Rocked Senseless: A Stand-Alone Rock Star Romance Read online

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  We’re given the word to walk out. A roar of appreciation blasts from the crowd. I shield my eyes walking up to the front of the stage. When I reach the mic, I notice a small screen propped up in front of me with the first verse of one of my songs displayed in black and white.

  Not like I need it. I’ve got this shit.

  “What’s up, Seattle?” Seattle cheers in response. I smile and pick up the mic from the stand. The lights dim slightly except for a spotlight above my head. I croon into the mic, falling into myself for the first time since the accident. A warm sensation rushes through my veins as the stadium hushes to hear my voice. A few suppressed cheers break out when I start the first verse. Then, when I reach the chorus, I belt the words that never fail to resonate with me.

  I am the queen of a crumbling castle

  Caught underneath the ash and the rubble

  I can’t break free from who I am

  No one can understand

  What it’s like to be the queen of a wasteland

  Agony pours out of me, spilling over into the crowd. They hold out their hands, dying to connect with me, aching to feel me the way I feel them. I run down the stage and join my hands with as many of theirs as I can reach. They give me something I ache for deep inside: validation. Acceptance. Celebration. I crave it all. This high is better than anything I’ve ever felt in my life.

  The chorus picks up speed after the second verse. I thrust my hips forward and inch my fingers toward my center, giving the men, and some women, in the audience something to fantasize about. Every man in this stadium is going to want me round with his child after tonight, but luckily, I have an IUD, so the worst they can do is fuck me until I’m seeing stars.

  Everything after the first song fades into a blur, a restless ocean of pain and longing. I try to ignore the buzzing in my head that says I have one too many highs surging through my bloodstream, but as the music grows more intense, so do my emotions, and my fear rears its ugly head. Three songs later, my brain spins up toward the clouds, and I start to panic.

  “If you get scared, just look back at me.”

  I turn around and look at Logan. His hair and his rock-solid arms glisten with sweat underneath the stage lights. He makes eye contact with me and sees the worry in my eyes. An impish grin breaks out on his face. I watch in amusement as he slides his tongue all the way up into one of his nostrils.

  I hold the mic away from my mouth and snort. Then I realize my panties are damp. As funny as that was, it was also ridiculously hot. His tongue is so long and skilled. I can only imagine what it would feel like tangled up with mine, licking down my neck, making its way over my nipples, my stomach, and wandering down toward my other set of lips . . .

  I give my head a little shake and force myself to focus on the music.

  Off-limits. He is absolutely, one hundred and ten percent not mine. I know very well who his girlfriend is. Not only could these stupid feelings destroy my friendship with him, but they could also put my career in jeopardy.

  Fuck the stage, I’ll throw myself off a cliff if I lose everything I’ve ever worked for over this stupid crush on my best friend.

  After the concert, my bandmates and I hit a club in downtown Seattle to celebrate a successful concert. Several of our team members, including a few from our equipment crew and our media team, come along with us. We’re not snobby, entitled rock stars, at least not yet. The more, the merrier.

  On the way down the street, I pull my phone out of my pocket to see if anyone has messaged me. I have several missed calls and text messages from Ana. She says she’s joining us at the after-party after our concert in L.A. and apologizes that she couldn’t make it to the hospital. She just got back from a fashion conference in Milan. I know she probably wanted to be at the hospital with me, but I’m glad she stayed there. Her modeling career is really starting to take off. It took a while, but she’s finally getting some recognition and we both know I would never want her to put that at risk just for me.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. I’ll see Ana soon. Maybe she’ll be able to talk some sense into this stupid, broken head of mine.

  When we arrive at the club, the lights are dim except for some lasers flashing over the dance floor. Music thumps relentlessly in the background, rattling the glasses behind the bar. Bartenders scramble back and forth, mixing drinks as fast as their fingers can move. Since it’s been hours since I had my last drink and the concert is over, I head straight to a tall, lanky bartender and ask for a martini. There are no stages to fall off of for the rest of the night, so I plan to get fucked up and fast.

