Saving Abel (Rocker Series)

by Gina Whitney

  “You okay?” he asked quietly. Was I okay? Hmm? I really wasn’t. This was a lot to take in. But I would never be so foolish as to act like I was anything other than perfectly okay with it. I assumed I’d get used to the paparazzi’s influence, as annoying as it was. It was fascinating. This was what I had wanted: to be a part of his world. The good, bad, and the ugly. I hadn’t fully realized the ugliness would include Morgana. Now, that was some ugly shit, there. I wasn’t even going to mention it to him. He certainly didn’t need another drama queen bitching him out.

  “I’m great!” I said, pulling his head down for a kiss. He groaned. I grinned in triumph.

  “Be careful, sweet girl.” His voice had a dark, foreboding edge. I shivered. “Come. You’re not in your proper seat, babe.” He pulled me onto his lap. I would be very happy to spend my life perched on his lap like this. Fire washed through my body. I nuzzled his neck, eliciting another groan.

  “Look at me, Beauty,” he demanded, his voice tense. I turned to straddle him. We were eye-to-eye. I glanced over his shoulder to see if Dave was paying attention. Abel’s soft fingers held the back of my neck firm and steady. He didn’t want me paying heed to anyone else—no one but him. His eyes held me captive, sparking with raw power. I needed to win back some control here. This man ate up every ounce I had—or what little I thought I had. He reached over and closed the partition. His features were hard-cut, his erection formidable.

  “Take your clothes off and hold on to the back seat.” He stretched his neck from left to right. Motherfucker. I stripped as quickly as possible. He opened a compartment next to the partition button and removed a set of handcuffs. A trickle of liquid heated the inside of my thighs. I assumed the position facing the back seat—but not before I could steal another peek of him. I needed to see him. He rolled his shoulders to loosen up, the vein in his neck pulsing. His abdominal muscles clenched, ready to pounce. He was all male. But there was something wild added to the mix, something I hadn’t yet experienced. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply.

  “You ready to be fucked?” he asked, his voice low and ominous. Was that a question? Of course I was ready. “I asked you a question, Beauty. Are you ready to be fucked?” A note of warning sounded in his voice.

  “Yes. I’m more than ready to be fucked,” I answered assuredly.

  “That mouth of yours, Beauty. I love that mouth of yours. Now put your hands behind your back,” he said, moving to kneel behind me at my apex. His heartbeat was loud enough for me to hear. I leaned forward on the bench and did as instructed. He fastened the cuffs around my wrists. I turned a bit to look and a devilish smile was playing on his lips. This had me bristling. I had never felt the way I felt today—ever: so wanted, so needed. It was as if he needed me to breathe. He skimmed his fingertips over my pussy, then down my thighs and up to my tits, humming his appreciation while pinching my responsive nipples.

  “We don’t have long, my Beauty. I’m going to take you hard and fast. Your job is to hold this position.”

  His hand settled on my back, pushing me into the seat cushion, as he nudged my thighs farther apart with his knees. This position was extremely awkward. With the vehicle in motion and no use of my arms, I wasn’t sure I could hold it. However, I’d try my hardest to satisfy him. I knew 100% that I was incredibly turned on and wet as fuck. The piercing of his head glided over my clit until his cock was sufficiently lathered in my juices. He entered me none too gently, his hands bruising my hips. I planted my face in the seat, as he proceeded to pound the fucking life out of me. My body went soft with surrender. His strokes were long and hard. He growled before lifting both my legs off the carpeted floor. He never stopped pumping. My face rutted in the butter-soft leather. My shoulders were holding me steady. I tried to push back ever so slightly so I could breathe. He wasn’t having it. His pace was that of an Olympian. Synapses fired through every cell of my body. Molten fire pushed through my veins. I felt a stirring deep in my womb. My orgasm hit me hard, threatening my vision. White sparks exploded around my peripheral eyesight. I was at war with my body in a way I had never been: he controlled everything—my air, arms, legs, pussy, orgasms, and now my heart. On his knees, with my ass held high up in the air and his balls punishing my pussy mercilessly, he growled wildly, the sounds reverberating throughout the truck. What. In. The. Fuck. I could never face these people again. Still, embarrassed or not, I needed another orgasm—and I didn’t have to wait long for it, either. His sounds alone kept my pussy locked tight around him. His body tensed as he unloaded everything he had inside me.

