Rock All Night (The Rock Star's Seduction #2) (26 page)

The second call – which I was
not
looking forward to – was to Glen, my
Rolling Stone
editor.

“Finally,”
he said with a little too much snark in his voice for my tastes.

“I’m sorry, it’s been a busy couple of days.”

“Are you getting good stuff?”

“Um… yes… you could say that…”

“Why do I detect a note of hesitation in your voice?”

“Uh… because… I slept with Derek Kane.”

I winced and waited for the yelling to start.

It did – but it turned out to be yelling of a different kind than what I was expecting.

“Are you KIDDING me?! That’s great! I mean, of course, you’ve got to handle it correctly…”

“What do you mean?” I asked, shocked that he hadn’t bitten off my head.

“Well, don’t piss him off, we don’t want any problems with getting a photo shoot.”

You could have knocked me over with a feather.

“Aren’t you mad?”

“Yeah, you should’ve called me earlier. When I call you, CALL ME BACK.”

“No, I mean…”

“What?”

“I
slept
with him.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“But… that was totally over the line! It was a major breach of journalistic ethics!”

He chuckled.
“This is the real world, Kaitlyn. Not that I condone what you did – not officially, anyway – but you gotta do what you gotta do to get the story.”

Now
I
was starting to get pissed off.

“I didn’t do it to get the story,” I said, irritated.

“Well, then, it’s just a happy by-product.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. The fact that he was more concerned about getting Derek to pose for pictures, rather than my lapse in professionalism, was making me angry.

I know it might sound stupid to most people. After all, I was the one who had slept with Derek (and
kept
sleeping with him), and here I was, mad at my boss for not ripping me a new one.

But… his attitude made me feel cheap.

And I don’t like feeling cheap.

“What else have you been up to?”

“Well,” I said, my hackles fully raised and caution thrown to the wind, “I spent all yesterday tripping on mushrooms with Derek and Killian Lee.”

“AWESOME,”
he hooted.
“Oh my God, this is great. I imagine THAT yielded some fantastic material.”

“…I guess…?”

“Excellent. Look, when do you think you can wrap up and head back to New York?”

“Um… I don’t know… I hadn’t thought about it…”

Mostly because I didn’t
want
to wrap up and head back to New York.

“Most of our interviews occur over three to six hours or a series of short meetings. Considering who your subject is, and how press-averse he is, and the sort of stuff you’re getting, I’m not going to pull the plug – yet. But wrap it up as soon as possible. Expense accounts aren’t unlimited, you know.”

I didn’t feel like pointing out that I was probably going to be staying in Derek’s room from now on, and that I hadn’t exactly been busting the budget anyway.

So I just grit my teeth instead. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Alright, good job – now get back to work!”

And then he hung up the phone.

Twenty-four hours later, we were in San Francisco. Technically the concert was at the San Jose HP Pavilion, but close enough.

Shanna’s flight didn’t get in until later in the day, so we didn’t see her until right before the show. We were all hanging out in the ready room, eating filet mignon and Big Macs, when one of the security guys popped his head in.

“Hey, Mr. Kane, there’s a woman out here says you flew her in from New York?”

“Shanna, is that you?” Derek shouted.

“Hell yeah!” echoed around the corner.

She came in the room like a giant ball of energy, shrieking happily as she jumped into Derek’s arms. He twirled her around, and she laid a big kiss on his cheek.

“Careful, somebody’ll get jealous,” he said, and shot me a little smirk.

He was right. Even though I knew it was harmless, the green-eyed monster still dug its claws in me pretty good.

She was dressed in typical Shanna fashion – meaning, hot to trot. She wore skin-tight Daisy Dukes that hugged her ass, cute little brown boots, and a backless 70’s-style halter top that tied around the neck – and managed to show off plenty of sideboob. She looked great.

Riley was certainly taking an interest from across the room.

“There she is! My slutty little journalist!” Shanna laughed as she ran over and nearly bowled me over with a hug. “Let me take a look at you – daaaaamn, girl, hot rock star sex agrees with you!”

I blushed and laughed it off. “Glad you could make it.”

