F*cked Read online

  F*cked

  Rock Star Romance

  ⚜ Amy Faye ⚜

  Published by Heartthrob Publishing

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  Here’s a preview of the sexy love story you’re about to read…

  His cock filled Mary’s mouth in a way that she couldn’t begin to understand. His hands dug into her hair, pushing and pulling. She ignored them. No, more than that—she defied them. She was confident about how to please a man, and she wasn’t going to let him think that he owned her. Not even Roman Townsend.

  From the sounds he was making, she didn’t think that was a problem for him. She pulled off and took a breath.

  “You like that, baby?”

  “Why’d you stop?”

  She smiled hard, and dipped her head again. His hands found her hair again, and found a grip on it. She liked it. It meant that he wanted it. It wasn’t just some convenient thing for him. He wanted her. Wanted what she could give him, at least.

  She pulled off again, and he took a sharp breath. “I could do more than just that, you know,” she said, a suggestive edge to my voice.

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s right,” she growled. Neither of them had any confusion about what she could do.

  “You’re very eager.”

  “I just know what I want,” Mary said. She leaned toward him, her hand wrapped around his erection.

  “What’s that?”

  “I want you.”

  “That’s a tall order,” he replied. He had an amused expression on her face. She moved her hand gently. “You sure you’re ready for me?”

  “You should ask yourself the same question.”

  Mary stood up and pulled her top off. Her breasts, barely suspended by the sheer tightness of the thing, fell out, and then she hiked her skirt up. There was nothing underneath them.

  He just smiled at her, reached for her, and guided her hips towards him. Mary stepped forward, let her knees onto the chair straddling his hips. She reached down and lined herself up with him, and then slowly, agonizingly, she lowered herself down onto his shaft.

  It stretched her out more than she’d expected. But she was so fucking wet and she was more than a little buzzed, and that made it easy to ignore the pain, in spite of herself. His hips stayed still. Studiously still.

  One hand reached up, played with one of Mary’s large breasts. She closed her eyes in part to disguise the slight discomfort of being so impossibly full, and in part to indulge herself more in the pleasurable feelings.

  Then she started to move her hips. He started to move his in time with her. His hands moved away from her breasts, down to her hips. She jack hammered on and off him, every movement driving him deeper home inside her. Mary’s head buzzed, her body surging with endorphins and chemical pleasure that only multiplied the feelings that he was giving her body. She let out a long, low moan, and moved harder, kept him deep inside her longer, and finally…

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  One

  Mary adjusted her top. It was tight. Too tight, even for her, and she’d chosen it to be tight. But once she started threatening to pop right out of it, things started to be a different question. She didn’t want anything popping until she made it back into the VIP room. Then, of course… well, then things would be a slightly different question.

  The entire crowd had this wild energy, so strong and so crazy that she didn’t know how she could stand it any longer. Her throat hurt but she screamed.

  “Come back!”

  The entire stadium screamed it, all at once and at different times, layering over each other until it sounded like an indistinct roar. Then the spotlight turned back on with a loud thunk. And standing in the center of the stage, close enough that Mary felt as if she could reach out and touch him, Roman Townsend was holding a guitar. The rest of the band seemed to be gone.

  What on earth…?

  He started playing the guitar. It screamed out so loud that it felt as if it was going to burst her ears. The sound layered on top of each other until it was as much a texture as it was a tune.

  The curtains opened. A man came on. Shirtless. Jeff Ramon, the drummer. His muscles stretched and contracted as he walked, and the sweat that everyone could see coating him made every part of him glisten as he walked. Then he settled onto his stool and watched Roman.

  Then the drums hit. It was like being slapped in the face with sound, and the guitar became more coherent, more refined, just by the addition of that instrument.

  The song continued. The bassist came out. Rhythm guitar next. And every time, the sound changed, until finally, the sound was that sound. The Roman Townsend sound. And then he stepped up to the mic, and started to sing. Mary felt her top threatening to pop off again, and at that point, it didn’t seem to matter all that much. Then again, nothing did, not any more.

  Between the music and the party favors, she wasn’t too worried about much of anything.

  “Roman! I love you!”

  He pointed right at her, and winked. The song continued, until it couldn’t continue any more. And then the spotlights went dark, and the curtain closed, and the musicians left the stage.

  Mary adjusted her top again. It was a hard come-down. But it always was, and the heights she’d reached were always worth it. She’d hoped… but, well. Whatever.

  A man in a black tee shirt that stretched to show off how big and muscular he was stepped up to her. He set his jaw.

  “Miss?”

  “Is something wrong?” She knew there was nothing wrong. She’d been hoping for this. But it was better to assume the worst, rather than assume the best and end up embarrassing yourself.

  “Mr. Townsend would like to see you.” She grinned hard. That was what I liked to hear.

  His cock filled Mary’s mouth in a way that she couldn’t begin to understand. His hands dug into her hair, pushing and pulling. She ignored them. No, more than that—she defied them. She was confident about how to please a man, and she wasn’t going to let him think that he owned her. Not even Roman Townsend.

