Rush (Pandemic Sorrow #2) (7 page)

Chapter 11

Back on the road, and this stint of the tour had been unlike anything I’d ever experienced in my life.

I’d spent our two weeks home fucking around. I went to parties, went to premiers, did a few morning shows. The only difference from usual was that Jag hadn’t been with me. None of the guys had seen him except during practice, and even then he’d still missed two.

He kept telling me he had the shits, but I wasn’t fucking stupid. He was either on some binge, embarrassed because Pax was fucking his ex-girlfriend, or it was a chick. Most likely a chick.

The last time he’d disappeared like this was when he first met River. They stayed locked up in her house for a week, just fucking. Coke and pussy were the only things that could have him holed up for an extended period of time. Come to find out, the reason Jag had been missing for those few weeks wasn’t because his pride was hurt from Pax dipping his withered dick into River; it was because Jag had gone off and decided monogamy was his thing.

What the actual fuck?

Jag Steele, with one woman? And it wasn’t a celebrity, it was just a normal girl. A bartender, the girl who had blown him off a month ago during one of our shows. I had convinced myself the drugs had finally eaten away at his ability to reason.

That fucker had cut off the fuck-and-sucks because of her. Who in the hell thought Jag could speak on behalf of the entire band? He was just the lead singer, not our god.

Next great moment on the tour, Jag beat the shit out of Pax on stage. Knocked his ass out. So the tension between the two of them just kept building, making the smallest breath coming from either one of them almost set off a fight.

We were just checking into the hotel. We had one night off from performing, and I was looking forward to sleeping in a real bed.

I tapped my fingers over the granite and smiled, coyly glancing up from under my hair at the girl. “Yeah, babe. The whole floor, and you are more than welcome to bring your hot ass up there at the end of your shift.”

Her jaw slowly dropped and she stuttered. “Uh, I, um. The penthouse floor. Okay.” Her eyes darted back over to the computer as she typed on the keyboard, nervously glancing back up at me, a deep carnation staining her cheeks.

“You’re pretty, you know that, huh?” I leaned against the counter and rolled my tongue ring over my lips, staring at her, letting her know I would fuck the absolute shit out of her if she wanted.

She giggled and sucked in a quick breath. “I just need your license and a card.”

“Oh, yeah, sure thing.” I pulled out the company card and handed it to her.

She ran the transaction and handed me the card key. “I’m sorry, I know you get tired of hearing this, but I love you guys.”

I forced a larger-than-necessary smile. “Thanks. But what I need to know is, who’s your favorite?”

The girl twisted and swayed, batting her eyes when she answered, “You. I’m obsessed with your hair, and your face.” She laughed. “Pretty much everything about you.”

I laid across the counter and motioned her closer with my finger. “And when you see my cock, you’ll be obsessed with that too.”

That comment caught her breath.

Sliding off the counter, I let my eyes slowly scan over her body. “No need to change when you come up, just unbutton the top three buttons on that shirt, leave the skirt and heels, but ditch the panties. They’ll just get in my way, all right, sweetheart?”

Her jaw dropped completely and her chest rose in deep, ragged jolts. All she could manage in response was a barely-there nod.

I took the card key from the counter, and, turning and running my thumb over my chin, I growled, “Promise I’ll be real careful. You look delicate, wouldn’t want to ruin you, pretty girl.”

I heard heels clack across the lobby tile and stop directly behind me. “He’ll ruin you. I wouldn’t let him touch me if I were you,” Jules said.

I turned to stare at her, and a pleased smile had warmed her face. She shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t make me embarrass you,” I taunted, before shooting one last smile at the girl I’d been flirting with and heading toward the elevators.

Jag came strolling through the entrance, talking on his phone with a shit-eating grin slammed over his face.

“Hey, fucker!” I shouted, my voice echoing through the atrium. “Party in the penthouse. Bring as much pussy as you can find. Endless blow, endless jobs. Oh, and tons of coke for you.”

A scowl crept over his face and he shook his head as he passed by, covering the phone with his hand. “Man, I’m just going to bed.”

“Pussy! Are you a rocker or a grandpa?”

“I’ve got a girlfriend!”

Tossing my hands up into the air, I laughed, “Well, fine. Forget the pussy, just come hang out with us. Fuck, dude. Did you die or something?”

About that time, Jules huffed and crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips. “Rush, stop being an ass, would you?”

She trotted right past me to the stairs, and I followed.

“What did I do?”

She glared at me and cocked her hip out. “Leave Jag alone.” Grabbing my shirt, she twisted the material in her hand. “That girl is the best thing that’s happened to him. Leave him alone. Besides, I’ve had my fill of waif-thin models being toted around on tours, and if one of you can calm your shit down, that means less drama, less giggling bitches, and a smaller chance of me walking in on someone getting fucked.”

