Savage: A Rockstar Romance (The Rock Legend Series Book 1)

by L. V. Lewis

  I cup her face in my hands and stare into her sad eyes. “If he hadn’t been such a selfish prick, he could’ve helped you with your technique instead of making you feel like shit and going out to get it elsewhere,” I spit out in anger.

  She dries her tears on her sleeve. “Do you think you could coach me on my technique? I promise I won’t ask a ton of questions in the middle of it—I’ll just listen to you.”

  I laugh. “I’d be happy to coach you. If you do what comes naturally, concentrating on enhancing the feeling, and not worrying about messing up, you’ll do just fine.” She smiles, relieved that I’m willing to help her.

  By the time she hits her stride in oral skills, blowing the hell out of me, we’re both spent. I end up staying the night, or what little of the morning is left, with Sky before leaving for the airport in the limo.

  EIGHT

  BRODY

  DAY TEN

  Sky rips her earpiece out.

  “I can’t hear my sound properly in the room,” she says, frustrated. She frowns.

  Sound check in London is an utter disaster from the word go. The venue has recently undergone massive renovations, but failed to take into account the acoustics. I could leave it to the sound engineers to figure out later, but I don’t want to see her crash and burn right out of the gate.

  I also have an ulterior motive for getting shit done. She’s agreed to sightsee with me in all the cities we visit—contingent on getting our work done first.

  I approach the guys in the booth.

  They’re scratching their heads and asses in confusion, but look askance at me when they notice I’ve joined them.

  I put them out of their misery. “Hey, the reverb times are for shit in here, giving this venue an equally shitty quality of presence. Until the builder can get in here and undo some of the improper acoustical treatments, you could just fix it with active acoustic technology. That will create a virtual acoustic space to achieve a workable musical environment for Skylar.”

  A lightbulb appears to turn on in their heads simultaneously.

  “Bollocks!” One of them exclaims under his breath.

  I wink at them and walk away. “Cool,” I say over my shoulder. “Skylar will return for the final soundcheck an hour before practice tomorrow.”

  Sky bats her eyelashes at me when I walk back onto the stage. “My hero!” She runs up to me and plants a wet, juicy kiss on my cheek.

  I shrug. “Mmm…that remains to be seen.” I offer her my arm like a proper English gentleman.

  Then I shout to Malik who is standing nearby, “Let’s blow this joint!”

  We go to the waiting limo, and Malik, aided by venue security, clears the path for us through the overly zealous fans hoping to get a glimpse of Sky.

  She still manages to reward a few fans by signing CD cases, magazines, and t-shirts for them.

  Sky’s fans, while rabid at times, are for the most part, well behaved. The Savages’ fans were known for gifting us with their underwear, boobs, and sometimes, bare asses for autographs. Of course, her fan base is relatively younger, given that she just graduated from bubblegum pop a couple of years ago.

  Once Malik, Sky, and I are safely in the limo, we breathe a collective sigh-of-relief. While most musicians appreciate their fans, they never truly know if a psycho is in their midst ready to do them harm. Crazy, I know, but Malik is exceptional at protecting Sky with his body at all times. There isn’t any doubt that, like the loyal Secret Service agent who protects the President from harm, Malik would take a bullet for Sky if need be.

  Malik and I sparred once before we left LA. He wanted to “see what I was working with,” to paraphrase his words. I guess the joke was on me because he’s one hell of a skilled fighter. I must not have been too shabby, because he’s asked me to spar with him a couple of times a week during the tour. I just hope my ribs and I don’t live to regret my decision.

  “Back to the hotel,” Malik barks to the driver.

  “You’re not going sightseeing with us?” Sky asks with a pout.

  “Nothing to see, but old-assed buildings and ruins, all of which I’ve seen before,” Malik says. “Wash off that makeup and go low-key with Brody.”

  Looks like I’ve just gotten the seal of approval from the former Special Forces Marine. “Hey Malik, I’ve been meaning to ask if you were stationed here while in the Marines?”

  He grunts something that sounds like a yes.

  “And he’s still just a big old teddy bear,” Sky teases.

