A Dirty Wedding Night: A Dirty Rockstar Romance (Dirty, Book 2.5) Page 9

  “Does it look like he’s here?”

  She hugged herself and didn’t answer.

  I steered her over to a chair and sat her ass down, and blow-dried her hair. Then I tucked her into bed.

  “You’re amazing, Roni,” she gushed as she cuddled into her pillow.

  So, yeah. Pretty drunk.

  “You okay?” I smoothed her hair back from her face. “You want me to find him, ask him to come back?”

  She blinked up at me with her big brown eyes. “Why?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Yeah…” she said. Then, “No.” And about three seconds later, she was asleep.

  I waited a few minutes to be sure Jessa was out. Then I got the hell out of there and knocked on the door to Maggie’s room, next door.

  There was only so much nurturing I could handle, and I’d just maxed out my annual quota when I brushed another woman’s hair. But as Dirty’s assistant manager, Maggie was probably used to handling other women’s hair—like holding it out of toilet bowls while they puked and stuff. Much more suited to this gig.

  There was a fire burning in her room; I could see it through the window curtain. But no movement, no noise.

  I knocked again. Maybe she was asleep. Or—?

  “ZANE, DON’T!”

  I heard some footsteps, then the door opened and I glimpsed Maggie, sitting on the bed across the room. She was hugging a pillow. And there was Zane Traynor, lead singer of Dirty, the gorgeous golden god of rock, in my face.

  Naked.

  He smirked when he saw me and leaned casually on the door frame, as if his legendary cock wasn’t hanging out. “Wild card,” he said. “How’s it hangin’?”

  I glanced down because I couldn’t really help it, given that question. Impressive, sure, but I wasn’t impressed. I was aware that Jessa had assumed Zane was the reason I’d wanted to come to this wedding with her. But she was wrong about that.

  Way wrong.

  “Not bad,” I said, unfazed.

  When I looked at Maggie again, she was covering her face. I heard muffled swearing into the pillow.

  Zane’s gaze crept down to my cleavage, his smirk widening into a grin. “Yeah? Dylan and Ash treating you well?”

  Maggie exploded out of bed. “Don’t answer that. It’s none of his business.” She grabbed the door from Zane’s grasp, elbowing him aside. “How are you?” she asked me, with way too much enthusiasm for this time of night. Up close, she looked a wreck. She was wearing the ugliest tent of a puke-green shirt, with no pants, and her hair was all messed up. I’d never seen the girl with a hair out of place.

  Actually, she looked fucked.

  I knew what a well-fucked woman looked like.

  “Uh… okay,” I said. “I was wondering if you could pop in and check on Jessa? You know, make sure she’s still breathing? She’s been sucking back booze like a sorority girl and she’s passed out now, but I wanted to go for a walk. I mean, if you’re not busy…” I glanced at Zane, who was still grinning.

  “Yeah. For sure,” Maggie said. Again, too much enthusiasm. “We’re up. I’m up. We were just talking. Zane was helping me with something. We can check on her. I can check on her. I can go stay with her. Because I’m not staying here. I mean, this is my room. He’s not staying…”

  Her awkward babbling trailed off. I didn’t know Maggie well enough to know if this kind of babbling was normal for her or not, but it definitely didn’t seem healthy to spew out so many words without breathing.

  “Okay,” I said when she seemed finished. “Thanks.”

  Then I walked away.

  I heard Zane laugh and Maggie swear as she shut the door.

  No idea what that was about, but at least everyone except me was getting laid tonight. And I happened to know for a fact that Zane Traynor was an amazing lay.

  So kudos, Maggie.

  At least, he was an amazing lay five years ago… back when I was twenty-one and screwing rock stars seemed like the world’s best idea.

  Especially if they were friends with Jude Grayson.

  The lodge was faintly aglow in the night, its wraparound deck rimmed with golden lanterns, the chandeliers inside the windows dimmed, a fire burning low in the hearth. Everything else was dark, still and silent as I approached. I didn’t see a single other person around. Even the staff had cleared out.

