Rock All Night (The Rock Star's Seduction #2)

by Olivia Thorne

  “Unofficial one, yeah,” Ryan said.

  “Why wasn’t I invited?!” Riley roared.

  “It’s about Joshua Tree.”

  “Oh, FUCK THAT.”

  “I’m trying to get Kaitlyn to come along and join in,” Killian explained.

  Riley about busted a gut laughing. “Yeah, right!”

  I drew myself up in indignation. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you got a stick so far up your ass, you’re not gettin’ any mushrooms down there with it,” Riley snorted as she walked off.

  “I do not,” I said in a petulant little voice that nobody else heard. Then I called after her, “That doesn’t even make sense!”

  Now I kind of wanted to do shrooms, just to show Riley up.

  Kind of.

  Sort of.

  Maybe.

  “You can come if you like,” Killian called out to the drummer.

  “Are there gonna be hot naked chicks?” Riley shouted over her shoulder.

  Killian paused to consider.

  “…most probably not, no.”

  “Then fuck off!” Riley yelled as she walked into the crowd.

  “Alright, that’s one off the list,” Killian said.

  “You didn’t seriously expect her to say ‘yes,’ did you?” Ryan asked. “You ask her every year, and she never says yes.”

  “I ask you every year.”

  “Yeah, and I never say ‘yes’ either.”

  Killian shrugged. “I try to be polite.”

  I looked at Ryan in alarm. How bad did something have to be for Riley to refuse to do it? “Why doesn’t she ever say ‘yes’?”

  “Riley’s drug of choice is booze,” Ryan explained. “She’s not interested in anything else.”

  “Except pussy!” Riley shouted, popping back into the conversation just long enough to scare the shit out of me, laugh maniacally, and disappear again.

  “Except that,” Ryan conceded.

  Killian turned back to me. “You’ll come along, right, luv? Pleeeeaaaase?”

  “I… I don’t know, Killian,” I said, when what I really meant was closer to Riley’s FUCK NO.

  “But if you don’t do it, then Derek won’t do it… and if Derek won’t do it, he won’t even come… and then I’ll be all alone, and it’s no fun all alone,” he whined.

  “Miles is going to let you do this?” I asked, shocked.

  “It’s in the unofficial contract,” Killian said as he puffed on his joint.

  I looked at Derek in bewilderment.

  He shrugged. “That’s Killian’s term for stuff Miles can’t say shit about. One is trying to stop Killian from smoking weed – ”

  “Forbidden to even mention it,” Killian said seriously.

  “ – and the other is Joshua Tree.”

  “You actually scheduled your concerts so he could do this?!”

  Derek and Ryan both nodded in resignation.

  “Please, Kaitlyn,” Killian said, putting his free hand – the one not fingering chords on the guitar – on my arm. “It’ll be grand. It’ll be like… Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas.”

  He paused upon seeing my alarmed expression.

  “Except in Joshua Tree,” he added hastily. “And no fear, no loathing. Just… love. And enlightenment.”

  “And a shitload of shrooms,” Derek chimed in.

  I remembered Hunter S. Thompson coming up in Derek’s and my first conversation, back in my dorm room in Athens four years ago. I remembered Derek talking about him being a great journalist for the ‘greatest music criticism magazine in the world.’

  Which I now represented, too.

  I didn’t know if I should take that for a sign or not.

  And then something happened that made me have to take it for a sign.

  “I’ll give you a proper interview,” Killian pleaded. “With long, expansive answers. Details galore.”

  Oh God.

  I just knew I was going to regret this.

  “…okay?...” I said nervously.

  “Yes!” he crowed, and wheeled around and did a victorious windmill swipe at his guitar, just like Pete Townsend in The Who.

  “Oh God,” Ryan said, and put his head in one hand.

  I looked at Derek fearfully. “Be honest: is this a really, really bad idea?”

  He grinned. “It’ll be memorable, I can guarantee you that. But it’s your call.”

  I chewed on my lower lip, then closed my eyes. “Okay.”

