Saving Abel (Rocker Series) (18 page)

“Dude, I didn’t know you fucked her. I must be on your pay-no-mind list. Did you tell me? How would I possibly know you had laid claim to her? Was I hanging with you guys? Did I partake in a threesome I don’t recall? No!” he shouted, rolling his eyes.

No one moved. Dave’s ash still hung long from his cigarette. The smoke was annoying me. The tension was thick. Testosterone had both of us pumped. It wasn’t that we distrusted each other: it was just that Ender was always acting like an asshole—though he could be funny and shit.

Dude, seriously.” He extended his hand. I waited a beat, still staring warily at him.

Finally, I extended my hand to meet his. He pulled me into an Ender man-hug, kissing my face. A weight lifted. Forgiveness was a beautiful thing. I didn’t easily forgive, but then again, Ender had never given me a reason not to trust him. And I hoped he never would.

Woody and Jake filed in, arguing over what the next single on the album should be. And just like that, we were one again and back to making music. Ender lingered with his arm around my neck a bit longer than necessary. But, this was Ender. Very touchy-feely. Maybe I’d be different if I had grown up in a warm, loving home full of passion for life. My home had been filled with superficialities and false niceties. Being born with a silver spoon in your mouth made for a lonely, taciturn existence. Music made me feel alive. Fucking made me feel alive. Eating pussy made me feel alive. I was finally waking up. The beast within me was waking, and needed to be fed. My nourishment was a delicious Italian girl with a pussy that called out to me.

“You twats chill?” Woody wrapped one arm around each of us. “Who wants to get pissed?” he asked, with a lazy tongue.

“Did you have a liquid lunch, Wood?” I asked, cracking a smile.

“Don’t be a chancer, Abel. You two sorted?” A sluggish smile pulled at the corner of his lips. His eyes were glassy. But Woody could hold his liquor just fine. He was enjoying the festival revelries this weekend. He was one big party, most days. An event like this was like spring break for Wood.

“We’re sorted,
esse
.” Ender kissed Woody’s cheek. Only Ender could get away with that shit. Woody was a homophobe.

“You’ve got some fanny balls, Ender.” Woody laughed as he walked back to his kit, twirling his sticks between his fingers. Jake put his guitar strap overhead. The boys were ready to jam.

The studio was our sanctuary from life. We loved expressing ourselves through our music. We spoke to each other through our rifts, vocals, and beats. Tonight, on this second day of the festival, the massive crowd of fans would be all the high we would need. Fame was a blessing that had been bestowed upon us, and for that I was grateful. We all were. Most musicians never saw the success that we had achieved. And it hadn’t come to us by accident, either. My name might have been my cross to bear, though I’m sure the guys didn’t see it that way, because it got us in all the right doors. I had been gifted with the last name of Gunner. With it had come certain obligations—one of which was to be successful. The other big one was to preserve my father’s legacy. His behind-the-scenes string-pulling had landed us a platinum record deal. He was a manipulative cunning fucker. He was transparent as the day is long … at least to me. This kind of shit didn’t happen to struggling musicians. Even though we were gifted musicians, we had been given a break. Dave, on the other hand, had thought he was the Goose that had laid the golden egg when we were offered such a sweet deal. He had beaten his chest proudly. Truth be told, the deal had most likely been negotiated behind closed doors in my family-owned building. The last thing my father had wanted was a musical artist for a son. It had been bad enough for him that I was a wild, tatted, and pierced mess. But imagine if a Gunner was a struggling musician, at that! It made me sick just thinking about what an unaccepting elitist he was …

I was just starting to warm up my vocals when my phone vibrated in my pocket. Smiling, I dug it out, hoping it was Gia. I wanted to meet up with her before tonight’s show.

But it was Dad. The text was written in all caps:
WILL YOU ANSWER YOUR DAMN PHONE, ABEL!

