Revenge: The Complete Series (Erotic Rock Star Suspense Romance)

by Mimi Strong

  I run my fingers through his wet, glossy black hair. “Beating pretty fast.”

  He hikes me up higher, and presses his ear to my chest. “That’s a good beat,” he says. “Dub, dub, dub, dub. Wanna hear some boring music theory stuff about the human heartbeat?”

  I keep running my fingers through his hair. “Not really, but I love your voice. You can tell me anything.”

  He hikes me up higher and licks my bare breast. Just one lick, and I feel the heat flick on inside me. He tenderly presses my nipple between his lips. I grip him tighter with my legs around his waist.

  He slides me back down his body, and we kiss.

  I love this weightlessness of wrapping myself around him in the water. I love licking the pool water from his neck.

  Below the water, the kissing is having a reaction. He’s hard.

  There’s nothing between us, so he could slip into me so easily, but he holds back. He groans and adjusts so that his length is between us, pressing along my inner hip bone.

  I hold on tight, and he walks us over to the pool’s edge. With my back against the tiled wall, he grinds against me. His eyes are closed with pleasure. We’re connected, skin on skin. He reaches down with one hand, and slips two fingers inside me.

  His eyelids fly open in surprise. “You’re so hot,” he says. “You’re burning up.”

  I look away, embarrassed. “The pool water is cool. I’m just regular body temperature.”

  He shakes his head and explores me with his fingers. He changes the angle, and it’s like he’s got a hold of me from the inside.

  A new type of sensation rushes through me. My ears feel hot, and my pulse feels strong in my neck.

  He keeps watching my face for a reaction as he works his fingers and thumb. He pushes me into ecstasy.

  I close my eyes and start panting. I want him so bad.

  His mouth closes over mine, and we’re sharing breath. I wrap my arms tightly around his shoulders and tilt my hips.

  “You’re the sexiest thing there ever was,” he groans into my lips.

  I clench my teeth and beg him not to stop what he’s doing with his fingers.

  “Come for me, Jess.” He moves his hand faster, hooks onto that spot, and I start to climax.

  Everything goes dark again, or maybe I’m just looking up at the night sky.

  All I want is Dylan’s touch, and his voice, all the time.

  I cry out in ecstasy.

  “Louder,” he urges as he kisses and sucks on the side of my neck.

  His fingers grind out even more pleasure.

  I let out louder cries, which make him go crazy. He’s kissing my neck so hard, and sucking my skin. He’s probably leaving marks, but I don’t care.

  I peak, and then the waves of pleasure start to settle down. Now I can feel some friction from his fingers. They’re not as slippery now, with the pool water washing everything away.

  He senses this at the same time as I do, and gently pulls his fingers away.

  As he looks me in the eyes, he lifts his hand from the water and puts his two fingers in his mouth.

  I reach down for him, for the hardness that’s pressing against my stomach.

  His eyes twinkle, and he pulls away. He splashes back in the water and swims away.

  I stay where I am, watching him.

  He retreats to the other side of the pool.

  “I’ve got other plans,” he says. “Do you want to hear me sing?”

  “Always. Are you going to sing just for me?”

  “I should.” He licks his two fingers again suggestively. “You sure sang for me.”

  I use my hand to splash water his way.

  “You’re so bad!”

  He chuckles, then swims over to the steps and starts walking up out of the pool.

  “Come on,” he says. “Get your clothes back on.”

  I wade over to the steps and walk out, conscious of his eyes on me as I emerge from the water. He stares at my naked body like he’s drinking me in. I’ve never felt so sexy.

  We both stand over our clothes, dripping wet.

  “I should have grabbed some towels,” I say.

  He jokes, “We don’t need no stinkin’ towels.”

  I reach up and twist my hair to wring it out. Dylan strides into the house. I hear a ripping sound, and a clatter.

  In a minute, he comes out with an armful of fabric.

  “I never liked these curtains,” he says.

  “Dylan!”

