BANGED: Rock Stars, Bad Boys & Dirty Deeds

by Lexxie Couper

  * * *

  God, he was so gentle with her. Something had changed. She’d felt it happen with her mouth around his cock and her hands cradling his balls. Now he bent between her legs, all breath and shadows, heat and softness. It was like having her pussy licked by a stranger.

  She wanted Lock back.

  With a soft yank of his hair, she pulled him away. His eyes were unfocused, his expression unbearably soft. It was almost enough to make her put him back to work, to press his face down until she came, adding more wetness to the shine on his stubble.

  But it wasn't really him. Not the man who had lured her up to his room that first night, the one who had demanded her signature on his sex contract. Ink on the page, straw spun into gold, a sex fairy tale come to life.

  Flipping over, she knelt on her hands and knees—presenting herself to him. She could imagine the view: her ass displayed lewdly, the plump lips of her sex visible beneath. It was a rude position, almost cruel in its offering, but she had to make it worse.

  She turned back to meet his dark gaze. “I need you.”

  For a long moment he simply looked at her. The thick bulge in his leather pants didn’t let her feel too bad, but he still didn’t touch her. Cool air made her shiver, writhing like bait on a hook. Her own desire was the hook, sharp and unyielding, holding her in place for him.

  Slowly, so slowly he reached for her. A large hand down her thigh, stroking. Soothing. Measuring.

  “What do you need from me, Hailey?”

  He wanted her to say it. “I need you to…to fuck me.”

  “Is that so?” Two fingers slipped inside her, blunt and jarring and not nearly enough. He twisted his fingers, finding a place that shot sparks through her core.

  “God.”

  “Like this?” His fingers moved in and out. He fucked her with his hand, and she thought she was going to die.

  “Please.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Fuck me with your cock. Now. Hard.”

  He chuckled behind her. “That’s a lot of instructions.” His fingers were gone. Empty. Foil ripped; heartbeats passed. Then his cock pressed to her opening, slippery and smooth. “This is one.” He pushed inside her, all the way, and she gasped in relief at the fullness. “And that's two. Now about that third one…”

  She tensed in anticipation. Hard.

  His hand tangled in her hair and pulled taut. Her hands clenched the sheets. He withdrew and then thrust back inside, sudden and rough. Exactly what she’d asked for. So much more than she’d expected. It hurt. Oh God, it hurt, the pressure so intense, the pleasure a form of pain. Her inner muscles spasmed around him, trying to keep him out, trying to pull him in. He ignored her silent pleas and thrust again—harder and harder, faster and deeper until she couldn’t tell where she ended. It felt like her pussy had joined with him, merged in some kind of new being, one that could fuck all day and all night.

  An eternity passed before he let go of her hair. Her head dropped onto the sheets. Her shoulders too. He kept going, unstoppable; she didn’t want him to stop. He pushed her into the mattress with every hard thrust, pressing her, flattening her. She became liquid, an ocean stretching out, and he was gravity—down, down, down. She lay flush against the bed, barely able to breathe, immersed in his groans as they rippled around her.

  He came with a sudden jerk of his body, his hands tightening on her hips, his teeth sinking into her shoulder, marking her. Wait. She ground her hips in a helpless rhythm, pushing back into his invasion, pressing down against the mattress, needy and hopeless. She couldn't join him. He rocked over her in tiny bursts, keeping his own pleasure going while she clenched around his cock even though it wouldn’t be enough.

  His hand slipped beneath her hips. The first touch of his fingers to her clit made her jump. He drew circles with her wetness, steady, focused despite his languor. She felt him soften inside her, and she squeezed until he grunted and pulled out.

  A sigh escaped her, vague disappointment and sexual malaise. She wanted to come, but only at his hand. On his cock. Against his mouth. Her fingers had become a second-rate option. What would happen when she left? The knowing slide of his fingers swept those thoughts away. She humped his hand, mindlessly, artlessly, and even the pillow-top mattress became an instrument of pleasure. This bed, which had housed so many rock stars and millionaires, so much sex and discontent—and then there was her. She came in a small, tight climax, her plaintive cry soaked up by the springs beneath her.