  “You. Are. Mine,” he ground out, pumping hard. His thrusts were still controlled, but slower now. Thank fuck. Eventually, he stopped pumping. I jumped as he grabbed my pussy lips asking, “What are you doing to me?” I froze. Was he talking to me or my pussy? Maybe I wasn’t exactly coherent at this point. I was a sweaty mess. The truck slowed down and he unlocked the handcuffs, his fingers softly rubbing my wrists. Fuck. Tell me we were here. Kill me now.

  I sat on my heels, taking deep breaths, trying to pull in as much oxygen as I could. I had deprived my brain for God knows how long. I heard him buckling his belt. And then I heard doors opening and slamming shut, as everybody began to pile out. I couldn’t go to his concert like I was: I was fucking wreaked. I was about to ask him to please leave me in here or have the driver take me home when I heard the keys to his iPhone dinging.

  “Thank you, Beauty,” he whispered, kissing my shoulder and groaning. “I’ll never get my fill of you.” He kissed the other shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere without you.” And then he licked the side of my face.

  “Dave, have festival security meet us at the south entrance. I need twenty minutes in the suite,” he barked into his cell. “I don’t give a fuck. Make it happen or I’m out.”

  He pocketed his phone. “I’ve got you, Beauty. I take care of what’s mine.” He pulled my naked body to his. I believed he really did have me. He was like no other man I’d ever known. His arms caged me, comforting me and making me feel secure. He showered me with tiny wet kisses while nuzzling me: it was pure Paradise. I sat tucked under his thick arms while he stroked my hair, as he dialed Chance.

  “Hey C, do me a solid. Can you get some clothes for Gia to change into? Yep. Sounds about right. Exactly. Thank you. Meet us in the south-side suite.” He sounded relieved. I melted into him while he searched the floor for my clothes. His phone rang, letting us know we were at the south entrance.

  “Here, put this on.” He handed me his shirt while seizing the rest of my scattered clothes. “We’re in front of the south-side door. The suite is one hundred feet on the left. Security has the exits blocked. Let’s go and get you changed. And keep that sweet ass covered.”

  He opened the door, grabbing my hand as we made a run for the dressing suite. His strides were much longer than mine, and it was obvious he was trying to keep me out of view. Testosterone thickened the air. His eyes threatened anyone who so much as glanced my way. Security lined the hallway to obscure me from prying eyes. A janitor was polishing the brass name plate on the door: Abel Gunner, Lethal Abel. Pride swelled my face into a wide smile. I couldn’t help it. I wanted to pinch myself, scream, and act silly. Hell, I felt crazy. This was inconceivable. Never in my wildest fantasies had I ever dreamed this could be my life—that he could be my life. We came to a halt, giving way to the janitor, who was doing his best to avoid looking at us..

  Inside his decadent suite, I was struck by how ostentatious it was: it was the total opposite of his office at his penthouse. This was a festival, not an opera house—but you’d never know it by the lush décor. My mouth gaped open as my eyes took in the room: the exotic flowers, toile couches, baroque lamps, and hardwoods floors covered with Persian rugs. What. In. The. Fuck.

  “Deirdre, my mother. This is what she does. Decorates. This is how she shows love. I’m over it.” He frowned, turning his back toward me. Uh-oh. There’s a story there. Then again, who didn’t have one, right?
Hands down, Medusa held the record for world’s worst mother. So while I felt some sadness for him growing up unloved in the lap of luxury, I was skeptical.

  “I’m sorry this is how she chooses to love you. What I’ve learned in my life is that some people just aren’t capable of showing or feeling real love.” I rubbed his back, placing kisses across his shoulder blade. “Hey Mister, you have a concert to do.” I patted his plump ass cheeks.

  He grabbed my wrist firmly. “Thank you, Gia.” I nodded with a smile. God, he was a broody, beautiful mess. A knock sounded at the door, sending him striding powerfully over to open it. Shit, he was intense. He looked like he was going to kill someone. I stepped into the bathroom quickly, pulling out my phone.

  I texted Cindy: Yo? Where you at, chick?