  Perfect.

  I found one of the glass doors along the deck unlocked and slipped it open, stepping inside.

  Dylan said the bar was locked, but I’d made a point of flirting with the bartender at the wedding reception and found out where he kept the key. Not that he’d told me; I’d watched him stash it in a drawer. You just never knew when information like that might come in handy, right?

  I headed straight for the bar, across the grand room.

  And that’s when I saw him.

  A man, sitting alone in front of the fireplace, on a small love seat facing the fire. I saw his dark head of hair tipped back, resting against the back. Sleeping, maybe. Hopefully.

  I’d just have to slip out before he saw me…

  But as I neared the bar, the side of his face came into view… that unmistakable face.

  It was Jude.

  Of all fucking people.

  Jesse’s best man. Dirty’s head of security.

  The worst mistake of my life.

  His big body came into view. And big was definitely the word. He was lounged back on the love seat, thighs spread wide, and I saw it.

  I saw it all.

  I stopped short… and it took me a delayed moment to process what I was seeing.

  I was seeing Jude’s dick.

  He had his dark T-shirt shoved up, showing his thick, washboard abs, his sweats shoved down to expose himself, and his long, swollen dick was in his hand.

  He was jerking off.

  I glanced around, but there was no one else here. I half-expected some hot young bimbo to come crawling out from behind the couch at any moment.

  But no. There was no one but him.

  And now, me.

  I couldn’t tell if his eyes were closed, but his dark eyelashes were lowered. His heavily-tattooed arm flexed as he pumped. His mouth was open a bit and I could hear him breathing, low and strained, as he worked himself…

  And heat crashed through me in a wave.

  I swallowed.

  Well… There was something I never thought I’d see again.

  I just stood there, staring. Wanting to laugh, wanting to run, wanting to strut right over and lend him a hand… all in equal measure. Instead, I did something else.

  I started singing, loudly.

  “HEEEYYYYY JUDE—”

  “Fuck!” He sat up like a shot. “Jesus! Don’t sing the fuckin’ song.”

  I laughed. I fucking howled with laughter. “You should see your fucking face!”

  “Shit. She sings me the fuckin’ Beatles while I’ve got my cock in my hand.” In no particular hurry, he wrestled his hard dick into his sweats, which tented rudely. “You think I haven’t heard that song enough in my goddamn life?”

  “So blame your parents.”

  “I do. Fuckin’ hippies.” He swiped a hand through his thick, almost-black hair and fell back on the couch, heaving out a sigh. “And now she’s talkin’ to me about my parents. Christ.”

  I was still laughing, doubled-over. Actually, I was crying. Tears leaked out the corners of my eyes, shimmering in the firelight. He was getting blurry, but I could still see him scowling at me.

  “Wow. Oh, shit. I haven’t laughed like that… Well, since the stagette last night.” I wiped the tears away.

  “So fuckin’ glad I could provide your nightly amusement.”

  “Oh, don’t pout.” I stood up tall and crossed my arms under my chest. “It’s so pathetic when men pout. And please, don’t let me stop you.” Against my better judgment, I sauntered over and perched on the arm of the love seat, totally fucking in love with the fact that I’d caught him in a vu
lnerable moment, even if it barely fazed him. Because clearly, it didn’t.

  Despite the fact that he’d put his dick away—more or less—his sweats were still riding so low I could see the shadow of his closely-shaven treasure trail, his shirt still halfway up his abs as he lounged back. The man was dead fucking sexy. Sexist man I’d ever…

  But I didn’t plan on letting that faze me, either.

  “Please, carry on. I wouldn’t dream of leaving a man hanging.”

  Well, tell that to Dylan…

  “I’m good,” he said, but his cock didn’t look any less put out. I could see the thick head clearly outlined as it pressed against the fabric of his dark sweats.

