Bang (Hard Rock Harlots Book 5)

by Kendall Grey

  “More. Please. More.” My guttural voice belongs to someone else. My eyes roll as I grip the satin.

  The thrusts stop, and her dick forces its way into my mouth. I open wide and take it. My pussy’s flavor teases my taste buds. She forces the dick as far as it’ll go, deeper down my throat than last time, while clutching a wad of my hair to hold me in place. Teeth bared, she snarls as she fucks my mouth. I widen the gap, biting the silicone and pulling my lips back so I can breathe, but it’s hard. My skin ignites with fire as consciousness slips.

  Lizzie pulls out and shoves the dick inside my pussy, only to fuck me into oblivion again. The dildo scratches my G-spot just right. My legs hike up on either side to welcome her. Spit runs from the corners of my lips. And my Mistress, my beauty, gazes down at me in a world of her own too. Her eyes glaze with desire. Her white breasts bounce with each jut of her trim hips. A soft smile takes her mouth hostage.

  “You wanna come, Jillian?”

  I nod desperately. “Yes, Christ. Please.”

  “How badly?”

  “My pussy aches for you, Siren. I can’t take anymore.”

  Lizzie expertly detaches herself from the strap-on webbing, but she keeps the shaft lodged inside me. She drops her lips to my clit and flicks it with her tongue, staring up at me, tongue- and dildo-fucking me all at once. The swell of pleasure threatens to overflow, and my legs fall aside. I surrender.

  She stops before I can finish.

  “No!” I cry out.

  She pulls the dildo from my pussy and thwacks my legs, ass, stomach, and tits with it repeatedly. Wetness splatters. On and on, she tortures me. Smacking my clit, pulling away. Smack, smack, pull. If I were a crier, I’d be weeping hardcore. Instead, I still under her and try to convince my spinning head not to fall for her tricks. But my clit swells, almost as if it thinks the fatter it puffs up, the more likely it’ll be to finish.

  Not so.

  Endorphins rage in an epic dance betwixt my thighs, ready to take up knives and start a fight with the pain. The duality of the agony and pleasure spawns a brand-new dimension within my sexual armory.

  Lizzie dismounts my beaten, ruined body. She strokes my cheeks and gazes at me through heavy lids. “You hanging in there?”

  “Yeah,” I manage.

  “You’re a strong woman. Just the way I like you.” She smiles and lowers her lips to mine. The kiss makes everything okay. It rescues me from the dark place my soul was heading toward. It brings me back to her.

  Capybara. Capybara is the safe word. But I don’t need it. I breathe a relieved sigh.

  Lizzie strokes my tender breasts lovingly as our mouths merge into one. She slips her fingers inside me, gliding in and out, but not fast enough to bring me to climax. Just enough to keep me attentive.

  When she breaks the head-buzzing lip lock, she says, “Turn on your side.”

  I do. She scoots so her head is at my knees. She eases upward, closer, parting her thighs to reveal a glistening wet, bald pink pussy. The scent alone goads my salivary glands into overdrive, but they’re not the only things producing fluid. My channel doth overflow.

  Lizzie pushes me to my back, tosses a leg over my shoulder, face pointing toward my feet, and targets her hovering cunt over my lips. Lowering her hips, she drops it to my mouth and simultaneously devours my pussy.

  Finally.

  “Oh, my fucking God.” Her thighs muffle my voice as I lap at her font.

  All of it. I must have every drop of her. I will suck this bitch dry.

  Her tongue pries me open. Teeth scratch my clit.

  “Christ!” I tense.

  She shoves my hips down and slaps my thigh as she dives in for another clit bombing. I close my eyes and mimic her actions. She dips into my slit and wiggles her tongue chin-deep. I do the same, inhaling her rich scent as I go. Our moans fall into a complementary rhythm as we eat each other out in a feast that would make Nero blush.

  Our bodies grind into one another. Honey seeps into the sheets, drenches skin, and fills hungry, horny bellies. Between sucks, she pinches my thighs, bites my labia, snags flesh with her teeth. I mentally map where all the bruises will pop up tomorrow, assuming they haven’t already, and I smile over a swallow of another slurp of her.

