Read Unplugged: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance Online
Authors: Sienna Valentine
Unplugged: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance
UNPLUGGED
SIENNA
VALENTINE
Copyright © 2015 Sienna
Valentine
All rights reserved.
This is a work of
fiction. Names, characters, places, dialogue, and everything else are products
of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to people or events, living or
dead, is purely coincidental.
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CONTENTS
Unplugged: A Bad Boy
Rockstar Romance
One
– Noah
Two
– Laurel
Three
– Noah
Four
– Noah
Five
– Laurel
Six
– Noah
Seven
– Laurel
Eight
– Noah
Nine
– Laurel
Ten
– Noah
Eleven
– Laurel
Twelve
– Noah
Thirteen
– Laurel
Fourteen
– Noah
Fifteen
– Luarel
Sixteen
– Laurel
Seventeen
– Noah
Eighteen
– Laurel
Nineteen
– Noah
Twenty
– Laurel
Twenty-One
– Noah
Epilogue
– Laurel
BONUS BOOK: Sanctum – A Black
Dogs MC Novel
Noah
I
found her at a record store, thrusting her beautiful ass out to rifle through
the dollar vinyl boxes that usually held old crooners from the 40s and 50s, or
forgotten country acts that never left the dust of their hometowns. My mood was
grim. A couple of young assholes had recognized me in my truck on the way over
and thrown their half-finished can of energy drink at me as they raced by. The
can didn’t hurt my truck, but impotent rage raced through my veins the rest of
the drive, and by the time I got inside the record store, I was ready to take
it out on someone.
Her ass curved out like a bell from a thin waist
decorated with three studded belts. She tied a gingham shirt up and under her
huge tits, cleavage peeking out from under a stack of silver necklaces of
different lengths. A shock of short, bright red hair completed her edgy look,
and when she stood upright and saw me staring at her, she smiled at me and
licked at the lollipop she had in her mouth.
“Find what you’re looking for?” I asked her, eyes on
her tits.
“I think I just might have,” she said. Her voice was a
high-pitched, purring sound, and she wiggled her hips when she talked.
I stepped closer. Her chest and neck flushed with
arousal, an effect I am all too used to having on women. At 6’1”, my height intrigues
them from the start. But the cut muscles of my body, and the tattoos that
decorate them, draw them in like moths around firelight. They know they are going
to get burned, but they just can’t help themselves.
“Do you live nearby?” I asked.
She looked me up and down, a bit of fear in her eyes.
But the smile on her lips said she liked it. “Uh-huh.” She bobbed the sucker in
and out of her mouth suggestively.
“Pick whatever you want out of there, and let’s get
going,” I said, nodding toward the record box she had been searching through. I
reached out and lightly caressed the meat of her thigh, and then I turned and
headed for the front of the store, waiting.
In a rush she gathered up the records she had been
considering and sauntered to the counter on her wedge platforms. I threw a
fifty at the cashier after he rang her up and told him to keep the change.
I followed her to her apartment about three miles from
the record store, sliding into the first parking stall I could find and keeping
my hood up as I walked up to meet her. She waited with a grin on her face until
I caught up, then took me by the hand and led me up a flight of stairs to her
place.
As she closed the door behind us and locked it, I
asked her, “Do you have roommates?”
“Just one, but she’s at work,” she said. She threw her
coat and purse on an empty recliner and approached me with lust in her eyes.
“I’m Nina.”
“I don’t really care,” I said. “Is that a problem?”
Nina threw her arms around my neck and rubbed her soft
body against mine. My dick started swelling up, and I gripped her ample ass in
both of my hands. She shrugged. “Not really.”
“Good,” I said, smashing my mouth down against hers
and kissing her hard and heavy, until she was whimpering under my mouth and
grasping onto my shirt. She hiked one leg up on my hip, brushing her jean-covered
pussy against me.
“I want you on your knees,” I said, grabbing a handful
of her colorful hair.