I’d been ignoring his calls of late. My father only reached out when he wanted me to do something, or if I had done something that would reflect poorly on the family. In either case, I didn’t want to hear what he had to say. Ignoring him was an incredibly bad idea, though. He would come looking for me, most likely embarrassing the fuck out of me. At that thought I stiffened, and not in the way I wanted, either. This was not good. But today, I didn’t give a fuck. I was tired of his constant tampering in my life. My younger years had been fraught with doubt, insecurity, and self-loathing. Back then, my life had meant nothing to me. If I had lived or died meant zero. I preferred washing pills down with alcohol to my home life. My friends, of course, had never understood it. To those who didn’t have money, having it was the solution for every problem. Death was my solution—the family legacy be damned. Death would be the final fuck-you to my father. However, it was music that had saved me. My boys had saved my life. And they knew it too. My frankness about it left them unnerved. Music was everything to me: it was my salvation. I was grateful to have been blessed with these guys in my life. I now had so much to live for. I had learned controlled self-reliance. As long as I was in control, I was at peace. The body I had was tuned to perfection. When I had anything heavy to deal with, I did so with carnal desire. I took what was mine. What I’d earned. Simple brute fucking kept my head on straight. Being a Dominant—having that control to do whatever I wanted with my partner, whenever I wanted—got my rocks off like nothing else.

Speaking of getting off, I wanted some play time with Beauty before we went on stage. And then afterwards, I would need yet another fix.

So I texted Gia:
Beauty, I’ll be by at 4:00 to pick you up. Pack a bag for the rest of the weekend.

Shortly, she replied:
Caveman much? LOL! See you soon. Xx

I came back:
You haven’t touched yourself today, have you? I’m the only one who has that privilege.

She was ready for me:
I can still feel you. Besides, it feels so much better when you do it. ;) I’m putting together an Abel survival pack.

I was a bit confused:
?

She explained:
Ice packs, icy-hot soothing gel, pain killers, Devil’s claw, Fireball, Kind bar, and EOS(lips) *giggle*

Now I got it:
LMFAO! Devil’s claw and Fireball? Sounds more like a sci-fi flick. I should get a patent on this, stat! See you soon, babe.

She had the ability to make that hollow feeling in my chest disappear. My world seemed lighter around her. I was looking forward to being with her. She didn’t know it yet, but we were all going to eat before the concert tonight at Finns, a local ribs, pulled pork, and brew place we loved to kick back in. It was down-to-earth and chill—the perfect spot to ease her into the chaotic world of touring. A few weeks after the festival, we would be going back out on tour, and heading to Europe. I wanted her to go with me. I didn’t want to be on the road without her. She would come with me: it was that simple. I was sure my old man would have a few choice words for me. But fuck him. She was mine. No one would take her from me. Especially my old man.

I decided to take my bike. I couldn’t live my life in a bubble created by the paps. It was a gorgeous day out. There was a chill in the air, but the sun was shining brightly. It was perfect tee-shirt and leather-jacket weather. The leathers I wore whenever I went riding exuded rock-star appeal. And I did enjoy being a rock star.
Fuck, yeah!

My driver was going to pick up Gia’s bags while I was gigging. Right now all I wanted was her delicate arms wrapped around me, her heat against my back. Life sure was a bitch. Why did I feel like some romantic asshole I usually made fun of? That’s karma for you.

I pulled into the Terrace Apartments’ driveway, expecting to wait for Gia. I was surprised to see her waiting just outside the vestibule, ready to jump on, her gorgeous full lips begging to be kissed. Not wanting to wait another minute to feel them, I grabbed the back of her neck, drawing her to me. Pushing my tongue deep into her mouth, I could feel her sighing. She relaxed into me, taking everything I had to give.

“Mmm, so fucking good, Beauty,” I murmured, almost unintelligibly, licking and nibbling her lush lips. Kissing her made my cock press painfully against my zipper. I had to withdraw from her embrace to adjust myself.

“Oh, my God! You really
are
a caveman.” She slapped my hand away from my dick. “Damn, I have neighbors, rock star. I’m sure millions of women would love to see that make the cover of one of the celeb magazines. Abel Gunner adjusting his anaconda on his Harley.”