  Fingers probe. Noses tickle. Her moans elicit shockwaves from the epicenter of my clit, radiating outward, and for only the third time in my life, I come. Hard.

  All bodily functions aside from this monumental orgasm cease. Muscles paralyze. My mouth freezes.

  “Fuck you, Jillian!” She grinds her pussy roughly into my face, waking me up. I put everything I’ve got into getting her off while she does the same for me, and the two of us writhe against each other into oblivion.

  I fall for a thousand years.

  When I crash into the ground at the end of the bottomless pit, Lizzie topples beside me. We turn in to each other, eyes locked, dipping forward in sync until our lips meet and hold. Her tenderness is a shock to my system after all the violence and pain. Our mouths dance to the same song. Our hearts tap to the same rhythm.

  I think I’m in love with Lizzie Smith.

  Smith & Wesson

  Beth Wesson’s darkly spiked head pops through Lizzie’s curtain, scaring the bejesus out of me. Banging Betties’ drummer snaps her pink bubblegum and grins at Lizzie and me wrapped in each other’s arms. “You two look cozy.”

  “Wanna join us?” Lizzie arches a brow and lifts the covers, exposing both of our naked bodies.

  I draw my knees up to my chest. What the hell?

  Beth skims her gaze over my skin, blows a bubble, and tugs her shirt over her head. Braless, her boobs bounce with the motion. “Sure.”

  “Uh,” I start to protest.

  “Beth’s cool,” Lizzie assures me.

  No. Beth is not cool. Beth shouldn’t be here. With us. Interrupting our playtime and my near confession of adoration and … just no!

  “I think I should go.” I look to Lizzie, who seems oblivious to my distress.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She circles an arm around my waist and tugs me to her chest. We’re like a pair of silver spoons, which would be fucking amazing if we didn’t have this … uninvited tarnish threatening us.

  Except she was invited.

  Revelation #1521: Lizzie has no problem sharing.

  Speed bump: I do.

  “I’ve got stuff I should be doing for the band.” I wriggle out of Lizzie’s grip and sit up as Beth kicks off her shorts and boxes me in with her body.

  “But, we’re the only band that matters,” Lizzie says, her voice smooth as aged whiskey. “Stay.” The word breaks from her tongue as sharply as a kidnapper’s demand. I feel very much like a hostage.

  “Yeah, stay,” Beth adds and glances to Lizzie. She’s cute but not for me. And neither is Lizzie anymore. “What’s her name?”

  “Pet,” Lizzie answers, shoving me to my back. “But you can call her Jillian.”

  Beth’s cherry red lips pout. “I thought I was your pet.”

  “You’re my part-time pet. The foster for when my pussy needs a jolt, lickety-split.” Lizzie leans across my legs and stabs a tongue-punching kiss into Beth’s mouth. Hands rush to faces, tits rub, nipples poke. My heart embarks on a mission to break free of my ribs.

  I’m stuck between the woman I thought I might have been willing to sacrifice an entire career for two minutes ago and her lover, who I assume is not so much former but quite current on her membership to Lizzie’s exclusive Submissives Only Club.

  Judging by the passion she’s throwing into the tongue lancing, Beth is beyond open for business. She’s goddamn soliciting outside the fucking police station.

  When their sloppy kiss finally breaks, Lizzie wipes her mouth and pulls me against her. “Come on, baby, you can have some more too.”

  “No.” I push her away. My ears heat, and my hands shake. “I can’t. I really have to go.” I climb over Beth. Lizzie snickers like a bitchy little teenager bullying the ugly
girl at the lunch table.

  Humiliation tints my vision anemic red. I snatch up my clothes, throw open the curtain, and step into the cold aisle, nipples puckered and angry, pussy shut down for the day. Maybe for good.

  “Jillian, where are you going?” Lizzie whines. “I’m not finished with you, pet.”

  “Well, I’m finished with you.”

  “Testy, testy.” She laughs and looks at Beth. I turn away. “She’s a fireball. Kinda like you, love.” The smacks of kisses behind me make my shoulders hunch.

  “Done. I’m done with this horseshit,” I mumble as I climb awkwardly into my clothes. My balance is way off after the intense sexual workout and the crash following.