  He tosses a curtain at me. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  I laugh as I dry myself off. Somehow, I don’t picture Dylan as any sort of beggar.

  I pull on my jeans and ask, “Are we going back to your place? You’re going to sing for me there?”

  “Jess, I’m a rock star.”

  “And?”

  He looks at me like he’s insulted.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “You’ll see,” he promises.

  I nod and smile, trying to be cool as I pat dry my hair with a ripped curtain.

  Chapter 7

  Dylan parks the car in the alley. We’re at the club where I first met Marley and Bianca.

  “Don’t drink anything I don’t give you,” Dylan says as we step out of the car.

  “Very funny.” I give him a dirty look, like I’m joking. Except it’s not very funny. I’ve got a bad feeling about walking into this club.

  The last time I was here, I have no memory of leaving. Either I drank too much, or someone spiked my drink.

  I get a chill as I connect the incident to all the other times I’ve gotten hurt or been in danger around Dylan. Until I moved to LA, I never knew so much trouble.

  My life has gotten interesting lately. And interesting isn’t always a good thing.

  Dylan reaches for the backstage door. He opens it a few inches, then closes it again. “You gettin’ tired on me, Jess?”

  “No. Just thinking about things.”

  His dark eyes reach into me, seeking all my secrets.

  “What things?”

  I give him a shy smile as I smooth back my hair. I tied my wet hair back in an elastic I had in my purse, and I fixed my makeup in the car.

  I can’t tell him I’m counting up all the times I’ve been hurt when I’m around him. So I lie.

  “Things… like makeup,” I say. “Should I put on more eyeliner?”

  He winks. “You look perfect. Your cheeks are all cute and rosy from being recently finger-fucked.”

  I gasp and look around. At least we’re alone in the alley.

  Dylan just laughs and opens the door again. Loud music pours out. It’s getting close to four in the morning, but things are still going strong here.

  I follow him in. People turn to look me up and down. All the guys backstage have beards or stubble. The girls look tired and suspicious.

  A tall guy with a lion’s mane of reddish blonde hair greets Dylan with a high five. “You made it!” he says.

  Dylan says something I can’t hear, and they both look over at me. Lion Mane nods knowingly, his lips curling up in a sneer. His eyes rake over me, like he’s peeling my clothes away.

  They talk for a bit. I spot an empty chair near some equipment and go take a seat.

  “Let’s do this now,” Lion Mane says to Dylan. He picks up a guitar and puts the strap over his bushy hair.

  Dylan says something that makes the guy smile.

  Lion Mane turns around and walks past me, on the way to the stage. He stands near the curtain until the band playing finishes their song, then he walks out.

  The crowd cheers. It sounds like a lot of people are here tonight—way more than the last time I was here.

  Dylan comes over, grabs my hand, and hauls me off my chair. He drags me over to a pitch-black zone, behind some stage curtains.

  I giggle as he pulls me to him. He kisses my neck, my cheek, and then my lips.

  The Lion Mane guy is on stage now, and I can hear him talking to the crowd.
<
br />   He’s saying, “You know temperamental artist types. Dylan Wolf is back there, and he won’t come out until you beg.”

  The crowd roars and makes a bunch of random noises.

  Dylan doesn’t seem very focused on kissing me. He keeps pushing his tongue into my mouth.

  The crowd starts chanting, beyond the curtains.

  They’re yelling, “Dylan! Dylan! Dylan!”

  His body is all tense, like he can’t get enough of me, or maybe of the crowd.

  I pull away from his lips. “I can’t keep you to myself all night. Your adoring fans are waiting for you.”

  “I’d rather be back here with you,” he says. “We shouldn’t have left the pool. I’m trying to pack too much into one day again.”

  I gaze up at him. “You just want everything, don’t you?”

  The crowd is still chanting. “Dylan! Dylan!”

  “Go, play for them,” I tell him.

  He grins. “Just one song,” he says.

  I nod my head. Sure, one song.

