Saving Abel (Rocker Series)

by Gina Whitney

  I stood in his living room taking it all in—his unique taste in home décor, his scent permeating the room, the lush red velvet drapes hanging heavy in the windows. All were phallic symbols of one kind or another, all very representative of him, of his masterful presence. I cracked my knuckles in anticipation. Anxiety zip-lined through my veins. My hands fisted. I was prepared for it all.

  I made my way to a corridor off the kitchen lit with melting candles and stood there for a minute, straining to listen. I could hear soft lyrical whispers, the kind of whispers that caused nausea to build inside me, mounting with the energy of a volcanic eruption. Oh, fuck. My legs forced my body forward. This could all end here and now. Passing by the erotic art lining the walls of the hallway, I approached two massive wooden doors with ornately carved underworld scenes. The left door featured a grinning demon holding a human heart. The right had two strangely beautiful horned creatures fornicating. I took the deeper meaning of these beautifully twisted images to be that Abel was a tortured soul. His torture brought light to my heart. Could I be the one to save him, to help him move past his darkness? And in so doing, might I find my own way, my truth? And could I even live in truth? My reality was reprehensible—sickening. Could truth ever be my reality? Could we help one another move beyond a lifetime of hurt to live in the light?

  My heart wanted light. It didn’t want to be the ugly dark broken organ it was. That much I knew. What scared me was the process of getting there—the commitment it would take, and the courage it would take to be truthful. Was I that courageous? Sure, I had the guts to sneak into his apartment. But, could I, would I, be courageous enough to live in the moment of total transparency? That I doubted.

  Laying my ear against the door, I gripped the cold steal doorknob and listened. He was humming something—I wasn’t quite sure what. I could hear the strumming of his guitar. Was he singing to somebody? Oh God, I hoped not. Gently. I opened the door an inch to take a peek. Abel was perched on the windowsill wearing low-hanging sweatpants, a baseball cap turned backwards, and holding his guitar across his lap. His tatted, muscled body in all its magnificence was just sitting there in the window, picture-perfect, for all the world to see. In his gruff voice, he was softly crooning Rihanna’s “Stay.” As with anything Abel touched, he made it his. And his was the most beautiful, heartbreaking, and gut-wrenching version of the song I had ever heard.

  His hair billowed softly in the breeze. The lyrics danced over my skin and embedded themselves in my heart. Hesitantly, I stepped forward, sensing no obvious threat in the form of the stunning bimbo-twat from Blue.

  “Abel,” I whispered, scared to death. And I sure didn’t want to scare him, either. But the thought of him throwing me out of here made black spots form around the edges of my vision. He never stopped fingering his guitar. Did he not hear me? I moved a few steps closer, but kept near enough to the door in case I needed to exit quickly.

  “Gia, I saw you on the security cam. How do you think you made it this far?” he asked, focusing his gaze on the world outside the window. His fingers stopped mid-melody. It was deathly quiet in the room. I spoke to break the awkwardness.

  “I’m not going to get into why you left the club without letting me give you an explanation. I came here to give one in private. I want to explain what happened. And if you don’t accept my explanation, I’ll leave.” I moved farther into the room to sit in the chair facing him. He wouldn’t look at me. Instead, he continued to stare out the window, his hand white-knuckling the neck of his guitar. It was obvious he was pissed. I needed to tread lightly.

  “Abel, hand up to God, I thought it was you behind me. Not for one minute did I ever think it was anyone else—let alone Ender. Bible,” I said, with one hand on my heart and the other up to God. His eyes met mine in the window’s reflection. I was sure I looked ridiculously childish—until I saw a small smirk pulling on his lips. I wanted to fist-pump. But it was way too premature to celebrate. I wanted to go to him, but first I needed to know that he accepted my explanation. It was better to let him come to me. So, I waited until finally he swung his legs off the ledge and placed his guitar against the wall. He stood up tall and proud, and looked me in the eye.

  “It’s very simple, Gia. If I say something’s mine, it’s mine—meaning you will only be touched by me. You will only be fucked by me. You will only come for me. You will only dance with me. And I don’t dance. Any pleasure you receive will be mine—unless I say otherwise. Are we clear?”

