Rock (Hard Rock Harlots #4) (17 page)

I
t’s taken
a couple days for Jimi to get acclimated to bus living, but he’s now litter-box trained, and laying down some fat over his scrawny bones, thanks to the special ferret food I bought him. He’s no less crotchety, though.

Jimi’s a curious little devil. He likes to explore, which often means popping out of Jinx’s trundle and scaring the bejesus out of her. For some reason, he seems to revel in eliciting her horror-movie screams, though the rest of us could really do without the deafening sound effects. The little bastard actually chuckles as he runs away, leaving her standing with her hands out, eyes popping, hitting a high C.

I think Toombs secretly gets a kick out of it too. I’ve caught him muffling more than a few laughs in the aftermath of a Jimi attack.

So far, everyone’s tolerating Jimi’s pungent smell. I bought an industrial-sized box of pine tree car fresheners and strung a line of them from bow to stern on the ceiling of the bus. They look like Christmas decorations, which is perfect for this time of year. I got a feeling the fragrance forest will need to be culled and replanted pretty regularly. The stuffy bus needed a breath of fresh air and some character anyway. Win—win!

Shades has warmed up to our dude. Well, sort of. I don’t think he’s quite reached the “like him” phase, but with time, he will.

It’s Sunday, the night before my birthday and mine and Shades’s one-year fuckiversary. The rest of the band and Jillian went out for drinks after the gig so we could have some alone time.

To prepare for our night of fun, we bought new costumes: a priest and a nun. Yeah, we’re sick fuckers. We can’t help it. But we gotta get ready for Birthday Club tomorrow. Might as well go all out.

Shades set up the back of the bus to look like an altar, but instead of a cross as the focal point, he plastered a “Long live The Rock” poster in the space between the toilet and the shower. Taper candles light our way on either side. A chalice full of lube rests on the floor next to the couch. We even have a makeshift confessional with a chair and a curtain fashioned from one of Eve’s slinky dresses.

Our night starts there.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been a week since my last confession.”

“Confess, Sister.”

“I’ve had improper thoughts. About you. I keep dreaming of you coming to my room, baring my ass, and spanking it.”

“Go on.”

“After my punishment, you part my cheeks and …”

“Say it.”

“Violate me.”

The glittery curtain shimmies.

“In what way?”

“You fill my ass with your big cock and bring forth a great flood of lust.”

“That’s a grave sin indeed, Sister. But The Rock loves you, and if you complete your penance, all will be forgiven.”

“Whatever it takes, Father. I can’t live with this shame much longer. It’s tearing my loins apart, setting my … private areas on fire.”

I cover my giggle, and I’m pretty sure he’s chuckling on the other side too. But we recover and carry on.

“Your penance for the sin of lust is a thousand strokes of my cock in your anus.”

“But, Father, isn’t that a bit harsh?”

“It’s the will of The Rock. Are you ready to atone?”

“Yes, Father.”

I step around the curtain and join Shades. After making the Sign of the Cross, I unzip my black polyester pants. My ten-inch, flesh-colored womancock springs free. “Now, worship The Rock.”

He falls to his knees and stares up at me, black wimple tight on his head. Stroking the fake, veined dick, he takes it in his mouth. I thrust my hips, forcing the latex down his throat, relishing the rub from the flat base of the dildo against my clit. I swipe his cheeks and cup his chin as he blows me.

“Sister, your lips are so sweet. You make my knees shake. I must pierce your ass with this mighty shaft.” Trying not to laugh, I withdraw and shake it at him, then dick slap his cheek.

“Please, Father, my loins are about to explode.” His high-pitched nun voice isn’t helping my ability to remain calm, and judging by the sudden lip presses, he’s about to lose it too.

I bend him over the couch and lift his underskirts. “Ah, what a perfect ass you have, Sister. The Rock approves.” I dip my veiny Jesus baton into the lube chalice and wedge it against his hole.

“Father, your shaft is so big.”

Okay, now I do bust out laughing and crumple over his back, which is shaking due to a similar fit on his end. He breaks character and says, “Just do it.”

“Your wish is my command.” I push it in and feast on the familiar jolt of shock running up the lines of his tattooed bones.