“First class, too!” she marveled, and turned back to Derek. “I really, really,
really
appreciate it – that was
awesome.
”

“My pleasure.”

“All the champagne I wanted – damn, I am
SO
wasted.”

Derek laughed. “Ah, Shanna… how I’ve missed you.”

“Hey – fly me out for
every
damn show!”

At this point Ryan walked up. “Hey, Shanna.”

“Oh my GOD!” she gasped, and fanned her hand in front of her face like the temperature had suddenly risen dramatically. “Holy shit, Ryan, you got
hot!”

He just laughed. “And you’re beautiful as always.”

She stood up on her tiptoes and looped her arms around his neck. “Tell me more!”

He leaned down and hugged her, and she kissed the side of his face, too.

Strangely enough, I felt a tiny prickle of jealousy when she did that, too.

What’s WITH me, anyway?

Riley appeared at my elbow. “Who’s your friend, Blondie?”

“Riley, this is Shanna, my college roommate. Shanna, if you can tear yourself away from the boys for a second, this is Riley.”

“Hey,” Riley said, all suave and cool, and stuck out her hand.

“Oh, you can do better than
that,
” Shanna said, and POW! laid a kiss right on Riley’s mouth.

I’ve never seen anybody’s eyes pop so far out of their head as Riley’s did – from utter shock, I’m sure.

Every guy in the room either wolf-whistled or roared with laughter.

I just cringed, imagining what Riley’s mouth tasted like. Probably an ashtray drowned in Jack Daniels.

When Shanna released Riley, the little drummer girl stumbled back – then stared at me, wide-eyed.

“I
like
your friend,” she said with a growing smile.

“This is Killian,” Derek said, putting his arm around the guitarist, who gave a wave and a shy little smile.

“Oh my God, you are
brilliant,
” she enthused. Then she sniffed the air. “And you have good taste in pot. What is that, Strawberry Cough?”

Of course Shanna was an expert in weed. Of
course
she was.

Killian looked taken aback. “You know your herb, luv.”

“Hell yeah I do! Mind if I…?”

“Be my guest,” Killian said, and passed her the joint. “Always nice to meet a fellow connoisseur.”

Shanna took a hit, then held it in. She passed the joint back to Killian, gave a thumbs up, then coughed out a cloud of smoke.

The rest of the room laughed. Derek slapped her on the back lightly. “You all right, there?”

“God DAMN that’s good,” she wheezed with a smile.

Shanna was an immediate hit with the band.

The show was a blast. Shanna and I hung out just offstage and drank champagne out of red Solo cups. She sang along with all the band’s hits, and even made me dance along with her. I’d forgotten how much fun she could be.

Derek even dedicated a song to her.

“I’ve got a friend visiting from New York, haven’t seen her in a long time,” Derek told the audience. “Her name’s Shanna – ”

At which point Shanna started
Woo-wooooo
-ing from the sidelines.

Derek laughed. “Her name’s Shanna, and though this song isn’t
exactly
the same as her name… it reminds me a lot of her.”

At which point they started playing ‘My Sharona.’

Shanna went crazy and started grinding against my leg as part of her dance routine.

Derek looked over like
Heeey, niiiiice!

I just laughed and flipped him the bird as Shanna humped away.

After the show ended and the band showered up (even, miracle of miracles, Riley), Shanna turned up the partying to 11. She smoked out more with Killian. She kept grabbing Ryan’s ass, jumping in his arms, and trying to give him sloppy kisses. She didn’t exactly escalate the situation with Riley, but they must have come to some sort of wingman agreement, because the two of them went around the room and basically had three-way makeouts with at least a half-dozen hot girls.

I’m pretty sure I saw her snorting some lines of cocaine off an Olympic athlete’s bare chest (a dude, by the way).

When the party retired to the hotel, Derek got me on his back piggyback style, Ryan did the same with Shanna, and we raced through the hallways as Shanna whooped at the top of her lungs.

Only when hotel management threatened to throw us out did we go back to the band’s luxury suite – at which point Shanna passed out in the corner.

