Groupie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 1)

by C. M. Stunich

  Ransom's still thrusting from beneath and with each movement, I can feel him sliding against that wall, teasing me through the veil of Lilith's flesh. I'm not into guys, but holy crap, that feels amazing. I stay there for a moment, letting Ran's and Lilith's movements work me up into a frenzy. When I glance up, I find Muse watching me, his fingers still buried in Lilith's hair, his hazel eyes half-shrouded and hazy with lust.

  Then I start to fuck, grabbing hold of Lilith's hips and pumping mine with deep, long strokes, keeping my cock sheathed tight inside of her, listening to Ran grunt and buck beneath us. This time it's me teasing him, slicking Lilith's pale white skin with sweat as she curls her fingers around Ran's shoulders and lets Muse fuck her perfect pink lips.

  The sounds she makes are nothing short of ecstasy; I'm not sure if I've ever heard a woman make sounds quite like that.

  I close my eyes, my skin achy and hot, my balls tight, my entire body this ball of energy that craves more of whatever this is, this twisted ball of four fucked-up souls. We might just be bodies in motion, but there's something more here. I can feel it.

  The sex was good—it was great, actually—but it wasn't their be-all, end-all. No, it was their outlet. Whatever they did, however kinky, dark, twisted, or different, it was all just an expression of their love, a way to get as close as possible, to keep the blackness inside their souls at bay for another night, another day. No, the touching, joining, rubbing of their bodies wasn't the answer to all their problems, but it was the symptom of their solution.

  I blink past the swirl of literary porn inside my head and drive myself into Lilith harder, deeper, rocking the couch and everyone on it with each thrust. A single movement of my hips drives my cock into Lilith, slides her pussy along Ran's shaft, pushes Muse deeper into her throat. I control the entire thing, moving us in this strange, wild rhythm that shouldn't work but totally does.

  It's Lilith that comes first, before all of us, screaming and arching her back, her lips temporarily falling off Muse's shaft as she digs her nails into Ran's shoulders and shudders around me and him both, squeezing us with her body. It's intense and long, but I keep moving through it, even as she tries to collapse, holding her up by tightening my fingers on her hips.

  As soon as she recovers a little, Lilith sits back up and wraps a hand around Muse, pulling him back to her mouth, squeezing the base of his dick as she swirls her tongue along the underside, teases the sensitive spot just beneath the head.

  I enjoy watching that, moving faster and harder, feeling my pulse race inside my head, my skin tightening as an orgasm builds up quick and desperate inside of me. Muse comes next, both hands on the back of Lilith's head as he makes these wild sounds low in his throat, making Ran buck and thrash beneath us. I realize he's coming, too, and hold a steady pace, sweat dripping off my chin onto Lilith's perfect round ass. Once I drop my gaze down to the joining of our bodies, I can't look away, watching her take both Ran and me, soothe away some of that darkness in our souls with the beauty of her own pain.

  “Fuck, sweetheart,” Ran gasps, shaking and quivering again as Muse stumbles away and collapses into one of the swivel chairs. But Lilith and me … we're not done.

  Carefully and quickly, I pull out and toss my condom into the trash, putting a new one on and pulling the sweaty crying girl into my lap. Because she is crying again, and that's okay. She can cry as much as she wants.

  I swipe a tear away with my thumb as I pull her onto my shaft, filling the space where Ransom just was and curling my arms around her waist as she rides me. Those hunter green eyes finally meet mine, searching and tearing through me, asking me what secrets I have to uncover, making me actually want to spill them all.

  It's her next orgasm that finally gets me, her body grasping tight, her face pressed into my neck, hot lips against my pulse. Her bare breasts smashed up to my chest, I groan and we both end up screaming a little, making so much damn noise that Michael comes storming out of the hall to stare at us.

  The look in his eyes … it's pure hunger.

  Lying on my back on the couch, I use a stylus to sketch something out on the screen of my phone. It's nowhere near the level of technology I'd need to create something awesome—and it's certainly not my mother's oil paints and old-fashioned stretched canvas—but I'm creating and it feels awesome.