  From the sounds he was making, she didn’t think that was a problem for him. She pulled off and took a breath.

  “You like that, baby?”

  “Why’d you stop?”

  She smiled hard, and dipped her head again. His hands found her hair again, and found a grip on it. She liked it. It meant that he wanted it. It wasn’t just some convenient thing for him. He wanted her. Wanted what she could give him, at least.

  She pulled off again, and he took a sharp breath. “I could do more than just that, you know,” she said, a suggestive edge to my voice.

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s right,” she growled. Neither of them had any confusion about what she could do.

  “You’re very eager.”

  “I just know what I want,” Mary said. She leaned toward him, her hand wrapped around his erection.

  “What’s that?”

  “I want you.”

  “That’s a tall order,” he replied. He had an amused expression on her face. She moved her hand gently. “You sure you’re ready for me?”

  “You should ask yourself the same question.”

  Mary stood up and pulled her top off. Her breasts, barely suspended by the sheer tightness of the thing, fell out, and then she hiked her skirt up. There was nothing underneath them.

  He just smiled at her, reached for her, and guided her hips towards him. Mary stepped forward, let her knees onto the chair straddling his hips. She reached down and lined herself up with him, and then slowly, agonizingly, she lowered herself down onto
his shaft.

  It stretched her out more than she’d expected. But she was so fucking wet and she was more than a little buzzed, and that made it easy to ignore the pain, in spite of herself. His hips stayed still. Studiously still.

  One hand reached up, played with one of Mary’s large breasts. She closed her eyes in part to disguise the slight discomfort of being so impossibly full, and in part to indulge herself more in the pleasurable feelings.

  Then she started to move her hips. He started to move his in time with her. His hands moved away from her breasts, down to her hips. She jack hammered on and off him, every movement driving him deeper home inside her. Mary’s head buzzed, her body surging with endorphins and chemical pleasure that only multiplied the feelings that he was giving her body. She let out a long, low moan, and moved harder, kept him deep inside her longer, and finally…

  He shuddered under her, and she felt his warmth spreading through her. Mary let out a long, low breath and settled her head down into the crook of Roman’s shoulder. He held her close. Both of them were slick with sweat, and soon they’d be not just slick, but sticky.

  But she was happy. Because this was the only thing that had ever even been on her 10-year-plan, and she’d gotten it done in record time.

  Two

  Roman Townsend did what he always did before a show. He knelt down and hoped to God that he didn’t fuck this up. He had a lot of experience with it. The chances that he suddenly played a wrong note, after fifteen years touring, was slim. But it kept him up nights. It was a thought that never left his mind. The closer he was to a show, the worse it was. The closer he was to the end of a tour, the worse it was.

  And now, he was close. One more show, and he’d be done. Getting close to the finish line meant that things were going to get easier. It’s just like a race. Sometimes, you see the finish line, and it means that you can coast. You’re there, there’s no problem. You’ve already dealt with everything that could possibly come up.

  People who think that way, people who feel that way, pretty reliably find out that there is, indeed, more that can come up. You get lax, even for a minute, and it’s going to end you. But you can’t get too tight, either.

  So he did what he’d been doing the past six months whenever he felt himself getting nervous. He pulled out the lute.

  It was the stupidest purchase he’d ever made. At least, the stupidest one he’d ever made sober. There was no world in which he needed to play it. Ever. Even as a distraction, there were a thousand other instruments that he could be playing.

  Of course, he already knew how to express himself with a piano. The list of instruments he could play, if he wanted to, was as long as his arm. The mandolin, the ukulele—which he could play the way most people played it or finger-style like the natives, the banjo, the bass guitar, standing and electric…

  It hadn’t really occurred to him that he didn’t know what else to do until he’d seen a lute with his own eyes and realized that for the first time in a while he wasn’t a hundred percent certain that he could play it without a problem. So he’d bought it, in spite of the price, which was downright astronomical for what he considered a toy.

  He plunked down in his chair and played it, and the music that came out was as good as anyone could expect. A year, as it turns out, isn’t all that long. Not on your seventieth stringed instrument. Not when it’s played more or less like a guitar, and you’ve been playing a guitar since you could walk. Before you could read.

  He set it down again twenty minutes later, when a man in a black tee shirt who looked like he spent most of his time in the gym came through the door.

  “Mr. Townsend?”

  “Are we on?”

  The man nodded, and Roman followed him. The show, as they say, must go on.

  He left his trailer the next morning. He hated being in Detroit. He hated it, because he wanted to be here. Far, far too much. She was just some woman, he told himself. He barely caught her name before she’d dropped to her knees. The conversation afterward was good, sure. But there were a thousand women out there who could have a good conversation.

  He stepped into the library and started walking around. He adjusted his dark glasses, which had slipped a little way down his nose. Where would she go? It had been almost a decade since he’d seen her last. Forever. She was a different person now. Probably married. Probably, she didn’t even listen to his music any more.

