Groupie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 1)

by C. M. Stunich

  Vaguely, I think I hear someone cursing from the direction of the door, but I'm too wrapped up in sensations to care. I have a hot guy on either side of me and it's not just twice as hot, but like, three or four or five fucking times as hot.

  “Suck him deep, honey. I want to watch,” Ransom says, and the sound of his voice alone almost kills me. I moan as I wrap a tight fist around Copeland's dick, pushing him into my throat as deep as I can get him and sucking until his fingers dig into my hair, into the leather of the couch, and he comes in my mouth. The taste of his come on the back of my tongue is salty but not unpleasant, and I swallow hard as I collapse against him and groan as Ransom fucks me hard.

  My bones turn to jelly and without thinking, I curl my fingers around Copeland's, and he squeezes them back, laying there panting and watching us with gently parted lips. He doesn't even bother to fix his pants as my body moves against him, each one of Ransom's thrusts jostling us both.

  My clit is literally pressed up tight to the couch, so there's no shortage of stimulation to push me over that edge, turn my body into an aching mess, and then break it into pieces as I listen to Ransom moaning behind me. I cry out as he rams into me, stirring my own pleasure into a frenzy. I come hard around him, taking him with me, making him curse as he spills himself into the condom, fingertips digging painfully into my shoulder and hip for a moment before he shudders and relaxes a little.

  “Holy shit, baby doll,” he whispers, moving away from me, leaving me feeling cold in the sudden absence of his warmth. I sit back and glance over my shoulder as Ransom stands and fixes his black jeans. My body feels tingly all over and strangely alive, excited, needy, wanting for more.

  I stand up on shaky legs and stumble, falling into Cope's arms again. He doesn't seem to mind, wrapping me up and holding me against him. I can hear his heart thundering a million miles an hour.

  “You guys do … this kind of thing a lot?” I whisper, curious but also scared to hear the answer.

  “No,” Cope says as Ransom sits down on the chair across from us to catch his breath. “Never.”

  I can't believe how much that answer pleases me.

  What a serious fucking mistake.

  An awful goddamn mistake.

  I slam the door to the shower room and flick the lock, hitting my fist against the faucet and letting cold water stream down from the ceiling and drench me like a rainstorm—clothing and all. I was not prepared to walk onto my bus and find those assholes engaged in a sweaty, groaning threesome.

  I slick my fingers through my wet hair and lean my back against the tiled wall, sliding to the floor in my jeans, boots and t-shirt. At least I had the foresight to take my goddamn jacket off.

  “Shit,” I whisper as icy water trickles across my heated skin, washing away the sweat of the show but doing absolutely nothing to fuck with my libido. I'm so goddamn horny, I feel like my cock's about to snap off. “Shit,” I repeat, kicking off my boots and letting them bounce into the dry half of the tiled room. This whole bus was custom, put together by the record label as a signing bonus for the band and it's just … like fucking posh. If I jammed my hand against the drain and plugged it up, this whole room would flood, turning it into a bath for two … or more.

  I run my hands over my face and curse again, stripping off my other boot and my socks.

  Burnished auburn waves falling across a pale white neck, a dancing line of freckles across those smooth shoulders, generous curves swathed in black.

  “This is fucking ridiculous,” I murmur as I curl my shaking hands around the wet denim covering my knees. I haven't had sex in months. No, more than months. Like a goddamn year almost. A year. A year. A fucking year. That's probably why I'm so wound up; it has nothing to do with that girl. Could've been any groupie on her knees like that and I would've flipped.

  I tear my shirt over my head and toss it aside in a wet heap, unbuttoning my jeans and gritting my teeth at the intensity of the cold wet spray of the showerhead on my cock.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” I groan as I slide my hand down my shaft and grip hard enough to hurt. Doesn't help. All it makes me do is fantasize about driving my cock into the tight band of heat between that fucking girl's legs, shoving Ransom out of the way and taking his place behind her.