  Damn…

  Jude had a monster dick when he was twenty-one. Guess that hadn’t changed. In my fantasies of him over the years, it definitely had; like maybe he’d started doing ’roids to pump up his hot bod, and his dick had shrunk to the size of a raisin, and his life had fallen apart.

  Yeah; those kinds of fantasies.

  I met his eyes. Dark and smoldering and totally fucking dangerous.

  So those hadn’t changed, either.

  Jude had been hot back then, but now he had a monster body to go with his dick, and he’d really grown into his rugged-gorgeous looks. Had a lot more tattoos, too. He pretty much lived the life of a rock star, managing security for one of the biggest bands in the world, working alongside his best friends, and if that wasn’t enough, he was a patched member of a powerful outlaw motorcycle club, alongside his brother. All of which meant that he had big, fat bank and pretty much his pick of any pussy that drifted his way.

  So no, Jude’s life hadn’t fallen apart. More likely every boyhood fantasy he’d ever had had come true.

  Because life was fair like that.

  “May I ask why you’re jerking off?” I inquired, busting his balls a bit. “You know there are women here, right?”

  He shrugged a shoulder but the look in his eyes, which were still fixed on me, was not casual. It was sex-hazed, rough and ready. “Just felt like it.” He shifted over a bit, his gaze dropping to linger on my breasts, so purposefully I couldn’t even pretend not to notice. He patted the seat cushion next to him. “Have a seat.”

  Right.

  There were about five inches between him and the end of the tiny love seat, and my ass was not that small. And I definitely wasn’t sitting on that monster in his lap. Even though, clearly, he was offering it up… as he spread his thighs a little wider, his arm tossed up on the back of the love seat. Casual, not casual. Just putting it out there to see if I’d bite.

  And I had to wonder… If another woman had happened to walk in on him while he had his cock out, and she had her cleavage out, would he have asked her to sit down, too?

  Yes.

  Well, maybe.

  “I’m good,” I said.

  I started to get up, but then paused. I looked at him just sitting there, staring at me.

  I sat back down.

  “You wanna smoke a joint?” I pulled one from the pocket of my jacket. “I was just going to.”

  Stupid.

  Actually… really, really stupid.

  When the hell had I become so stupid?

  When he didn’t answer right away, I got up to leave for real. Like I really didn’t give one fuck. I was just being polite, right?

  “I’m on duty,” he said. His tone was serious, but it was hard to take him seriously when his dick was still up.

  I started backing away as I spoke. “So… you’ll jack off on duty, but you won’t smoke up?”

  The barest hint of a smirk curved his full lips. “Man’s gotta have his ethics.”

  “Suit yourself.” I turned away before his dimples could make an appearance and I got even more stupid. But as I walked away, I could feel his eyes all over my ass.

  “Roni.”

  I stopped, my heart thudding in my chest at the sound of my name in that low, soft growl.

  “I’m just messin’ with you, darlin’.”

  Jesus. Darlin’ was it, now?

  I turned back.

  “You know,” I mused, “being ‘on duty’ never would’ve stopped you before. I remember you, twenty years old, working with the band…” Shit. What was I doing now? Flirting? “Just a lowly roadie back then, bouncing parties and hauling gear, but partying as hard as anyone else.” Yeah. I was totally flirting. “Harder, I bet.”

  He stared at me with that look in his eyes.

  Hellfire.

  Jude’s eyes had always reminded me of hellfire. A deep, molten brown that burned right into you. It wasn’t a stare that looked through you, to all the other women you could’ve been but weren’t… like Ash’s did.

  Jude looked at me like he really saw me.

  He’d always looked at me like that.

  “I remember you, too,” he said.

  And with that, I should’ve turned and walked away. Just left things on that high note.

  Instead, I kept flirting.

  Because old habits die hard.

  “So now it’s all work and no play for poor Jude?”

  He cracked a rare smile, the deep dimples flashing in his cheeks. And I felt the tiniest surge of victory—even as that smile hit me, right between the legs. “I play when I want to.”

  “And?” I challenged. “Can’t some of your boys take over? I don’t see any imminent security threats around here.”

