The Seduction Game - Rock Star Edition (2 page)

“Hey Jason.” Darren greets his friend briefly
before turning his attention back to me. “Do it!” he encourages,
his eyes wide with excitement. Next thing I know I’m getting my
behind smacked with a sticker. For good measure I give my butt a
shake, ensuring the sticker is firmly in place.

“There, happy now? I’m a walking billboard,”
Amy rolls her eyes at me and everyone laughs.

“Don’t take it off,” Jason warns. Of course I
wouldn’t, it’s silly and I’ll proudly wear it all night.

With our help, the merchandise is packed away
and we help carry it out to the tour bus.

Aside from a few stragglers hanging around
the roped off back entrance, most of the crowd had dispersed after
receiving their signed memorabilia.

After signing countless posters, cd covers,
and the occasional woman’s chest, it’s time to go. Granted, marking
a woman’s boobs with my signature has to be my favorite autograph
request, because, let’s face it, boobs are fun. I’m happy to be
done with it all though.

Adrenaline still courses through my veins
like liquid cocaine. The show was amazing, it was the perfect end
to a successful tour. Now, it’s time to celebrate with a little of
this free booze the fans have brought me.

Outside, there are still fans waiting around
the bus. I recognize several faces from the meet and greet. While I
adore my fans and know that without them, I would not be here
today, sometimes I just want to scream at them and tell them it’s
time to go home.

But, tonight I’m stopped dead in my tracks by
the cutest ass I’ve seen. It’s sticking up in the air mocking me as
she shoves one of our merchandise boxes into the storage
compartment of the bus. Plastered across that fine rear is one of
our obnoxious yellow bumper stickers. I damn near come undone at
the site of her.

Jason, my long-time friend, and our lead
guitarist, slaps me on the back as he walks by bringing me back to
reality. For now I must ignore the siren in the corner. Women and
girls scream my name and reach out eager hands to touch me. It’s
time to appease the adoring fans, the photos and continued requests
for autographs I don’t mind, but, those grabby hands reaching for
my junk gets annoying. No guy wants a woman that forward,
ladies.

After standing around taking pictures with
fans for what seems like an eternity, I manage to work my way
through the crowd, to the bus.

In front of me stands the cutest minx, auburn
hair and full lips I just want to tear apart. Her eyes though are
what set her apart; bright green eyes that slant upward just the
slightest, stare back at me.

“Hi,” is all she says.

“Hello there, and who might you be?” I have
to ask, anything to get her to talk. I remember her from the crowd,
dancing around not giving a fuck what anybody thought of her. Free
as a bird in the air.

“I’m Sarah, and this is my friend Amy.” Her
smile is warm and soft, but her hand even softer when she takes
mine. “We enjoyed your show.”

“Why thank you.” I want to tell her I enjoyed
her show as well, but that wouldn’t be prudent. “You should come to
our little after party.”

“We are.” She pulls out her phone and shows
me our hotel address. She leaves me hanging for a moment to get
frightened before she explains, “Your merch guy invited us
already.” She smirks at me making me laugh.

“Oh, you too look so cute! Can I get a
picture?” Her leggy Asian friend exclaims and holds up a camera.
Amy was her name, right?

“Of course.” I am delighted for the chance to
feel Sarah up and pull her close for the picture. Leaning down I
slide my hand across her waist and down her ass, giving it a little
squeeze right as her friend takes the picture. Its firm and round
just as I had imagined. “Thanks doll, I’ve got to go, but I’ll see
you later,”

The look on her face is priceless. She stands
there with her mouth open, eyes wide. It delights me to leave her
like that.

Inside the bus, my boys have already started
the after party. Jason hands me a bottle of whiskey and I take a
long pull, straight from the bottle. It burns and lingers in my
stomach.

“Let’s get this party started! Come on, move
this bus,” My fist pounds one of the padded seats and the crew
echoes my sentiments to the driver.

After a decent night’s sleep tonight, I’ll be
headed back to New York, my home. Our tour manager has secured a
block of rooms at a decent hotel about thirty minutes away from the
venue for tonight. Far enough to make any lingering fans, that
might wish to follow us give up and go home.