I laughed and playfully pushed her shoulder. “Aw, now, Jules, think how boring your life would be if we all turned into boring, dribbling, pussy-whipped dicks. What would you do?”

“Live longer.”

She yanked the door open and I caught it, following her into the stairwell. Her fingers curled around the worn metal rail, and she snapped her head around to glare at me. “Really? You’re following me now?”

“I’m claustrophobic.”

“Since when?”

“Don’t question me. I’m a weak man, Jules.”

Climbing the stairs, she giggled. “Yeah,
sure
you are.”

I had her alone.

I darted up the stairs in front of her and pushed my back against the door.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sighing.

“Hmm, looks like I’m blocking your exit.”

She rolled her eyes and tried to pry my body away.

“You shouldn’t manhandle me like that,” I said, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her back against one of the concrete walls.

Her eyes widened and she gave me a stern look. “Let me go!”

I wet my lip with the edge of my tongue. “I don’t want to.”

She nodded. “Okay, so you’re gonna hold me hostage in here? For what? Is Jag about to pop through the door? You’re just holding me down until a good fart comes over him?”

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. I looked down at the floor and slowly leaned my body into hers. “No.” I let a few seconds of silence pass as we stared at each other. “I never had closure.”

Her eyes darted over to the door, then back at me. “Closure? What are you talking about?”

“You fucked me and left me, Jules. That’s what I do, not what the girl does. I didn’t like that.”

A nervous laugh forced its way out of her mouth, then she cleared her throat. I kept staring at her lips. I needed to know what the fuck was going on. She was driving me insane and the more I studied the perfect little dip in the middle of her upper lip, the more control I lost. I just couldn’t help it. I kissed her and for a split second she gave in, but as soon as my tongue touched the inside of her mouth, she jerked free.

“Stop it! Just stop it, please,” she practically shouted, and that sentence bounced up the stale stairwell.

She reached for the door and I immediately regretted following her up the stairs, because now I knew that she wanted this but just wouldn’t allow it to happen. And I think that was worse than just thinking she hated me.

She shook her head and opened the door, refusing to look back at me as she mumbled, “We work together and, whether you believe it or not, I really try to be professional. I can’t lose my job over sex.”

She walked out and the door slammed behind her. Not knowing your limits is a pain in the ass.

*****

The loud dubstep radiated through the room, causing the decorative items on the coffee table to rattle from the bass. Stone handed me a rolled-up bill, and I leaned over the fat line and snorted it like a pro.

There were about fifty girls wandering around the hotel suite, all in their underwear as instructed. I’d already gotten two blow jobs and a shitty attempt at a hand job. And I was miserable. I felt guilty for letting anyone besides Jules touch me. I’d gone from being angry at the situation to feeling guilty, even though Jules refused to have anything to do with me.

Suddenly, several screams erupted from the group of girls, and I glanced up to find Jag staggering through the room, drunk as shit.

“Hey, man. I just came to get some of that blow,” he slurred, tripping and catching himself on an end table.

Stone looked over at me, grinning. “Told you. It’s Jag. He’ll have fucked half this room before he leaves.”

“Pax!” Jag shouted. “Fucker? Get your ass over here!” Jag swatted groping hands away from him, obviously annoyed.

I heard a “Fuck you!” but wasn’t sure where it had come from.

I scanned the room and found Pax sprawled out in a chair, surrounded by a group of blondes.

I would have paid money to watch Jag beat his ass again, I really would have. That shit was priceless. Pax was a weasel; granted, he was a badass drummer, but I’d never really liked him. I actually used to shove him in lockers when we were in high school, but since he was Stone’s best friend, I had to put up with his ass.

Raising my hand, I pointed at Jag. “Fuckface! Jag said to come here. You better get your ass over here before he knocks your pussy ass out again.”

Pax shoved the girls out of his way and stumbled across the room. “What?”

“Call her.” Jag held his phone out.

“Call who?”

“Roxy.”

“Why?”

“Fucker, you’re gonna tell her I wasn’t with that skank-ass bitch. You tell her that’s your whore now and you tell her what the fuck happened. If you don’t, I swear to God I will make your life miserable.”

I chuckled and kicked at Pax’s leg. “Better do it, dipshit. I mean, it is the least you could do.”

“Yeah, Pax. Just be decent for once,” Stone said, and nailed him in the side of the head with an empty beer can.

“Fuck you!” Pax groaned and bent over, grabbing the can and hurling it back at Stone. “Fine. Give me your phone.”

Jag handed his phone to Pax, and their argument faded into the music.

“Hi.” A timid, very feminine voice broke through the music.

