Groupie (Rock-Hard Beautiful, #1)

by C.M. Stunich

For months I haven't been able to masturbate, haven't been interested in sleeping with anyone because of what Kevin did to me. And now, today, the day my father dies is the day my libido decides to come racing back?

“Maybe you've both had enough to drink, Pax?” the guy from the gas station—Copeland—asks, setting aside a book and standing up to face us. I see that he's reading Fifty Shades of Grey. Even I've never read Fifty Shades of Grey. It makes me want to read it to see what all the fuss is about; it makes me want to like him.

Collecting our glasses, he sets them aside and starts to pull me towards the back of the bus. The door opens and Ransom Riggs appears, swallowed up by his black hoodie, his nostrils flaring as he glances from Paxton to me, this strange, feral look on his sleepy bedroom-eyed face. “You're never going to stop, are you?” he asks in a voice so quiet, I'm not sure I'm even meant to hear it. “Never,” Paxton drawls and then he's shoving Ransom aside with his shoulder and pulling me down the hallway.

He doesn't care that my father died today or that I'm soaking wet and shivering, doesn't care that I have nothing and nobody. That sort of apathy … speaks to me. I feel like whatever darkness I might have inside of me, his is that much worse.

Pax is clearly dominant, his hands unforgiving, forging a path that can't be swayed. I wouldn't consider myself a weak person, but this feels so damn good. I don't want to be in charge of anything right now, not after all that's happened to me today, happened to me this year, happened to me ever. “On the bed,” Pax whispers against my mouth, his accent delicious and so different from the slow Arizona drawl I've been hearing from the locals. “And hurry, Lilith Goode; I don't like waiting.”

I lean back on my elbows and catch sight of Ransom watching me from down the hall. He's leaning against a wall, one foot crossed over the other, completely casual in his stance. His eyes … they tell a different story. He watches me like he's hungry.

After a moment, Ransom moves away but he's quickly replaced by Copeland. “Don't be cruel, Pax,” he says, his soft voice a warning. His lead singer ignores him completely, taking off his belt and tossing it up onto the bed, like he plans on using it for something.

My fingers are just tangling in his dark hair before he grabs my wrist and pushes it aside. Wow. He's really closed off; all of that arrogant apathy must just be one hell of a shield.

“If you want me to stop, just say it. I don't play games.” And that's it, the only warning I'll get.

You just met this guy and you're letting him tie you up? What the hell, Lilith?

Kevin went down on me maybe a half-dozen times during our entire five year relationship, and I got the impression that he just wasn't into it. Paxton, he's definitely into it. He makes these … these male sounds when he's between my thighs, like that's where he wants to be. And his mouth, it's just as ruthless between my legs as it was on my lips.

“Your past lovers not take care of you right, Miss Lilith Goode?” he asks, and I can feel his cruel laugh against the bare heat of my throbbing wetness. “Because you're wound up real tight.” Paxton thrusts a finger inside of me, punctuating the word tight with the motion. I scream then, a real, full shout that makes my throat feel dry and sore. “What the hell, Pax?” a voice asks quietly from the hallway—I think it's Ransom again. The bed creaks, and I take the guess that Pax is glancing over his shoulder. I'm trembling too much to lift up my head and see for myself. “Fuck off, Ran. Can't you see I'm busy here.”

“Look at me while I fuck you,” he says, and I don't even have a chance to breathe before he's thrusting his cock inside of me. It's been so long, and he's only the third man I've ever been with, so the sensation is … it's so intense that I feel tears prick the edges of my eyes. “There it is again,” Pax whispers, like he's fascinated with me, with my emotions. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He's big, much bigger than Kevin, and I feel for a second there like he's going to break me. Well, if I weren't already broken.

When I try to close my eyes, he squeezes my face with his pretty fingers. “No. Look at me.”