Riley looked super-disappointed.

Ryan looked relieved.

“Same old Shanna,” Derek laughed.

“She
did
do that the first night we met, didn’t she?” I remembered.

“She did,” Derek agreed, then whispered in my ear, “Want to go back to my room and do what we should have done back then?”

As Shanna would say, HELL yeah.

You know those scenes in movies where the guy and girl have crazy sex, crashing into walls and destroying the furniture?

I always hated those scenes. I was always like,
There’s no way anybody has sex like that.

Turns out they do.

Maybe it was the champagne; maybe it was all the shenanigans after the show; maybe it was the contact high of being around Shanna’s ‘go-for-broke’ spirit.

All I know is I’ve crossed one more sexual experience off my bucket list.

We were already going crazy before we got to Derek’s personal suite. My clothes were half-off as we fumbled through the door, kissing madly. Within ten seconds, my panties (totally soaked) were off, my top was open, I was up in the air supported by his arms, my naked legs were wrapped around his waist, and he was sucking on my nipples like he was about to die of thirst and they were the only thing that could save him.

When I couldn’t get his t-shirt off, he growled, “Tear it.”

“Seriously?” I gasped – not from the suggestion, but from what his fingers were doing as he clutched my ass and slipped one finger inside me, rubbing my g-spot.

“Do it,” he commanded, and I bunched up the material and pulled as hard as I could. It was a light, flimsy material that had been washed a couple hundred times before they even put it on the rack – designers try so hard to make their t-shirts look three years old instead of brand new – and it gave a satisfying
rrrrriiiiiiiip!
in my hands.

His olive skin and carved chest showed through the tear, and I was immediately twice as turned on.

He, of course, was still licking my breasts and stroking deep inside me, so maybe that had something to do with it.

At any rate, I started literally shredding his clothes off him.

Once his shirt was in tatters, he kicked off his boots, undid his belt, and dropped his jeans to the floor. I felt the hot, thick head of his cock slide into place at my lips –

“Condom!” I gasped, secretly enjoying the feel of his naked flesh about to plunge into mine
way
too much.

“But we didn’t use one when we were tripping,” he protested.

“We’re not tripping now. Condom,” I insisted.

He griped, then said, “Okay,
you
get it,” and lowered me backwards as I shrieked and laughed.

While I kept clutching him with my legs, I did a sort of backbend at the waist/upside-down Cirque-du-Soleil-type maneuver, my hair hanging in my face as I searched the pockets of his jeans on the floor.

Meanwhile, I could feel him rubbing my clit with his shaft, using my wetness to slide our slippery skin all over each other.

“No fair!” I gasped as I hung upside down, barely able to think from the blood rushing to my head as my legs quivered from the delicious sensations from his cock.

“You know, I don’t
need
a condom…” he suggested playfully.

“Too bad,” I said as I found the foil packet and held it up triumphantly.

He helped me up, one strong hand supporting my back as I basically did a midair sit-up (more work than I usually put in at the gym, that was for sure). Once I was vertical again, he commanded, “You put it on.”

I didn’t have to be told twice.

I knelt in front of him, right in front of that gorgeous cock. It was straining upwards, its surface tight and engorged, the head as swollen and thick as I’d ever seen it.

I’d seen him drink quite a bit that evening, but apparently it wasn’t having any effect downstairs.

I touched my fingers lightly to the underside – and it immediately bucked upwards with a jolt of a contraction.

“Whoa, fella,” I laughed, then proceeded to cup his balls in my palm and slowly stroke his shaft with light, feathery touches.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

His whole body strained rigidly as I gently stroked him up and down. I fondled his balls at the same time, tickling the sack with my fingernails.

Damn he was hard. And hot. I could feel his heartbeat pulsing against my palm, and loved the feel of that tiny flutter tickling my skin.

As I caressed him, he moaned.

I
loved
that sound.

I also loved looking at his body. His chiseled abs… the slight rise of his hip bones… the strong contours of his muscles… a couple of veins just under the surface of the olive skin, protruding the way they normally do from guys’ arms when they’re totally ripped. Derek was physical perfection.

