Get Rocked

by Tabatha Vargo

  I live to swim in you

  Hold me down, can’t stop the bleeding

  Devotion breaking through

  Worshiping your depths

  Your presence lends its heat

  Reminding me what’s left

  Of the man you left in me

  Blindly trusting ways

  Loyal hands won’t hold you high

  Convicted by your grace

  In a world I can’t rely

  Chorus:

  I wish for you I’d only bled

  You took more than I could give

  My insides so cold and dead

  My wounded eyes no longer live

  I tried to run so far away

  Since my heart’s no longer safe

  I can’t deny you here today

  You murdered me with lack of faith.

  Reverence has broken

  Exposing breath and bone

  Faithless hearts have now spoken

  Leaving me to breathe alone

  Beliefs unbinding hope

  Memories bring sanity

  Finding ways to deal and cope

  Searching for what’s left of me

  You taught me how to trust

  Then burned me with the lesson

  Passion masked by lust

  Desire was your weapon

  Closed eyes no longer blink

  Bliss dies and I’m unsure

  The devil in soft pink

  In you I found rapture

  Chorus

  This is my fifth book and this is still one of the hardest parts for me. If I thanked every single person who has helped me over the course of writing this book, I would be writing another book.

  First and foremost, I want to thank my husband Matthew. He has taught me everything I know about love and romance. He’s my biggest supporter and always has been. Thank you, baby, from the depths of my soul. I love you.

  Melissa Andrea, thank you for listening to me ramble. You’re crazy and so am I. Together we make a hell of a woman. You’re amazing and I’m so glad we became such great friends. I love you, Mel!

  To Julia Hendrix, thank you for everything you’ve done for me over the last year. You’ve been entirely too good to me. You’ve helped me so much and you’ve kept Matthew sane, as well. I’m so happy to have such an amazing friend on my side. Thank you. Love you, girl!

  To Kelly Robinson, for just being awesome and lending me an ear when I need it. You rock and I’m happy to you call you my friend. I love you, chick!

  To Paula Kaesberg, aka the speed reader, for being the first person to read Finding Faith and for giving me your honest opinion. Thank you for all of your support over the last year. I really appreciate it.

  Regina Wamba… Seriously, do I need to say anything else after that name? I love you, chick. You’re amazing at what you do and I’m so glad to call you my cover designer as well as my friend.

  Cassie McCown, my sweet and wonderful editor, you’re the most patient person alive. Thank you for picking through my garbage and finding the gold that lies beneath. You rock, chick!

  To my amazing street team, you guys are freaking amazing. The support you give me blows my mind and I’m so thankful for each and every one of you. If I could, I’d give you all great big squeezing hugs.

  To every blogger/page administrator who has posted or shared anything for me since I’ve started publishing, thank you. I can’t stress it enough how much you guys mean to me. You guys supported me from day one and that’s more valuable to me than gold. I send you all bear hugs and love.

  To all my friends and family who have been supportive of my writing throughout the years. Thank you. I love you.

  To my daughter, Ashlynn, who’s my inspiration for everything I do. Mommy loves you to the moon and back. You’re my life.

  And finally to YOU, my wonderful readers, you guys are beyond amazing and supportive. You send me the best feedback and help me to hone my craft and make it the best it can be. Thank you for taking a chance on a new author and turning me into a USA TODAY BESTSELLER. I love you all more than you can imagine. Thank you!

  Scars. They never really heal. The body attempts to restore you naturally, but the mind never forgets. You’re marked forever with memories, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t forget what it was that left you so broken and changed.

  I was once unmarred, fresh with youth and promise, but in the blink of an eye it was all snatched away from me. I’m altered and not within reach of my old self. Even though the old me lingers just below my skin, begging for release, begging me to remember, I can’t. The memories only burn—they singe and sting flesh, bone, and brain.

  False smiles get me through life. No one is able to see past my charade. No one except her. She’s somehow able to see the ghost of the boy I used to be. She’s unaware of her gift—her sixth sense. I’d never tell her that she has the ability to scar me even worse—to burn me in ways no memory ever could.

  She’s unafraid of the beast I’ve become. She believes she’s able to reach the goodness in me—deep in my core. She taunts the other part of me and tempts him into making a full escape, but I’m the gatekeeper. Only I can allow his release. And I’m afraid if I ever let go, I’ll never be safe again.

  Get your copy of

  Convincing Constance

  As the only survivor of a tragic accident, Tony Russell, aka Tiny, is mentally and physically scarred for life. Years later, he finds himself addicted to the gym and prescription drugs. Relationships and sex are the furthest thing from his mind, but when a replacement guitarist steps in for his band Blow Hole, Tony can’t help his physical reaction to her. She’s a spicy rocker with pink highlights and a scorching attitude, and she’s exactly what he needs…regardless of how badly he refuses to believe it.

