On the Road: (Vagabonds Book 2) (New Adult Rock Star Romance)

by Jamison, Jade C.

  It was achingly slow.

  I bit my lip to stop myself from demanding anything of him and I kept my fists balled so I didn’t grab him. At last, he pulled the front of the bra down my arms and he kept his eyes on the front of me to see what would be revealed, as if I were part of a magic show.

  “Pink. Lovely.” I looked down so I could see what he was talking about. Ah, the color of my areolas. I didn’t know it at the time, but apparently he was a breast man. He relished everything about them—color, shape, size, perkiness, roundness, and more. He brushed his fingertips along the sides of my breasts and I felt the areolas and nipples respond once more, growing tight and hard from his endless attention. I buried my teeth farther into my lip, hoping to maintain a little self-control, but that did nothing to help me get a handle on the crazy way I was feeling. Holy shit. I felt alive and on fire and full of vibrations.

  I was a captive audience and he’d barely done a thing.

  He brought an index finger and thumb together over one nipple and rubbed it until I had to close my eyes. He lowered his head so he could lick the other one before drawing it into his mouth. I couldn’t help the loud breath that rushed out of my mouth and I wrapped my fingers in his hair, unable to contain myself any longer. He took his tongue and drew a line back down the mound of my breast to my cleavage and then he looked in my eyes. “I wanted to take you over on the weight machine, but it would have been a little too awkward. Maybe another time.” What was he saying? Was he going to deny me after all his talk about taking care of me? “Instead, I think I’m gonna have you sit in my chair over there…and then I’ll think about you all day long tomorrow while I sit there.” I turned my head to look at his chair. It was a swivel chair, high-backed, covered in black leather. “But first…” He started kissing down the front of me again, between my breasts and then down past my navel until he got on his knees, and then he unbuttoned my jeans. They were snug and so they weren’t easy to pull off my hips, so I helped until they were mid-thigh. “Sit up on my desk.”

  I peeked over my shoulder and saw that there really wasn’t a place for me to sit, but I slid his nameplate out of the way and then rested my ass on the glass top. By then he had my jeans down to my ankles and he was taking my boots off, followed by the pants. He kissed one of my knees and then fingered the waistband of my black panties where they hugged my hip. He gave me half a cockeyed smile. “Let’s get you over to the chair.”

  When we got to the other side of the desk, he pulled me close, his hands squeezing my ass and pushing my body into his. He was semi-erect once more but I could tell he wasn’t ready again yet. That meant maybe I would get all his attention as promised. He ran his fingers under my panties and pushed them down some while sliding his fingers between my legs, touching me from behind. I sucked in a breath around his tongue and he smiled again, shoving my panties off my ass and urging me to sit down.

  Once I was seated in the chair, I adjusted a couple of times. Eddie slid his arms behind my ass and pushed my bottom to the edge of the chair. So my posture in the chair sucked, but I wasn’t sitting in class. I wasn’t trying to win any perfect child contest at the moment anyway. He looped his fingers around my panties and pulled them the rest of the way down my legs slowly until they dropped to my ankles, and then he carefully pulled them the rest of the way off. He kissed the inside of my knee then and so I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. He placed his hands on my knees and pulled my legs apart, and then I could feel his breath on my inner thigh. He stuck his tongue out and painted down the flesh, making my pussy constrict against nothing but an imaginary cock. Then he brushed his fingers down the inside of my other thigh until he touched the crease where my leg met the rest of my body, but he kept going. He ran his finger down the length of my slit, and the entire stroke sent shivers through my body. I heard another breath force its way out of my mouth as he touched my pussy. “Oh, baby, I love how wet you are.”

  Yeah, that was because he was tormenting me. I gave him a look that I hoped communicated my feelings of desperation, but I was afraid I probably just looked pathetic.

  “You’re awfully quiet, but I don’t want that, Kyle. Okay?” I nodded. He smiled then and added, “Already you’re disobeying the rules. Okay?”

  I smiled in spite of my tenseness. “Okay.”

  “I want you to talk to me the entire time I tongue-fuck you. Tell me what you like, how it feels, if you want more. If you need to moan, I want to hear it. If you want to scream, let it out. I want to hear every second of your pleasure. Can you do that for me?”