  They panted in the aftermath, his fingers still swirling in her sex, dipped into the mess left behind. Would his fingers be wrinkly from all that wetness? How long would she leave her mark?

  “Stay,” he murmured against her back.

  The word was a request. It had to be. They both knew the contract couldn’t hold her. It was a cage without a door, enclosed on every side except the one that mattered most. But his quiet voice chained her more than sheets of paper ever could. The weight of his body. The beat of his heart against her back. Stay.

  Her voice was muffled against the bed. “My sister. She needs me.”

  “I need you.”

  Her heart clenched, surprised that he’d admit it. There was a distance when he spoke to her back, a confessional wall where he could whisper his wanting of her. But she wouldn’t sit behind the veil, wouldn’t let him give her false reverence. She was still wet from fucking him—still sore, for God’s sake.

  She turned over. Her gaze held his. “Not like that.”

  “Like what then? You can send her money.” He added, “I have money.”

  Was he offering to pay her? “That wasn’t part of the contract.”

  Fuck the contract. She expected him to say that. He wasn’t a man who respected rules, even ones he’d set himself. But apparently this one mattered.

  “We still have one more night,” he said.

  If he demanded they follow the letter of the contract, that meant she’d leave in one day. One day where Chloe wondered what the hell her sister was doing. One day while her little niece or nephew grew into the size of a kidney bean.

  One day of being irresponsible and aimless. Of living only for herself.

  Like he did.

  She reached up and petted his hair, soothing the sting she’d made before. “I’ll stay.”

  It felt like a reward when he kissed her, long and slow. But when he pulled back, his expression was almost mournful.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He smoothed her hair and kissed her again. Distracting her. And God help her, she let him. His hands moved over her body, wakening her. Again?

  Yes, again, his body answered.

  He was ruthless in his pursuit of his pleasure. He made it an art form, this dissolute living. Almost stylized in its perfection. And so damned tempting she couldn’t turn away. She wanted him to teach her his secrets, like a magician to his apprentice.

  And above all, she wanted him to remember her when she was gone.

  SIXTEEN

  Moe raked his fingers through his wild hair and paced the length of his suite like a caged beast. He stopped beside the leather sofa, a smaller version of the one in Lock's room, and sat on the arm. “I don't like this. You flying ahead of us is not the plan.”

  Lock slouched deeper into the plush recliner. He made the plan. He could change it. He was only telling Moe as a courtesy. “You wanted an extra day to play tourist; you got it. I need out of this hotel, out of this city.”

  “You need a meeting.” Moe sneered. He might as well have slapped Lock in the face. The truth always hurt, but Lock wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  “Screw that. I'm fine.”

  “Yeah, just like Krist.”

  “What's he got to do with anything?”

  “Who do you think he came to after you booted him last night? Take care of your shit. I'm not cut out for being in charge.”

  Moe in charge? If Lock weren't so pissed, he'd laugh. “It's none of your busines
s.”

  Moe launched himself off the couch and resumed his pacing. “No? Your dick nearly destroyed this band once. I think that makes it my business. I know I joke, but I will not be some Behind the fucking Music punch line.”

  Always that. If his mother’s past wasn’t swinging around his neck like a goddamn albatross, it probably wouldn’t have even mattered. But the media loved a scandal—and a family curse. “How long do I have to pay for that? It could've happened to any of us.”

  “But it didn't. It happened to you, because you were so far in the bottle you didn't even know what was happening half the time.”

  He could barely get the words out through his clenched teeth. “I'm not drinking.”

  “Fine. Then get your head out of your groupie's ass, sweet as it is, and apologize to Krist. Make this right. If we fuck up another tour, we can kiss the label good-bye.”