  He came toward me. All I could do was stand stock-still; I couldn’t even speak. He was now a mere inch away, and we were nose-to-nose, his eagle eyes focused on me, his prey.

  “I have something I’d like for you to sign,” he said. “If you agree to sign it, then we can move forward. If not, I had an interesting night. The first half, anyway, was very interesting. The second, not so much” He grabbed my chin, caressing my bottom lip with his fingers. Was I supposed to talk? Was that a question? My brain was still stuck on the thought of being his sexual charge and of him giving me orgasms. Wake the fuck up, Gia!

  “What do you want me to sign, exactly?” I asked nervously, licking my lips. Fuck, it was hot in here. He leaned in, feathering my lips with his. I wanted more. I wanted his tongue in my mouth. On my body. In my pussy. That wickedly talented tongue. I’d sign anything for that tongue. Lacing his fingers through mine, he led me out of his bedroom suite, his gait self-assured.

  We walked a few steps down the hall to his immaculately clean and sparsely adorned office. It didn’t look like it got much use—or maybe it spoke of the orderly man he was. A simple cherry-wood desk with matching cabinets and two black leather tufted chairs with bronze studs were the prominent furnishings. He motioned for me to take a seat, as he sat down behind his desk. I felt as if I were at a job interview. Very formal. Crossing my legs, I sat back, hoping to drain my nerves. He fired up his computer, clicking a few times to bring the printer to life. He swiveled to remove the paper from the printer, slipped it into a manila folder, and then handed it to me. He rested his forearms on the top of his desk, his eyes boring into my body with gleams of confidence.

  “Should I read this now? Or wait to read it at home? What’s the protocol? I’ve never done this before,” I said, smoothing my hand over the top of the folder, my eyes downcast, afraid to meet his. I sensed he approved of my humility.

  “I would prefer if you read it now. This paper doesn’t leave this apartment. I will give you a few minutes to read it over. It’s pretty standard and to the point. I don’t fuck around. You will find within the pages of the contract the truth. My truth. My expectation. You will sign if you choose to accept to fully submit.” All this he said matter-of-factly, and then business-like he stood up and left the office.

  I sat behind the closed door for I don’t know how long before I found my curiosity winning out. With shaky hands, I opened the folder.

  D/s Contract

  I, Gia Mastro, with a free mind and an open heart, do request of Abel Gunner that He accept the submission of my will unto His and to take me into His care and guidance, that W/we may grow together in love, trust, and mutual respect. The satisfaction of His wants, desires, and whims are consistent with my desire as a submissive to be found pleasing to Him. To that end, I offer Him use of my time, talents, and abilities. Further, I ask, in sincere humility, that, as my Master, He accepts the keeping of my body for the fulfillment and enhancement of O/our sexual, spiritual, emotional, and intellectual needs. To achieve this, He may have unfettered use of my body any time, any place, to keep, as He will determine.

  I ask that He guide me in any sexual, sensual, or scene-related behavior, in such a way as to further my growth as a person.

  I request of Abel Gunner, as my Master, that He use the power vested in His role to mold and shape me, assisting me to grow in strength, character, confidence, and being; and that He continue to help me to develop my artistic and intellectual abilities.

  In return, I agree:


  To obey His commands to the best of my ability.

  To strive to overcome feelings of guilt or shame, and all inhibitions that interfere with my capability to serve Him and limit my growth as His submissive.

  To maintain honest and open communication. (This could be a problem.)

  To reveal my thoughts, feelings, and desires without hesitation or embarrassment. (Oh, fuck.)

  To inform Him of my wants and needs, recognizing that He is the sole judge of whether or how these shall be satisfied.

  To strive toward maintenance of a positive self-image and development of realistic expectations and goals.

  To work with Him to become a happy and self-fulfilled individual. (I could do that.)

  To work against negative aspects of my ego and my insecurities that would interfere with the advancement of my objectives. (Here’s the living in truth part. Could I do this?)