  The kissing stops abruptly, and Lizzie emerges beside me, hands on lithe pale hips, her perky tits begging for attention. I’d love to give it to them if they weren’t attached to a raving megalomaniac.

  “Beth and I were just playing around. Come back to bed.” She reaches for my hand.

  I slap her away. “You don’t get it, do you? I’ve tried to tell you a thousand different ways that I’m tired of the rubber-band snaps, winging me in every direction away from you. If you’re here to lead me on, use me, and throw me to the curb once you’ve gotten your rocks off, I’m not interested.”

  “Stop being so sensitive,” she says. “I just want to play with you.”

  “Well, I don’t want to play with you anymore. I’m taking my ball and going the fuck home. Play with Beth. She seems eager to be used like a toy.”

  “I resemble that comment,” Beth pipes up behind Lizzie. Laughter follows from both of them.

  At my heavy sigh, Lizzie sobers. “How about we all play together?”

  I shake my head and wriggle into my blazer. “Goodbye.” I start down the aisle.

  “I can kick you off this tour as fast as I got your shitty little band on it,” she says.

  The icy sludge replacing my blood freezes my feet in place. It’s one thing to insult me, but quite another to trash my kids. The hotspot in my chest injects a shot of antifreeze into my veins. I turn to her. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “I love dares.”

  Beth stands naked beside her, a clueless bebop queen, smacking her gum, blowing bubbles. Lizzie’s one of the meanest girls I’ve ever encountered, and yet all I can think about when she corners me with her stare is how she brings my body to life under her slaps and whips. Why? WHY did she have to be the one to awaken me from this sexual slumber?

  “We’ll sue you for breach of contract,” I manage.

  “Ruh-ro.” Beth pops her gum, grabs her shirt, and shimmies into it. Clearly, she’s been here, done this before.

  Lizzie giggles. “You and what army of lawyers? It’s my word against yours.”

  Good thing I didn’t tell her about my connections and background as a paralegal.

  Lizzie walks toward me, hand out. “But I’m a benevolent ruler. I’ll stay Killer Buzz Fart’s execution if you’ll agree to come back and play with me every night.”

  I grit my teeth. As much as I want her body, I can’t abide her soul. She’s poison in a pretty Murano glass bottle. Hypnotic and mesmerizing on the outside, malevolent and destructive on the inside. I only wish I’d come to this realization before we signed on for this godforsaken tour.

  “I can’t—” do that. Or maybe I can. If I can prove she’s a mad bitch and hold the evidence over her head, Killer Buzz Float’s seat on the tour will be saved. My phone has a recording app and a lot of memory. I smile. “I can’t wait. See you tonight?”

  A grin blazes across Lizzie’s face, and Beth slows her gum chewing. “Make it late,” Lizzie says. “We have a party after the show until one or two. And leave your attitude outside the door, or face punishment.”

  Thanks to her, I live for punishment. I back down the aisle, eyes steady on hers, until I get to the door. I hop off the bus and whip out a cigarette. Lighting it as I make my way across the blacktop, I flip through the facts.

  Lizzie is a stark raving bitch who probably has borderline personality disorder or something equally as destructive.

  Lizzie has the power to ruin Killer Buzz Float if I piss her off.

  Lizzie may be a formidable enemy, but everyone has a fatal flaw.

  I just have to find it.

  “Missed you for coffee this morning,” Toombs calls ahead of me.

  I look up and exhale with a mixture of relief and regret as the imposing package of rolling tattoos, muscles, and wiry sinew stalks toward me. “Hey. Sorry.”

  “Letty’s on a tear.” He pokes a thumb toward our bus. “Something about the Banging Betties singer.”

  I smooth my rumpled suit. “They got off on the wrong foot. She’ll get over it.”

  “She’s pretty pissed.”

  So am I. “You ready for tonight?”

  He nods. “Are you?”

  “Always.” I head for the bus, but then I pause. “You got a minute?”

  “Sure.” His silvery eyes narrow and run a quick scan over my body. A submissive protector. Always looking out for his people. I’d swoon if I had a thing for cocks.

  I light another cigarette, suck a long drag off it, and relish the burn. Fuck quitting. The real thing is so much better than the fake shit.