  We? How about him? Their agent’s words rang in his head. The label will replace you if they have to. The guys didn’t even realize. Everything they’d built, none of it really belonged to them. They’d sold their souls for a private jet and a six-album contract. They were all expendable. “I will. When we're all in Vegas.”

  “Now.” Moe tossed something at him. A flash of orange. His lucky guitar pick. “Tell him to get up here.”

  Lock slipped his phone from his pocket and swiped his thumb over the screen. Come to Moe’s room. He flicked his pick over his knuckles the whole time he waited.

  Moe let Krist in, and they both settled on opposite ends of the couch. He’d come, Lock half expected him not to, but Krist wouldn’t look him in the eye.

  “The last time we all sat around a hotel coffee table, it was your intervention,” Krist said.

  Moe laughed, thumping his fist against his knee. “Burn!”

  Lock gnawed the inside of his cheek. Yes, because his sobriety, or lack thereof, was such a joke. “I thought you didn’t want to be a punch line.”

  “Sorry, man. But that was a good one.”

  Krist covered his mouth, hiding a smirk. Assholes, both of them.

  “Fuck this. I’m leaving tonight. I don’t even know why I bothered to tell you.”

  “I think you have some business to attend to first.” Moe jerked his head in Krist’s direction.

  Right. He'd accepted the pick. The bargain was made. “It’s between me and Krist. Get the fuck out.”

  “It’s my room.”

  “Moe, please?” Krist kept his gaze on his lap as he asked.

  “Okay.” Moe stood, pointing at the both of them. “But nobody fucks in my bed but me.”

  Lock felt all the air sucked out of the room with the slamming door. He didn’t have anything to apologize for; he hadn’t made Krist any promises. Hadn’t done anything Krist didn’t want him to do. The only difference was Hailey. She’d seen something in him, brought something out of him that hadn’t been there before. A kindness. A yearning. And Krist had gotten caught in their undertow. That part wasn’t fair.

  “I’m sorry, Krist. I know what happened was too much.”

  “Whatever. It’s cool.” Krist pulled at the loose threads surrounding a hole in his jeans.

  “I can see that it isn’t.”

  “Am I hurt? Yes. But it’s on me. You don’t have that much power, Lock. No matter what you think.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Shut up. I appreciate the apology, even if it was under duress. Just don’t lie to me.”

  He could do that at least. Tell the truth. “Okay.”

  “Why are you heading to Vegas early? To get away from me?”

  “No.” The lie felt too easy; he backtracked. “Yes.”

  “You know Moe thinks you’re drinking again. I thought so too until last night. Now I just think you’re going to self-destruct all on your own. Go to Las Vegas. Run away. Do whatever it is you think you need to do. Just don’t take the band down with you.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I can forgive you for a lot of shit, but I won’t forgive you for that.”

  * * *

  Hailey shut the flat plastic cover on the window, blocking out the orange sunset. Would it get brighter when they were in the sky? Hopefully Lock liked the dark. She stared straight ahead at the faux wood paneling. Or maybe it was real wood. Private jets probably had the best of everything, down to the plush leather seats. Her fingers gripped the arms, drawing crescents with her nails.

  Footsteps warned her of Lock’s approach, and she shut her eyes. If he thought she was asleep, he wouldn’t talk to her. He wouldn’t ask questions.

  “You all right, babe?”

  Or maybe he would. She nodded but didn’t trust herself to form words. At least, words other than help and oh God and I’m scared. The plane pulled forward in a series of turns that made her insides twist.

  He settled into the chair beside her, rustling the leather and sending a wave of his subtle musk to calm her. “Because you look like you might puke.”

  “I’m not going to puke.” Mostly because there was nothing in her stomach. She hadn’t been able to eat the preflight supper at the small airport. Lobster with cream sauce and asparagus with goat cheese. Even thinking about it made her stomach turn over.