I looked up and saw the girl from downstairs; the top three buttons of her white dress shirt were unbuttoned, showcasing a pair of large, fleshy breasts in a lacy, snow white bra.

Stone pushed up from the couch and mumbled, “I’m going to get my dick sucked. Save some blow for me, would you?”

She stumbled over to me. “No panties, as requested,” she slurred, the pungent smell of cheap vodka floating through the air. She was drunk. And that should have stopped me, but it didn’t. The guilt didn’t stop me because I just had to get my mind right.

A few minutes later, I had her up on the marble vanity of the bathroom, buried deep inside her.

Meaningless sex with a hot woman. A woman I was certain didn’t do shit like this, but would because of who I was. She had slammed back vodka to take her conscience down a few notches because most people want to feel fame. It doesn’t matter how; they just want to experience it. It is human nature to want to be exceptional, to possess something that sets you apart, and for some people that thing is having fucked fame. And as I slipped my cock relentlessly into her, I felt that.

She wrapped her arms around me, clinging to me as I stole that little piece of her, and I felt it. Her nails weren’t embedding themselves into me, they were digging into fame; her attraction was with the Hollywood portrayal of me, with the guy on the stage, the guy in the music video—it was with fame. She was fucking fame, not me; just an idea, just something that she had never had and most likely would never have again.

To this girl, I was ingrained in her memory. Most likely each touch, each kiss, every single time I pushed my cock into her had been burned into her memory, and sadly, for me, I wouldn’t be able to recall this after the next show. I was her moment, and she was…every other girl to me. Faceless, nameless, a fan, a person, a way to make me feel like a god. She wasn’t Jules. No one was, and that had me fucked beyond all repair.

Every day, every night was the same. I lost count of the girls on tour, and at some point I probably should have stepped back and thought about how it all could affect me, but I didn’t. It had become routine; this was my life, my job. And as much as I pretended to absolutely fucking love it, sometimes, when I was alone, it absolutely sucked.

Chapter 12

I’d fallen asleep on the couch, waking up when the bus driver charged over as many uneven spots as he could find. Something didn’t feel right in my gut, but I just chalked it up to dehydration.

I bumped into the wall several times before making it to the bathroom. I had to pee so bad, I could have sworn there was piss coming up the back of my throat.

Yawning, I pulled him out and waited. I couldn’t piss.

Damn it. It’s the bus. It’s gotta be the bumping over the road that’s got me unable to piss. Or maybe I just clogged my piss-hole up somehow?

I closed my eyes, hoping that would help me concentrate. Nothing. I swallowed and shook my dick, then tried again. Finally, a few drops came out, but they burned like hell. Shoving a dull, rusted razor blade up my dick-hole would have been less painful, I’m sure.

I winced and let out a deep groan, then blew out several hard breaths to try to dull the pain shooting up my crotch. I tried again and a yellow stream broke free, stinging like a motherfucker. My knees buckled, my hips involuntarily pulled in, and I let out an agonized scream. “Fuuuuuuuucking shit!”

I didn’t even shake it. I stuck the fucker back in my shorts, barreled out of the door, and collapsed against the wall of the bus.

This cannot be happening. My dick is my salvation. It is what keeps me sane. He can’t go down, he can’t go outta commission. I’ll have withdrawals. He’s beautiful. He can’t be sick. Please, for the fucking love of pussy, don’t be sick. I don’t want to be gross and diseased.

Jag stumbled out of the bunks and I didn’t hear a damn word that fucker said. All I could do was pull the waistband of my pants out and stare at my dick, trying to give him a pep talk.

“We’ve been through so much, and now look at you.” I let out a hard breath and the stinging sensation faded.

I trudged out to the common area of the bus and slumped down in the seat. Each one of them was trying to give me grief, but I didn’t hear a damn thing they said. I was too freaked out about the snotty-looking dribble oozing its way from my manhood. Nothing really registered until I heard Jag say, “Just tell Jules to stop off at a doc-in-the-box. You don’t want to let that shit get outta hand, trust me.”

Fuck no! I don’t want Jules knowing this shit. That’s all I need, is for her to find out I caught the damn drip. A shot in the ass can cure this shit up, but I’d forever be diseased in her eyes and I would never live that shit down.

“Man, just tell her I’ve been throwing up. I feel like I’m gonna anyway. I don’t want her all up in my dick’s business.”

Jag snickered, twisting the piercing under his lip. “Sure thing, man. We’ll keep the fact that your STD cherry got popped to ourselves.” He chuckled again. “Want me to punch you in the balls to really sell the vomiting thing?”

“Just shut the fuck up,” I grumbled, pulling the waist of my pants back out to stare at my dick.