After a moment of adjustment, he says, “Take my hand, Father, and join me in a prayer at the altar of The Rock Almighty.” He reaches back and grasps my palm. He then sings the “prayer” while I get to work stretching his asshole with my womancock for tomorrow night’s festivities.

Did he seriously just make up a song through the ass-pounding I’m giving him? The man deserves a medal. “Oh, Sister, your words unravel me. The Rock declares your penance complete.” I still my thrusts and reach around to squeeze his cock to climax. A couple of quick jerks, the tightening of balls, and Shades sings, “Praise the Lord!” at the top of his lungs.

“Praise the Lord!” I echo, rubbing my thumb over the cum leftovers dribbling from the head of his cock. His song was enough to throw me over the edge too.

I disengage from Shades’s hole and flick my bean into a frenzy. As I’m about to unload a couple gallons of girly jizz, something sharp digs into my foot.

“Goddamn it, Jimi! I’ve had it with your ankle biting!” I work my pussy with hard, fast smacks, and aim my water cannon at the little fucker’s head, waiting for a reason to rip the cord.

“Let go,” I say, low and threatening.

He doesn’t.

“I’m warning you …”

A stare-down ensues. High priestess of The Rock against a one-eyed Rock ’n’ Roll Ferret. He curls his lip. White spikes of death on either side of his mouth dig into my flimsy costume boots.
Oww.
His whiskers twitch.

I step up my rubbing.

He bites harder.

“You asked for it.”

I probably won’t win Mom of the Year for this, but fuck it. Sometimes you gotta fight fire with water. I stuff three fingers in my cooch, pump, and push. The spray hits him right in the face. Instead of running like I expect him to, he turns my foot loose and nails me with an unyielding stare from his one scraggly eye.

A truce is declared. No negotiations required.

“Good,” I say to him. “Now get outta here while Mom and Dad finish up their prayers.”

He shakes his whole body, spraying a mist of cooter droplets everywhere, and lumbers away, knocked down a notch, but definitely not defeated.

When I return to Shades, he’s staring at me with a goofy expression laced with awe and delight. “You’re, like, the Ferret Whisperer. Another reason to love you.”

I blow him off. “Nah, we just needed a come-to-Jesus meeting to set things straight.”

I wind my arms around Shades’s neck and kiss him gently. “You look ridiculous in that habit.”

“I know. How about you get back in this habit?” he suggests, fanning his skirts at me. “If tomorrow’s gonna be anything like you’ve led me to believe, I probably need some more deep religious rapture to prepare for what awaits.”

“Pretty sure you’re gonna love it,” I say and place another kiss on his lips. I grab his hand and lead him to the poster he stuck on the wall earlier. “Bow before The Rock and give thanks.”

He tosses the ridiculous veil off his head, climbs out of the nun getup, and kneels before me, as naked and perfect as can be. My beautiful skeleton man.
Sigh.

He nods to the poster. “That may be your Rock, pussycat, but I’m looking at mine. Wherever you go, I’ll follow.”

I throw off my costume and kneel too. “You had it right all along. The Rock is what you make of it. And you became The Rock of my heart a year ago …,” I glance at my watch. Five past midnight, December first. “… today.”

“Happy birthday, Letty.”

“Happy anniversary, Shades.”

Jimi ambles over and waits for me to notice him. I scoop him up and cuddle him between us. “Long live
our
Rock.”

K
endall Grey is
the self-appointed past, present, and future president of the Authors Behaving Badly Club. A whale warrior and indie freedom fighter, she spends summers in the corner (usually with a dunce cap on her head) and winters hunched at the peak of Mt. Trouble, fiery pens of fury (complete with invisible ink) flying across the pages. She has a big set of cajones, and she’s not afraid to use them. In her spare time, Kendall speaks your mind so you don’t have to.

Kendall lives off a dirt road near Atlanta, Georgia, but don’t hold that against her.

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H
ard Rock Harlots Series
:

Strings

Beats

Nocturnes

Love Notes

J
ust Breathe Series
:

Inhale

Exhale

Just Breathe

Stifle

Letting Go

Dirty

Vexxed

’
O
hana Series
:

Hot-Blooded