  “Okay,” he said in a contemplative tone. His fingers were warm and dry against her palm. She startled and pulled away, but he caught her hand. “Relax. We’ll be in the air soon.”

  That’s what she was afraid of.

  “I’m fine. Really.” Her words were somewhat betrayed by the high pitch of her voice. God, why couldn’t she be smooth and classy and blasé like a hundred other women could be—and had been? Why did she have to be so…like herself?

  He would see right through the clothes and the sway of her hips and the wild sex she’d never really had before. He’d see how boring she was, and if there was one thing she had learned about the rock-and-roll lifestyle in the past two days, it was that boring was a cardinal sin.

  “You ever flown before, Hailey?”

  Oh, the way he said her name made her feel strangely alert. A fraction more in tune with him than the airplane surrounding them. He had that kind of voice: magnetic, melodic. Thousands of people packed into a stadium just to hear him, and she couldn’t resist him either.

  The plane picked up speed. His thumb made circles on her palm, around and around, giving her courage.

  She took a deep breath. “There weren’t a lot of family trips, if you know what I mean.”

  He didn’t pause, not even for a moment, just one circle around the other, one breath and then another. “I don’t really know what you mean, but I hope you’ll tell me someday.”

  Someday. Oh God, she wanted someday. But they only had one day left. She wasn’t sure she’d be ready to bare her soul—or her family’s sordid past—by tomorrow. But for the first time, the thought of not opening up, of not being vulnerable, terrified her. Like watching the threads break one by one and knowing she would fall.

  She liked the circles he made, but she wanted more. She wanted him to sing to her. But she couldn’t ask him to do that. It seemed like too much, even if he had done it for thousands of people last night. He wasn’t a puppet who had to perform when she pulled the strings.

  A sudden image came to her, of Lock’s agent berating him for something after the show. And then again on the way to the airport. Schedules to keep. Commitments to make. So maybe he was a puppet after all, but she wasn’t his master.

  “Will you…will you talk to me?” she asked, suddenly desperate to hear him.

  “About what?”

  “Anything.” They were down to hours, and she needed every pitch he could make, every breath and groan charted in her mind, a map to study in later years. I went there once. A story she would tell herself.

  He was quiet a moment. “There were a lot of family trips for me, if you know what I mean. But they weren’t really vacations. They were business as usual.”

  She looked at him then. The overhead pane
l bathed his face in a soft light, as if he glowed from within. He’d lost the edge she’d seen before, almost as if the ritzy hotel had made him sharp. Hackles. Defenses. But they were down now.

  “What was the business?” she asked.

  “Music, of course. You didn’t know? Cate James. She was famous back in the seventies for breaking up Royal Velvet. But then she hooked up with my dad and the rest…” He made a sweeping gesture toward himself, the plane. Everything.

  “Is history,” she finished softly.

  “Yeah, I got pretty comfortable on planes. Didn’t always end up on the same flight as my parents. There were scheduling conflicts. Tutors for me and rehearsals for them. And break-ups. My parents were always on the verge of divorce. Sometimes they’d split for a few days, sometimes for months. That’s how I met Krist. My mom hooked up with his dad while they were touring together. It didn’t last. Nothing lasted. Except the party, but I wasn’t supposed to know about any of it. Just read about it in the tabloids like everyone else.”

  Her heart clenched. She imagined a little boy reading tawdry headlines and trying to understand. “That must have been tough.”

  He chuckled. “Poor little rich boy. Don’t waste your worry on me, beautiful.”

  She shook her head. He wouldn’t want her sympathy. But she had to know… “Why did you follow their footsteps?”

  “Everyone I knew was in the business. I guess when other kids want to get away from their parents, they go to college. I went on tour.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Put the band together. Worked our asses off. Just like that.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “I know you didn’t. Lifetime of inadequacy at work here. I don’t want the special treatment or the expectations that come with being Cate James’s son, but I get it anyway.”