  I started to nod and then added, “Yes.”

  He smiled up at me, his hands still on my knees, and said, “Try to relax.” Ha. That was like telling a dental patient to pretend the dentist wasn’t drilling a tooth, because my body was taut with anticipation, and I knew he would bring release. He slid his hands up my thighs, and he moved them so slowly, it almost ached, so I closed my eyes and rested my head against the back of the chair. I couldn’t bend my neck much because of the high back, but it supported my head anyway. I felt his thumbs reach the creases of my leg as his fingertips touched my hips, but then he moved his hands and I could feel his thumbs on my labia. That was enough to make me let out a sigh of anticipation…and I remembered. He wanted to hear my pleasure.

  I wasn’t sure what to say, but I did want him to know he was on the right track—not that there was any doubt, but if telling him out loud was what helped him enjoy the process, I was game. “Yeah,” I breathed.

  He kissed the inside of my thigh. I could barely hear him mumble, “Good,” but that was all I needed to know I could do no wrong, so long as I kept him apprised.

  I kept my eyes closed, enjoying the feel of it all, and I wasn’t sure if it was his nose or his fingers touching my labia, but I could feel my pussy respond to the attention, tightening up once more. Then I felt his fingers move down until he touched the outside of my vagina, and he slid a finger, maybe more than one, inside me. “Yeah, you’re definitely ready for me, aren’t you, baby?”

  I felt impatient but bit down on my lip once more. After a few seconds, he licked down my slit—that much I could tell—and I reminded myself that I needed to be vocal. “Yeah, there.” At least he took direction well. He focused his efforts right there, and I gladly panted and moaned and let him know he was doing exactly what I needed.

  That I was seventeen and he was possibly double my age didn’t cross my mind at that point.

  My heart began to beat more rapidly and my breathing grew heavier. “God, I’m close. I’m close.” And I was. It was painful how close I was, and my body just refused to give me that amazing release. I think it was because I was focusing on making sure he knew I felt instead of just letting go, and I finally did just focus all my attention on that one tiny spot on my body, the area where my mind wanted and needed to be anyway, and once I did that and took another deep breath, my whole world came crashing down. I felt the muscles in my thighs and pussy clench as my body took on the first wave of pleasure brought on by his tongue. “Oh, God,” I moaned, and it was followed by a guttural utterance, one I had no control over—and I think that was what Eddie had been aiming for: spontaneous, unfettered dirty talk, spawned by an overabundance of pleasurable sensations.

  He kept up the pressure and the attention and my orgasm just didn’t stop. I felt the muscles in my thighs clench in time with each wave of pleasure as it washed over me—my blood, my brain, and my muscles all worked in conjunction to flood me with chemicals that felt better than any damn drug ever could.

  When he finally stopped, I let all my muscles relax. I dropped my head against the back of the chair and relaxed my legs and arms, allowing a long breath of air out of my lungs.

  “You’re a fast learner, princess,” he said, and I looked down. He remained seated on the floor, his face between his legs. “I love that. But maybe we need to get you back to your party.”

  All I wanted to do was curl up and nap—and so that was t
he first time I ever tried coke, again, thanks to Eddie…and then I partied all fucking night long, feeling high for a plethora of reasons.

  Chapter Eleven

  A FEW DAYS later, we were all crammed in the van once more, driving down the road to our next gig. It was close to Halloween, and we were heading toward Detroit. I was in a pissy mood, brought on in part by the awkwardness caused by Liz and Barbie’s “breakup,” for lack of a better word. What made it worse was that they were in denial that they ever “had” anything, so we couldn’t even talk about it.

  I was also pissed because the weather was getting cold, and, peeking at our itinerary, I was astounded at the seeming lack of planning. We still had a shitload of shows up north and it was going to start snowing any day now.