  “Then I’m going, too,” Ryan announced. He didn’t sound happy about it.

  Derek did a double-take. “What? Really?”

  Ryan sighed, rolled his eyes, and nodded.

  “YES!” Killian howled, doing two Pete Townsend windmill swipes at his guitar.

  Other than when he was up on stage and totally in the moment, it was a hundred times more emotion than I’d seen him display over the last three days, combined.

  “Why?” I asked Ryan.

  “Yeah, why?” Derek asked, sounding just a tiny bit suspicious.

  “You think I’m going to let Kaitlyn go wandering out there in the desert with you two while you’re high on shrooms?” Ryan said disapprovingly.

  “Trippin’ our balls off!” Killian said happily, and continued doing his Pete Townsend imitation.

  Ryan glanced at Killian, then turned back to Derek. “Yeah. Think again.”

  “So you’re going to do shrooms with us?”

  “HELL no. Somebody has to babysit you people.”

  “…babysit?” I whimpered.

  “What’d she say?!” Riley shouted across the room.

  “She said yes!” Killian called out happily as he kept windmilling away at his guitar.

  Riley cackled. “Your funeral, Blondie!”

  Now I was considering changing my mind.

  “You should stay here instead and fuck me!” Riley hooted.

  Okay, that decided it.

  I was absolutely, positively going to the desert and doing shrooms.

  58

  When Derek and I got back to the room, I was freaking out over what I had agreed to do.

  “I don’t know if I should,” I fretted.

  Derek stepped up behind me and wrapped me in his arms. “It’ll be fine.”

  “But it’s illegal.”

  “So is speeding. You ever speed?”

  “No! Wait – are you talking about the drug, or…?”

  He laughed and kissed my neck. “I’m talking about doing 70 in a 55 mile per hour zone, dummy.”

  That irked me a little. I don’t like being called a dummy.

  But I did feel a little stupid.

  “Oh. Yeah, of course.”

  “Okay, then. You were doing something illegal.”

  “They only fine you for that, they don’t throw you in jail!”

  He kissed his way up my neck and nibbled my ear. “You worry way too much, do you know that?”

  In spite of my nervousness over the Joshua Tree situation, my body responded the way Derek knew it would.

  Unnnhhhh.

  I melted a little in his arms as he continued to kiss my neck… but then the merry-go-round of thoughts started spinning again.

  “I need to be able to do my job.”

  “You will. That’s why you’re going.”

  “But what if we get caught?”

  “We won’t.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I break the law all the time, and I haven’t been caught yet.”

  “Yeah, you probably go 140 in a 55 mile per hour zone.”

  “That sounds like fun – but no, I’ve never done that.”

  “I was speaking metaphorically.”

  “Kaitlyn?”

  “What.”

  “You talk too much,” he whispered, and switched to nibbling on my other ear.

  Unnnnhhhhhh.

  “I… I…” I murmured, my eyes closed.

  “You just need to relax,” he whispe
red into my ear.

  “Relax…?”

  He guided me over to the bed and made me lie down. Then he took off my heels, hiked up my skirt, and hooked my panties in his fingers.

  A wild romp wasn’t really what I had in mind right now.

  “Derek – ”

  “Shhhh,” he whispered. He pulled off my panties and tossed them on the floor. “Relax.”

  I readied myself, trying to quiet the voices in my mind. Despite being stressed out, I was looking forward to seeing him strip down, watching his body in the dim light –

  But he didn’t do that.

  He sank down on the bed between my legs and softly pushed them apart.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, though it was pretty damn obvious what he was doing.

  “Shhhh… relax,” he said, and then he started kissing me.

  First it was my stomach… then the inside of my right thigh, then the left… his lips brushing over my skin… tickling me…

  All the while, my mind was churning.

  What if I get caught?

  What will Rolling Stone say?

  What will my parents say?

  What if I go to jail?

  But the thoughts became much, much slower… and much harder to formulate… the more he kissed.

  What if… something… goes wrong?