  “My boys are off for the night. Having a party in my cabin. That’s the thing about boys…” His eyes roamed down my body as he spoke. “Gotta let ’em blow off steam sometime.”

  I planted my hand on my cocked hip and perused the scene. “So… you escaped to blow off some steam of your own, in front of a crackling fire?”

  He raised a dark eyebrow, his dimples still on display. “You laughin’ at me, V?”

  I stared at him, my heart beating a little too hard in my chest.

  He called me V.

  Which gave me a very unexpected—and yes, stupid—surge of hope that he still had a soft spot for me?

  Well, not that he ever really did. Not exactly.

  More like a hard spot…

  “No,” I said. “It’s very romantic, Jude.” I made sure to look deep in his hellfire eyes and hold his gaze when I said, “I just never thought of you that way. You know, as a romantic.”

  Then I turned and walked away, in no particular hurry, giving him ample time to appreciate my ass in my tight cargos… and ponder what he’d been missing.

  “V,” he said.

  And I couldn’t resist. I stopped and turned back to him, again.

  He gestured at his crotch, at the stiff bulge of his cock in his sweats. “Just gotta give me a minute here, darlin’.”

  “Uh-huh.” I turned on my heel. “There’s a key for the bar cabinets in the drawer by the sink,” I told him over my shoulder as I walked away. “I like tequila.”

  “I know you do,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice as I walked out the door.

  Chapter 3

  Jude

  Roni. Fucking Veronica Webber.

  Blast from the fucking past.

  I tried not to think about that. Thought, instead, about how bad Dylan’s shoes stank after playing drums all night, all the times I’d walked into some shared bathroom on the road that reeked of puke… the time me and Brody had to pick broken glass out of a nasty gash on Zane’s ass…

  Yeah, that worked.

  Once my cock was down, I threw on my hoodie and got that key. I swiped a couple of shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. Then I went to the door and looked outside. Watched her standing there against the deck railing, her profile to me as she looked out over the dark water below.

  Glad I didn’t say anything ridiculous while all my blood was in my dick.

  Yeah, so I’d pretty much offered up my cock, when I was hard as fuck and she was sitting right there, still laughing at me. But that was all horny bullshit and bravado.

  T
ruth was, a woman with Roni’s talents deserved better than a quick fuck. And quick was what it would’ve been. Was about ten seconds from blowing my load when she interrupted me.

  And glad she did.

  Been a lot of girls in and out of my life. My bed. Was like that for a lot of guys I knew in the rock ’n’ roll life. In the MC life. But for some guys, lucky or unlucky, there was that one girl you remembered, different from all the rest. The one you sometimes thought about out of the blue, no matter how long it’d been since you last had her. And you wondered, Would she be that fine if I had her again? Because she was that epic.

  Sexy, obviously.

  Pretty.

  Had some other qualities like a big, infectious laugh and a lack of self-consciousness, a freeness you could admire and didn’t see a lot in other women.

  And something else. Something you couldn’t put your finger on, and maybe that was the attraction. That unknown quality that worked its way under your skin and stayed with you.

  That something different.

  More than just the taste of her or the wild noises she made. The feel of her, naked and soft, against your skin… How hot and wet her pussy was. How tight her ass was. How good she sucked you off.

  It wasn’t just fucking her.

  It wasn’t just her fucking you.

  More.

  Some crazy head-spinning shit, some kind of magic you made as your bodies slammed together.

  As I watched her standing there, the curve of her slightly arched back as she leaned on the rail, the way her pants hugged her round ass, the way her thick, black hair hung down her back and framed the side of her face, I remembered it. Like a tug in my stomach. Lower… like a pull.

  Like a tiny blade twisting when she looked over. Just one of her bright green eyes glittering at me.

  Come the fuck over here, that eye said.

  I opened the door. Went to her and poured her a shot. She sparked up her joint and passed it to me.

  “You roll this fatty?” I asked, impressed.

  “It’s a talent.”