  I was even more irritated because I had no good answer for when my parents kept asking me on the phone how our studies were going. I couldn’t just lie to them, so I skirted around it, did some hemming and hawing, and told them what Peter had told us—to find study materials online until the real deal arrived. But he could make shit up all he wanted. I knew now that there were no study materials coming, any more than I’d have a 24/7 chaperone arriving soon or a bodyguard to accompany my every move. Sure, lots of what Peter had told us had been coming true—the packed concerts, sold out shows, and horny fans—but he’d lied about what he had to so he could get us on the road and earning money. He’d sold us a bill of goods that was nothing but sweet talk—and it wouldn’t be long before my parents and my bandmates’ parents would find out the truth. I think Peter was just biding his time, hoping our album would go platinum so he could say, “Oh, don’t worry. They can study once they’re home.”

  Stupid Andrew had over-partied the night before, so Peter was driving—and he was a shitty driver. I hated when he toted us around, because his driving made me nervous, especially in heavy traffic. Right now, we were on a four-lane highway, so it wasn’t too bad, but it was only a matter of time before we approached another city…and God help us.

  So, yeah, I was in Pissyville. I’d even bought a mocha latte at Starbucks before we’d hit the road, thinking a massive dose of sugar and caffeine would improve my mood. Instead, it just made me a more alert bitch, and I was grouchy as hell. I needed to take it out on someone.

  “So who here wants to talk about the elephant in the room?” I asked from my spot on the right side of the van in the very back. Oh, yes, I made sure my voice was loud enough to be heard by all and also annoy the shit out of Andrew, sleepy slick boy.

  Vicki was game. “Elephant? What elephant?”

  I smirked. “Our two friends who want to pretend they didn’t have a relationship that has now made everything feel stiff and awkward for all of us.”

  “Oh,” she said, raising her eyebrows. And, where angels fear to tread, my friend ran a marathon in cleats. “You mean Liz and Barbie breaking up?”

  “Ding! Ding! Ding! You got it, my friend.” I snarled. “Let’s talk about that shit.”

  Barbie turned around in her seat, looking like she was ready to gouge my eyes out with her red fingernails. “Shut the fuck up, Kyle. You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  “I don’t? Are you trying to tell me you and Liz weren’t sleeping together?”

  Liz was her typical silent self, but I could tell from her expression that the subject matter was making her uncomfortable as hell. Barbie, though—her dirty laundry was always fair game, as far as she was concerned. She pointed a finger at me as though she were going to jab it in my chest. “I didn’t say shit.”

  “Yeah, but know what, Barbie? The fact that you guys won’t talk to each other—hell, won’t even look at each other—is making it hard for the rest of us to work together. So either get over your shit or let’s talk about it.”

  She glared at me, scrunching her mouth into a tight little ball, but she turned around without saying another word. After a few minutes, Peter asked, “Are we done now?”

  I shrugged and rolled my eyes and then rested my head against the window, hoping to sleep the day away. It was hard enough, living this life on the road, but it was a hell of a lot more bearable when we five girls got along. When we didn’t, I felt isolated and alone. Peter was a bit of a vulture, and he liked separating his prey. We were better when we were united. He left us alone more when we stuck together.

  We stopped in some little town on the way to wherever the hell we were going, and when I went to the bathroom to wash my hands before our food got to the table, Barbie came in and stood, looking at me. “What? If you can’t say anything to the group, don’t fucking bother now.”

  She looked beaten down then, more humble than I’d ever seen her. She shook her head as if to assure me she wasn’t going to play her usual psycho act. “It’s not like that, Kyle. I hate this too.”

  Suddenly, the bitch in me fizzled and I felt human again. I couldn’t kick her when she was down. I leaned my ass against the sink, almost sitting, and said, “So what’s up?”

  Her eyes looked weary. “God, this shit sucks. I—I was the one who broke up. Liz was getting super clingy and…and…and, for her, I don’t think it was just fun. I think she was totally serious about it all. I don’t want a relationship, especially with a girl. Girls are fun to play around with, but I love cock, you know?” A tear dropped on her cheek, but I couldn’t help but let out a giggle at her last sentence. She laughed then too, in spite of her emotions. “Seriously, Kyle. I don’t know what to do. I love Liz as a friend and a bandmate, but I don’t want to sleep with her anymore, and I definitely don’t want her writing me any more love poems.”