  He turns and walks away.

  The crowd chants, “Dylan! Dylan!” Then they explode in applause.

  I duck around the curtain and return to the chair, avoiding eye contact with the people standing around. Some of them are looking at me like they think something more than kissing was going on behind the curtain.

  Someone hands me a bottle of beer with the cap still on.

  I look up to see a girl about five years older than me. She’s pretty, and looks familiar, in that pretty-girl way.

  “Thanks.” I take the beer. I use the edge of my shirt to protect my hand as I twist off the cap.

  “I’m with Tex,” she says, pulling a chair up next to mine. “We girls have to stick together, you know?”

  I take a long drink from the bottle. I’ll stick to beer tonight, not that Long Island Iced Tea that got me in trouble last time.

  “Is Tex the guy with the hair?” I ask.

  She laughs, then pauses with her head tilted. She’s listening to Tex and Dylan singing together. It’s not a song I know well, but familiar. It must be one of Tex’s songs.

  Something clicks, and I realize who he is. Tex is pretty big on the local scene.

  “He’s great,” I tell her. “I didn’t recognize him at first, but now I know exactly who he is. Great voice. I didn’t know he was friends with Dylan.” I listen to the song for a bit. “He’s really great.”

  “That’s my guy,” she says. “Million-dollar voice, fifty-cent attitude.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  She gives me a knowing look. “They think they’re gods. People worship them, and it goes to their heads. But he’s not my first one, and he won’t be the last.”

  “Things aren’t good?”

  “The ride up is fun, but the ride back down to earth is shit.”

  I take another long drink from the bottle. I have a feeling I might find out what she means.

  I reach out my hand. “I’m Jess.” We shake hands.

  She has a confident grip. It’s quick and strong, and matches her attitude.

  “Parker,” she says.

  I gasp and do a double-take. “You’re Parker Hayes.” Suddenly, her pretty face comes into sharp focus. Her hair is a natural brown right now, falling in soft waves. I’m used to her videos, where she wears multi-colored wigs.

  I can’t believe I’m chatting backstage with Parker Hayes.

  “In the flesh,” she says.

  “Are you singing tonight? I can’t believe I’m having a beer with Miss Consolation herself. You’re basically my hero. I’m totally fangirling on you, sorry. But your music got me through a lot.”

  She takes a long drink, finishing her beer. “I get that,” she says. “How’d you meet Dylan Wolf?”

  “I work at Morris Music.”

  She nods. “Have fun while you can. Get paid, and don’t take any promises. Get everything in writing.”

  “You mean with Morris?”

  She leans over and looks at the guys on stage for a moment. When she turns back, she’s smiling.

  “They’re not gods,” she says.

  Someone comes over and taps her on the shoulder.

  Parker Hayes gets up and politely excuses herself. I stay where I am while she goes off to some other business.

  Dylan and Tex finish the song, thank the crowd, and return to backstage.

  I stay where I am as Dylan makes the rounds, talking to people. Someone brings me another beer, so I drink it.

  Finally, Dylan comes over and tells me it’s time to go.

  We get in his car, and he drives us to my house. The whole way, he talks about what a great crowd it was, and how he wants to write something with Tex.

  “I can’t believe I met Parker Hayes,” I tell him.

  He reaches over and pats my knee.

  “We’re living the dream,” he says, laughing.

  “Parker is amazing.”

  He keeps his eyes on the road ahead. “She flashed bright and burned out,” he says. “I want to have a career that lasts, but if it doesn’t, I’d still be happy if I can write one thing that lasts.”

  “It must be hard to write when you’re going on TV shows and traveling around.”

  He’s quiet.

  “I had fun tonight,” I say.

  He reaches for my hand and squeezes it in his. “Hearing that you had fun is music to my ears.”

  I laugh. “Don’t be so cheesy!”

  “Ouch.” He laughs. “Now I’m cheesy?”

  I look at the bright lights of the city around us.