  I feel awesome.

  My body feels free and lightweight and deliciously sore in ways I never could've even dreamed of.

  I just fucked three guys. At the same time.

  And it was … oh my God. I felt like a queen, like I was being worshipped and wanted, but also like I was taking care of my subjects, holding all three of them inside of me at the same time, keeping them safe and warm.

  I roll onto my side and feel my cheeks flushing a little.

  Cope is curled in the chair across from me, a book on his lap, this strangely peaceful expression on his face. As if he can feel me looking at him, he lifts those turquoise eyes of his and then smiles.

  “What are you drawing?” he asks, but even if I'm ready to share my body with these guys, I'm not ready to share my art. I tuck my phone close to my chest and make a face that I hope looks coy and sexy instead of nervous and closed off. I really like these guys, but I just met them and already I'm drawing parallels, making connections, dreading the end of a two week period I just started.

  Not good.

  “Wouldn't you like to know?” I ask him, keeping my feet well away from Pax as he sits on the opposite end of the couch and does something on his phone. Every once in a while, he looks at me like he wants to say something but can't figure out how to phrase it. Or maybe he's just looking at my ass? Last night, the roadies dropped off the clean laundry, and I found my bag sitting near the door after our foursome. Thankfully there were clean panties and a pair of floral shorts that I put on to feel cheerful.

  Dad is dead. Cancer ate Dad from the inside out. Some stupid multiplying cells stole my daddy away.

  I swallow hard and sit up.

  “I used to think I was going to be an artist when I grew up,” I say with a strange sense of self-deprecation. It's not that I don't believe in myself anymore, it's just … life hurts and it's so stupidly practical that even though it's beautiful, it can be agonizing at times. Life is like a rose, stunning to look at but covered in thorns, and it pops those beautiful floating balloons of dreams one by one until there's nothing left.

  “When you grew up?” Cope asks with an interesting half-smile, looking at me like something huge just happened between us. And maybe it did? I mean, I guess it could've just been raunchy sex, but … no, it wasn't about the sex. It was something more. I know it was. “You said you were twenty-one, right? You're just a baby.”

  “A baby?” I ask and he laughs, raising two red brows at me. They're almost the exact shade of my own. We definitely have some shared genetic heritage, Cope and me.

  “Okay, wrong word. But still, you have plenty of time left to grow up and do whatever you want.”

  “How old are you?” I ask, sweeping gently tangled hair over one shoulder. I should probably shower properly. After our foursome, all I did was rinse. My eyes drift over to the kitchen, to Michael talking on the phone as he prepares himself some frozen thing from the fridge. His voice is low and angry, and I wonder if he's talking to his girlfriend again.

  “Twenty-nine,” Cope says, drawing my attention back to him, to those stunning eyes of his. I could stare at those all day and never get tired of looking at them. “I'm the oldest one on this bus.”

  “Fucking ancient,” Pax mutters from his end of the couch. Still, he doesn't bother to look up from his phone screen.

  “Ransom is twenty-five; Michael and Pax are twenty-six, and Derek is twenty-one.”

  “Seriously?” I ask, glancing at the hall door as Muse emerges dressed in a sleeveless silver hoodie and charcoal grey pants tucked into black boots. He sees me looking and smiles sharply. It's that look again, the one that says this is someone he who gets
what he wants … but maybe only because he's never allowed himself to want the wrong things, difficult things. It makes me sad for him. “You're the youngest? If someone had made me guess, I would've said you were the oldest.”

  “Because of all my wrinkles?” Muse asks, his silver and black hair teased into an impressive mohawk, this curved arc that travels down the center of his head. The hair on either side of his scalp is dark and buzzed short, showing off a black cuff wrapped around the upper lobe of his right ear.

  “You're so … practical and put together. You brought me my shoes; you had my car towed; Muse, you made me a sandwich.” He laughs and I smile, feeling this easy intimacy between us that I just know is going to get me into trouble. Being around these guys at the peak of my despair, revealing my darkness to strangers because there was no one else, letting the tightly coiled control I had on my sexuality unravel—all at the same time—is tricking me into feeling safe and comfortable here.