  Constance McClaire knows all about addiction. After growing up with a junky for a mother, she refuses to have anything to do with that life…until she meets the brooding, giant bass player for Blow Hole. He doesn’t take her shit, has sexy tattoos, and very large hands—but he’s clearly an addict and desperately needs help. Getting close to Tony without allowing herself to become emotionally attached is harder than she thought it would be. Addiction is addiction, no matter what it is swimming in your veins, and Constance finds its Tony she can’t get enough of.

  THE WRATH OF SIN

  I can’t decide what I want to do more… KILL HER OR FUCK HER.

  Wrath is everywhere, even in the deepest recesses of the innocent. It alters the souls of the desperate and depressed. Changing you, consuming you until all that's left is the sick desire to destroy everything in your path.

  SIN

  I'm not a murderer, but hate will make you do crazy things. I hate the man who stole my life from me, and it's only fair that I steal something precious from him. But revenge is bittersweet when passion overpowers your reason, and the girl that’s precious to him becomes the voice of reason for me. Pushing me to feel human again, she threatens to change everything.

  She calls me Sin, and she will feel my WRATH.

  EMILY

  Excitement, passion, desire – those were all foreign to me. I needed something more in my life, but when I meet him, I get more than I bargained for. I’m sickened with desire for my keeper. He’s a mystery, an enigma, but he’s hurting. I want to be the one to save him, but I have to save myself first.

  I call him Sin, and he’s the epitome of LUST.

  Little

  Black

  Book

  Releasing June 30th

  My name’s Sebastian Black, and I want to buy you. I could have any woman I want, but I choose you.

  NO RELATIONSHIP, JUST SEX.

  Here’s my offer…

  I’ll put your name in my LITTLE BLACK BOOK, and when I want you, I’ll call you. When I call, you’re going to come, in more ways than one. It will be mutually pleasurable for both of us.

  There are only two rules:

  DON'T EVER DENY ME.

 
; DON'T FALL IN LOVE.

  If you do either, I’ll remove you from my book and payment stops.

  Do we have an understanding?

  Little Black Book

  Copyright © 2014 by Tabatha Vargo

  All Rights Reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manor whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events or real people are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Little Black Book/Tabatha Vargo

  Editing services provided by Crimson Tide Editorial

  Cover Art by Photography by Cover It Designs

  One

  Sebastian Black

  Wilma and Betty fuck like porn stars. I knew from experience.

  I dug my fingers into chocolate hair and pressed down until I could feel the back of her throat. Betty giggled on my cock and then continued to slurp. Her hand cupped my balls and massaged as she sucked me like my come was the answer for world peace.

  A strawberry blond head moved up and down between her thighs. She moaned over and over again as Wilma licked and sucked her sweet spot—wet smacking noises filled the room. It was a beautiful thing to hear and watch—nerve candy for the five senses.

  Later, with both women asleep beside me, I crept from the bed, dressed, and left the hotel room. I was thoroughly sated and ready to take on the chaos when I stepped into the New York night air.

  When I made it back to the club, Vick was waiting in my office.

  “You look like you’ve been fucked and sucked into oblivion,” she said as she poured me a glass of my favorite scotch.

  “Wilma and Betty… enough said,” I responded as I took my glass of Johnnie Walker from her and fell into my favorite chair.

  I’d spent many nights with the redhead and brunette. They were my favorite threesome go-to girls. Wilma ate pussy like a starving woman, and Betty sucked dick like she was going for a blue ribbon in blow jobs.

  “I’m surprised you’re not bored with them yet,” Vick snorted.

  She pulled off her jacket and threw it across the back of the black, leather couch in my office.

  “Not yet,” I smiled as I swished my scotch around making the ice clink against the sides of the glass.

  Victoria, aka Vick, was my assistant, and had been for the last six years. We grew up in foster care together, and she was my right hand man. We covered each other’s ass when shit got too out of control, which it tended to do when we were younger. She was the only person in the world who knew every detail of my life, the biggest hard-ass I knew, and the only woman in my life I hadn’t fucked.

  It wasn’t that Vick wasn’t attractive, she was sexy in a Laura Croft Tomb Raider kind of way, it’s just she was more like a sister to me. I didn’t have any siblings. Hell, I didn’t have any family. So our relationship was special, even if I never told her so.

  Men found her attractive. Her long, dark hair was always pulled into a tight pony and her wardrobe consisted of all black. She had pouty lips that were in a permanent frown, and big blue eyes. She made the resting bitch face look sexy. I kicked lots of ass over her growing up. It killed me to know the years we were apart, after I ran away from the system, that she’d earned money selling her ass.

  Needless to say, when I became the rich fuck I am today, I pulled her along for the ride and made sure she’d never have to lie on her back for money again.

  “Any luck finding your Jessica Rabbit?” She asked, fingering the night’s paperwork, putting together figures.

  Tilting the glass to my lips, I let the expensive scotch slide down my throat. I set the glass on the table next to me and stood.

  “Jessica Rabbit is a myth. There are no Jessica’s in the world, but if I find one, you’ll be the first to know.” I pushed my arms into my expensive jacket and buttoned the bottom two buttons. “What’s it look like?”

