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Prologue – June
Eleanor’s lust pulsed through her body as she stood on the VIP balcony at the Greenwich Village music club, staring at the wild rock-god on stage. The atmosphere in this dark, hot, and seedy venue overflowed with hormones and passion – and the thousand-strong crowd were as entranced as Eleanor by the sexually-charged young man on stage, lost in his sprawling guitar solo – on his knees, submitting to no one but his music.
Eleanor hadn’t believed Matthew when he’d told her about Joseph last week, so he’d dragged her along tonight to show off his latest find. And what a visual treat he was. His music was full of grit, passion, and raw emotion – as if someone had cut open the soul of rock and roll and it was pouring out into the world to save humanity… His wide vocal range and primal lyrics dripped with promises of lust-fuelled nights; it was impossible not to be captivated.
He’d torn his shirt off hours ago, meaning his sweat-drenched muscular body was now covered in nothing but low-slung leather trousers. He was physically incredible – six-foot tall with a masculine toned chest, broad shoulders, six-pack abs, and lush kissable lips… and even from up here, Eleanor could tell that his sparkling eyes were full of mischievousness. Eleanor prided herself on being civilised, but standing here watching him made her what to grope his tight toned buttocks – which swayed alluringly as he turned his back on the crowd, continuing his guitar solo. But there something else about him other than his good looks and musical talent – something exceptional. Star quality. He was charismatic and wild – the sort of man who could get away with anything, and probably did. As Eleanor continued to watch, he let go his guitar, threw a cheeky grin to the pulsing crowd, then cupped his genitals in his hand and jiggled them, making the women in the audience scream with desperate longing. Eleanor’s body quivered. There was an edginess to him – a dangerous excitement. He was like a razorblade smothered with honey, and every woman in this room was dying to lick his sweet exterior, regardless of whether or not they got cut.
Eleanor found it impossible to stand still as the drummer and bassist enhanced his primal music with their dark and dirty backbeats. She swayed her hips and tapped her feet, unable to look away as Joseph dropped his guitar to the stage and left it to ring out an ear-splitting squeal of electric feedback through the ancient sound system. His head fell back as he danced sensuously – spinning in his bare feet and clapping out a rhythm; losing himself in a hypnotic trance. He stretched out his arms as if he was being crucified by the music, and another surge of lust swirled between Eleanor’s thighs as she caught sight of the most sculpted shoulders she’d ever seen. He oozed confidence and charisma – owning the soul of every person in here tonight. Right now, Eleanor realised, she’d do anything for him.
Even though the place was heaving – and despite the thousand-strong crowd between them – Eleanor felt as if he was fucking her. But probably every other woman in the room felt that too. It was the Joseph Quinlan effect. His sweat-covered body shone with perfection, and his handsome face smiled coolly with wild abandonment.
As the music climaxed, Joseph stamped his feet and whirled his arms, restraining himself – getting ready for the big finale. Eleanor’s body prickled with exhilaration. He was like the embodiment of an overwhelming orgasm – and she fully intended to have a long hard think about him in the shower later. He was cocky, thrilling, and rebellious… everything her mother had warned her against. A smile crept onto her face as she suppressed a desire to steal a car, kidnap Joseph at gunpoint, and drive them both across the Mexican border. He’d probably relish such a thrill, knowing him. Not that she did know him. But she sure would like to…
The fans were going crazy now. Eleanor could see them bouncing up and down, cheering, groaning, and worshipping the rock-god who was whipping them up into a frenzy. Eleanor gripped the handrail in front of her as the cymbals crashed and the music climaxed. Her mind swirled like a waterfall and she laughed out loud – was she actually going to orgasm here? Her heart thrashed in her chest and her breathing quickened. Joseph Quinlan was driving her towards the ultimate expression of ecstasy, and he hadn’t even touched her. Her pussy contracted and–
Matthew draped his arm around her shoulders. “Enjoying it, honey?”
“Yeah.” She ripped her eyes away from Joseph. “He’s on form tonight, isn’t he?”
“Oh, he’s always like this,” Matthew said, grinning. “And let me tell you something: I’m going to tame that kid. I’ll temper all that sexual energy, package it up, and sell it to decent folk – just you wait and see. And when I do, he’s going to make us very, very rich...”
Chapter One – November
Joseph gazed out the window of the taxicab as it squeezed through the throng of young women and drew up outside the recording studio. So this was his dream, was it? The rockstar lifestyle of sex, drugs, and rock and roll… Well, it was true there was plenty of sex available, but he was already growing bored of the meaningless interactions with women who just wanted to sleep with him so they could brag about it on social media. The drugs? He’d tried cocaine and it’d done nothing but given him a headache and made his nose bleed. And the rock and roll... no chance – not with the commercialised producer he was being forced to work with – who seemed determined to ruin his music and rip out its soul.
This was supposed to be his dream... being a professional musician. So why did it feel like a nightmare? There was only one thing in his life keeping him sane right now, and she hated him.
The cab brakes squeaked, pulling Joseph out of his thoughts. He gazed at the scene that greeted him every morning. A group of thirty young women dressed in band T-shirts – and not much else – waiting for him to get out the car. He sighed. What young guy wouldn’t want to be met first-thing by a frantic group of attractive women, all shouting that they loved him – yelling that they were desperate for him to bend them over and take satisfaction? Well… