All I Need
Hookers and Hand Grenades Book One
Sammi Starlight
Contents
1. Cane
2. Lindsey
3. Cane
4. Lindsey
5. Cane
6. Lindsey
7. Cane
8. Lindsey
9. Cane
10. Lindsey
11. Lindsey
12. Cane
13. Lindsey
14. Cane
15. Lindsey
16. Cane
17. Lindsey
18. Cane
19. Lindsey
20. Cane
21. Cane
22. Lindsey
23. Cane
24. Lindsey
25. Cane
26. Lindsey
27. Cane
28. Lindsey
29. Cane
30. Lindsey
31. Cane
32. Lindsey
33. Cane
34. Lindsey
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Sammi Starlight
Copyright © 2018 Sammi Starlight
All rights reserved. No parts of the book may be used or reproduced in any matter without written permission from the author, except for inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to another person except when loaned out per Amazon’s lending program. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then it was pirated illegally. Please purchase your own copy and respect the hard work of this author.
This novel was previously split into three parts, All I Need Volumes 1-3. This is all of the books combined. There is NO new content.
1
Cane
“Will I see you tonight after the show?” She asked, her voice high and whiny.
Thank God my back was turned to her so she couldn’t see me roll my eyes; there was no way in hell she was going to see me later. I didn’t sleep with the same woman twice – ever.
I pulled my t-shirt over my head and turned around to face her. She was still topless, showing off her perfect DD tits. Man, those fuckers were beautiful. Maybe I should reconsider. I shook my head; there would be plenty of girls with perfect tits to fuck after the show.
“Well, I’m going to be pretty busy later, so I don’t think we’ll be able to hook up. Sorry,” I said half-heartedly as I tucked my shirt into my jeans and buttoned them up. “The bathroom’s over there.” I nodded towards the door on the left. “Thanks for the fuck,” I said and left the dressing room before she could say anything else.
“Make sure she gets the fuck out of there by the time I come back after the show,” I instructed the roadie that was walking by.
“Sure thing,” he said with a nod. He was used to getting rid of women for me. Most of the crew was.
“Thanks, man.” I slapped him on the shoulder as I continued my walk. I needed a beer. And a joint. The tight little blonde back in my dressing room had help calm the pre-concert jitters a little bit, but I still something to take the edge off. Despite doing hundreds of shows in my short music career, I still got a little stage fright, especially for a big show.
The band I was lead singer for, Hookers and Hand Grenades, was in the middle of a huge summer tour. We were headlining with four other rock bands, traveling all over the country and doing out door festivals that lasted all day long. The tour started last week and was one big wild party. I fucking loved it.
I became a musician because I was good at it and loved music, but I had to admit I was totally drawn into the lifestyle. There was nothing like waking after noon with a couple of hot chicks in your bed from the night before. The endless supply of booze and drugs was a big plus too. It didn’t hurt having women screaming my name when I sang onstage and throwing their panties at me.
Speaking of a drink, I needed one. I walked to the main area back stage where the party was happening. My drummer Zane was getting his dick sucked by some brunette over in the corner. I caught his eye and he grinned at me before pushing her mouth further down on his cock. I shook my head and kept walking; he was as big of a man whore as I was.
There were people sitting around drinking and smoking pot. Another couple was making out on the couch. I even saw one girl snort a line of coke. I usually stayed away from that shit unless I was especially on edge; my drugs of choice were pot and alcohol.
The scene backstage was one of pure decadence and I loved it. This – this was why I was a rock star.
I grew up with nothing. It’s your typical Hallmark sad story about a boy who’s dad was in jail when I was born; he was killed shortly after he got into the joint. When I was seven, mom got herself knocked up by her boss at the dinner she worked in. She eventually literally worked herself to death, dying of a massive heart attack. She left my sister and I all alone and we ended up wards of the state; she was adopted right away being five and cute as a button. I, on the other hand, was a brooding thirteen-year-old boy; no one wanted to deal with that.
I spent the rest of my youth in and out of foster homes and found solace in music. The rest is history and something I’ll save for VH1’s “Behind the Music”. (Is that even on anymore?)
Diesel, the lead guitarist and my best friend walked up and handed me a beer. “Figured you could use this since there was nothing in your hand,” he grinned at me.
“Thanks, man,” I said before taking a long sip, emptying half the bottle.
“How was that blonde piece of ass?”
“Her fucking tits were amazing and she let me come all over them but other than that, she was alright; nothing special,” I shrugged. “Typical of most women, she wanted to see me later and I blew her off. She wasn’t even dressed yet when I left.”
He laughed and shook his head. “You would think the word would have gotten around about what an asshole you are.”
“I know, right?” I laughed and finished off my beer, looking immediately for another. My buzz from earlier was worn off and I didn’t like it. “They all think they’ll be ‘the one’ that can tame me, I guess. Dumb bitches.”
We laughed and walked over the cooler full of beer. As we each grabbed one, Diesel spotted someone from another band he used to talk to and headed over to them, leaving me alone. I found an unoccupied chair and took a seat to drink my beer and observe the people around me. Maybe I could find someone I could fuck after the show.
I glanced around the room the scene was pretty typical of backstage before one of our shows. The bass player J.J. is sitting on the end of the couch with his wife on his lap. He was the only one out of all four of us that was married. Clarissa was his high school sweet heart and a cool chick. She was on tour with us a lot of the time but we didn’t mind.
Zane had disappeared from the corner, taking the party somewhere more private. I was glad; we didn’t need to see him fucking. Late at night after a show, things would get a little out of hand back here and it wasn’t out of the ordinary to find a pile of naked bodies. Things were a bit tamer before we had to go onstage; when we were done playing for the night we would really let lose.
I sighed and took a drink of my beer. Even I had to admit the chicks that followed us around and got back stage were tire
d. They all wore skirts too short and shirts that had their tits spilling out of them. So many were too skinny and looked like they needed to eat a fucking sandwich.
The more success the band had, the less of a challenge the groupies were, practically spreading their legs the minute you said hi. I’m not even kidding – I’ve met a few that dropped to their knees to suck my cock without even telling me their name.
I would have to watch the crowd tonight to see if anyone caught my eye. I usually paid close attention to the females in the front rows during our shows. If there were any I would be interested in fucking later, I would have a security give them a backstage pass. There have been a few shows where he ended up handing out five different passes. Let’s just say I had trouble walking the next day.
The roadie I saw leaving me dressing room came by to let me know he got rid of the girl. I nodded and thanked him. I was about to get up to go back there to smoke a joint and relax when someone caught my eye.
The tour manager was talking to a redhead that didn’t fit in with the other women back stage. She had on jeans and black knee-high boots. She was curvy and unlike the other women in here, had something I could hold onto when I fucked her. A tight black tank top accented her tits, revealing a small amount of cleavage. I wanted to run my tongue in between them, maybe even slide my cock up there. She wasn’t wearing a pound of make-up either. On her left shoulder was some sort of tattoo I couldn’t quite make out because her long hair was covering most of it.
Speaking of her hair, it was the thing that made me notice her. It was red – a deep shade of red, with black underneath. I knew that color wasn’t natural but fuck it looked good on her. She reached up and tucked her hair behind her ears with a well-manicured hand. Maybe I should go over to say hi and find out who she was.
In this business, there weren’t a whole lot of women – at least that I’d seen. It was an industry dominated by males. Most of the women I had met were groupies that wanted to fuck you and any of the other women who were managers or record executives were too ugly to even touch.
That’s why this girl intrigued me. How did she get back here? She didn’t seem like she was here to get laid or Velcro herself to a rock star.
I drank the last of my beer and set it on the table in front of me before standing up and sauntering over to them. I’d talked to the tour manager Drew enough times that it wouldn’t seem weird I was saying hi. I didn’t give a fuck about him though; I wanted to meet the beauty he was talking too.
“Hey Drew,” I said, holding out my hand to greet him with a handshake.
“Hey Cane, what’s up?” He gripped my hand firmly. “You guys ready to go on soon?”
“We sure are,” I nodded, glancing at her. She was even more gorgeous up close. I thought about those red painted lips around my cock.
“Awesome.” He nodded. “Hey Lindsay, this – “
“Cane, the lead singer of Hookers and Hand Grenades,” she said with a smirk and held out her hand.
I took her tiny hand in mine. “You know who I am?” Maybe she was here looking to get fucked. After all, weren’t they all?
“Of course I do. Who doesn’t?” She laughed and I couldn’t help but smile. It was a beautiful sound and music to my ears.
“And who are you?” I asked, still holding onto her hand, my eyes looking into her dark green ones.
She pulled her hand away. “I’m Lindsey Jones, a reporter with the Rolling Stone.”
Fuck. I felt my dick instantly shrivel. A reporter? I was speechless. The hottest chick here and she was a fucking reporter.
“She’s here to cover the tour. She just got here today. There was a mix up in assignments so she didn’t make it at the beginning.
“Cool,” I replied. I tried to stay as far away from the press as I could. Even though this one was sexy as fuck, I was no longer interested.
“Well, I’m going to go back to my dressing room for a few minutes. It was nice meeting you Lindsey,” I nodded at her.
“You too,” she smiled at me. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”
“I’m sure we will,” I mumbled before turning around and walking back to my dressing room.
When I got inside I immediately lit a joint and took a long drag. I closed my eyes and blew out the smoke slowly, almost feeling the calm seep through me. I opened the mini-fridge and grabbed a beer before sitting down on the couch. I leaned my head back and all I could see was Lindsay’s face and kick ass body. I almost regretted kicking out the girl from earlier. Shit, I couldn’t even remember her name. Then again, I don’t think she ever told me. Anyway, I could really use a blow job right now. For some reason, I was would tight.
I took another drag off of my joint and unzipped my jeans. I didn’t make it a habit of jerking off when I had all of this pussy available to me, but I wasn’t in the mood to listen to another chick whine about seeing me again.
I freed my cock, already hard and hot, the pre-cum oozing from the tip. I grabbed a few tissues from the box nearby and began to stroke my cock furiously. Images of Lindsey on all fours in front of me while I pounded hard into her filled my mind. I groaned when I released my load into the tissue, my heart racing.
There was a knock on the door. “You’re on in five.”
“I’ll be right out,” I called back, cleaning up and buttoning my pants. I drank the rest of my beer and took one last hit before I left my room.
I walked past Lindsay on the way to the stage, talking to another reporter, but she didn’t notice me. Her back was to me and my eyes were drawn to the curve of her ass in those jeans. I would love to peel those off of her and sink my teeth into the flesh there.
Hands off. Damn, if I had to keep reminding myself of that, it was going to be a long tour.
2
Lindsey
Well, that didn’t go very well, did it?
I had just met Cane Stephens, the hottest singer in rock music right now, and not only were my conversation skills less than stellar, he didn’t seem too interested in talking to me anymore.
I had been trying to be cool since I got here, but I still couldn’t believe I was back stage for one of the hottest tours in rock and roll this summer. Sometimes I had to pinch myself that this was my job. This was way better than the lawyer my parents had wanted me to become.
I had only been with Rolling Stone magazine for four months and wasn’t originally given this assignment. The girl who was supposed to cover it got sick and there was no one else free all summer. I was the only one who could take the time to go. Up until then, I had only written small pieces for the magazine and done a few interviews with some bands, but none as popular as the ones on this tour.
I had arrived at the press bus earlier that day and the tour manager was nice enough to show me around. I tried not to show how surprised I was by the debauchery that was going on behind the stage of Hookers and Hand Grenades. I wasn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination; in fact, I loved sex as much as the next guy, but I was surprised the scene lived up to the cliché of drugs and sex going on backstage. My jaw dropped when I saw one guy getting head over in the corner by some groupie.
“Yeah, that’s pretty tame for back here.” Drew, the tour manager, noticed that I couldn’t stop staring. “Try to avoid this area after they get done; that’s when things really get wild.”
“I see,” I said, watching as some short girl in hooker heals and a dress that resembled dental floss walked by. I was way overdressed in my jeans and tank top. These groupies were going to get old really fast. I was pretty sure I was one of the only ladies in there with real breasts. I looked down at them; they were real and I’ve never had any complaints.
I had noticed some guy sitting alone on a chair drinking a beer. I was surprised he didn’t have a few chicks attached to him like the rest of the guys. I stopped in my tracks; wait a minute. Was that the lead singer, Cane Stephens? My friend Rebecca and I drooled over him all the time. We heard rumors he was a real assho
le with the ladies, but he was still fun to look at. I didn’t give a shit either; if I had a chance to sleep with him, I would in a heartbeat.
Given his reputation, I wondered where his groupies were. I read an interview he did for a magazine once where he bragged it wasn’t uncommon for him to sleep with a few different girls every day.
Gag me. I loved sex and definitely had my share of sexy times that would make my mother want to disown me, but frequently sleeping with multiple partners daily was disgusting.
I couldn’t help but steal glances at him talked. Cane looked as even hotter in person in his raggedy jeans and black tight t-shirt. Tattoos covered his arms and he was wearing aviator shades despite being inside. His black hair was short on the sides and a little bit longer on the top where it was all messy. I bet he took longer than I did to get ready.
I watched as he took a drink of his beer and I was a little jealous of that bottle; he had the most delicious lips and I bet they could do wonderfully nasty things to my body.
I shook my head a little, clearing the dirty thoughts from my mind. I had to act professional and do my job despite the sex on a stick that was sitting nearby. I was here to prove to my family I could make it as a writer in the music industry.
I’ve loved music for as long as I could remember. I could never master playing an instrument and when I sang, dogs howled everywhere, but that didn’t curb my enthusiasm. As soon as we could drive, my best friend Rebecca and I went to every concert we could and spent more hours than I cared to admit at clubs dancing.
All I Need: Hookers and Hand Grenades Book One Page 1