I was getting so turned on that I wanted to proceed to the main event. So I removed my hands and pulled away.

He groaned. “Why’d you stop?”

Then he heard the
rrriiip
of the foil packet.

“Ohhhh,” he grinned.

I rolled the condom over his head, down the length of his cock to his thick base. Then I stood up.

Right on cue, he gripped my ass in his hands and lifted me effortlessly in the air again. I wrapped my legs around him and looped my arms over his neck, and moaned in pleasure as I felt something thick and blunt press against my dripping lips.

Without warning, he leaned over and bit my neck. I gasped at the dull, exciting pain, then cried out a second later as his cock thrust into me, slipping all the way.

“Oh God!” I cried out, and suddenly he slammed me up against the wall. He was biting harder on my neck as he thrust into me, deep and powerful and insistent.

He pulled me away from the wall and we smacked into a lamp, sending it crashing to the floor.

“Watch ouhhhhhhh,” I moaned as placed me on the dresser where the lamp had been and fucked my brains out, slapping his pelvis against my ass, driving himself deep inside me.

I arched my back and grinded against his body, crying out, and then I was in the air again. He slammed me against another wall, and adrenaline coursed through my body.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” I drunkenly pleaded, chanting it like a mantra, which only made him go harder, and faster, pounding into me, his thickness driving as deep into me as it could go.

He bent me back and positioned my head over the bed so I had a little support for my weight, then – with his cock still inside me – pulled one of my legs from around his waist and draped it over his chest so that my foot just went past his shoulder. Then he did the same with the other leg. If he had been lying on the bed, I would have been sitting on top of him with his cock inside me and my legs flush with his torso.

I cried out as he began pounding again – but this time, because of the angle, the head of his cock was stroking my g-spot, sliding over it, pressing it, over and over and over. My orgasm was building, starting to get close to the crest of the wave, near the point of no return –

When he stumbled back against the dresser and crashed into the flat screen TV.

It didn’t hurt me – I was totally insulated from the shock by his body – but it scared the hell out of me. And now he was basically lying across the dresser, and I was almost in an upright position – and the TV had cracked and fallen halfway off its wall mountings into the gap behind the furniture.

“Are you okay?” I asked in alarm.

His only answer was to lift up my ass and reposition my legs so that now I was astride him. Suddenly I was riding him as he lay on the dresser, fucking him and not caring that we were destroying the hotel room, just so long as I could have that cock inside me.

We stayed like that for a minute, and I could feel myself getting closer, closer – when suddenly one of the feet of the dresser broke and we suddenly were sliding down a thirty-degree incline.

He shouted in surprise and I was shrieking with laughter as he staggered backwards towards the bed –

And then I slammed into the mattress, and he was fucking me again, twice as fast and three times as hard and I screamed with pleasure and shock and delight as he bit my neck and grabbed my breast, roughly squeezing the nipple as his cock pounded thick and deep inside me.

Again
I was getting closer, and suddenly we were rolling off the bed. I screamed as we fell, him onto his back, me jolting down hard on his cock. Then he was rolling me onto my back, my naked body was on the lush carpet, and he kept rocking into me without missing a stroke. The bed had moved with every thrust, but here on the floor, nothing could give way – so my body stayed stationary (except for my breasts, which jiggled and slid as he pounded into me) and I felt him go even deeper, harder, more powerfully inside me.

Suddenly I was over the edge, screaming, and then he was hollering, and I felt his cock explode inside me as my own orgasm jolted every inch of my body. I grabbed his hair and slammed his head down against my shoulder as he thrust away, his cock getting larger, then a split second later smaller, larger then smaller, until his contractions tapered off and mine slowly subsided into low, sweet, lingering bliss.

He groaned and kissed my neck softly where he’d bitten it just a moment ago.

“We need to do that more often,” he whispered huskily.

I laughed. “Might get expensive.”

He looked around the room, at the lamp on the floor, the broken dresser, the cracked TV hanging at a crazy angle off the wall.

He shrugged. “Fuck it… I’m rich.”

And then we went at it again.