  She replied: Yo, we’re hanging, waiting on you two idiots. WTF? Holy obsessive caveman, chick! Do you have a magical pussy I don’t know about, G? LMBO! The guys are getting antsy. What’s the holdup?

  I reassured her: We just got to the suite. I just need to change. See you soon. Xoxo

  Cindy reacted with surprise: Change? Um, ok, I won’t even ask. Xoxo

  I switched my phone off to save the battery. It was then that I noticed both males standing in the doorway, one with a huge electric smile holding a shopping bag. That was Chance. The other still had a frown plastered on his face. That was Abel. Jesus, he really was broody. His eyes sparked when they appraised my naked legs. His tee-shirt just skimmed the tops of my thighs, just below my ass. Chance hurriedly stepped in past me. Abel’s eyes burned my flesh with their intensity. I just chewed on my bottom lip. Then all at once he smiled, leaving the bathroom alcove.

  “Fuck, that was intense,” Chance chirped. “I’ve never seen him so intense. I mean I have, but not like that. You guys been having some fun, yeah?”

  He greeted me with a kiss, handing over the bag of goodies. “Oh, my, Deirdre really must be feeling guilty lately,” he said, observing the elaborate décor. He opened up a drawer, pulling out a tortoise brush and placing it in front of me with a quirked eyebrow.

  “Subtle, Chance. Real subtle.” We laughed as he turned the shower on. Yeah, I knew I looked a mess. My hair was so tangled I wondered if I’d ever get the knots out.

  “In you go,” he prompted. “You have ten minutes. Work it.” He winked, sashaying across the marble floor and closing the door behind him.

  I pulled Abel’s shirt off, deeply inhaling his scent: it reeked of salt and spice and everything that was Abel. He was all male. Instant heat shot through my body, pooling between by legs. Shit, I was sore. I could never deny him or myself for that matter. This was what this man did to me. His essence made my blood sing.

  I put myself together in under fifteen minutes. That was a record for me. However, when you had a man like Abel waiting, you got a move on. I couldn’t be too careful with that piranha Morgana lurking around. With a quick spritz of perfume, I was ready. Chance had hooked me up with supple cream-colored leather pants, a black off-the-shoulder shirt, and a pair of black snakeskin Christian Louboutin’s. The clothes had cost a fortune: he had not even bothered to remove the price tags. I made a mental note to thank the man. Damn, he surely had some awesome connections to pull this kind of outfit together at the last minute. The clothes were a bit conservative for a rock star’s taste. But they reeked of money and class. Not that I thought Abel didn’t have either. He did. And plenty. I was just surprised by his choices, that’s all.

  “Well well well,” Chance said, as he spun me around. “You look positively edible. If I were hetero I’d take you here on the floor.” He laughed deeply. It was a very manly laugh. I didn’t have any gay friends to compare him to. But I could see myself falling in love with his personality. What was there not to love about Chance? He was everything you’d want in a man: gorgeous, built, and loyal.

  “Is that Abel?” I could hear his voice streaming through the Bose speakers. I had fully anticipated he would greet us before going on stage.

  “Yes, love. He couldn’t wait. Dave was worried he wouldn’t make it to the stage in time for sound check. You guys got delayed, apparently?” His smile was contagious. He pushed my hair behind my ear and wrapped his arm around me. “Come, enlighten me while we walk. He’s expecting you.”

  He guided me out of the suite. His broad arms settled around my shoulders. The same security sentinels lined the hallways speaking into their earpieces as we approached.

  “What’s the deal with all this security? I know the band is uber-popular, but the guys seem more relaxed than Abel. He’s a bit intense. No?” I was perplexed. One minute we were on his motorcycle and the next we were being mauled by paparazzi. “What I mean to ask is: is this an Abel thing or a Lethal Abel thing?”

  Chance blinked a few times before answering. “Both. As of late with Morgana’s threats hanging in the wind, the gossip rag reporters have been vultures. Also, the band just went platinum. So, there’s that. Then, there’s you.” He squeezed me tightly against his hard body. Then there’s me?

  “Me? What would I possibly have to do with this? I don’t need security. I’m a frigging secretary,” I said nervously, awaiting his answer. But before he could say anything, Dave met us for the handoff. Now, it was Dave who was in charge of directing me to my place.

  “Wait, where are you going?” I yelled back at Chance. Christ, the music was so loud.

