Rock All Night (The Rock Star's Seduction #2) (21 page)

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 whispered 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.

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?”

“When I was a boy.”

“What age?”

“Five, I think.”

I waited.

He just looked back at me placidly.

“Killian – ” I warned him.

He sighed, resigned. “Me grandpop had a bunch of old 45s. You know, the little records? Bo Diddley, and Chuck Berry, and Muddy Waters. He was in a band back in the ‘60’s, back when the Stones were comin’ up, and back then they were all into the blues, so that’s what he had mostly. I used to sit in front of the record player and just listen to ‘em, over and over. I was obsessed. And so I asked for a guitar for my birthday. Didn’t get it. Said I was too little, hands wouldn’t fit right. And I basically said bollocks to that, and I nicked 20 quid from me mum’s pocketbook – it was payday, I remember that – and I walked down to the pawnshop and I said, ‘I want a guitar.’ And the pawn broker gave me the most rubbish one you’ve ever seen. Acoustic. Looked like somebody’d taken a hatchet to it, but I was so fuckin’ proud of it. Took it back home and hid it in the attic where nobody would look for it.

“A few days later me mum figured out who stole her money, and asked me what it was for. I was afraid she’d make me take the guitar back if I told, so I said it was for sweets. She said that was a hell of a lot of sweets, and where were they. I couldn’t think of anything, so I told her I gave them all away to my friends. So she thrashed my hide, but at least I got to keep the guitar.

“Anytime I was alone – which was quite a bit, actually – I snuck up to the attic and plugged away at it. Basically taught myself to play. I would ask street musicians how to do such and such, and they would laugh and show me, and then I would go back to the attic and practice what they showed me, and that’s how I learned.

“Then one day me mum found the guitar, and brought it out and asked, ‘Where’d you get this,’ and I said, ‘I bought it.’ And she said, ‘Where,’ and I said, ‘The pawn shop.’ And she said, ‘With what,’ and I didn’t answer her. And she said ‘Tell me or I’m goin’ to give you a beatin’,’ so I said, ‘With that money I nicked and said was for sweets.’ She got all angry at me, tellin’ me how she was going to go back to the pawn shop and sell back the guitar – until I yelled, ‘But I can play it.’ And she said, ‘No you can’t, you’re too little,’ and I said, ‘Yes I can.’ So she gave me the guitar and I played it for her. It was bloody awful, though I guess it wasn’t too bad for a five-year-old who taught himself to play. And Mum was gobsmacked. She started crying, and after that she bought me a proper guitar, and she found a fellow round the way who was in a band, and he gave me lessons, and that was that, as they say.”

The way he recounted the story in his lilting accent was charming. I could imagine a five-year-old Killian defiantly standing up to his mother, desperate to keep his guitar.

Ryan looked at him strangely. “I never knew that.”

Derek looked in the rearview mirror. “Neither did I.”

Killian sighed, exasperated. “I’m giving up all my secrets today, apparently.”

And he did. I grilled him for the entire car ride, finding out when he had joined his first band (he was 14 – everybody else in the band was 17 and 18, but they let him in because he was ten times better than any of them). I found out when he had started smoking pot (14 again – he was introduced to it by his fellow band members). I found out that he was an only child, that his father had died when he was a baby, and that his mother had raised him by herself with help from her parents.

Plus I heard a host of colorful stories about Miles.

They had met when Killian was 24 and did some session recording for a band that Miles was managing. Apparently Miles was every bit as scary back then, too. No one knew where he’d gotten the scar on his face, but he had it when Killian met him. It was rumored that he’d gotten into a knife fight with a thug who ran a venue and cheated one of Miles’ bands out of their cut of the door proceeds. Miles got thirty stitches; the thug got two weeks in the hospital.

“But that’s just a rumor,” Killian said.

“Do you believe it, though?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” he said seriously.

It was funny – over and over again, Derek and Ryan would exclaim, “I didn’t know that.” Apparently it wasn’t just me; Killian was extremely reserved with everyone around him. But he kept to his promise, and answered every question I posed him.

The one thing I couldn’t pin him down on was his romantic history. He hemmed and hawed, and would only admit to ‘seeing some bird named Lucy’ or ‘going around with a lovely girl named Jane.’

“As in ‘Mary Jane’?” Derek joked.

“Come on, Killian,” I prodded. “Details.”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” he said primly, and would say no more on the topic.