  I groan and twist my hand in a corkscrew motion, reaching the other up and shoving the faucet in the opposite direction, until hot water replaces the cold, steaming against my aching flesh. Closing my eyes, I can almost imagine that the wet heat drenching my shaft belongs to Lilith, that she's soaking me in her desire, lubing me up to fuck her harder.

  With another growl of frustration, I get up on my knees and grab the handheld shower head from the hook on the wall, shoving the faucet over so that water comes out of both—the one in my hand and the one on the ceiling.

  I lay back on the floor and use the spray to tease myself, changing the setting on the showerhead to this angry pulse that matches my mood. “I just broke up with my boyfriend of five years and honestly, even though it broke my heart, it was also kind of a relief.” The sound of her voice inside my head infuriates me, and I press the water's raging spray up against the underside of my shaft, groaning and thrusting my hips toward the sensation.

  What's even worse, when I try to imagine Vanessa—tall, thin, modelesque Vanessa—I can practically feel the blood draining from my cock. I'm pissed at her; she's pissed at me. All we do is fight and yet, I can't get up the courage to do anything about it. I keep telling myself that when I actually see her in person, everything will be good again, like it was before. When you were cheating on her, you mean?

  I take my dick in my hand again, hating myself for what I'm doing but unable to stop. This isn't cheating, right? Just thinking of the curvy redhead with her too small dress and her bright red heels and the giant burger she could barely hold between her long fingered hands … and I'm blowing my load hard, a small scream tearing from my throat that I hope to God nobody else can hear.

  But then, we are on a fucking bus.

  I finish cleaning up in the shower and wrap a towel around my hips, heading to my bunk and opening the small drawer underneath where I keep sweats and extra tees. There's a trailer in our entourage that has the rest of my clothes—everyone's clothes actually—since there isn't room to store an entire rockstar's wardrobe worth of crap anywhere on this bus. When we need something, we either go get it ourselves or have a roadie bring it over for us.

  Once I'm dressed and letting myself back into the kitchen, I stumble on another fight. Another fucking fight. Over the same girl.

  I'm about to go goddamn mental here.

  “Well, I've changed my bloody mind,” Paxton growls, inches away from Ransom's face. The two of them look like they're about to go batshit on each other. “I don't want her here,” he snarls, pointing at Lilith. To her credit, the girl's curled on the couch in Copeland's arms looking like she doesn't give a shit about Paxton and his angry yelling.

  I can't tell if it's all a facade or if she just doesn't let crap like that bother her. I watch her, towel drying my shoulder length hair as my eyes rove over that same stupid dress, tight and clingy in all the wrong places. But oh so right to look at. Fuck.

  I tear my eyes away, trying not to think about Muse telling me her father just died, that she has nowhere to go, that she has no family. How is any of that my problem?

  “What the fuck is going on in here?”

  Both Pax and Ransom turn to look at me, Muse standing off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest, Cope looking pissed as fuck but too cozied up to Lilith to bother to get off the damn couch.

  “He barreled in here shouting and screaming and obviously fucking drunk off his ass,” Ransom whispers, his voice dark as shadows within shadows, like what happens when night turns to something darker. When he's like this, it's not that hard to imagine that he killed somebody. “But if he doesn't back up and shut the hell up here soon, I'm going to get angry.”

  Ransom pauses to
light a cigarette, the flicker of the lighter brightening up the inside of his hood for a moment.

  “You are properly fucking mental, you are,” Pax slurs, still wearing his suit, covered in sweat and swaying like crazy. He even has a bottle clutched in one hand, sloshing amber liquid across the wood floor. “Getting attached to some bitch you don't even know. Didn't you learn your lesson with Chloe? With Kortney?”

  “I don't want to talk about Chloe and Kortney,” Ransom says slowly, his voice coiling dark and wicked in the room.

  I move forward; this shit is about to come to a boiling point.

  “Pax,” I say as he stumbles away from Ransom, cursing and throwing open the fridge door like he knows what he's looking for inside the fluorescent depths. “Why don't you take a little break and have some water?”

