“Fuck me harder, big boy. Yes. Yes. Yes.”
Is this woman auditioning for a porn movie? I don’t need a performance darlin’ I know how good I can fuck.
The blonde finally collapses beside me, exhausted from her efforts.
Getting up off the bed to dispose of the condom, I grab my grey sweatpants along the way. I need a drink to help me get over it. Heading towards the bar in my suite, I grab a glass tumbler and pour myself a bourbon. I quickly throw the dark liquid back, feeling the burn down my throat. That’s what I needed. Moments later, warm hands land on my waist, large tits press into my naked back.
“The rumors are true, you’re amazing.” She purrs, her Latin accent rolling over her words.
Casually she kisses my back making my body shudder.
What number is she this tour? I don’t remember nor do I want to. After fucking, all I want is to be left alone in my room, maybe play my guitar, write music, but most definitely not entertain her.
“Can I have one?” She breathes sexily into my ear, gazing at the bottle of bourbon with her eyes.
She’s starting to make herself comfortable; I don’t like it. These women know it’s one night only with me, as I’m honest from the start, but some always try for more. Sounds harsh but these women will do anything, and I mean anything, just to spend a night with a rock star. Our roadies are the testament to that; they are given blow jobs on a daily basis while we are on tour just so they can get closer to the band. Security gets rid of them once the roadies are finished having some fun.
Taking another shot, the burn of the bourbon slides down my throat numbing me. “Thanks for tonight, darlin’, but you’re not staying for a drink. You know where the door is, don’t you?”
The blonde looks at me in shock; she is a stunning woman with an exotic flare. No doubt being kicked out is a new concept for her. The change in her face is swift; I recognize what’s coming next. “Seriously, you’re throwing me out like yesterday’s trash, after fucking me.”
Shrugging at her, that was exactly what I am doing.
Turning on her heel she picks up her clothes scattered around the room, muttering in Spanish while getting dressed; her ice blue eyes lit with fire. “You’re a sorry excuse for a man, Evan Wyld. You should be ashamed of yourself, using women as if they are your personal fuck toys.”
Says the woman who just fucked me for a great story to tell her friends, or maybe even sell it to the highest bidder if she’s lucky.
“I faked my orgasm, you weren’t that good.” She hisses at me.
“That makes two of us darlin’.”
Flipping me off, she slams the door shut.
Fuck, I’m too old for this shit, I grumble as I slump into the couch hanging my head in my hands. That’s my life; travelling around the world, only seeing the inside of hotel rooms, paparazzi intruding on every moment of my day, and a series of one-night stands with women who couldn’t give a fuck about me. I can’t take a damn shit without it being headline news. We are on our second last tour and I can’t fucking wait for it to be over! Then on to bigger and better things.
***
“What the hell is this?” Vanessa, our PR manager yells at us, pointing to the online gossip site blinking on her tablet.
She’s called us together into the hotel suites living room like a bunch of naughty boys called before the principal. Most of us looking bleary eyed after last night’s partying.
“How many fucking times do I tell you boys to be vigilant of your surroundings?”
Her Australian accent coming out when she swears. Usually her accent is a mash-up of American, English and Australian. But when she gets angry, she sounds like the crocodile hunter; it makes me laugh, which of course is always at the wrong times.
Vanessa is hot, and by hot I mean smoking. Nearly six feet in heels, her legs travel on for miles. No, I have not fucked her, nor would I. She scares the shit out of me. Her caramel hair is pulled up into a ponytail, sun-kissed skin hidden behind the long sleeves of her dress, her sea green eyes shooting fire at us for our latest fuck up.
“Queen V, I’m sorry but how was I supposed to know that there would be cameras in the VIP section of the club. It’s the VIP section; don’t we get special treatment partying there?” Christian argues, raking his hand through shaggy brown hair hanging loosely in front of his face.
“You shouldn’t be having your dick sucked in the middle of a club, Christian. Save that shit for a hotel room or, at least, a damn bathroom.”
He just shrugs. “If you helped a brother out once and awhile, I wouldn’t have to find groupies to do it. Which means … I wouldn’t get myself into trouble, and you wouldn’t be yelling at us. See V, it’s a win-win.”
Vanessa rolls her eyes at him.
Christian is always joking about trying to get into her panties, which is sexual harassment seeing as we all work together, but she takes it all in her stride. He’s her best friend. It’s weird because Christian doesn’t have female friends, he has booty calls on speed dial, but for some reasons it works, well, at least, I think it does. A couple of years ago Vanessa moved in with him after her douchebag of an ex decided to use her as a punching bag. They have been tight ever since. Not sure if anything has happened between them as Christian has never said a word, so I guess not because he has the biggest mouth when it comes to his conquests. In my head I think all the fighting they do at work is some intense foreplay then they go home and fuck each other’s brains out.
“Seriously Christian, I’m surprised your dick hasn’t fallen off from any diseases. It’s a fucking miracle”. Vanessa bites back. “Just because you’re Dirty Texas, doesn’t mean you can keep getting away with this shit.”
She’s right; we are grown ass men still acting like horny fucking frat boys. But when a girl wants to suck your dick in the middle of the club, then you can’t knock back that perfect gift from the gods. Never a good sign when Vanessa starts pacing. We are in so much trouble.
“Do you guys realize how much work it takes looking after you?”
We stay silent because I am sure she doesn’t want us to answer that question.
“Cleaning up the same shit? Repeating it over and over?”
I notice her eyes are glassy. Shit, is she about to cry? Fuck, I feel like a bastard, Vanessa looks disappointed in us … with her serious mom face.
“You’re not twenty-year-olds anymore. You can’t keep doing this immature shit; people are getting sick of it, namely me.”
She’s right. We’ve been doing this for so long; we think it’s normal.
“V, are you okay?” Axel asks. He is the complete opposite to his twin, Christian. Christian is loud, crazy, and goofy whereas Axel is quiet, intense, and brooding. The typical creative genius. As the lead singer of the band, he has taken on the role as the unofficial leader of the group, one that he relishes. He has a good head for business and hasn’t steered us wrong with our decisions over the years.
I notice a couple of tears escape and slide down Vanessa’s face, she looks embarrassed, mumbling something about men and running out of the room. Fuck! Did we just break Vanessa?