  “No, you’re perfect,” I say. “Everything is perfect.”

  Chapter 8

  Dylan sleeps over at my house Friday night.

  I wake up at noon. He’s at the foot of the bed, getting dressed.

  “Sorry, am I being noisy?” he asks.

  My head is groggy. We were up so late.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask.

  He scrunches his shoulders up near his ears.

  “Just busy,” he says.

  “You’re leaving?”

  He winces. “Am I in trouble?”

  I sit up in bed. “Trouble?”

  He makes the face again, like he’s a little kid who just got caught. And he’s really leaving.

  My temper flares up.

  “No, you’re not in trouble,” I say.

  He pretends to wipe his brow. “Phew.”

  I keep my thoughts to myself. I don’t want to seem like some needy chick who tries to control all his free time. I thought we had the full weekend together, but I guess we don’t.

  He pulls on his shirt and smoothes it over his lean stomach.

  “This is why I came back yesterday. I’ve got something else to do today. I’m mentoring on one of those TV shows that’s shooting now.”

  “Seriously? I thought that was just famous people.”

  He makes a face and pretends I’ve just shot him in the chest.

  I correct myself. “People with tons of industry experience.”

  “These episodes won’t air for a few months, so it should all line up. It’s crazy how busy I am.” He tosses his dark hair out of his eyes. “I feel like a ten-dicked cowboy in a whorehouse.”

  “WHAT?”

  He grins. “Something my grandfather used to say. He used to say a lot worse, but not in English. I used to spend summers with him, in France.”

  “Oh, right.” I look up at the ceiling, thinking for a moment. “I think you told a story about that, when you were on that one talk show. It’s hard sometimes, to put the two of you together.”

  “The two of who?”

  “Real Dylan and… you know. The one who kisses me while crowds of adoring fans scream his name. That guy.”

  He looks down and ruffles his hand through his hair.

  “I’m just me.”

  “I know. You’re still that street busker, singing a song to a pretty girl, just to flirt with her.”

  He
grins and ruffles his hair again. “Your smile was better payment than anything people were throwing in my guitar case.”

  “You are… so romantic! You’d better get out of here fast, before I drag you back into bed.”

  He pretends to hurry and opens my bedroom door.

  “This taping might take two days,” he says, looking apologetic.

  “I guess it takes as long as it takes.”

  “Cool.” He walks back over to me, gives me a quick peck on the lips, then leaves.

  I sit and listen as he walks down the hallway, then out the front door.

  A few minutes later, Amanda taps on the door and comes in. Her pale blonde hair is sticking out all over, like she just got up.

  “I had a nightmare,” she says.

  I pull the covers open and pat the bed next to me.

  She climbs in next to me.

  “You got in late,” she says. “Why’s Dylan gone already? I thought you had him for the weekend. Is he coming back for dinner Sunday? Don’t tell Riley I told you, but she’s trying to write a song. She wants Dylan to look at it.”

  I snort. “He’d probably like that.”

  “Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise.”

  “Not really. But I thought we were spending the weekend together. I guess it was just Friday night. Is it selfish of me that I feel disappointed?”

  Amanda reaches over and pats my stomach through the blankets.

  “Oh, sweet, naive little Jessica.”

  I roll onto my side to look into her blue eyes. The bright afternoon light really highlights the little wedge of green in one iris.

  “How am I naive?” I ask. “Do you know what’s going on with him?”

  She makes a jerking motion with her hand, then says, “Pop.”

  “What?”

  “Guys have two modes. Before Coming, and After Coming. Before Coming, they can’t get enough of you. You’re a princess, you’re everything. It’s all please and thank you, and let me pay for your stuff. And then… ” She does the jerking gesture again. “Pop. And then it’s all, hey, lock the door on your way out.”

  “But that’s just sex. What about love?”

  Amanda’s forehead wrinkles, like she’s genuinely confused.

  “They still come when they’re in love.”

  “You’re oversimplifying.”

  “You’re overthinking.”