  Once I have my glass in hand, I head over toward a bench on the wall. On the way, I pass a staircase with a sign that reads Smoking Patio, with an arrow pointing upward. As if acting on its own, my body steers me toward the stairs and I head up to the patio to have a smoke. I was trying to quit before the accident, but fuck it. I need to relax, and a ciggy and a martini sound amazing right now.

  I cross the patio to the black cast iron railing. Leaning against the cold metal, I pop a menthol cigarette in my mouth and heat it up with a pretty orange flame from a silver lighter. As soon as the tip glows, I snap the lighter shut and put it back in my pocket.

  The first puff is the sweetest. I exhale slowly, letting the nicotine soak into every cell it can possibly reach. After the smoke has left my body, the first sip of my martini goes down just as smooth. Sighing contentedly, I close my eyes, letting the pleasant night air envelope me.

  “Mads?”

  I jump, almost spilling my drink. Turning around, I see Logan approaching me. The look in his eyes is familiar.

  Judgment. Disappointment. Betrayal.

  I tap the end of my cigarette and watch bright orange ashes drift toward the ground as Logan comes up beside me.

  “I thought you quit,” he says, his voice low and rumbling.

  My pussy jumps. Down, girl.

  “I just needed something to relax me.”

  I can almost hear him furrowing his brows. “How long?”

  I look up into the starless sky. “Just tonight.”

  “I don’t like you sneaking around behind my back.”

  Smirking, I shrug. “I don’t know why you care so much. It’s my body. Besides, we’ve done a lot worse on this tour and you know it.”

  “The other shit we’ve been doing doesn’t turn your lungs black,” Logan retorts.

  I release a long sigh. “Dude . . . not cool.”

  Logan’s warm hand comes up to cup my bare shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  I take a long sip of my martini and toss the cigarette away in a nearby ashtray. My grandfather, Papa, was as spry and active as Nana before he died. They spent hours working in the garden together where they grew our fresh vegetables. They never hesitated to help a neighbor, either. When they found out that Logan's mother was a single mom, they took her under their wing as one of their own. Papa was a father figure and a mentor to Logan, which is why it crushed him when he was diagnosed with lung cancer and wasted away right before our eyes.

  Cancer sucks, and I suck for putting myself at risk for it, since we’ve already lost one Daley to the beast.

  “I’ll keep trying to stop,” I tell Logan. He squeezes my shoulder and pulls me into a side embrace.

  Goddamnit, quit hugging me, you musk-smelling hunk of man meat.

  “I know you will.” He kisses the top of my head. I wish it didn’t make my heart flutter.

  Maybe I just need to get some dick.

  It’s been a while since I got laid. Dalton and Jay have no problem getting girls to fall into their laps, but I went through a nasty breakup right before the tour, and I’ve been too stressed out to hook up with anyone since. Granted, I’ve had plenty of chances. Guys take one look at me up on the stage, with my tits pressed up to absolute perfection inside my laced-up corset, and fall at my feet. I’ve had some major hotties try to worm their way into my bed, but the one who broke my heart still clouds my memory.

  Jenks. The original hookup gone wrong.

  The man broke me into a million pieces, glued me back together again, and re-broke me so many times, I lost count. We were together for two years, and for most of that time, I was wearing gobs of concealer just to cover the fact that I’d been crying all night. He swore up and down when we first met that he would never cheat on me, but he did while he was on tour with his band. The worst part was, he didn’t even try to hide it. The tabloids buzzed with tales of his love affairs, right in front of my face, and his excuse was always the same.

  “I’m a man, Madison. I have needs. I came back home to you, didn’t I?”

  I tried to accept that ours was an open relationship. I even agreed when he asked me to do a threesome with an emerald-haired beauty he met at a concert.

  Not gonna lie, it was a scorching hot night . . . but watching him kiss and fuck her as if I didn’t even exist should have been my clue to get out of there and never come back.