Nina said nothing, only moaned like a bitch in heat as
my hand helped her comply. She rubbed my dick through my jeans and looked up at
me while I unfastened them and pulled out my thick, eight-inch piece. She
immediately ran her mouth up and down its length, tongue warm and wet, lapping
up the precum that had already gathered at the tip.
“Suck,” I said. I held the base of my dick in one hand
and Nina’s hair in the other as I fed her my hardened shaft until it hit the
back of her throat. She moaned around my dick, sucking at it with abandon. This
wasn’t the first time she’d deep throated someone.
I didn’t even bother letting her take the lead. One
hand on her head, I bucked my hips against Nina’s mouth, fucking her face,
while she rubbed one hand down between her legs. Saliva dripped down her cheek
every time I pulled out of her mouth, running down her neck and cleavage.
I tilted her head up to look at me and told her to
take off her clothes and bend over the couch. Nina smiled up at me, fuck-drunk
already, and quickly pulled her shirt off to reveal her beautiful, fleshy tits.
They filled my mouth one at a time before I let her stand to remove her jeans, and
by then she was panting with desire.
When she finally went to kick off her shoes, I stopped
her. There was no need for that; I didn’t plan on staying that long. Instead, I
bent her over the couch while she was still wearing them and lined my cock up to
her dripping pussy. The smooth head teased up and down her slit, spreading her
wetness around while she begged me to put it inside her.
After quickly rolling on a condom, I obliged, sinking
the entire length of my dick inside Nina in one hard thrust. She screamed into
the cushions of the couch, a wail that never stopped as I pumped in and out of
her from behind. Each cry was punctuated by desperate, rhythmic breaths, and
the simple and repeated phrase, “Oh God, oh God…”
With my eyes closed, I wrapped my hands around her
waist and drove as deep and hard inside of her as I could. This was always the
best way to forget everything that was bothering me, and today was no
exception. The feel of her pussy around my cock was like heaven; the sight of
her gorgeous ass pressing up against me with every thrust, beautiful. Soon I
couldn’t even hear Nina’s screaming, lost as I was in the pleasure of her
wetness, until the edge was upon me.
Leaning over with a growl, I grabbed Nina’s hair and
pulled hard as I came inside her, pushing deeper with every wave. Nina’s mantra
was under her breath in a whisper now. She must have come, too.
After withdrawing, I found my way to the bathroom to
clean myself up and toss the condom. I splashed water on my face while I
intentionally ignored the reflection staring back at me in the mirror. Nina was
still naked when I came back out, but now she was wrapped in a knitted afghan
on the couch instead of bent over it, ass up. Standing in the living room was
another girl, though. Must have been the roommate. She has a backpack slung
over her shoulder and a nametag still pinned on her polo shirt.
They both stopped talking and looked at me when I
entered the room. “Oh, hey,” I said, my stomach tensing at this unexpected
intrusion. I just wanted to make my way out of here.
The eyes of the new girl in the room went wide, and so
did her mouth.
Fuck. I knew that look. Nina hadn’t recognized me, but
her roommate sure as hell did.
“Thanks,” I said to Nina, raising a hand. “I’m gonna
take off.”
“Wait, I didn’t even—“
“You’re
Noah Hardy
,” Nina’s roommate whispered.
Then, more loudly, she added, “Oh my God, you’re him!”
Nina gave a sour look to her roommate, and then back
to me. “He’s who?”
This was about to get a lot more messy, so I just
walked past both of them without another word, leaving Nina to catch up with
her friend about the booty call she just had while I jumped in my truck and
blazed away, anxious to get back home.
For the first time in ten years, I didn’t know what
the fuck to do with myself. I didn’t have studio time blacked out on my
calendar; I didn’t have to scramble around getting everything ready for a
three-month-long jaunt across the US or Europe; I didn’t have a gauntlet of
copycat interviews to sit through for hours on end to promote a new album. I
had nothing. My phone, usually blowing up so badly I often left it at home or
on the bus just to get away from it, was silent as the grave. I guess what they
say about fame and fair-weather friends was right.
Luckily for me, I never let anyone get that close.