  This isn't home though; this is transition.

  I suck in a deep breath and look down at my drawing. It's an erotic twist of bodies. But instead of drawing a foursome, something that could've been explained away by the day's events, I drew a … sixsome? Is there such a thing? Do people even do that?

  “I learned young that life's a hell of a lot easier if you think logistics first, passion later.”

  Really, that's a terrible thing to say, but he doesn't seem bothered by it, so I keep my mouth shut. I want to tell him that I tried that route, too, and it brought me here.

  I keep sketching on the screen as Ran finally reappears from the hallway, putting all six of us in the living room/kitchen area. Not that that's surprising. No, I figure this'll happen a lot throughout my time here on this bus. After all, there's not really anywhere else to go except the bunks—which are hardly even big enough to sleep in—and the bathroom. I figure they probably use the Bat Cave to get some space from each other, but it looks like even Michael and Pax are going to respect my temporary use of the room. Nobody's gone in there since we got up this morning.

  “Since there's no show tonight, you guys want to go out and party? I know this killer club that serves all their drinks in silver skulls.” Muse sits down on the other swivel chair and puts his boot up on the coffee table, accidentally knocking my pink leather purse to the floor. “Crap, sorry,” he says, leaning down to scoop up the fallen contents.

  I don't pay much attention, sketching erotic expressions on the figures in my drawing for a moment until I notice that Muse has paused with a piece of paper in his hand.

  It's the negative test results from my last STD panel.

  I make a sharp sound in my throat and he startles, dropping the page on the floor and lifting up his palms in surrender.

  “I'm sorry, Lilith,” he whispers suddenly. “I caught some of the text on the page by accident. I shouldn't have looked at it.”

  I scoot off the couch and kneel down next to Muse, pushing lipstick tubes and sunglasses and mints back into my purse. My hands are shaking as I go about it, and then suddenly his hands are on my wrists.

  “Hey, there's nothing to be ashamed about,” he says, leaning in to press his mouth against my ear as Cope stares down at us in confusion. “A few days ago, just before we left Seattle to drive to Phoenix, we all got tested, too. All five of us.”

  He leans back and smiles as I blink in surprise.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep.” There's a long pause as he glances away and then this wicked sexy look crosses his features and he glances back at me. “Come with me for a second,” he tells me, pulling me to my feet. It's in that moment that I really can see his age written across his face. He looks young and excited as he pulls me down the hall and into the Bat Cave, pausing to yank out a drawer on the bottom of the bed. Inside, there's a set of manila envelopes that he hands over to me—removing one at the last second and tossing it into the drawer.

  It has a sticker with the name Michael Luxe printed across it.

  Derek notices me looking and rushes to explain as I clutch the rest of the envelopes.

  “He's clean, too,” he says, confusing me a little until I open the top folder—the one with his name on it—and find a set of results similar to the ones he just discovered in my purse, “but I figure since he's not sleeping with you, I shouldn't show you his results. I mean, you have a right to look at the rest of them.”

  I go through the folders one by one, looking at the date, the names, the results. All four of the boys I've slept with, all negative, all from a couple of days ago.

  “We were so busy that nobody got a chance to, you know, fuck these up before we met you.”

  I glance up suddenly, meeting his hazel eyes and noticing that they look blue right now, flecked with green and gold. So beautiful.

  “You mean … I'm the only person you've slept with since you got these results?”

  “Yeah,” Muse says, raising his dark brows, the four piercings above his left brow winking in a flash of sunlight as the bus jostles and the curtains flap open for a split second. He leans his shoulder in the doorway and smiles. “You're clean; we're all clean.”

  I bite my lower lip and feel this weird prickly sensation take over my body. My first boyfriend and I used condoms the two times we had sex; Kevin and I basically never did. But then look where that got me. Trusting Kevin could've cost me everything.

  But then … the thought of doing what we did today, but without condoms?

  My skin thrills at the idea of having all of that warm, bare skin inside of me.