  Eventually, he left me for the green-haired girl, and I was left humiliated and heartbroken, ground into dust by the only man who had ever told me he loved me. It was right before our band got signed. The crazy thing is, my heartbreak has become my identity. My fans see agony pouring out of me and relate to it. After all, who hasn’t been fucked over by some jackass who said they loved them?

  I have other reasons for being troubled, but Jenks was the most obvious, and instead of seeing me as weak or the victim, they embraced me.

  Still, I can’t go on being Miss Agony forever. I need to get laid, like, yesterday.

  “Wanna go back downstairs?” I ask Logan. He nods and sticks his elbow out for me to thread my arm through.

  Such a gentleman. Barf.

  I love Logan, but he’s way too nice for me. Too much of a “Goody Two-Shoes.” He always wants to do the “right” thing. Just once, I’d like to see him do something unequivocally bad.

  Then again, maybe I don’t. I’d probably lose all sense of resolve not to maul him with my lips.

  I settle into my bunk with my Kraken in hand, fully intending to drink until I pass out, or at least until the sounds behind me fade into a dull roar. Madison went to a hotel with some guy from the club. I wish I had gone to a hotel too, or at least brought earplugs. I didn’t even think about needing those until the tour was in full swing and I found out what true manwhores Jay and Dalton are.

  They don’t even care that they’re sitting two feet away from each other. I can hear each moan, giggle, and skin clap as their girls for the night bounce on top of their dicks. They’re getting full enjoyment out of being the only single guys in the band. I don’t want to join them—having sex in front of other guys is not my idea of a turn-on—but a part of me wishes I could fuck someone on this trip. If nothing else, it might help me get these batshit insane thoughts about my best friend out of my system.

  While Madison was in a coma, I sat by her side, day and night. I couldn’t leave her. I tried many times, but even walking down the hallway to get a snack was too far. I kept imagining her waking up alone, and it was too painful to handle.

  I also kept picturing her being so happy to see me when she woke up that she would kiss me. It was odd, but even more odd was the fact that my dick was at full mast every time that thought popped into my head.

  Jay walked into Madison’s hospital room on the fourth day of her coma and asked me if my “girlfriend” was awake yet. It royally pissed me off. I told him to go fuck himself, but it got me thinking that I do act more like a boyfriend to her than a best friend. We’ve never been shy about touching each other, and I still think of her as my “favorite girl,” even though I’m with Celeste. When I first figured out how to jerk off at twelve years old, Madison was the first face that popped into my head. Granted, I was twelve, and she was the only girl I had ever spent any time with. I chalked it up to that and never gave it any thought once I got introduced to the wonderful world of porn.

  A stupid grin stretches my face as I lean back and pour another shot’s worth of Kraken down my throat. Any man who says he doesn’t watch porn is lying out his asshole. Celeste has all the porn sites blocked from our apartment, but they’ve been fair game ever since I left to go on tour. It’s the only thing keeping me sane amidst turning away the groupies and staring at my best friend’s ass on stage every night.

  Goddamn, she has one hell of an ass . . .

  I pour the last of my rum down my throat, and the hot rush of alcohol floods my veins. Normally, Madison’s soft breathing above my head would lull me into a daze. I miss it. I’d rather end a good concert with that sound than have to listen to the gasping and whimpering of club whores any day.

  The guy she left with was wearing heavy eye makeup and pierced all over. I’m not Madison’s type. I know that. She’s deep into “goth” culture and isn’t afraid to let anyone know it. A night with her would probably scare me shitless.

  Why does that turn me on even more?

  Without even looking, I know my cock is so red it’s turning purple. She looked like such a sex goddess tonight. Her tits were practically floating on top of that black corset. I could see right through the laces to her alabaster skin underneath.

  I run my hand down my face and force the thought out of my sex-starved mind. Even if Madison wanted me, it’s too late. Celeste has me by the throat.

  I’m not even gonna deny I’m burning up with jealousy of the guy who gets to fuck her tonight.