I don't want him to care; I just want him to fuck me. His cruelty, I almost feel like I deserve this. Dad was dying; I knew that. But I didn't go home right away because … oh God, for so many reasons that don't even matter anymore. Before I know it, tears are streaming down my cheeks again and Pax is slowing, stopping. He just stares at me. “Please don't,” I whisper against his lips as he puts his mouth so close to mine that we're sharing breaths. “Don't stop. Not yet.” “Fuck,” he says, but he keeps moving, filling me up, stretching my body with his cock.

I squeeze my thighs tighter, pull my legs back, give into the sickening rush of pleasure that I don't deserve. I want Pax to be crueler, rougher, meaner.

He fucks me until I'm a sweating, aching mess, looking into his face as he kisses me with his eyes open. We stare at each other, and when he comes, he drops his forehead to mine, shuddering and gasping, digging his fingers into my ass … and then looking at me like I'm fucking crazy. “The bloody hell …” he starts and then he's pushing away from me, pulling out. I feel the bed jostle as he stands up off of it, and lift my head to watch him. “The fuck …” He's still cursing as he tosses the full condom into a trash can and zips himself up. Without evening bothering to untie me, he walks away.

“Paxton!” I scream, thrashing at the stupid fucking belt on my wrists. I liked it before; now I just want it off. Preferably so I can wrap it around the lead singer's neck and pull tight.

“Holy shit,” a voice says and then somebody's climbing on the bed next to me. It's the boy from the gas station, the band's drummer, Copeland Park. “God, are you okay, Lilith?” he asks, and I like how he, too, seems to remember my name. “Fucking Paxton. Jesus, I mean. This is the first time he's ever left a girl tied up like this …” He trails off as he undoes the belt and I drag my wrists to my chest, cradling them and trying to get back some sensation. “Damn it,” Copeland's cursing, but I see him glance over at me and then away sharply.

“I'm cold,” I say and Cope turns to look at me. That's when I reach up and take the side of his face in my hand, kissing him hard and quick on the mouth, hoping that he can taste my feelings on my lips. Maybe he won't want me after he just saw another man fuck me, but I don't care. I'm asking with my kiss … and he's answering. Copeland turns to face me, pulling me into his lap. We've just started kissing and already, I can feel him hard and ready beneath his expensive jeans. Maybe he's been hard this whole time, listening to Pax and me fuck? I hope so. The thought turns me on even as a wave of giddy, nervous energy shoots through me. Two men in one night? Two men was the whole total of my entire sexual experience until about forty minutes ago. It feels … dirty and wrong and … I want it so badly it hurts.

Holy crap. This is the kind of boy you fall for without even realizing it's happening. This kind, he's ten times as dangerous as Paxton Blackwell. With a guy like Pax, it's clear what he wants and why. With a guy like this … it could be anything.

Cope kisses me like I'm his real girlfriend, not some random girl he gave money to at a gas station.

With bad boys—like Paxton Blackwell—it's so easy to tell what they're thinking, what they're going to do. But the good boys … they make you feel safe before they drop you on your ass. See, told you Cope was dangerous. The nice ones always are.

I like that, feeling people's emotions through their body. And this girl … she's absolutely thrumming.

Fucking Paxton, that piece of shit. I would totally kick his ass if I thought it would help, but Pax is just Pax. He's been a dick since I first met him, when he was nineteen. He's an even bigger dick now, has been ever since Chloe and Harper died in that accident. Well, since Chloe killed Harper in that accident.

I see a lot of girls like this, lonely and sad. They need somebody to want them, and I want to want them. I want to take care of them all. Inevitably, I let them go after the night, but I always pray that when I do, they'll find their feet.

She tangles her fingers in my hair and hugs me close, squeezing my face to her chest, using my body for comfort. I like that. A lot. Pretty lips and nice hair, curves and breasts, those are great but it's moments like this that really turn me on.