  A teddy bear that will turn into a grizzly in a heartbeat if anyone behaves inappropriately toward his client. Yet, Sky’s not just his client. In the seven years he’s been in her employ, they’ve become friends—good friends. I have no doubt that her big old teddy bear views her like a niece. In fact, Malik’s probably old enough to be her father. He may be old enough to have fathered Sky, but I don’t think even he’d be brave enough to bed the barracuda.

  I shake off the visual of Mama Samuelson and Malik in bed and turn toward Sky. “Where to first, my lady?” I use my best English accent to make her smile.

  “We are in modern-day London,” she reminds me. “What century is that accent from?”

  “Ha. Ha. Hell, I don’t know. I probably heard it on Game of Thrones.”

  She laughs. “Get it straight, Kent. These Brits won’t stand for you mucking up their vernacular.”

  “Bloody hell,” I say, and pounce on her, tickling her until she’s bent over laughing. “Can’t a man talk however he bloody well pleases in this day and age?”

  She’s screaming with laughter now. “Stop it, Brody… Oh, God, please stop!”

  “You’d better stop dude,” Malik interjects. He doesn’t play. “If you make Sky fuck up her vocal cords again, I’m going to have to beat you down… again. Nope, scratch that, Mrs. Samuelson is going to geld you.”

  I stop immediately. I really think he’s serious.

  Damn, I’d forgotten about her vocal cord issues.

  Malik laughs, cackling like a fucking hyena almost all the way to the hotel. Contrary to what Malik thinks, I haven’t gotten it twisted. I know exactly who’s in charge.

  Sky and I have connecting hotel suites, and this solves one very significant problem. At least here in London, neither her entourage nor the paparazzi can get any shots of me visiting her room after hours.

  We are lounging in my soaker tub after a grueling six hours of sightseeing, desperate to soak the soreness out of our muscles due to walking on cobbled streets, up countless levels of stairs, and through craggy terrain surrounding Stonehenge.

  Sky’s head rests against the rim of one end of the tub, while mine rests at the other. We relax and close our tired eyes in companionable silence.

  After a while Sky murmurs, “I have a suggestion…”

  I open my eyes and stare at Sky. “Yeah, what is it?”

  She smiles. “Let’s stretch out our sightseeing escapades at our next location, mm-kay?”

  I furrow my brows. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Okay, I’ll make a note of that.” Then, I close my eyes again.

  But she keeps talking, “And, let’s do room service tonight, ’kay?”

  I nod my head, but my eyes remain closed, tightly. “Okay.”

  Sky and I are acting like Kim and me during the early days. It’s scary to think that I’m going through a similar phase with someone else, but it’s kind of exhilarating, too.

  We stuff our faces with a variety of foods from the hotel menu. I’m somewhat recovered from the busy day, but Sky keeps nodding off like a junkie.

  Finally, I ask her, “Are you ready to turn in?”

  She jumps at the sound of my voice, shaking off her impending slumber. She rubs her eyes. “Nope, we’re gonna finish watching this movie.”

  I smile, knowing that the only thing she’s been doing for the past hour is catnapping on my shoulder. “Umm…Sky, the movie has been watching you for half an hour.”

  “What
? Fine, let’s go to bed then.” She stands up and stretches like a feline.

  I pick up the remote lying on the coffee table and turn the television off.

  As I expected, she walks toward my bedroom, not hers.

  “You’ve got a full day of rehearsal tomorrow.” I’m attempting to be a good manager.

  “So?” She stifles a yawn.

  I pause and ask her, “Are you sure you want to sleep in this room and not in that one?” I point from my bedroom to hers for emphasis.

  She nods sleepily. “Mmm… yeah, I’m good. Thanks.” She continues to walk toward my bedroom, stripping out of her clothes as she goes. I shake my head and follow her.

  Once inside the room, a good night kiss sparks the embers, and a hot and a heavy makeout session kindles a roaring flame. I have eaten her out to one epic orgasm, and now she’s returning the favor. It’s only taken a couple of days with my instruction for her to become quite adept at giving a spectacular blowjob.