  What if… Miles… gets… mad… at…

  Unnnnhhhhh…

  “…Derek…”

  “…relax…” he whispered back, right before he began to kiss my pussy.

  And I’m not speaking metaphorically. Little kisses, his lips on mine, softly, sweetly. Then he would brush his lips over my skin, and I could feel myself getting wetter, my wetness on his lips as he kept kissing me, him using my own juices to slide over me, to make my skin pull slightly against his mouth with the barest amount of slippery friction.

  Unnnnnnhhhhhh.

  “Derek,” I whispered, my eyes closed, as I felt him kiss my clit… and again… over… and over…

  He stopped only long enough to whisper, “Relax…”

  And then he began to lick.

  Gentle wet slidings of his tongue over my pussy, around my clit, in the valley between my lips, edging the tiniest bit deeper and deeper into my body.

  I was so wet now.

  His mouth was so wet, too.

  And soft.

  And hot.

  He caressed me with his tongue, the rhythm hypnotic, the sensations so sensual.

  And then the tip of his tongue entered me as deep as he could go.

  This time, I said it out loud, or rather moaned it out loud: “Unnnnnhhhhh…”

  The tip of his tongue ran along the inside of me, then back out, up to my clit… and began lapping, softly, quietly, gently.

  Back when I was a kid, there were these pieces of sugary bubblegum I used to buy at the store. Little hard pink cylinders, individually wrapped and dusted with sugar. The best part was when you took it out of the wrapper and popped it in your mouth. With that first taste, all the sugar just burst out over your tongue, filling your mouth with unbelievable sweetness.

  That’s what my pussy felt like now.

  Sweetness.

  Sugar.

  Soft and warm and wet with pleasure as his tongue lapped at me, caressed me, played with me, teased me, pleased me.

  I could feel the tension building, that sugary-sweet high getting higher, even better, so gentle, so incredibly hot, as his tongue kept lapping at my clit, his wetness and mine one, slippery skin on skin –

  And then I was coming.

  It wasn’t the explosive fireworks of earlier, but a gently swelling wave that kept getting higher, and higher, and higher, and just when I didn’t think I could go any further, it came rushing down – not crashing, but like a gentle, powerful pulsing – all through my legs, up into my stomach, my chest, my head, like warm water infusing every part of my body, and I arched my back and moaned as he kept licking me so sweetly.

  After the wave of pleasure dissipated, I lay there on the bed, melting into the sheets, my breath coming and going in quiet little sighs.

  “…are you relaxed?” he whispered from between my thighs, grinning at me.

  “…yes…” I whispered back, and smiled. “…but I think I need to relax some more…”

  All told, he ‘relaxed’ me two more times before he slowly peeled off the rest of my clothes. I finally got to see him undress, to watch those muscles etched in shadow as he took off his shirt. To finally see his cock, long and thick and gorgeous – and which had entirely soaked through his underwear as he pulled it away, a single strand of pre-cum connected from the swollen head to his belly like a silver strand in the dim lamplight.

  This time I didn’t have to ask, he just got a condom and rolled it down his entire length, then got on the bed and eased his weight on top of me. I shivered with delight as I felt him slowly, gently push his thickness into me, easing inside me. I moaned all over again as he completely filled me up. His kisses on my mouth were soft and sweet as he rocked back and forth, moving slowly, in and out, filling me, massaging me with his hardness and thickness the way he had caressed me earlier with his tongue. I could feel his body tensing, and I clutched his ass and sighed in his ear as I felt him suddenly strain and then spasm, his cock growing even larger in one short burst after another, him grunting and crying out, and then he slowed down and laid there, his face in the crook of my neck, breathing softly on my skin.

  “…I like relaxing…” I whispered impishly.

  He laughed, then kissed me.

  59

  And thus I found myself driving across the California desert the next afternoon in a 1969 Mercedes convertible with three of the four members of the hottest rock band in the world.

  Joshua Tree is almost two hours due east of Los Angeles. Which means we had a good bit further to go from San Diego. Everybody got up late, as they always did, so we didn’t actually hit the road until 2PM.