Only my band brothers—and sometimes not even them. The absence of hangers-on
trying to hook up with me for favors or weed or booty calls didn’t upset me. I wished
I could say the same about the silence from Ash and Jeff. Duke’s silence, well…
what the fuck else was new? That motherfucker has been waiting for me to trip
up for years now.
Yet I couldn’t quite handle the silence of my house.
The place barely felt like it was mine, I spent so little time here. You never
realize how used to the noise you are until everything suddenly goes quiet. You’re
left standing there wondering what the fuck happened, feeling vaguely like
something was stalking up to eat you. That’s how it felt, regardless of what I
tried to do to occupy myself. I paced, restless, until it was too much to take.
I looked out the window and was greeted by a roiling
gray sky. Already the glass dripped with raindrops. I loved storms. I wanted to
be out in it.
In my walk-in closet, I threw on the first pair of
torn jeans I put my hands on. Same with the band shirt. Not mine, of course.
Then I grabbed my gray hoodie and leather jacket combo and shrugged it over my
shoulders. A quick glance in the mirror with my hood up made me feel a little
better about going out. As a heavily muscled international rock star covered in
tattoos, it was more than a little difficult to move around in the world
without being spotted. I’d never been afraid to go out before, but I was
starting to understand agoraphobes.
Thornwood used to be the place where I didn’t have to
be anyone but myself. Thornwood was home. Now, though… now even this place felt
like it was turning on me.
The rain drizzled down my jacket as I stepped out and
into my pickup truck, a ’72 Ford I restored before Cut Up Angels hit it big. As
she rumbled to life under my touch, I smiled, running my hands over the smooth
leather of the steering wheel. She was a beautiful truck, and I felt powerful
driving her. For a minute I just sat in the driveway, listening to her purr,
letting CO2 pump into the atmosphere and secretly hoping it would be my exhaust
that made global warming kill us all. Preferably in the next ten minutes.
The thought of dying made me think of graveyards, and
suddenly I knew where I could go. Thornwood—hell, the whole fucking planet—might
throw me to the wolves, but there was one place that never would.
Ten minutes later, I pulled into the near-empty
parking lot of the Graveyard Club off Cherry Highway. It was an old, brick
building with last-man-standing stubbornness that was shared by her owner. This
place made me who I was, but more importantly, fans didn’t know about it. I
didn’t talk about it in interviews or press because I never wanted this place
to come under someone’s knife because of me. This was my sanctuary. My second
home.
Even the gravel under my boots sounded the same. I
smiled as I opened the door and walked into the dark, dingy space. Dust floated
in the air, and overhead some black metal band I didn’t recognize was playing
softly, as if it were elevator music. A few barflies nursed their drinks at the
counter. Near the small corner stage, a few skinny young dudes with tools and
wires huddled deep in conversation around some of the sound equipment. I didn’t
recognize anyone until Kevin Galloway came out from the back room. He spotted
me almost immediately, and a big, stupid smile overtook his weathered face.
“Holy Jupiter shit,” said Kevin, his voice like
sandpaper from years of heavy chain-smoking. “When the fuck did you blow into
town, you son of a bitch?” He came out from around the counter with his arms
open wide and embraced me tightly, even if I had to bend over a bit to make it
work. The ancient metalhead smelled like cigarettes, pot, and pine. He was one
of the original thrashers of the Seattle scene, and had forgotten more about
music and the rocker lifestyle than I would ever know. The Graveyard Club was
his baby.
“Only a few days ago,” I replied, clapping him on the
shoulder. “I’m really fucking glad to see this place is still here. I’d heard
some things.”
“Oh man, lemme tell ya,” said Kevin as he crossed his
arms in front of his chest. He shook his head. “Things are bad in the scene,
Noah. Venues are closing left and right. It’s not like it used to be.”
“Are you in trouble?” I asked, my mind wandering to
the secret stash of cash I kept buried in my yard at home. He didn’t know it,
but I’d give up everything I had to keep Kevin and the club on its feet.