  “Oh, God. What can I do?”

  She shrugged. “No idea. I think…” She shook her head, running her fingers through her hair. “I think Liz really is gay and I think she’s in love with me.”

  “Well, I guess she just needs to get over it.” I hugged Barbie, hoping she knew I supported her. “You were straight up with her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They say pain makes for good lyrics.”

  “Jesus, Kyle. Don’t say that shit.”

  “Just trying to make you feel better.”

  “‘Kay, well, why don’t you just stick with playing guitar, ‘cause you suck at being compassionate.”

  We were both laughing as we left the girls’ room, our arms still wrapped around each other’s waists. Liz’s eyes on me as we sat down didn’t go unnoticed. I think I inadvertently helped the elephant in the room to grow to gigantic proportions.

  * * *

  So…I’d been experimenting with different drugs on the road, but Vicki took it to a whole new level. What was worse was she became enamored of coke. Sure, I’d done it a couple of times but, like any drug, I could take it or leave it. Not Vicki. When she found a new lover, she wanted to spend every waking moment with him.

  Drugs were her vice, her poison, and her passion.

  I hoped she’d grow weary of coke like she had pot and Ecstasy, but I had no way of knowing. She still smoked cigarettes and drank whatever alcohol she could get her hands on like there was no tomorrow.

  Most of her money went to drugs instead of food on the road, but I also knew she hooked up with groupies (if that’s what you’d call the males who came to concerts and wanted to fuck us) who gave her anything she wanted. I also knew what she did to get that shit…but, as her friend, I tried not to lecture. After all, she was older than I was by about a year. She was actually eighteen and it was legal for her to buy cigarettes and lots of other stuff. The last thing she’d want was for me to tell her what to do.

  But I worried—oh, God, I worried, and I got more and more concerned as the days went on. She got thinner and more sickly looking, and no one else seemed to give a shit, Peter least of all. I considered calling or texting her mom and then thought better of it. We were on the road. What the hell could she do? I’d make her upset and even more worried than I was, with one exception—there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it, because sh
e was stuck in Colorado. She had a shitty job and a van on its last tires.

  And, truth be told, I knew in desperation she’d likely get the other parents on board. She’d tell them what was going on and they’d all pull us from our tour. No way in hell was that going to happen. I was living my dream.

  I made a silent deal with myself. If Vicki got really bad—like so bad she couldn’t perform or injured herself—then I would tell her mom. And, in the meantime, maybe I’d have to find a way to tell her I was concerned…but that would have felt hypocritical, because I was quickly becoming known as the group’s party animal. I drank more than anyone else, resulting in many a shitty hangover, and I never turned down trying anything once. The problem, though, was that I could handle the shit and I never fucked up a show, high or not, hung over or not. The show—the fans, the performance—was the most important thing. Nothing would stop that for me, and if I’d been that wasted or suffering the day after, I would have kissed all that shit goodbye.

  Always, the music came first. Always and forever.

  * * *

  I had an opportunity. We’d had a show in Seattle—a show that should have been one of our best, because the audience was amazing and the venue was equally impressive. I was blitzed, sure, but I’d put on a hell of a show. In fact, I had more cheers for my solos than ever before. Vicki’s drumming was shitty that night, though, and it made it hard for all of us to concentrate or perform as well as we could have. I knew that it probably sounded like shit to the audience too.

  I was disappointed and I was pissed, and she was trying to hook up with some guys before we headed back to our hotel. I’d considered seeing if Andrew or even Liz would help me with my friend and then realized she might not trust me if I staged a mini-intervention.

  I saw her hanging next to a guy by the moving van out back that carried our instruments. She was leaning against it, talking to this scuzzy guy who looked like he hadn’t bathed in a few days. I wondered where TT and Bad Dog were and I realized they were probably smoking somewhere or actually watching a show—or maybe even trying to score their own action. Rock chicks would settle for a roadie if they couldn’t get their claws in a rock star. TT and Bad Dog had likely gotten good at using our band to their advantage. And good for them. Knowing Peter’s cheap ass, they probably weren’t making much either, so they had to find compensation any way they could.