Heavy Metal Heart: A Bad Boy Rock Star Romance (11 page)

He tugged at her lower lip with his teeth, then broke away “I want you on my arm after every show and naked in my bed every night.” He released her wrists and trailed his fingers down her arms to her collarbone, where he planted another kiss. “I want to drink from your gorgeous pussy every day like it’s the fountain of youth. I want to feel you come all over my face.” His lips returned to hers and he whispered against them, “I want to see you happy, and not stressed or worried for once in your life. “

Helena found herself floored, unable to speak. No man ever said anything like that to her before. But the doubts still nagged. Could she fully trust this man, let alone any man?

“What happens after this tour?” She finally asked the question that plagued her since he offered her to come along for the ride. 

“Part of that is up to you.” He rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his elbow. Helena tried to not stare at his flexed bicep. Or shoulder. “If you like working with me, being with me, why ruin a good thing? If you’re sick of me after six weeks, you at least had the adventure of a lifetime.”

“And if you get sick of me?” 

He paused to chew his lower lip, watching her watch him as he did. “Somehow I don’t think that’ll happen.” 

“That’s a bold estimate.” 

He shrugged. “Living with your ex and being cooped up traveling with him and two other men means I’ve seen it all. And what I’ve seen is nowhere near as pretty as you.” 

Helena blushed at the compliment. He doled them out like candy to children, something she wasn’t used to. She considered asking for examples but figured she’d be better off not knowing what four men did traveling across several countries. 

Eager to change the subject, she asked, “How did you end up living with Lars?” 

For the first time, his relaxed, not-giving-a-fuck demeanor disappeared. He visibly tensed up, every hair on his body bristling, ready for a fight. His heavy, sleepy eyes jerked wide open and alert. He tore them away from Helena. 

“Just a rough childhood.” His voice was casual, but his body language gave away his discomfort. 

Helena’s brow furrowed in concern as she looked at him. She regretted making him uncomfortable, but his reaction made her curious. 

“How so?” she pressed. 

He smiled sadly at her. “That’s a question you don’t want the answer to, love.” 

She pressed her lips into a thin line, feeling a bubble of frustration surfacing. “If I’m getting to know you, shouldn’t that include your past?”

“Absolutely. Maybe I’ll tell you one day. But my life before age thirteen is something I’ve been trying to get away from ever since I escaped it.” 

Her mouth dropped slightly. “Escaped?” She imagined the worst. 

“I was essentially on Death’s doorstep. Lars and his family quite literally saved my life.” He began to relax again, sinking into Helena’s mattress. “It’s great song material, but abstract metaphors are the only way I can talk about it.” 

“I’m... sorry.”

“Don’t be, love. Come here.” 

Helena scooted toward him until she curled up against his chest. She nestled into his warmth as his arms enveloped her tightly. Their hearts beat in unison as her fingertips explored the intricate tattoo work on his shoulders. Up close, she saw some of them covered scar tissue.

Her feelings for Torsten remained a jumbled, confused mess. Part of her still believed she should stay away from him, if only because of his celebrity status. But the more she talked to him, the longer this gorgeous specimen of man held her in bed, the more she hated the idea of him being hurt. Even if it was a long time ago. 

In his icy blue eyes, she saw flecks of warmth. She wondered what those eyes saw growing up, what hardships he had to endure and overcome. What exactly nearly killed him as a child? 

“What are you thinking, love?” he asked with a nuzzling kiss to her hair.

“Just that my childhood was probably so bland and sheltered compared to yours. I hate how growing up privileged blinds you to how hard others have it.” 

Torsten responded by crushing her mouth with his. He kissed her so deeply, she sank like a weight into the memory foam mattress. Helena's body fused with his as she lost herself in the sensations of his mouth. 

"Don't pity me, love. I wouldn't be here, in bed with you, if it weren't for my past." He brushed the hair from her forehead softly and kissed her eyelids. "Everything that's ever happened to me has led me to you."

