pinned my shoulders down to the bed, his lips curling into a closed-lip smile. Then his lips violently crushed over mine, his teeth scraping against mine as he kissed me deeply. Each time his mouth closed, the kiss grew more intense. He pressed his body over mine, thrusting his dick against me and groaning so low I could barely hear it. Pulling away from my mouth, he let his lips roll over my neck, his heavy breath fanning over my sensitive flesh. “Fuck,” he growled, his hands working their way underneath my ass and grabbing me. Jag’s chest rose in deep swells, uneven, ragged. His eyes locked on mine and then he kissed me again while his hands wandered up the small of my back. That was the most passion I had ever experienced in a single kiss, and I no longer cared what giving into him meant for my heart. I needed him. I wanted to belong to him, even if I knew it would never last. Just for a short while, I wanted him to be mine.

  Tearing his shirt over his head, I tossed it to the floor and allowed my hands to glide down his defined back, my fingertip tracing over the ripples of muscles.

  Jag’s warm lips trailed down my neck, across my shoulder, then back across my chest while his fingers diligently slipped the straps of my dress down. Reaching around, he unzipped the dress little by little, agonizingly slowly, dragging that moment out as long as he could stand before pushing the thin material down, separating his body from mine onl
y to kick the dress from my legs. When his body pressed back over mine, the sensation of his skin against my bare breasts bled into me.

  He buried his nose in my hair, then sang the chorus to the song, his song blaring through the speakers, his hot breath blowing over my ear.

  “Drugged, possessed, I need you. I need to hold you, touch you, breathe you. Numb, raw, I want you. I want to hold you, touch you, breathe you.” The last word came out as a growl and his hand snaked down my stomach, his nails lightly scratching against me.

  He laughed softly in my ear before panting and biting down on it when his hand skimmed over my panties. I knew as wet as I’d become, he could feel it through the silky material, and the sudden proud smile that flashed over his face made it apparent that he had.

  My fingers twirled through his hair, gripping it to tug his head to the side so I could whisper in his ear, “Please tell me you’re going to fuck me this time?” My hips involuntarily grinded against his as I spoke.

  He sat up, his hands sliding back over my body, squeezing my breasts in his palm before he unfastened his fly. “Oh, princess. I can promise you I’m about to fuck the shit out of you.”

  It sounded like more of a threat, and my breath quickened.

  Jag kicked his jeans off and then ripped my panties from me. He grabbed my legs, tracing his hands from my feet to my calves to my thighs and then between my legs. His finger brushed over me and he bit down on his lips, his eyes closing for a second before he lowered himself down and spread my legs with one fluid movement of his hands. Every nerve ending in my body fired up and my legs attempted to shut from the sheer pleasure of it, from the anticipation of having him.

  Jag glared up from between my legs as he swiped his tongue over me. “Nah, you don’t want to do that, I promise.”

  He forced my legs open wider and skirted his tongue across my clit. The next swipe was harder, rougher, and he moaned just before he bit down on my clit. The slight pain traveled through my body as a slow fire, and the next sensation I experienced was Jag devouring every last inch of me with his mouth.