  “Get the hell away from me,” he says and then he throws the full bottle of brandy into the sink where it cracks into pieces and splashes across the counter. “I don't like her,” he insists, throwing his hand out to point at Lilith. “She's always bloody crying. I wanted to bring one of those girls from the meet and greet back here, but you know what? There's a weeping woman on my bus and who the hell wants to see any of that?”

  “You need to go lie down,” I say, gritting my teeth, even though I know I should probably be using this moment to my advantage, teaming up with Pax and kicking Lilith off the bus.

  “I don't need to lie down,” he shouts at me, throwing my hand off when I try to take his arm. Pax grabs a beer from the fridge, and I watch with pursed lips as he struggles to get the top off. “I'm fucking fine. More than fine. I'll have another drink and then I'll find myself a real groupie, one that doesn't start crying when I fuck her.”

  “It's okay to be sad,” Lilith says, and I look back to see her standing up in front of the couch, looking at Pax less like he's a drunken idiot and more like she feels sorry for him. “There's nothing wrong with crying.”

  “So you say only because you're always bloody doing it,” Pax says as he finally gets the top off his beer and turns to stare at her. He points at her with the drink, spilling more liquid across the floor. “Something's not right with you. It's just not. And I don't care to find out what that is.”

  “There is something wrong with me,” she says, reaching up and running her fingers through her red hair. Looking at her now, I feel a warm stirring inside of me, this primal feeling that makes me want to storm across the bus, grab her and fuck her over the kitchen counter.

  I need to call Vanessa. I need to deal with this shit, and then call her now.

  “But there's also something wrong with you, Pax. You're really sad.” She pauses and closes her eyes for a moment. “No, not just sad, but miserable.”

  “Are you a shrink then?” he asks, slugging back some beer, dropping his grey eyes to glare into her green ones. “You're an expert on me and my problems?”

  “Just one broken person looking at another as he scatters his pieces across the floor,” she states firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. She exchanges a glance with Muse and he smiles. Apparently this is enough to really get Pax going.

  “Don't look at him,” he says. “Don't fucking look at him. This isn't between you and him; this is between you and me. I had you first.” Pax points to himself with a tattooed finger and looks like he's about three seconds from falling over. “I fucked you first.”

  He drops the beer on the floor and then takes a long, slow breath.

  “Bleeding hell,” he mumbles and then he's scrambling into the bathroom and leaning over the toilet, not even bothering to shut the damn door.

  “I'll get him,” I growl, feeling like I should break Pax's neck. If he'd come up here just a little less drunk, maybe we could've reasoned with the other guys. Now I'll have to spend hours keeping him from puking everywhere and dying from alcohol poisoning. Vanessa's going to be pissed when I don't call to check in.

  “I've got him,” Lilith says and I'm not the only one that blinks stupidly at her as she kicks off her red heels and leaves them next to our living room couch. Somehow, I like that, seeing a woman's shoes mixed in with Ransom's boots and Cope's blue Chucks.

  I scowl.

  What a stupid fucking thought.

  “You don't even know Pax,” I snap at her as she ties her hair back with a band she pulls out of her bra. I hate that my eyes track the movement of her fingers between her breasts.

  “No, but I know what it's like to feel the way he feels. I lost my sister, too.”

  “That was four years ago,” I snap and Lilith smiles sadly, tightly in my direction, her green eyes sparkling with emotion.

  “I lost my sister five and a half years ago; the hurt never stops. If you bottle it up, the way Pax clearly does, it starts to poison you from the inside out.”

  Without waiting for permission, she breezes past me, smelling like roses and shampoo … my shampoo. Out of all the shampoo she could've chosen from the glass cabinet in the bathroom, she picked mine.

  I want to scream.

  I look at Cope's scowling face, Muse's frown, Ransom's quiet rage, and then I jerk my cell from my pants pocket and storm down the steps of the bus, through the brisk cool air, so embroiled in my thoughts that I can't even admire snowcapped mountains in the distance, topped with evergreen trees and starlight.

  “Hey babe,” Vanessa says sleepily, “I thought you were gonna call me like an hour or two ago.”