  Mary certainly hadn’t been to any of his concerts since that night. It was hard to be certain, of course. In the moment, there weren’t that many ways to comb through the whole crowd looking for a specific woman. There were thousands of women out there in those crowds, and most of them would answer to whatever the hell he wanted to call them, if they thought it would get them into his good graces.

  But he wanted her. So he wandered. He ticked off in his head, the last five tours that he’d been on. All of them blew off at the end with a stop in Detroit. Tommy hated it. Detroit was a nowhere town, by comparison. Why end all the shows there?

  Of course, Roman didn’t answer him. Roman played the music, Tommy booked the venues. The manager would be smarter to keep his opinions to himself, or he’d find out precisely how replaceable he really was.

  Roman scowled at the very thought. He didn’t ask that much. He kept up this hectic schedule, recorded an album a year while touring most of the rest of the year. He had so much money that he didn’t know what to spend it all on, a mansion that he’d seen exactly twice, and a car he couldn’t drive because it was back at the mansion he never went to.

  All he wanted, the only thing he asked for, was to be allowed to go to Detroit to try to run into some girl by random chance, and Tommy was a little bitch about that?

  “Whatcha angry about, mister?”

  Roman turned. The kid was small, barely past his waist. He looked over, and there was a little children’s section. A slide that went up to his thigh, maybe three and a half feet. Adequate for a kid, at least. It had a siding made out of plywood, or something like plywood, that had been painted to look like a long-neck dinosaur.

  “I’m not angry, buddy. Just thinking about stuff.”

  “Oh,” said the kid. He smiled. Roman smiled back, in spite of himself. He was angry. But he wasn’t going to lay his problems on a seven year old kid.

  “Hey, where’s your parents? You shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

  “My mommy’s right over there,” he said. He pointed. There was a circle of chairs, and a woman setting them up. “She said I can talk to people at the library.”

  “Could be dangerous, though. If she’s not keeping an eye on you.”

  He smiled. “Naw.”

  Roman couldn’t begin to explain why, but he liked the kid. And at the same time, he was right. No amount of naw was going to make him less than absolutely certain of that.

  “Scuse me, ma’am.”

  The woman straightened and turned, and Roman Townsend blinked and had to do a double-take. It was Mary. His Mary.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Roman was speechless. So he just smiled.

  Three

  It took Mary a long moment to recognize the man in front of her. Too long, she thought, considering that every single day she saw something else in Pete’s face that reminded her of him.

  “Oh.” She’d spent most of her life rehearsing for when she ran into Roman Townsend again. It was something that she worried about on a daily basis, for a little while. Then just once or twice a week, until now it was just something that kept her up at night. The questions raced in her head.

  “Mary, right?”

  She blinked. “Uh. I’m sorry. Do we know each other?”

  He stopped dead in his tracks. He hadn’t expected that response. She’d hoped he wouldn’t. Because she had to get him the heck out of here. She was about to have a meeting for Christ’s sake! She was about to be dealing with people who were still busily putting everything they could FIND up their noses, and here was Roman
Townsend himself, King of ‘stuff up the nose.’

  He frowned.

  “Yeah, we met a few years ago. It was… uh, it was a long time, but I thought maybe you might remember me. Roman?”

  “Oh, right. Roman. Yeah.” She hoped that it came off like she didn’t recognize the name, either. He wouldn’t dare to say his last name, she knew. Because people were already turning their heads to face him. They already suspected that he was that Roman. And it was only going to get worse. “Hey, you know, I was just getting ready for a Narcotics Anonymous meeting, so…”

  “N.A. huh?” He nodded like he was thinking about something. Mary didn’t bother to ask what he was thinking about it. There were a thousand other things that she was more concerned with. A million. He barely registered as a blip on her radar, and she hoped to keep it that way as long as possible. “You mind if I sit in?”

  Mary’s eyebrow raised.

  “It’s been a while since I… really felt it, you know? But it’s always good to come in. Maybe it’s fate, right?”

  “Yeah,” Mary said. She pursed her lips. She wasn’t about to push someone away. She’d spent too long putting this life together. It was an important cause. One that she felt very strongly about. So she wouldn’t push anyone away, even when they were Roman Townsend, and they probably had no intention of putting that life behind them. If you could save one person, then you had to try. “Sure.” Someone came in and planted themselves silently in the chair. She looked over. Barron wasn’t doing great. “I’ve got to finish setting up.”

  “Yeah. I’ll just take a seat, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Mary said. And then took a deep breath. She’d been sober seven years, nine months, and thirty-two days. She didn’t have the shakes any more. She didn’t think about it every single day. But she wanted it, and she wanted it more now than ever. Didn’t he know he was getting in over his head?

  She reached into her shirt, wrapped her fingers around the medallion she kept on the chain. Time equals miracles, it said. Recovery equals life.