In the well-lit hotel parking lot we gather,
waiting for our tour manager to produce our room keys. I’m a little
disappointed Sarah might have stood me up; she still hasn’t shown
up when he comes out and hands me a key card.

Just when I’m about to head inside, a car
pulls up and she rolls down the window. “I hear there’s a party
around here somewhere, any idea where that might be?” She
smirks.

“PARTY!” Sam shouts, stumbling and hanging
onto his wife. The man is a damn good drummer, but a sloppy
drunk.

“Right this way.” I hold the door for her and
wait for her to park and run up. I can’t help but make a comment on
her…product placement. It might be the first time I’ve seen it used
like that. I mean hell, if I’m caught staring too long, at least
this makes it less awkward. “That’s a mighty fine bumper sticker.”
I commented, simple enough.

“Why thank you. Gives new meaning to the word
bumper sticker doesn’t it?” She cranes her head back with a
devilish grin and gives that fine little ass a shake. My knees go
weak. Jason has to throw his arm around me and gives my chest an
encouraging pat as we follow them inside. Hell yeah, this is going
to be a great wrap party.

I have no idea what made me say it, but thank
the lord a coherent sentence came out of my mouth. So throwing a
giant neon yellow sticker over your butt draws the right kind of
attention to it, good to know. He laughed at my lame attempt at a
joke, but I saw him stumble.

For the better part of the night, I’ve felt
he’s had the upper hand, but now I know I still hold the cards, and
baby tonight I’m playing with a royal flush.

Time is not wasted on speeches or
congratulations, this group is ready to party. Inside one of the
rooms, some of the guys have already started setting up a beer pong
game. Time to drum up my college game skills, I have not played
this in ages.

The Italian looking guitarist, with the
rather impressive black Mohawk . . . I believe his name is Jason,
approaches with an open bottle of whiskey in his hands.

“Truth or dare, come on we’re all playing.”
He drapes an arm over Amy and myself and guides us to a small group
standing around the kitchenette.

There are a few girls I recognize from the
show there playing with us. The game consisted of “truth, take a
shot; dare, take a shot.” Clearly there was only one purpose of
this game. I roll my eyes and try to inconspicuously look for my
Rock Star but can’t find him in the room.

Eventually he comes back into the room with
an acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder. Instead of joining one
of the games he sits on a padded hotel chair and begins to
strum.

“Look what I found,” a blonde girl squeals
with delight and pulls a bag of cheap Mardi gras masks out of a
suitcase. She then proceeds to go around the room placing masks on
people. I’m instantly jealous when she slips a mask over my Rock
Star’s golden hair and he smiles up at her with a crooked grin.

They would make an adorable couple, blonde
hair and tanned skin. She has a very heroin chic look to her, high
cheek bones and hipbones.

He keeps slipping out of the room though, to
do God knows what. I’m starting to doubt my abilities. He’s paid no
attention to me since we entered the party over an hour ago. This
is a situation where I need my backup, and a plan.

“Amy,” I turn for help only to discover her
pinned against a wall. A mohawk grazes her neck and she giggles
with pleasure and digs her nails into his back. Well at least one
of us is getting lucky tonight.

Nature calls and I excuse myself to the
bathroom to collect my thoughts. Staring in the mirror, I wipe
under my eyes and apply a fresh coat of lip gloss. Counting my
breaths, one, he’s just another guy. Two, I’ve had no trouble with
other successful men. Three, I raise my hand and it trembles. What
am I doing still in this room? That mousey little mask girl could
be seducing him right now. It’s now or never, I muster up the
courage, slide my gold mask over my eyes and walk back out.

Scanning the room, I find him seated alone in
the corner…again. His eyes are closed and he appears lost in the
melody he’s quietly strumming on the guitar. I can’t help myself, I
have to stop and watch. The way his fingers fly over the strings
making the instrument sing is enchanting. His leg keeps the rhythm
as he taps out a beat. The button down shirt that he had carelessly
discarded on stage hangs off his muscular inked shoulder.