The week leading up to the tour was a whirlwind. Torsten made sure the band rehearsed every single night for at least four hours. They rehearsed different set lists for different cities. Everyone deserved a unique experience, especially if they were following the band around to different shows. 

He could see the headline now:
The new Deadheads are Hammerheads, following Mjolnir, the heavy metal band named after Thor’s hammer
.

Helena buzzed around taking photos and interviewing the band members, but time didn't allow for much privacy. Seeing her smile and laugh with his bandmates made Torsten’s heart swell. She seemed apprehensive of what the band thought of her coming along, but they were thrilled, as Torsten knew they would be. 

Really, love. Don’t worry so much about what others think.

They would fly to Paris via private plane, check into their hotel suites, do sound checks, and play the following evening. From Paris, they would sail on a yacht to Ireland and England, then fly down to Portugal and Spain. Two shows were scheduled in Spain, first in Madrid, then Barcelona. From Barcelona, they would travel through the south of France via a private train. Each band member had their own private train car. Roadies and assistants would share a car between two people, which still left them plenty of personal space. They would continue through Italy, Switzerland, Germany and the rest of Europe via  relaxing, leisurely train ride. 

Torsten made sure every detail was streamlined, from the private plane to the yacht to the UK, and every detail on the private train. He made sure all the staff --from the cooks and bartenders to the pilots, captains, and conductors-- were the most qualified and professional he could find. He wanted the band to focus on nothing but performing. They would play over 30 shows and needed to be at the top of their game for every single one. He demanded much from them and he knew it. 

Despite streamlining everything down to the last detail, Torsten couldn't relax. He knew something would go wrong. On every tour, he made sure to account for whatever could possibly go tits up. But there was always something he wouldn't be able to predict. 

And with Helena by his side, he felt a sense of duty to be extra diligent. She traveled before, but not as extensively as this. He knew she was tough enough to handle herself in most situations, but in a strange country where they didn't speak the language, anything could happen. Especially in Eastern European countries where kidnapping and human trafficking were more prevalent. 

She would be safest when also naked in his bed, with that delectable pussy clamping down on his cock as he coaxed orgasm after orgasm out of her. 

Just the thought of having her in bed with every single night for the next six weeks excited him like a teenager sneaking off to spend a night with a girl. That thought felt so... comforting, to his surprise. After a few weeks, most women fell in love with his wealth and status, rather than him as a person. But knowing that wasn't Helena's motivation, he found comfort and happiness in the idea of keeping her around. 

He watched her approach the private plane from a distance. She packed lightly, which he was happy to see. High maintenance women were never fun to travel with. She wore dark skinny jeans, black leather boots with a chunky heel, and a slimming black blouse as she pulled a small, wheeled suitcase behind her. He smiled, approvingly of her liberal use of black clothing and wondered if she was tapping into her inner metal head. 

The dark clothing accentuated her pale, delicate features. It had been nearly a full week since he saw her and he wanted nothing more than to peel the darkness away from her milky skin and drink from the sweet, pink fountain of her pussy. But he would have to wait, at least a little longer. 

"Hello, Torsten," she said with a shy smile as she approached.

She stopped an arm's length away from him, but he replied by snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her in to close the distance. He kissed her deeply and savored every moment. The taste of her lips caused his cock to jump almost immediately. Her body melted against his, just as it had before. 

Reluctantly, he pulled away once becoming fully re-acquainted with her mouth. His forehead remained against hers as he brought both hands up to cradle her neck. 

"I missed you, love."

"I missed you too." 

For the first time in a week, Torsten felt a wide grin break on his face. All the necessary busywork to perfect the band and the tour often made him feel like a robot. But with Helena back in his arms, he felt alive and hot-blooded again.

They settled her into the small, but spacious private plane. It would be just over two hours from Oslo to Paris. Two stewardesses were available for all the band's and staff's needs. A full bar with was available at the back of the plane, which Stig and Anders already took advantage of with Bloody Mary's. 