  My surrender as a submissive is done with the knowledge that nothing asked of me will demean me as a person, and will in no way diminish my own responsibility to make utmost use of my potential. In recognition of my family obligations, nothing will be required of me that will in any way damage, nor interfere with, the performance of my everyday duties.

  This I, Gia Mastro, do entreat, with lucidity and the realization of what this means, both stated and implied, in the conviction that this offer will be accepted in the spirit of faith, caring, esteem, and devotion with which it is given.

  Should either of U/us find that our aspirations are not being well-served by this agreement, find this commitment too burdensome, or for any other reason wish to cancel, E/either may do so by verbal notification to the O/other, in keeping with the consensual nature of this agreement. W/we both understand that cancellation means a cessation of the control stated and implied within this agreement, not a termination of O/our relationship as friends and lovers. Upon cancellation, each of U/us agrees to offer to the other H/his or her reasons and to assess our new needs and situation openly and lovingly.

  This agreement shall serve as the basis for an extension of O/our relationship, committed to in the spirit of loving and consensual dominance and submission with the intention of furthering self-awareness and exploration, promoting health and happiness, and improving both O/our lives.

  I offer my consent to submit to Abel Gunner under the terms stated above on this the 12th day of May in the year 2014.

  Gia Mastro

  Signature of submissive

  I offer my acceptance of submission by Gia Mastro under the terms stated above on this the 12th day of May in the year 2014.

  Abel Gunner

  Signature of Dominant

  Swallowing a ball of angst the size of Pluto, I grabbed the gold Montblanc pen purposefully left there for me and signed the contract. But before I sandwiched it in the folder, I reread it several times. Although I wanted to submit to Abel, this seemed a bit extreme. Then again, I’d never been in a Dominant/submissive relationship. The wording was sterile and devoid of feelings. Maybe this wasn’t atypical. I was certain Cindy would have a flipping fit. Naturally, I couldn’t worry about that now. Besides, she didn’t know what my end game was—to reach his inner sanctum, where I needed to be to execute my plan. That choice I had made a long time ago when I had set the wheels in motion. Medusa, of course, was going to be thrilled, to say the least. Folder in hand, contract signed, I made my way through the penthouse, looking for him. When I got to the living room, I ran into a preppy-clothed man who fancied soft pinks and blues.

  “Hello, you must be Gia,” he said with a flip of his hand—not the type of gesture a straight man would use. A warm genuine smile lit up his boyishly handsome face.

  “Hi, your name is?” I asked, not wanting to be rude. Who in the hell was he?

  “I’m Chance, Abel’s personal assistant.” He moved to shake my hand. “Sorry, I’m just trying to clean up after his late-night tirade. I figured I would stop by after my date to tell him how great Lethal Abel was tonight. I was there with my date—front row.” He beamed. His constant Bieber hair-flipping made me grin. He was a cutie. Too bad he batted for the other team. His dirty-blond hair, gray eyes, and olive skin gave him the good looks that made many a girl cream. I found myself wondering whether he played pitcher or catcher. But I figured I’d wait until I knew him a little better before asking.

  “I was backstage. It was a ridiculous show. I loved it. I’ve never been backstage anywhere, ever. Not even at a school play,” I babbled, bending to pick up the neck of the broken guitar.

  “No, no. I got it. It’s no trouble at all. He’s waiting for you on the terrace.” He motioned for me to relinquish the carnage in my hand. “Come sweets, I’ll show you where he’s brooding.”

  “Wait, if he’s brooding, maybe we should leave him be. I don’t want to interrupt whatever it is he’s brooding over,” I whispered.

  “He’s an alpha, doll. He’s always broody and pissed off even when he’s smiling. Nature of the beast and all that jazz. Speaking of jazz. I used to dance. Could you tell? John my newest boy-toy said I had a dancer’s body. What do you think?” he asked, striking a pose with perfect lines that would make any ballerina sick.

  “Why yes, now that you mention it, you do have the perfect dancer’s body. I knew there was something about your physique. I just couldn’t put words to it.” I smiled, winking at him. He jumped up and down, clapping.