“You're really nice,” she says and I smile again. “Is it all bullshit?” “Bullshit?” I ask with a raised brow, turning onto my side to face her fully, propping myself up on an elbow. “No, not at all.” “Why did you give me money at the gas station? You knew I hadn't lost my wallet.” I shrug. “You needed money; I had some on me.” “And the hug?” I sigh and lean in, kissing this stranger's lips like they belong to me. I like to pretend that they do, sometimes. All these girls. Like maybe one of them is actually mine. “What about it? You needed a hug; I had one on me.”

I really like that she uses my nickname. She must've picked it up from one of the guys, or maybe she's a really big fan of Beauty in Lies. I don't think she's a groupie, doesn't act like one at all. Besides, she definitely didn't recognize me at the gas station. Makes me like her more.

But I wish. I would love to come inside of this girl.

For a moment, I let her hold me like I'm hers.

And then I take her in one arm and let her cry against my chest for an hour. But after this, I have to go. Because I'm not hers, and she's not mine. Although for some reason, with this stranger, this time … I kind of wish she was.

“Sorry to bug you, Cutie, but we're shipping out soon.”

As if it can read my thoughts, my tummy rumbles and I clamp a hand over it, pulling the silk blanket up around my breasts. Derek drops his hand when I do, proving that he wasn't really covering his eyes up.

“All your stuff is wet,” he says, glancing at something on the floor. My jeans, I think. “You want some clothes? I have a ton of extra shirts; you could have one. Maybe some sweatpants?” His smile twitches a little. “No bras or panties—I usually send those along with the girls who bring them.”

If I invited him, I think he'd fuck me right now. At least, he's looking at me like he would.

I'm sitting there thinking when I see Ransom again. He just pauses in the hall and stares at me with his dark chocolate eyes. My heart almost leaps from my throat when he walks down it and puts a hand on either side of the doorframe, blocking out all the light, completely cloaked in his black hoodie and shadows. “Just so you know, Paxton is back. If you want to beat the shit out of him, honey, I'll hold his arms for you.”

I seem to make these guys say fuck a lot. Not sure what it is. My life is just screwed-up and weird, I guess. Maybe I attract unhappiness? Maybe there's something wrong with me? Either that or I was just a complete and total bitch in my past life.

I remember that I dropped the blankets and that my tits are hanging out, but at this point, I honestly just don't care anymore. I hope Muse looks; I want him to look.

Oh my god, Lilith, what the fuck are you doing? Didn't I just screw two other guys? A third one … that would be crazy, wouldn't it?

“You don't have to fuck me for the plane ticket or anything,” he says with a slight shrug. “That stuff's just free.”

I've always strictly been a one man sort of a girl.

I'd much rather have a menagerie of men.

Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and realize this was all a dream, that there was no way I was surrounded by five hot guys on a bus … or that I had sex with three of them.

Michael runs his tongue across his lower lip and rakes his fingers through his hair; I can see the bulge in his sweatpants from here. “No,” he says after several long moments. I feel my hand drop to my side, feel my heart thundering, my cheeks turning red with embarrassment. “I don't fuck groupies.”

Groupie? I'm not a groupie. That was the first time I'd heard that word used on me; it wouldn't be the last.

It's Ransom again. “Hey, honey,” he says when he sees me sitting there and looking at him. I want to hate that he says baby and sweetie and honey, but I don't. There's just something about his soft, sleepy voice and his bedroom eyes that makes it sexy. “Muse says you have free reign to use his credit card to book whatever you need.”

He gets us both under the covers and then gently turns me so I'm facing away from him. My throat gets so dry and my body throbs in response to his touch as he curls his own around me, spooning me nice and tight. It's literally the most intimate thing I've ever been a part of—and that includes all of the sex I just had. “Let the tears out, baby doll,” he says as he buries his face against my neck and breathes out slow and deep.

“When my mother died, I locked myself in a bathroom and cried for two days straight.” “I'm sorry,” I whisper as he presses a strangely intimate kiss to the side of my forehead. “Thanks,” is his response. “For what?” I ask, trembling and shedding messy tears all over the black silk pillow beneath my head. “You seem to be the one comforting me.” “For this. I hate sleeping alone, baby girl. I hate it.”