  Derek drove, and I sat beside him in the front seat. Ryan and Killian were in the back. Killian was plinking away on a guitar, as always.

  “Beautiful car, mate,” he called out.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Derek agreed.

  “You’re welcome,” Ryan said playfully from the backseat.

  Derek glanced in the rearview mirror. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did you pay yourself back yet?”

  “I haven’t exactly had time, what with all the drug trips out to the desert,” Ryan deadpanned.

  Their little exchange sparked a memory from the car dealership.

  I turned around and looked at Ryan. “Derek said something when we bought it – do you really handle all his money?”

  “Yup.”

  I looked over at Derek in shock.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You let him handle your bank account?!”

  “And SEP IRA, and Roth IRA, and investments, and life insurance…” Ryan rattled off.

  I stared at Derek with my mouth wide open. “Seriously?!”

  Derek shrugged. “I trust him.”

  “Yeah, but – that’s crazy!”

  “Why?”

  “Why don’t you just get an accountant?”

  “I already have one,” Derek grinned. “He plays bass in my band. And he’s on call 24/7.”

  “Yeah, unfortunately,” Ryan snorted.

  “And you don’t mind?” I asked Ryan.

  “I’d rather do it than see him blow all his money,” Ryan said, then added disapprovingly, “Which he tries to do anyway.”

  Derek shook his head like Not THIS again. “Ninety-five grand is hardly all my money.”

  “It is when you could’ve rented one for fifty bucks.”

  “I am not going to ride around in a Ford Focus.”

  “Then rent a Porsche.”

  “I didn’t have a credit card.”

  “Which is why I get weird calls at 2AM,”
Ryan said to me, then did a pretty funny imitation of Derek’s rumbling voice. “‘Hey, man, I just ran up a three thousand dollar bar tab – can you spot me, bro?’”

  Derek laughed. “Think of it as a financial booty call.”

  “If it were a financial booty call, then I’d at least get something out of it.”

  “I told you, dude, pay yourself a fee!”

  Ryan waved him off. “I’m not going to do that.”

  “You guys are crazy,” I said, shaking my head.

  “One of us is,” Ryan agreed.

  “Yeah, but who is it: the guy with the bitchin’ car, or the guy who gets calls at 2AM and does all the work paying for the bitchin’ car?” Derek joked.

  Ryan considered, then nodded in agreement. “Touché.”

  I looked over the seat at the lead guitarist. “You don’t handle Killian’s money, too, do you?”

  “No way,” Ryan joked. “I couldn’t possibly keep up with the volume of pot sales. And I refuse to get involved in anything that might have the DEA banging down my door.”

  “Ryan’s a bit uptight,” Killian said to me. “He needs to smoke once in a while, mellow him out.”

  “Amen,” Derek agreed.

  “Yeah, no thanks,” Ryan said.

  “Speaking of which…” Killian said, and brought out a tiny little handheld object.

  Since the convertible’s top was down and the hot desert air was rushing past us at 85 miles per hour, there was no way to keep a joint lit – so Killian was instead taking hits off a handheld vaporizer. It was a fancy-schmancy, beautifully crafted piece of metal and plastic that fit in the palm of his hand.

  After he took a toke, he offered it to me with a look of Would you like some? He didn’t actually say it out loud, because he was holding his breath, letting the pot vapor work its magic in his lungs.

  “No thanks,” I said hastily.

  “Somebody else is a little uptight, too,” Derek joked.

  I poked him playfully in the side. “Hey – who’s going out to do drugs in the desert for the first time?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, to get an interview out of it.”

  I looked back at Killian. “Speaking of which…”

  “Ohhhh, why’d you have to go and do that?” Killian complained to Derek. “And here I was hoping she’d gone and forgot about it.”

  “Not likely, dude.”

  “More like not even remotely possible,” I said as I pulled out the Zoom recorder and turned it on. “Okay – let’s try this again. When did you start playing the guitar?”