Rush (Pandemic Sorrow #2) (5 page)

Her heavily lined eyes popped open and she took a sharp intake of air, swallowing and, I’m certain, trying to decide how to make that comment seem less condescending. I loved making them nervous. It was a game, and I loved playing games with beautiful women.

“Fucking a rock star is a bad decision?” I asked again, this time slipping my hand underneath her short skirt and palming her pussy. Her panties were already soaking wet just from being that damn close to me. Fame was pretty much foreplay.

“It doesn’t seem like your body thinks it’s that bad of decision, in fact…seems like it’s a fucking
great
decision, seeing as how you’re dripping fucking wet.” I leaned in by her ear and whispered, “You gonna touch me, or what?”

Her fingers quickly found their way to my jeans, nervously fumbling with the fly. She closed her eyes and inched her way toward my lips, but I dodged her.

“I don’t kiss fans.” I stopped, realizing I had made out with several girls on stage not even an hour before. Clearing my throat, I corrected that statement as her fingers wrapped around my hard dick. “I either fuck fans, or kiss fans. I don’t do both.”

“Hey, man. Catch!” Jag got my attention and tossed a pillow at me. “Got these made the other day just for such an occasion.”

I picked up the pillow and looked at it. It had our band logo on it, and underneath the logo it read: Suck a cock, save some knees.

“How thoughtful.” I dropped the pillow to the floor, certain that maybe that would be what pissed her off enough to make her storm out of the room calling me a dick. “Feel free to use that service pillow right there, sweetheart. It takes a lot of work to get me off.”

She didn’t even care. Without warning she dropped to her knees, running her tongue up my shaft. Cupping my balls, she forced as much of me as she could in her warm, wet mouth. I leaned against the cold wall and fisted her hair, guiding her mouth over me the way I liked it.

I tried to keep sex as primitive and emotionless as possible. I didn’t need intimacy. I just needed the pleasure, the satisfaction of getting off. All I wanted was the feeling of being a man, of having a woman depend on me to fulfill the most basic need there was. Who the fuck needs love? That shit was too complicated.

Chapter 7

We’d been on Interstate 10 for hours. Everything looked the same: deserted, flat, and hot. Road trips lost their luster after the first few days. There were too many people in one small space, and I swear after a few days on the road we all got delirious. The most entertaining thing, at times, was watching Jag torture Jules.

I sat on the bench seat in the tour bus, laid out, feet crossed, one arm behind my head as I flipped through the channels on the plasma screen. Jag and Jules were the only two still up, and we’d all been sitting in silence for way too long.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Jag get up and, seconds later, Jules was screaming.

“Get,” Jules grunted, “off of me!”

I looked over and found Jag straddling Jules, ass in her face. He had her arms pinned down with his knees, and he used his hands to keep her legs from kicking him. “Just. One. More… ahhh, there.” A look of bliss fogged over his face, and he let Jules go. “Silent ones are always the best. Was really hoping for a slow squeaker, but I can’t tell my asshole how to sing.”

She jumped up, gagging and smacking her hands all over any part of Jag she could. “You are sick. Why,
why,
do you do that to me?”

Jag scurried to the table, diving into the seat and laughing hysterically. “Tink, I do it because the look on your face makes my heart happy.”

“Ugh.” She coughed and fanned the air around her. “Thanks for your help, Rush!”

I shrugged. “What do you expect me to do? I don’t want him to fart on me. You want me to tell James he should give you a raise because you get gassed? I mean, I can do that.”

She sighed and sank down on the couch.

Silence fell over the bus again. Jules and Jag where both messing with their phones, and my eyes kept veering from the TV to Jules.

“Why the hell do we dart back and forth, huh? I mean, we just left California and are on our way through Texas to go to Indiana, then back to Texas, then Colorado, then Atlanta, then Ohio, then to Las Vegas. That doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.” I uncrossed my legs and mumbled, “I fucking hate being all cramped up in this bus.”

Jag let out a loud huff, shook his head, then ran his hand through his hair. “Fuck, man!” He stood up and paced down the narrow aisle while staring down at his phone. “Just fuck!” His fist banged against the wall, the abrupt noise startling me.

I figured I should ask why he was punching stuff, although I was certain the answer would have something to do with that psychotic, anorexic fuck buddy/girlfriend of his.

“What?” I asked, shifting my gaze from Jules to him. “River?”

“Nah, nah—not River. It’s just…man, it’s complicated.” He shoved his phone in his pocket. “Hey, you got some planks or something? I need something to knock my ass out.”