  “My seat, love. Front row. Right over there.” He pointed below the stage.

  This sucked. While I wanted to hang with Cin, I also wanted to pick Chance’s brain. “Just make him happy, Gia,” he said, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “He deserves to be happy. He’s different with you.”

  Happy? Me make someone happy? Imagine that? I was thrilled! I was elated, with all the possibilities swirling around in my head. I could do this. I wanted to be happy. Hell, I deserved happiness more than most. A burning sensation crept its way up to my nose. Tears gathered in my eyes. I paid no attention as Dave escorted me to the side stage just across from the band. I was a total blubbering idiot. These feelings and sensations were new to me. I didn’t know what to do with them. I murmured a thank you to him. It was left unanswered. He was busy with all that was going on. He was the backbone of the band. I didn’t envy him his job. He smoked like a chimney. And when he was in the zone, he barely said a word. However, he saw to the band’s needs and made sure their events ran smoothly.

  Wiping my eyes, I took my cell out of my purse to check my messages. Medusa had called several times, leaving no voicemail. Her two texts just said Call me. And therein lay the problem. Abel’s voice did nothing to soothe the unease that had taken hold. I powered down my phone, returning it to my purse, my eyes still blurry with tears. I blinked them away, letting them rest on the tops of my cheeks as a cathartic plea to the universe. Someone, anyone, help me. Help me find the courage to seek my own happiness, releasing me from my mother’s torture. She knew my vulnerabilities. She was expert at tormenting me and using me to do all her dirty work. Only this time it was different. I was different. He was different. I couldn’t allow her to ruin this for me. No. I wouldn’t.

  So I pulled myself together, wiping the tears from my eyes. Then I noticed Cindy across from me frowning. She mouthed the words, “What’s going on?” I quickly pulled on my happy mask on and smiled. I mouthed back. “Happy.” I pointed towards my smile, then towards Abel. That would shut her up. She pointed towards Woody, raising her eyebrows suggestively. I laughed. She had a way of making my darkest hours brighter, if only for a few moments. Those moments were everything to me. That’s the thing. Children of abuse saw things in moments. Sometimes they were all we had. In those moments we lived. But now I had found a way of life that I never wanted to give up. I wanted to live all my moments like this, with him …

  I was lost in thought when I heard him calling my name. I came to with a jolt. What. In. The. Fuck. I looked around me. I saw Dave scrambling towards me. His lips were moving, but nothing registered. He
was pointing manically toward the center of the stage where a roadie was placing a chair. What? I looked in that direction to see Abel waving me over. I turned around, looking behind me. The stage hands were smiling and pointing. Where the fuck were they pointing? Dave finally got to me, all out-of-breath, his cigarette hanging from his lips.

  “On stage, doll. Off you go.” He pushed me out from behind the massive curtains onto the stage. I was in full view of thousands of screaming, out-of-their-mind fans. Abel extended his hand, motioning for me to come to him. I went into a Jan Brady catatonic trance. Cheers rose up as he approached me, smiling gently. I managed to smile back. Still, I had no clue what the fuck was going on.

  Abel’s soft hands gently guided me to a tall bar chair placed next to his microphone. My heart pounded in my ears. I looked for Chance in the front row. I needed to focus on something familiar. His animated smile ignited my numbed brain. The crowd was going wild. Abel continued to taunt them with my presence. Shouts of “Oh My God!” and “Who the fuck is that?” could be heard rising up from the audience. I was getting twitchy sitting there. The lights were hot and blinding. Christ. How did they deal with the heat on stage? I wiped my forehead free of sweat. I turned to find Cindy standing behind the curtain. Woody’s drums were the precursor to the next song. Cindy was waving frantically, screaming, “Enjoy, Gia, enjoy!”

  Finally I turned toward Abel. From his Doc Martins to his Lethal Abel tee-shirt, he was the epitome of the Rock God. He owned the stage. His shirt rode up as he fist-pumped the crowd into screaming my name. Ender’s guitar licked seductively into the melody. It was Lethal Abel’s rock version of Rihanna’s “Stay.”video3 I crossed my legs to give myself something to do, and anyway, it helped to steady them: they were shaking from nerves. Breathe in. Breathe out. Abel grabbed my chin in his signature move. He wanted me to focus on him. And so I did.