  I must say, now she’s a pro at it. She really knows how to relax her throat muscles, so she doesn’t repeatedly gag through it, like some novice chicks do. I figure this talent is connected to her singing or breathing, but maybe she’s just a fucking natural. I don’t know, but I’m fucking loving getting the benefit of it.

  Sky doubles down and massages my rock hard cock with her hot, tongue, and my eyes roll back from the sensation.

  She sucks hard, releases slightly, and squeezes my balls. She repeats this action again, causing me to thrust further into her open, eager mouth. I almost knock her over with my force, but I can’t help it, and she doesn’t protest.

  She continues to fellate me until I shoot my load into the condom, which I’ve insisted on wearing to make her feel safer. Not that we need it, she promised me that the last time she had sex was seven months ago and I believe her. She’s clean.

  My last client was mostly just a toe-sucker, but just as a safety precaution, I had a thorough examination afterwards. Unfortunately, I didn’t get the results back prior to leaving LA, but I promised Sky I would share my results once I received them. In the meantime, however, we decided to use condoms.

  I make sure Sky is still wet for me by teasing her slit with the tip of my cock, rubbing the broad head of it against her puffy, slippery clit. She moans loudly and I push just the tip of it into her. It stretches her and she closes her eyes, savoring the sensation. My cock throbs with the anticipation of being buried inside her. She is so tight. I love making love to her, and I don’t think I will ever tire of fucking her. She is responsive and likes it a little rough—my personal preference—so, I may just be good for the duration. I slow my movements, almost to stopping, at that thought.

  “What’s wrong?” She pulls her lips away, nipping my bottom lip with her teeth in the process. She squeezes me with her pelvic muscles, as if to prevent me from moving away.

  My cock throbs with an intense need to be buried inside of her—despite my wayward thoughts taking some weird segue as I’m fucking her.

  “Nothing.” I begin moving again, trying to re-capture our natural rhythm.

  She meets me thrust-for-thrust, rolling her body the way I like, working me deeper and deeper into her snug, wet, tightness.

  She begins to tremble beneath me, and I know she’s almost there. I arch my back filling her even further. I reach between us so I can effectively circle her clit with my fingers—I want her release to mimic my own.

  I move in a staccato fashion.

  “Come with me, Sky.” My voice is guttural, frantic. I speed up yet again.

  “Oh—fuck—yes!” she screams through her orgasm.

  She falls apart beneath me, gripping the sheets. The look of raw unadulterated pleasure lingers on her face.

  “Brody—” she gasps and her body writhes.

  “Shit, Sky. I’m with you, baby, I’m oh fuck…”

  My blood is like fire, and my muscles contract and quiver. My orgasm rips through me the same way it does every time I’m with Sky.

  Sky milks me, grabs my ass, and rolls her hot body beneath me.

  The aftershocks hit me like a thousand mini earthquakes.

  Once the tremors stop, I slowly pull out of her, and collapse, exhausted by her side.

  “You are a rock star,” she says. This strikes me as funny as hell, and then Sky laughs too, and I roll off the bed so I can remove the second condom we’ve expended for the night.

  I quickly discard it in the wastebasket and slide back into bed. I gather her slippery body against me and kiss her. We lay on our sides for a while. My muscles go on strike, refusing to move, and I assume she’s experiencing the same damn thing.

  “Jesus, Sky. Is it always going to be like this? I came so hard my cock hurts.”

  She giggles, and curls into me; she presses her soft, bruised lips to my throat. “I guess I should probably catch my breath for a minute. Feel how fast my heart is beating.”

  I touch her neck near her carotid. “Whoa, girl. Slow down! Deep breaths.”

  She takes a few deep breaths and giggles again. Her heaving begins to slow. “I can’t believe how good it is with you... Connor never…”

  I can tell by the rapid change in her body temperature that she’s blushing. “Well, Connor is a bonafide asshole.”

  She bursts into laughter. “Yes, he is.”

  I stare into her eyes. “Look Sky, you’re an incredible lover. Don’t let Connor or anyone else—even me—tell you anything different.”

  I really don’t think she needs a boost of confidence. I mean she’s really fucking incredible.

