Page 17 of The Rockstar

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her hips move faster, and I give everything I have to her, meeting her thrust for thrust, until her legs tremble, and she slumps in my arms, limbs like wet noodles.

“My turn, Vi.” While her pussy suctions up around me, I pound her against the wall and sink my tongue in and out of her mouth. My pulse pounds madly, and I let out a guttural moan as I deliver my spend, pinning her so I can come as deeply as possible.

My own orgasm blinds me, and I snap my eyes shut, reveling in the scent of our sweat and orgasm, my cock still twitching inside her.

I never knew this level of happiness existed. Now I do. And it’s all because of her.

6

VIVIAN

I’m still floating on cloud nine, and I don’t wanna come back down to earth. This feels so much better than what all those romance novels promised. I’m so sorry, Mr. Darcy, Edward Cullen, and Four. I have my own happily ever after now.

Ryder tosses his hoodie over my shoulders, and he grins almost boyishly. God, I take back all those times I said he didn’t look that good. I take it all back.

“You should wear this,” he says, smoothing the fabric over my arms. “You look properly ravished and thoroughly fucked.”

I scoff, laughing as I shove his chest. “Wow. Compliment of the year. From the great Ryder Cross, no less.”

“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it,” he says with a smirk, eyes dropping to where my shirt is half-untucked. “Messy hair, swollen lips, post-orgasm flush, no underwear?—”

“Which you stole,by the way,” I interrupt, narrowing my eyes. “Hand them over, thief.”

He pats his pocket and beams proudly. “Nope. Souvenir.”

I groan, but I’m still smiling. “You are absolutely ridiculous. Please don’t ever wear it.”

He dramatically rests a palm on his chest, acting offended. “I would never. I’d frame this and add the time and date you came.”

“Oh my God!” I smack his arm. “You’re just lucky I have a thing for sweaty guitar guys.”

“Sweaty? That’s how you’re describing me after I rocked that stage?”

“Well, I was trying to be nice,” I say. “Don’t make me take it back.”

He brushes his lips against mine in a barely-there kiss that sends a new ripple through me. “You wouldn’t dare. Favorite groupies don’t talk back.”

I snort. “Good thing I’m not your groupie, then.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he whispers, eyes dancing with heat and humor.

We stumble out of the supply room like a couple of teenagers caught in the act, laughing under our breaths. My body still tingles in places I shouldn’t name in public. I’m glowing. There’s no other word for it.

Because for the first time, I saw Ryder in his element. Just a man, a guitar, and that raspy, soul-soaked voice. He owned that stage, and the crowd went crazy.

I’m so freaking proud of him.

That pride lasts all of two seconds.

Five women are waiting near the exit, their phones out and pointed in our direction. They spot Ryder, and in an instant, their attention narrows like lasers. They don’t see me. Or maybe they do, but I’m not who they came here for. One of them actually bumps me with her shoulder, and another steps between us like I’m not even there.

Well, excuse me, ladies.

“Ryder, oh my God, sign this for me?”

“Can I get a picture?”

“You were amazing. Please, just one selfie!”

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