“Yeah, check my bag. Front pocket, second zipper.”

“Fucking hell. Give me a damn break, this can’t be real,” Jag groaned as he made his way toward the bunks in the back of the bus. “This is not real. It’s fucked up, that’s what it is.”

I continued flipping stations and stopped when it landed on something that looked like it could possibly be soft porn.

“Really?” Jules snapped.

“Uh, yeah. Really.” I narrowed one eye at her. “Don’t act like such a damn prude. I
know
you’re a freak in the sack, remember? You’re still in my top three fucks of all time. And that’s saying a lot!”

She rolled her eyes and turned in her seat to face me. “Damn it, Rush! Not the fucking TV—
Jag
! I mean, you’re just going to casually give him some pills?”

“It’s not like he’s still sober.” I wet my top lip and laughed. “So, yeah, Jules, I am. Like you can say anything. Hell, you wait on him hand and foot. You fucking have a tray of coke set to the side of the stage for him.”

“I know…” She buried her face in her hands then slid them down her cheeks. “God, I know. I have to, though. I mean, he’s got to put on a show. James would murder us all if Jag choked. I honestly don’t think he could do it without the damn drugs.” She pulled in a breath and stared at her lap. “Do you remember those first few shows, before he started using? How many times did we have to drag him out of the bathroom, puking from nerves? He’s more normal when he’s high than when he’s sober.”

My eyes stayed trained on the TV, and all I could think was that she didn’t know what Jag was like normal. He was more a rock god when he was high; he was normal when he was sober.

“My God. I just…I just worry about him, you know.” She shook her head. “His dad and all. And fucking River doesn’t help anything. I really hope they are done, because I don’t like her at all. She’s a complete bitch.” Jules’ green eyes flew up to mine; she looked desperate.

“We just can’t let him OD again. We got to—we got to keep his using to a minimum.” She nodded like she was convincing herself that was good enough, and her eyes fell back to her lap. “I wish he had stayed sober. I was so proud of him, but I knew when the touring started again that would end. James is like the damn devil,” she paused, then whispered, “and I’m not much better, I guess, am I?”

I ignored the question because we all felt the same way about Jag. We knew Jag had a problem, but we all had our own problems. His was just really,
really
bad.

We all used, he just depended on it a little more, so what the hell could any of us really do? I focused on the naked girl on the screen, hoping Jules would just stop talking about it.

“You’re his best friend, Rush. Do something,” she pleaded.

It was hard. This job was tiresome, and honestly, I don’t know how anyone does it
without
the fucking drugs.

I stared at her, dumbfounded, for a minute. “How can I jump his ass about it? Oh, I know, maybe one day while I’m leaned over a line I can smack him in the back of the head and yell out, ‘What the hell are you doing, dipshit? That stuff will kill you.’ Then suck back a line and grin.”

I shook my head. The fact that Jules thought I could do something about it was insane. The only difference when it came to me and Jag and drugs was that his was an addiction, mine was a habit. Drugs for me were just fun, but for Jag they were part of life. Regardless, I wasn’t a hypocrite, and I refused to be.

Jules flung her head against the wall of the bus in defeat. I knew she felt terrible about it, but I couldn’t help her out.

“Sorry. It just doesn’t make sense. I’m not much better than him.”

Jules shook her head. “You both need help, but at least you aren’t constantly shoving shit down your throats and up your noses.”

I glared at her. “Don’t forget about shooting shit up on those extra tough days.” I needed to drive home the fact that I was helpless when it came to Jag.

I concentrated on the TV again, trying to shove the thoughts of what a shitty friend I was for letting him just lose himself in that shit again, and my gaze slowly wandered back over to Jules. She was still staring down into her lap, picking at her nails. That’s what she did when she was hurt, mad, or confused. Picking at her nails was her nervous habit; mine was jerking one off.

The bus veered off the road momentarily, bumping over the reflectors, and I got a little turned on when I saw the flesh of her tits jiggling in rhythm with the thumps.

“And just what the hell are you looking at?” she groaned.

Without moving my eyes away from her chest, I arched one brow, flipped one side of my lip up, and said, “Your tits.” I raked my eyes over her body, then up to her face, locking my gaze on hers. “I really want to suck on them again. It’d make me feel better about Jag having a drug problem. Probably make you feel better about it too.”

She flung her hands up into the air and huffed. “I swear to God, I’ve got to find another job. You guys are just fucktards! Perverted, horny-ass fucktards!”

“Yeah, yeah.” I waved my hand at her. “Whatever, Jules. Keep pretending you didn’t like it if you want. But I know different. You wanted that shit. I didn’t even have to try. By the time I got your panties off of you, shit was dripping down your legs. And if you hadn’t been that into it, there’s no way we would have thought you broke my damn dick.”

“You know what?” She quickly jumped up from the chair. “I’m going to bed. Enjoy your porno and enjoy jerking one off. Just make sure you clean that shit up, okay?”

I laughed. “I’ll make sure to
come
in your bunk right before I finish. You feel something warm and wet splatter on your face in your sleep, it’s just me. Don’t worry.”

Groaning, she rolled her eyes, and just before she passed by me, I jumped up and blocked the hallway.

Jules froze, her nostrils flaring as she glared at me.

I flattened my palm out over the slick, black walls of the tour bus and inched closer to her face. “Tell me you didn’t like it.”

“Not in the least. I had a moment of weakness, that’s all. You were just a piece of dick.” She glared at me as the bus veered off the road again, this time swerving violently back into the lane. The harsh motion caused Jules to fall into me, and I took the opportunity to pull her in against me.

Pushing my face toward hers, I whispered, “You fucking liked it. And you want more of it.” I skirted my tongue down the side of her neck, blowing over the wet trail I’d left behind.

Jules shook her body free from me, jerking her hips out of my grasp and smacking her hand against my chest several times. “Get the hell out of my way.” Shoving me out of her path, she stomped to her bunk at the end of the hallway.

She was pissed because I’d called her out.

I collapsed on the seat and glanced back up to the TV screen, but I couldn’t focus on it. Jules rubbed me in ways a woman never had. I’d recalled the night I’d fucked her a hundred times—hell, some of the best masturbating I’d done was to that memory—and I still wasn’t exactly sure how I’d managed to get her in that hotel room. If I could’ve figured that out, I could guarantee it would’ve happened again, and again, and again.

Fucking her was the first time I’d felt excitement like that; it was the
only
time I’d felt my nerves bundle up like that, and the sex had been unbelievable. We did it at least four or five times. By the time we stopped, the sheets had been ripped off the bed, the mattress hung off the frame, and there wasn’t a sacred place in that room. And ever since then, I hadn’t been able to get her out of my mind.

Chapter 8

After the incident in the bus, Jules avoided me like I was the reaper of death. She’d barely even made any smartass comments to me, and any time it even appeared we may end up alone for more than five seconds, she’d find a way to get the hell out.

Those next two weeks were a blur.

Packed arenas, girls, drugs, fans trying to rip our clothes from us. It was
all
a blur, except for those moments I caught Jules watching me: a few times from the side of the stage, once as I was walking in for a suck-and-fuck, and several times when she thought I had fallen asleep on the bus couch.

But what could I do? She wanted to hate me, she saw the nasty shit I did, and fucking with me could cost her everything. It was one of those “what if” things in life.
What if…

It was our last night performing before we had a two-week break.

Vegas. Fucking Vegas! The distinct electric glow shining in the night from miles away stirred adrenaline in me. I loved it here. The city was amazing, it had hot-ass girls pouring out of its seams, and people took full advantage of that “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” motto, including me. Not to mention it had a killer escort service, and I did enjoy sex with a high-end prostitute.

After the suck-and-fuck we cleaned up and hit the bars, with security surrounding us, of course. While Jag was making a scene by grabbing random women and trying to get them to show whose nipples were bigger, I managed to creep away to take a piss.

On my way to the bathroom, I saw Jules come strutting around the corner. I stopped, preparing to make a sleazy comment to her, when I saw a guy wrap his arm around her delicate waist. It took me a second to realize it was Ronan, the host on some poorly-rated Venezuelan reality show. Ronan—what kind of fucking name is that?

He and Jules had been in a relationship when we first signed with Deviant. He had completely fucked her over, sleeping with just about every girl that had been cast in the show. God, Jules had been livid. Since then, she hadn’t been in a relationship with anyone, at least not to my knowledge.

My teeth instinctually grinded against each other and a low breath flew out of my nose. I didn’t like that fucker. I didn’t like his hand on her, and I
didn’t
like the way she was looking at him.

Gripping the doorframe, I narrowed my eyes as I watched him lean in and whisper something in her ear, sparking a fit of girlish giggling that rarely made its way out of Jules’ mouth. When she noticed me staring at them, her cheeks flushed and her jaw loosened just a touch. That was embarrassment washing over her face.

I shrugged one shoulder at her and she shrugged hers back, then walked to the other side of the room with him.

I couldn’t stand it. I knew she was going to fuck him. I could just see her naked and straddling him, bouncing up and down on him with her lips slightly parted as heavy breaths pushed out of them. She wouldn’t touch me again, but this scummy fucker could rip her heart out, and years later slip his dick back in her, just like that? That was bullshit!

I took a piss, still fuming about the situation, and on my way back to the bar I found a lovely young escort, obviously new, standing in the hallway. I could tell she was an amateur from her body language. She kept shifting her weight on her heels, while her hands kept combing through her hair, then sliding down to tug at the hem of her tight pleather skirt. She was chewing on her bottom lip and looked absolutely nervous.

Stopping in front of her, I allowed my eyes to slowly trace up her long legs to her tiny waist and full breasts before stopping on her flawlessly made-up face. I had to have a distraction, I craved a fix. Jules had just fucked my heart, and I needed something to fuck the thought of her right out of my head.

I had to have reinforcement that I really didn’t need a woman in my life. I
just
needed sex.

“Card?” I asked. “You got a card?”

Her eyes widened a little and she quickly reached down into her purse, her head jutting to the side to glance around me and see if anyone was watching before she handed it to me.

I flipped the business card between my fingers and bit down on my lip. Placing my hand on the wall above her head, I moved my face closer to hers. “So. We should go get a room then, huh?”

“If that’s,” she swallowed, “what you’d like.” She knew who I was, and I
knew
she knew who I was, but she didn’t know how to handle it. It was obvious she wanted to ask me if I was really Rush Wilder, just to make sure, but she knew that would make her look less professional. Clients are clients, regardless of how famous they may be. So she swallowed the question, her nerves causing her breath to quicken.

“Oh,” I laughed, and grabbed her hand “that’s
absolutely
what I’d like.” I pulled her away from the wall, placing my arm around her bare shoulder and escorting her out into the open bar area.

I glanced back over my shoulder and made eye contact with Stone. He nodded and gave me the thumbs up.

As I scanned over the room, I saw Jules and Ronan at a table. His hand caressed over her thigh, and my skin got a slight fever to it. I tore my eyes from the sight of them and shook my head. I pushed my shades back against my face in an attempt to make myself less recognizable, as my lovely escort and I made our way through the lobby and to the elevator.

“Lucky for me, I already have a room here.”

She stood, staring straight ahead.

“No need to be nervous.” I leaned down next to her ear. “I promise I’ll be gentle,” I whispered, circling my finger over the top of her back.

The doors to the elevator opened, and a group of women poured out, each one of them staring at me as they waltzed past.

I chuckled. “You know, for some reason women always stare at me like that. Funny. You’d think I was a fucking
rock star
or something.” The door closed and I pressed the button for my floor. “Wouldn’t you?”

The girl continued to stare at me. “Uh, yeah.” She blinked a few times. “But you’re not a rock star…so…that’s weird.” She let out a breath and shifted on her heels. “But I could see it, you know, you being a rock star, although I know you’re not.”

The door opened and I nodded my head as I took her hand, leading her to my room. “Yeah, not at all.”

As soon as we got in the room, I made my way to my luggage and pulled out an envelope.” How much?”

“Uh, um, twenty-four hundred.”

I flipped through the bills, pulling out what wasn’t needed and laying the envelope on the dresser.

When I spun around, she still had that dumbfounded look plastered on her face. “What? Why do you keep looking at me that like me?” I knew exactly why she was standing at the edge of the bed, eyes wide as she watched me pull my shirt over my head. But I liked hearing it.

“Something wrong, babe? The money's all there.” I pointed to the dresser at the envelope of cash. “You can count it. Won't offend me.”

She briefly directed her gaze to the dresser then back to me. “No. I, uh…I just...”

I unzipped my pants and pushed them down. Her eyes pulsed when she saw I had nothing on underneath those ripped designer jeans. I guess she hadn’t prepared herself for that one.

“I…” She cleared her throat and forced her eyes back up to my face. “You look familiar. That's all.”

It was obvious she was anxious as hell. Uncomfortable. She knew damn well who I was but was afraid to say it.

“Yeah? Familiar how? I've never used this service before. Never seen you before—which, by the way, shouldn't you be taking your clothes off about now? I like to watch women undress. I'm not doing it, so why don't you start with your skirt?”

She shook her head, trying to bring herself back into the moment, I’m certain. I imagine about that time was when she was silently reminding herself that this was her job and she had to act like a professional, regardless of who the hell I was.

She unbuttoned her skirt and it crumpled around her feet. Her hands seductively wove up her thighs, then gripped the bottom of her thin cotton shirt. She tugged her shirt over her head and her light brown hair fell down, framing her heart- shaped face. She turned, dancing as she unhooked her bra, and slid one strap from her shoulder. Slipping the silky strap off her other shoulder, she glanced back at me and her face went from an emotionless, stone-cold expression to one of complete self-consciousness, of vulnerability.

This chick was embarrassed to be undressing in front of me.

“I'm sorry.” She spun around.

“No need to be sorry.” I motioned for her to come toward me. “I want you to tell me who I am. I know you know.
Say it!
”

The girl let out a breath and held eye contact with me. “You’re Rush Wilder…from Pandemic Sorrow.” She gulped back air, and her shoulders relaxed a little. That fame-struck glaze I’d been waiting on glossed over her face.

The corners of my lips drew up and I nodded. “Yep, sure as hell am.” A deep laugh rumbled from my chest. “That gonna bother you?”

She shook her head and stuttered over her words, saying, “Uh, no…no, not at all. It’s…it’s just fine.”

I tossed my body back onto the bed and honed in her tits, then raked my eyes down between her legs. I didn’t move my eyes away from that piece of her that I was about to defile when I asked, “What’s your name? And I want your
real
name.”

“Sarah Anne.”

Tearing my eyes away from her nakedness, I set my eyes on hers. “Well, Sarah Anne,” I reached out and grabbed her hand, delicately kissing the back of it, “I know it’s kind of your job to fuck me, but I can’t promise I won’t end up fucking you.” That comment caused her to pull back just a little, and her jaw unhinged from a loud gasp forcing its way out of her glossed lips.

The smile that had cemented over my face deepened as I rolled the condom down my dick. “You ever fuck a rock star before?”

She shook her head, and by now some of the color was leaving her face. Her chest was rising in uneven jolts and her nipples were hard as fuck.

I sat up and grabbed each side of her hips and yanked her down on top of me, crossing my arms behind her back as I pulled her naked body against mine. “I don’t believe in foreplay. Really, it’s a waste of time that I could spend with my dick in you instead. And after all, that’s the point of this, right?”

Reaching down, I shoved myself into her, heat surrounding and squeezing me. At that moment, she belonged to me. And my body needed the release only a woman could give me. I needed to forget that I’d just seen Jules with that prick.

I pushed into her, filling her and forcing air from her lungs.

I blew her hair away from her ear and leaned in toward it. “So,” I thrust into her again; this time a nearly silent moan trickled from her lips and her head leaned weightlessly into mine, “does it feel any different? Having a famous person inside you?”

The response I got to that question was the sharp pain of her nails embedding themselves into my shoulders while another quiet moan leaked from her mouth.

Within moments, her lips had slammed over mine and her fingers were desperately fisting my hair up.
So much for not kissing and fucking.
Her hips slapped down on me and she clumsily positioned her heels against my ass.

I picked her up and situated her on me, my hands digging into the meat of her ass as I forced myself into her tightening pussy. The harder I pushed into her, the louder she moaned and the faster her movements grew.

She was riding me, tossing her head back, her hands flailing all over me. She was desperate, she wanted this. This was no longer a transaction, this was now pure lust and need. Animalistic. Primitive.
This
was fucking.

Without warning, I slammed her down onto the floor, pulling her legs up and stretching them out to the sides. “You’re gonna get off. Hard. Got that?”

She turned her head to the side, her eyes closing tightly as she winced from pleasure and drew her hands up into fists beside her head.

I watched myself in one of the mirrors centered on the wall. Staring blankly at the reflection of her writhing beneath me, the chorus of gasps and moans barely broke through to me; I was in a trance. I was in the place that made everything seem okay, I was doing one of the few things that made me feel real.

This girl had no attachment to me; she fucked for a living, and I was paying her to let me fuck the shit out of her. That exchange of money made this a luxury, made this act mine and only mine. I could leave, I could do whatever I needed to curve this hunger; this was a service, which meant I couldn’t mentally hurt her and she couldn’t hurt me. And the fact that I was making her enjoy this more than any other person probably ever had—that was just an added bonus.

She was getting paid to have the shit pounded out of her by a rock star. It was dirty, it had to stay a secret, and it was a moment she would remember forever. I granted her a moment of infamy, and she granted me a fix.

I flipped her over and tore into her. Relentlessly.

Sweat covered my chest. It was pouring down my face, down my neck and dripping onto the small of her back. I rubbed my hand over the top of her ass, watching as I defiled her. It was wet, it was messy, and she had let go.