  I lie there, in the quiet aftermath of our lovemaking, content. We hold each other while breathing in tandem, our heartbeats synced like metronomes.

  And I am scared shitless for what this all may mean.

  Day Sixteen

  There’s something about Paris that’ll fuck you up if you’re a commitment-phobe. The quaint hotels, restaurants, and shops are designed for couples who are looking for romance in The City of Lights, and if you’re not careful, you’ll buy right into that shit. I did—right after we finished her Parisian concert and still had a couple of days to recuperate before flying to Berlin.

  Our routine for each city was already established, so on our final night in Paris, Sky and I dine at a local oyster bar near the Arc de Triomphe. We indulge in dozens of the aphrodisiacs and a couple of bottles of crisp white wine, which masquerades as something light but packs quite a punch. Then we share a brioche feuilletée, a decadent cinnamon roll, minus the cinnamon, served with candied fruit and homemade vanilla ice cream.

  Sky’s eyes roll back after biting into this delicious dessert for the first time. “Oh my God! This tastes like an orgasm in dessert-form.”

  It’s kind of a “When Harry Met Sally” moment because a few people around us hear her clearly and laugh.

  She looks around at her audience and her freckled face turns beet red. She giggles. “Oops, did I just say that aloud?!”

  I nod and take another bite of the confection. “Yep.” She’s adorable when she says or does something totally unexpected.

  An elderly couple on the way out stops at our table and smiles. The little lady winks and says, “Your girlfriend is right.”

  Sky cringes, as if she expects the other shoe to fall but we’re incognito, so the couple doesn’t realize she’s the American pop singer who just filled the city with thousands of pop music fans a couple of nights ago.

  “I just may take offense at being upstaged by a dessert,” I say and the couple laughs.

  “Tell me about it,” the little old man agrees, and the couple shuffles out of the restaurant, still laughing.

  Sky digs into the dessert again, and with a mouthful of the confection says, “I’m just going to pretend that didn’t happen.”

  The couple’s insistence that Sky was my girlfriend travels through my mind. What the fuck? In their defense, however, we have been acting like love-struck puppies for the last few weeks. My
chest tightens, my lungs squeezing painfully as I breathe in. What the fuck?

  A Girlfriend…

  Maybe, in another lifetime, if I hadn’t fucked up my life and Kim’s the way I did. Ironically, just three weeks into Sky’s European Tour and I’m romancing a woman yet again. And, the scary thing is that I’m not sure I could stop if I tried. I mean, it’s Paris, The City of Love after all. But what if I simply don’t want to stop, regardless of what happens in the future?

  I am drawn to her, and it’s damn near instinctual the way I respond to her. She makes me feel things I haven’t allowed myself to feel in a very long time—things I used to resist out of some kind of fucked-up shame—shame stemming from the last time I loved a girl, and she died.

  “Hey there. Where’d you go?” Her voice brings tears to my eyes. Sky’s beautiful eyes have a habit of covering me, pulling me in, and dragging me under—all at the same damn time.

  “Sky….” I look up toward the ceiling and utter her name. My voice is hoarse with a sadness that threatens to overwhelm me. I search inside of myself to ascertain my next move, a way to resolve the feelings warring inside me—to exercise the partially won integrity I now operate under. “I’m no good for you...”

  She slowly leans over the small table toward me, her eyes never leaving my own. “Don’t I have a say in that?” she murmurs.

  I shrug because truthfully I don’t know what else to do. “Of course you do.”

  She folds her arms across her chest in defiance. “I made my choice the night of the party. And nothing has changed.”

  I shake my head. “You must want… more.”

  She lays her palm on the middle of my chest. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t…” She sighs and continues, “It would be great if I could have your heart... along with your body.”

  She doesn’t pull any punches as she lays herself bare, not knowing if I’m going to run for the hills, leaving her in a lurch–without a capable P.A., part-time lover, or whatever the hell else I’ve become to her.

  I press my lips together for a few seconds before speaking. “I don’t think I can give you what you want… need. I’m sorry, Sky. I really am.” The words feel hateful coming from me after everything we’ve shared, but it’s the truth. My ugly truth. “I’ve got baggage you wouldn’t believe.”