  “Oh, aren’t you just the sweetest doll ever in the history of evers.” He hugged me tightly, kissing my cheek. “Let’s go have a visit with sex on legs.”

  Gleaming, he led me to the terrace doors. Abel was drinking scotch neat with his feet perched on the edge of the chaise lounge. Chance opened the door and pushed me out. I whirled around and glared at him. He winked back at me, closing the door to give us some privacy.

  “Hi,” I said, sounding like a total idiot.

  “Hi.” He smirked at me through his inked lashes.

  “I signed it. Now what?” I asked, taking a seat in the chair next to him.

  “Now, we fuck. You’re mine. I can take you wherever and whenever I please. Like right here in the open for everybody to see. Does that scare you, Gia? Or does it make you really wet?” His voice was dangerously low as he stared at my mouth.

  * * *

  [Listen to OLN’s version of “Clarity” here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a_JgNNBX2bw .]

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  Abel

  Her lips were driving me crazy. I wanted to nibble, lick, kiss, and consume them, along with everything else about this vixen. My self-control would snap if she licked those lips just one more time …

  At the moment, I had the world by the balls. My career was taking off. My boys were good. I had my health, money, status—and now Gia. All I had to deal with was the black smudge that was Morgana, who didn’t understand the meaning of “no.” She had the balls to keep calling, texting, and showing up at venues where I was performing. She was relentless in her pursuit. Good thing I had Carlo escort her out before she really made a scene. She already had her horns out for Gia. She had seen the two of us together, and had witnessed my reaction to the stunt Ender pulled.

  Speaking of Ender: that Spic fucker was going to get his ass kicked. The minute I informed him of my arrangement with Gia, he’d best step the fuck off. Band or no band, friend or no friend, she was mine. Nobody fucked with my anything. He needed to be put in his place. I was getting real tired of him yanking my dick for attention. What I needed to focus on wasn’t Ender: it was this little minx in front of me. I needed to fuck her, feed her, and bathe her.

  “You see this? This is your new parking space.” I patted my lap, and in response she smiled brilliantly. I loved that smile. I didn’t want to share that gorgeous smile with anyone else. She approached me carefully. I grabbed her and pulled her down on to me. I wanted that ass on me now.

  “Someone’s happy with my new seating arrangement,” she cooed, giggling. Yes, my dick was r
eal happy with the new seating arrangement. I was hard as a lead pipe and couldn’t wait to get inside her tight pussy. Before finishing off my scotch I offered it to her. She downed it.

  That right there was why this girl was different. She had caught my attention with her blithe yet brash personality. Her vibe wasn’t a superficial one. She was just a real cool chick, a chick I could definitely get into. For now. My cock had plans for her. And it was screaming for attention.

  “Babe, take off your clothes. I want to see what’s mine. When you’re with me alone there is no reason for you to have them on.”

  Before she rose, I grabbed her face to taste her, forcefully plunging my tongue into her mouth. Breathlessly, she disrobed, leaving her clothes puddled at her feet. I stood up to eye-ball this beauty from head to toe. My blood pumped, raging to one extremity—my cock. After kissing the palm of her hand, I laid her out on the canopied bed. The chill in the air marbled her nipples, which beckoned me home. Taking my own clothes off in measured movements, I assumed the position between her legs. The alpha in me wanted to become better acquainted with what was his. Her sweet pussy juice drove me wild. I was gluttonous when it came to her pussy. I was a man who loved pussy. I loved the way pussies looked, smelled, tasted, and how I made them feel. Lust, carnality, and eroticism were mere words which could only be used to describe what I felt with this woman. I would pay homage to that pussy. It would be my gift for her submission.

  “Beauty, rest your thighs on my shoulders,” I commanded. Her thighs squeezed my face into her pussy. My arms gripped her ass from underneath, lifting her to face level. I inhaled deeply, intoxicated by this Aphrodite, my tongue parting her folds to expose her clitoral hood. Her clit was swollen and ready to be sucked. I drew it into my mouth, gently sucking.