The plane had plenty of open space with electrical hookups for the band to rehearse if need. The new drummer, Markus, already had a drum kit set up and drummed away in his own world. Helena giggled as a stewardess marched over to him and yanked an earbud out of his ear to tell him something. Probably to buckle up and prepare for take off. 

Helena and Torsten settled next to each other in their seats, which she remarked were more like luxurious armchairs. He made a point of strapping her seat belt, his hands kneading her thighs and hips, and unsubtly brushing his hand between her legs. 

"So sweet of you to be concerned for my safety," she teased. 

"I want you in one piece when we join the mile-high club." He pressed one fingertip against her clit and felt his hardness return as she squirmed under his touch. 

"What, here?" she asked in a breathless whisper. 

"Well, if you want to," he smirked. "We have some private cabins on board, too."  

Helena blushed, which almost drove him to take her right there in the passenger seat as she suggested.

"So wait, you said when we join. You've never had sex on a plane before?" she asked.

"Well, not this plane..."

She smirked, but her eyes dropped from his and he felt a stab of regret. 

"I'm kidding! I didn't mean that." Tenderly, he lifted her chin with a finger. Her olive green eyes nearly made his heart stop. 

"I've never had sex on a plane. I've never even brought a woman I’m… seeing on a work-related trip before." 

"Aww, so you're a virgin?" The sexy fire in her eyes returned with a smirk playing on her lips.

"I'll shut that beautiful mouth up." And he did, covering her mouth with his and pressing his tongue against hers, whispering promises of what would come later. 

Her intoxicating little mouth consumed him so much, he considered carrying her off to the private cabin before takeoff when the plane gently lurched forward. 

"Please remained buckled in your seats, everyone, until the captain turns off the seatbelt sign," announced the chirpy stewardess over the loudspeaker. 

Torsten reluctantly untangled himself from Helena but kept his hand on her thigh as the plane rolled across the runway. 

It felt like so long since he last had her, since he made her come until they lost count in her bed. 

He grinned to himself as he watched her try to keep her cool. She shut her phone off, pushed her purse underneath her seat, then tried to read a book. But he saw the pink blush creep up her slender neck into her cheeks. He knew she needed him just as badly. He’d bet his net worth that her pussy soaked through her panties since their kiss on the runway.

"Have you been to Paris before?" he asked, trying to distract himself from the luscious curves of her breasts. 

"No," she answered, clearly not paying attention to her book. "I've always wanted to go. It sounds like a beautiful city." 

"I think it's better when you have someone to romance." He squeezed her knee gently. "Last time we played there, I spent most of my time in the catacombs." 

"The what?" 

"The catacombs. Underneath the city are the skeletons of six million people. A maze of rooms lined with bones and skulls." 

Helena raised an eyebrow. "And you spent most of your time with skeletons because...?" 

"You seem surprised that a heavy metal musician who writes songs about death and the underworld would have a fascination with death." 

"I'm not surprised the fascination is there. Just didn't realize you were so... intimately acquainted with the dead."

Torsten's eyes flicked up to the window as the plane lurched off the ground and into the air. "I suppose my upbringing made me better acquainted than most. I've been much closer to death than most people have been." 

He watched out the window as buildings, cars, and trees shrunk to microscopic size. After a moment, Helena asked, “Is that all you’re going to tell me?”

“Yes. For now, love.” He squeezed her knee affectionately as she looked at him curiously, but didn’t press the subject.

She put her hand over his, intertwining their fingers. His eyes returned to meet hers, and that cocky grin played on his lips again. 

"I much prefer the living anyway." 

He leaned in and grazed his teeth against her neck. The heat from her body drove him wild like blood for a vampire. He opened his mouth and gently sucked at the warm, taut skin on her  neck. 

She let out the softest moan imaginable. Her hand slid up the inside of his thigh and pressed against the bulge in his jeans, already rock hard. 

"Fucking hell, love. I need you now," Torsten growled as he unbuckled his seatbelt, then reached across her lap to unbuckle hers.