In a moment of brevity, while his eyes are
still closed, I march up to him and pull his green mask from his
head, exchanging it with my gold one.

“Hey, that’s mine.” His eyes pop open and he
playfully scowls at me.

“Not anymore, I want the green one.” It’s
rather childish I admit, but I needed to start some contact or
dialogue with him.

“But you already have green eyes. Give it
back.”

“Come and get it if you want it,” I tease and
flit across the room. To my utter disappointment he doesn’t come
after me, but simply goes back to strumming his guitar.

Feeling defeated, I grab the open bottle of
alcohol and take a sip before passing it back to the Rock Star.

“Thanks doll.” he tips the bottle and
finishes off the last quarter of it. I raise an eyebrow, impressed
before he passes the empty bottle back to me.

“That’s empty, I don’t want it,” he
teases.

“Why would I want the empty bottle?” My voice
echoes through the room and I realize a large portion of the party
has left. A few stragglers remain, quietly talking to one another.
Amy is nowhere to be found, I’m assuming she’s getting poked by the
Mohawk, hopefully in all the right ways.

Now or never
, I chant in my head and
bend to my knees in front of him. If he wants to spend the night
focusing his attention on a guitar I’ll at least make the task
difficult for him. Pressing a random string, I gaze up at him and
he smiles and plays the chord. The sound that resonates is awful.
He moves his fingers to a different chord and pauses to raise an
eyebrow at me. It only takes me a moment to realize what he is
doing. I chose a different string to press and he strums again. The
sound that resonates this time is not so cringe worthy. We continue
this game for a few minutes, I bite my lip trying to guess what
string would produce a nice sound with each chord he’s chosen.

The smell of whiskey washes over me when he
begins to hum a wordless tune as we play the guitar together. My
fingers tingle wanting to feel the vibrations in his chest. I fight
the urge to reach out and touch, but it causes me to stop playing
and his eyes lock on mine.

My breathing speeds up as he looks me up and
down, still on my knees in front of him. That damn guitar in
between us.

“That was really fun,” he murmurs.

“Yeah.” It’s the only thing I could think to
say with his face so close to mine.

“Yeah,” he mocks me and leans in.

The room begins to spin making me feel like
I’m on a carousel right before our lips meet. He begins with a kiss
that barely touches my lips and pulls away. The sparkly green mask
slips under his fingers as he brushes a hand across my face,
searching my eyes with his. A smile playing on his perfect lips.
Dimples stand out and soften the features of his masculine
jawline.

The mask drops to the floor with a soft plop
and his hand grabs the back of my neck, pulling me into him. When
our lips meet again, he lets out a low animalistic rumble that’s
almost inaudible.

My hand reaches for his face, but I hit the
neck of the guitar and it sings in response while a dull pain
spreads over my arm.

“Ow.” I pull away laughing, but he’s no
longer in a joking mood. With one hand he flips the guitar off of
his lap and slips his fingers inside the waistband of my jeans.
Roughly he tugs me off of the floor and I hitch my leg over him,
this time exploring his firm arms and chest with my hands. He
slides an arm around my waist, resting on my behind and holds me
firmly on his lap

The feel of his lips are like silk against
mine as they move with urgency. Just then, his tongue teases my
lips and they part in response. He tastes even better than he
smells. A moan escapes my lips. Every fiber of my being is alive
with the excitement of this beautiful man.

His large free hand roams under my shirt
leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. His fingers are warm and
calloused from years of playing guitar. Up and over my breast his
hand moves, my body arches in response. The rest of the room
dissipates around us; I could care less if we have an audience at
this moment. All I want is my Rock Star inside of me.

My nails dig into his skin as I run them down
his chest and across the plains of his flat stomach. He sucks a
breath in through his teeth in response and flashes me a devilish
grin.

“You wicked girl,” he growls.

A flick of his thumb and index finger has my
pants undone and I gasp. His movements are much too fluid to be
normal.

My hand dips lower down his abdomen and
across the bulge of his erection. His hips buck in response and he
nips at my neck playfully.