  She held up a paper with a smile. “Tonight was good. Ten grand more than last night. Looks like the article in the New York Times paid off. Of course, the fact they named Clive’s the ‘hottest nightclub in New York’ didn’t hurt.”

  I took the paper from her and looked down at the percentages. She was right. Clive’s had brought in almost double the revenue from the night before. The fact that I was banking that much on a weeknight meant I had single-handedly built Clive’s into a success.

  I’d come a long way from the seventeen-year-old punk I used to be. I owed it all to Clive, the nightclub, and the man himself.

  When I was nineteen, I came face to face with Clive’s shot gun. I was into some crazy shit, and he could have turned me in. Hell, he could have killed me, but instead he gave me a job at his hole-in-the-wall bar and taught me everything I knew about the business. He became like a father to me. The only father I knew since mine dropped me off on a set of church steps when I was one.

  Sadly, Clive died when I was twenty-two, leaving me the bar and some old stock and bond certificates. I sat on those certificates as I worked the bar and lived in the tiny apartment above it. It wasn’t until a year later I found out those certificates were worth millions.

  I took that money, opened my own place, naming it after the man who gave me everything, and became the twenty-nine-year-old success I was today. I rubbed elbows with celebrities, and some of the wealthiest men I knew became rich due to my advice.

  Women threw themselves at me like my cock was pure gold, and for a while I didn’t turn anyone away. When I became bored with the same dull positions and the same tedious women I started my little black book. Inside my book was a buffet of women who were willing and ready for my call. Each one specializing in something different, each one different from the next, and each one named after a cartoon character of my choosing.

  “Okay. Good work, Vick. Go home and get some sleep. It’s almost three in the morning. If we’re doing this well on a Thursday, you’ll need tons of rest for the weekend.” I set the papers on my desk and turned toward the door. “Also, hire a new waitress. When I was coming through earlier I saw a few tables waiting for service.”

  “I’m on it,” she said as she turned the desk lamp off and headed my way.

  I locked the office door behind us and walked her to the black Chevy Camaro I bought her for her birthday two years before. It wasn’t the most expensive car, but it was what she chose.

  “See you tomorrow,” I said as I shut her car door.

  Going back into the club, two of the bartenders were still inside closing up. The red and black décor made the place look darker. Once the lights started to go off you could barely see your hand in front of your face.

  “Goodnight, Mr. Black,” the petite blond bartender said when I walked by the bar.

  “Lock it up tight,” I said as I made my way upstairs to my apartment above the club.

  Not many people knew I lived and worked in the same building, but the paranoia that came with teenage years full of drug slinging kept me from leaving the club unattended.

  Once inside, I stripped naked and went for a hot shower. I stood and let the eight shower heads beat me with steamy water. I knew sleep wasn’t coming anytime soon. I’d stopped sleeping well years before. I’d seen and done things that took away all the peaceful moments in my life. An hour or two here and there was all I needed, but I never slept through the night like normal people.

  Before going to bed, I flipped through my book and looked through the names. It had been a while since I’d called Bambi. Maybe it was time I gave her a call.

  I stood and zipped up my slacks. Shoving my arms into a shirt, I pulled the collar close and buttoned each button quickly.

  “What’s the rush?” A seductive voice said behind me.

  Turning
around, I let my eyes devour her long legs and the perfectly shaved V between her thighs. She sat up and put on the purple, silk panties I’d bought her a few months before.

  “This will be our final visit,” I said dismissively as I tied my tie.

  She was developing feelings, and that was something I wanted nothing to do with. Also, I was bored with her. The fact that she’d taken an obscene amount of time getting me off was proof of that. Because of her I was going to have to get a quick lunch, verses my usual at Red’s Lounge.

  “Excuse me? May I ask why?” Bambi asked as she slipped her bra straps up over her shoulders.

  Her name wasn’t actually Bambi, but I never asked for their names. It was irrelevant. I only needed to know their bodies, and they only needed to know mine. I gave my women a name that suited them. For this chick, Bambi was the only name that fit. Every time she wanted something she’d look up at me with big, pleading, doe eyes. It was annoying.

  When I told her Bambi was her new name, she smiled like it was a compliment. Little did she know she was just a fill in until something better came along—my Jessica Rabbit. She didn’t even get full payment and thought the grand I paid her each week was worth what I made her do in bed.

  “You may ask all you’d like, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to answer.”

  I plucked my jacket from the back of the chair as I stepped around the bed.

  “Wait a minute. Let’s talk about this.” She hopped on one foot and put on her heels.

  The hotel room door slammed in her face before she could stop me. I adjusted my tie as I pressed the button on the elevator and sighed and shook my head when I heard the door open behind me. Thankfully, the elevator opened at the same time, too. She gawked at me with those big doe eyes clad in only a bra, her skirt, and her heels as the elevator doors began to close in her face. The mascara filled tear that slid down her cheek disgusted me.