  That’s a problem. A big one.

  And I don’t have the first clue what to do about it.

  Before Madison gets back the next morning, I’m already sprawled out on the couch, cracking open a beer and breaking open a bag of Lay’s chips. We’re not fancy around here with our breakfasts, especially when the usual gang is gone. Jay and Dalton are out taking their dates home, so I have the entire bus to myself.

  I turn the TV on and tune in to How I Met Your Mother on a streaming service. As soon as the title song plays, the door opens. Madison walks in with her hair flying in all directions, wearing the Metallica shirt her date was wearing instead of the corset she was wearing last night.

  Someone’s looking freshly fucked and chilled out. I can’t help but wonder how it would feel to be the one to make her look that way.

  Goddamnit. I gotta get this dude complex under control. Not everything that moves is mine to fuck.

  “Our show.” Madison smiles and plops down on the couch beside me. She grabs a bag of chips and pops a beer open with her bare hands. After downing a few swallows of Guinness, Madison stuffs it into the crevice between the arm of the couch and the cushion. I chuckle through my nose. She gives me a questioning look.

  “I just think it’s funny that after all this time, you still stash your drinks in the same place.”

  Madison shrugs. “Where else am I supposed to put it? I don’t have a table to set it on, and my hand was getting cold.”

  I grin. “That’s exactly what you said to me when you did that with a glass bottle of Coke in fifth grade.”

  Her big, blue eyes widen. She laughs. “Wow, I had forgotten all about that. I guess some things never change.”

  My smile grows. “Good.”

  For a while, we sit in silence. Our peace and solitude are interrupted when a ding sounds from Madison’s phone. She looks down at it and whimpers.

  “Aw, my BFF says she misses me.” Madison texts her back.

  “Best girlfriend,” I growl. “You know damn well you’re not allowed to call anyone else your ‘best friend’ but me.”

  “Oh, really?” Madison leans in, grinning as she taunts me with her ass in the air. She’s still wearing her leather pants from last night.

  Holy fuck, I can see every last curve of her lower body. It’s driving me insane.

  “What are you gonna do about it?”

  Spank you, my mind replies. Beat that ass until it’s black and blue.

  Fucking Christ. I need to get my shit together.

  “I’ll tell Ana about . . . ” My eyebrows pinch together. “Dammit. I have nothing to blackmail you with. You tell her everything.”

  “Yep.” Madison grins. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  What a brat.

  “Fine.” I reach over and tickle her. My fingers dance all over her ribcage. Madison leans back against the armrest and dissolves into breathless laughter, kicking and screaming as I bend closer and intensify my assault.

  “Stop!”

  “No,” I growl, pinning her down on her back. “Not until you promise I’m your best friend, now and forever.”

  “Fine,” Madison gasps, squirming underneath my grip. “I promise.”

  “You promise what?” I demand. The easy, teasing nature between us thickens into heavy tension. Madison searches my eyes. She may not understand why, but I need to hear these words. I need to know she’s still mine.

  “You’re my best friend, Logan,” Madison tells me with conviction. My muscles relax at the sincerity in her voice. She lays a hand on my bicep. “That’s one thing that will never, ever change.”

  Relief floods my chest. My first urge is to lean down and kiss her. Her sumptuous, soft lips beckon to me. I want to taste them pressed against mine. I want to feel them wrapped around my stiffened cock. He’s iron-hard now, just from touching her for a few seconds.

  I tear myself away from her and resume my seated position on the couch.

  Get a fucking grip, man.

  I straighten my corset and fan my mop of hair to the left of my face. It’s showtime again, and this time it’s in Los Angeles, the city where stars either shine or implode. I’m trying to remind myself I’ve already pulled off more than one successful concert since the accident, but this one seems bigger somehow. L.A. is my new home. I might have to see some of these people in town after the concert. I want this tour to end with a bang . . . except, this time, not on the top of my head.

  My phone buzzes with a text.