  I check the time, but it's just after eleven; making it ten back home. What the fuck is she doing asleep?

  “Things got weird with Pax,” I say and she mumbles something incoherent. “What are you up to?”

  I pad across the cold ground in bare feet and lean against the side of the bus, listening to the murmur of people in the parking lot, the distant sound of music. I used to live for that shit, for the night after a show, all the drugs and the fucking and the drinking. Then one night I almost OD'd and Vanessa ended up finding out about everything after I was released from the hospital. And then she told me she was pregnant and that changed my entire world. Of course, she lost the baby in a miscarriage anyway, but I told myself that night in the hospital that I'd make it right. And I have, for two fucking years I've been a damn saint.

  Of course, it's been almost a full year since we've seen each other; she had some exchange student bullshit she was doing with the university, moving to Japan for a year to teach English or something, and the band's been working on the new album and all the fucking touring …

  “What's new?” she asks, sounding annoyed, like it's all me that put this distance between us, like she didn't sign up for her Japan trip the same day we lost our baby. Still, I feel like a piece of shit for masturbating to thoughts of Lilith. What the fuck is wrong with me? “Aren't these fucking tours always like this, full of bullshit and drama?”

  I grit my teeth and shove wet hair away from my forehead. But she's right, and she has a point. Touring is where I cheated on her, where I almost killed myself with too much crystal. She has a right to hate it.

  “You texted earlier, said you had some news. Please tell me it's good news?” I ask and she pauses. I can almost hear her smiling when she next speaks.

  “Do you miss me?” she asks, and I sigh. We get in huge fucking fights about this shit all the time. She'll ask me a hundred times on one phone call if I miss her and I'll tell her I do, over and over and over again. Doesn't matter. Even though I've quit doing drugs, barely drink, haven't touched another girl since that night, it doesn't seem to matter to Vanessa. I wonder if I'll be paying for my mistakes the rest of our lives.

  “Of course I do.”

  “Good,” she says, surprising the shit out of me. “Because I'm coming to see you.”

  “What?” I ask, snapping to attention, feeling this weird surge of emotion inside of me. Joy, frustration, excitement … fear. But we've been fighting so much lately, this could be the answer to all our problems. I'm sure one night in bed with Vanessa and I'll forget all about Lilit
h Goode.

  “Next week, when you guys play Atlanta. My dad has some sort of business trip he needs to make, and he has tons of extra miles. Oh, and I'm bringing Tim with me, too.” Vanessa squeals and I frown. Fuck. She's bringing my older brother with her?

  “Why?” I ask because even though he's always been good to me, our relationship is strained as hell. He blames me for stealing his childhood after our parents died. It was either eighteen year old Timothy stand up and take responsibility for a ten year old or the state would. I think he's hated me ever since.

  “Why not, silly? Don't you miss your brother.”

  I light a cigarette and decide it's best not to say anything to that. Still, I'm surprised Tim's agreed to even come on this trip. I never much thought he and Vanessa liked each other.

  “We'll be staying in a hotel for the night, so you don't have to make room on the couch like last time,” she says, and I can practically hear her lip curling. She woke to the sound of Pax screwing a groupie with the Bat Cave door open.

  “I can stay with you,” I tell her, excited at a whole night of uninterrupted fucking. A year. A whole damn year. I almost feel like I can breathe a sigh of relief.

  “I don't think Dad would like that much,” she tells me and I roll my eyes.

  “You're twenty-six years old, Vanessa,” I say, but it doesn't matter. Her dad funds everything she does; she won't do a damn thing to make him mad. “Just make sure you clear up some time to hang with me on the bus?”

  “Feeling extra horny tonight?” she asks and I smile as I smoke my cigarette. What I did in the shower didn't even seem to touch the well of longing inside of me and already my cock is as hard as fucking diamond.

  “Let me get in my bunk and we can video chat,” I purr, hoping I don't sound guilty as fuck. I feel guilty as fuck, even though I know I shouldn't. I try not to think about why that is.

  “Later,” Vanessa says suddenly. “I've got a call on the other line. I think it's Dad.”