We both laughed. That would be pretty epic. Paps had tried to pay many of my paramours for an exclusive picture of my tatted pierced cock. I didn’t let chicks take any pictures of me—ever. I was determined to keep the elusive anaconda exclusive to intimate settings.

The helmet I had bought Gia looked fucking hot on her. Her chocolate eyes were wide as saucers with want, and need—for me. The look of adoration she was giving me did nothing to ease my painful hard-on.

“Hop on, Beauty. You keep looking at me we’ll never make it out of here.” I helped her balance herself as she swung her leg over the seat. I swore under my breath when her hot box pressed up against me as she wrapped her arms around my waist.

“I’m not wearing panties, babe. Aren’t I such a good listener?” she whispered.

“
Fuck
, Beauty.” I grabbed my dick really hard, trying to strangle it into submission. This fucker had a mind of its own. With no relief in sight, I needed a plan B. So I checked the time: we had forty-five minutes until I was scheduled to meet up with the crew. Where could I pull off to for some privacy? Her hands were already underneath my tee-shirt. Christ Almighty, this chick was killing me.

“Hold on, babe.” I revved the bike. The exhaust was loud. The chrome screamed sex. I wanted sex. It was a carnal pleasure-seeking motor vehicle. I needed my Gia pussy fix—now. My cock was a heat-seeking motherfucking missile. Her pussy was its target. We weaved between traffic, her nails biting into my stomach. I pressed my hand over hers to calm her.

“Put your goddamned hand on the handle bar, jackass. I’m not trying to become road kill!” she yelled in my ear, nearly losing it.

“I got this, babe. Relax. This ain’t the first time I’ve ridden a bike, Beauty. You’re good with me.”

My tone soothed her, and soon she relaxed her weight onto me. Her statement had me laughing really fucking hard. She had fucking balls, talking to me like that. She was comfortable. Normally, that had me running the opposite way. You let a chick get chill with you, and before you knew it, you were dealing with incessant nagging and ultimatums. Not my idea of a good time. Fuck that drama.

The state park was off the next exit. I took it, my cock thickening just thinking of her pussy. Forget about the smell of it. I’d blow my load for sure. The park was crowded with Wall-Street-journal-reading executive geek families. Not my usual haunt. But I was desperate to tear that pussy up. Taking the next left through the parking lot, I drove towards an isolated parking area.
Bingo.
I rode over the grass to park next to a cinder block building. There were chains on the entry doors. That was my cue that it was unoccupied. I turned the bike off and took off my helmet, running my fingers through my sweaty hair. Gia used my shoulders to balance herself while getting off. I turned to help her, when all of a sudden she slapped my arm—hard.

“Are you a crazy, motherfucker? Answer me? You think I’m getting on that death machine ever again? You can kiss me ass, Abel.” She slapped my arm again while yelling. Her face was white as a ghost. Oh shit, she was terrified. I needed to diffuse this shit, now. This was not how I had intended this to turnout.

“Come here, Gia,” I called, extending my hand. She stared at it like I had leprosy. I didn’t like it. Not one fucking bit.

“Come here, Gia.” I nodded for her to take my hand. She took it warily. “Come here, baby girl.”

I lifted her from underneath her arms until she was astride me. “Listen here, Beauty. I would never put you in harm’s way. I’m sorry I scared you. I can assure you that was not my intention. And yes, I am a crazy motherfucker. Crazy motherfucker for that pussy of yours. That’s what’s got me all knotted up. Feel this …”

I lifted my tee-shirt so she could see my piercing sticking clear out of my jeans. Now, that was some crazy shit. She moistened her lips, her eyes fixated on the pre-come beading on the slit of my head. She looked up. Our eyes connected in a silent, heated battle. Her pupils dilated and turned darker.

“Forgiven.” She leaned in, kissing me like she owned me. Maybe she did. Maybe for the first time in my life, I wanted to be owned by someone—by her. She melted into me while her thumb swirled, playing with the juice on the head of my cock. My body was fraught with pent-up sexual tension. An explosion was imminent.