  “How do you know? About the other guys, I mean? How can you be sure?”

  Muse smiles and reaches out, tucking hair behind my ear. When he touches me like that, I want to tell him everything about Kevin and … the cheating and all that, but how gross is that? Maybe he won't want to touch me if he knows? Maybe he'll find me as disgusting as I found myself that night?

  God.

  My eyes close as bad memories sweep over me. Do you know what it's like to find out that you've got a disease because your boyfriend doesn't love you, doesn't even respect you enough to tell you that he wants to sleep with other people, break up, hell, even that he's unhappy with your relationship? I had bumps on my arms, and I felt dizzy and weak, and why? Because Kevin was sticking his dick into any poor girl he could schmooze into bed. And I don't blame any of them—I blame him.

  I open my eyes and find Muse watching me curiously.

  “I saw the Nexplanon on your sheet,” he says softly and I flush. “That's the little, like, stick thing they put in your arm, right?”

  I nod and turn my left arm over, taking Muse's hand and pressing his fingertips to the match size little bump inside my arm. It's a three year hormonal birth control implant that I had put in last year. And awfully convenient now that I find myself … in this situation.

  “Most guys have never heard of Nexplanon—or have any clue that this kind of birth control exists at all.”

  “Yeah, well, then they're idiots. How can you be a sexually active adult and not know what kinds of birth control are on the market?”

  “And this is why I thought there was no way you could be twenty-one,” I say and he smiles again as I clutch the manila envelopes to my chest and feel my heart racing beneath the paper.

  “I got emancipated at fifteen. I had to learn how to take care of myself early on.” He pauses, like he wants to say more but isn't sure he's ready. I don't blame him. An awkward silence follows. “Anyway, no pressure, but I just thought you should know the option was there.”

  I swallow hard.

  “If I … agree to this,” I start, meeting his eyes when he looks up at me. “You'll all have to agree to be exclusive with me while I'm here. The second somebody sleeps with another girl …”

  “Let's talk to Ransom and Cope together,” he says and then pauses, licking his bottom lip for a second. “You'll have to talk to Pax.”

  “Talk to Pax about what?” he asks, appearing like a
silver eyed ghost in the hall behind Muse.

  As soon as he sees the envelopes, his face crinkles into a frown.

  “The bloody fuck are those?” he snaps, shouldering Muse to the side and snatching the papers from my hand. The look he throws his friend is downright fucking terrifying. “Who gave you the right to flash this shite all over the damn place?”

  “He saw my results,” I blurt before this can escalate into a fight. Pax likes to pick them with his friends, that much is painfully obvious. It makes him feel better, I think, directing all of the negative energy in the room, like he's in control. I used to do that, too, with Yasmine and Mom, before they died. “They were in my purse. Muse saw them and thought …”

  I trail off as Pax gives me a wary look and then tosses the papers to the floor. They flutter like birds for a moment before coming to rest in various spots on the glossy dark wood beneath our feet.

  “Let me see,” he says, face unreadable. “You looked at mine; it's only fair that I get to see yours.”

  “Fine.”

  I dig in the pocket of my shorts, where I stashed the results, holding them out to Pax and watching as he takes them in his tattooed fingers. He reads them carefully, eyes scanning everything.

  “What's a Nex-whatever-the-fuck?” he snaps, looking up at me.

  “Birth control,” I explain, turning my arm over and doing the same thing with his fingers that I did with Muse's. I want there to be complete honesty, right here, right now. I've lived with lies for ar too long. Lies from Kevin, even lies from my dad. How could he not have told me he was that sick? Why would he deny us what little time we had left together?

  “That's fucking weird,” Pax says, but then his mouth curves into a dangerous smile as he drops his arm by his side.

  “Did you sleep with one of those girls?” I ask, looking up and into his face. “When you got drunk the other night?”

  He snorts at me and lights up a cigarette. I think Pax smokes because he likes to always appear that he's got something fucking important to do. He parks the cig between his lips and traces his palm down the royal blue tie he's got on. Yes, he's wearing another perfect suit. This time, his cufflinks are silver vintage microphones.