  Exhale.

  “Things haven’t improved with the Domme.” He crosses his arms in a nonjudgmental but knowing way.

  “I need to break it off, but I’m not sure how to do it. The situation is more complicated.”

  Toombs glances toward our bus. “Is she hurting you? I mean, beyond what you signed up for?”

  “If emotional blackmail counts as ‘hurting,’ then, yeah.” Another drag. My heart valves clap their appreciation for the stream of incoming carcinogens.

  “Cut the bitch loose.”

  “I tried.”

  “And?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “You keep saying that. Define complicated.”

  I roll my shoulders. “Cutting her loose could result in the band’s expulsion from this tour. Clear enough for ya?”

  Toombs flickers his gaze to the pink bus. His sharp intake of breath tells me he’s put two and two together, and come up with the same sum I did: totally fucked.

  He guides me by the elbow toward the edge of the blacktop under the shade of sweating pine trees. He strokes his goatee. “What did she say?”

  “If I try to get away from her, she’ll make sure you guys get away from her too. Letty made a lasting first impression.” I don’t mention how Lizzie slammed the entire band. She’s a jealous tit who lives to tear others down to make herself feel better. Not giving her the pleasure. I suck in a deep pull from the cigarette.

  “You got anything on her?”

  I laugh. A puff of smoke escapes my nose. “Hubris? Does that count?”

  “Only if you have evidence to back it up.”

  “I guess that means I have to find some.”

  “You need help?” He lifts a brow. How could I ever have thought Toombs was creepy? The man is a fucking teddy bear.

  “No, I think I’ll have to handle this one on my own. But thanks.”

  Toombs loosens his stance and leans a couple inches closer. “Domination doesn’t mean you have to lie down and take everything,” he says. “You get to draw the boundaries, not her. She didn’t just cross lines. She shat all over them. Now it’s your turn to take control.”

  Teeth clenched, I nod. The truth hurts, especially coming from someone who sees things more clearly as an outsider than I do as an insider. I look up at him. “I know. I will. I have to.”

  He gently cups the back of my arm. “I’m here any time.”

  “Thanks.”

  He steps away and turns around, walking backward toward the bus. “My coffee cup misses you.”

  I lower my gaze for a second and smile. “I promise to fill him up tomorrow.”

  “Kinky bitch.”

  “You know it.”

  As I watch Too
mbs jog toward Jinx waving happily at him from the bus, I wonder if I’ll ever find something as special as what those two share.

  Sex really does make people stupid. At least with love, you’re moshing in the stupid pit together.

  Dropping my chin, I head for the venue’s offices to wrangle my to-do list for the day and mourn the possibility that I may never have another orgasm again.

  Hissy Fit

  “Those fucking cunts!” Lizzie seethes. She flings her gaze around the front of the tricked-out pink bus, grabs the nearest shoe, and wings it at the Plexiglas window. The stiletto bounces off with a thud and falls to the floor. Then she whirls on me, wagging a finger in my face.

  “This is your fault, Jillian! I told you. Richard told you. We all,” she swings her arms in a wide arc, “told you. Everyone should be focused on Banging Betties, not some two-bit hillbilly losers from Redneckville, Georgia. We are the winners. We are number one. We are the famous ones.” She unleashes a high-pitched shrill that threatens the security of my tympanic membranes.

  Shaken by the vehemence of her hissy fit, I pull out a cigarette, light it, and level her with the most neutral expression I can muster. “You finished?”

  “No!” she screeches.

  I shrink back, wishing I had a camera. Of course, I can’t get to my phone to record this tirade without her noticing.

  She grabs a graffiti-trashed folder on the table labeled “Property of Lizzie Smith” and shakes out countless leaves of paper onto the rug. Scooping them up, she says, “This is what a bestseller looks like. These lyrics touch the hearts and souls of millions. Do you have any concept of what a million fans look like?”

  I shrug and puff the cigarette.

  “Of course not. And you never will.” She flings the pages into the air, and words fall like rain around her fiery red head.

  “Why don’t you go and have a shower,” I suggest. “The hot water will relax you.”

  Not only is she freaking me out, but I also desperately need access to her phone, laptop, or any other source of information I can get my hands on.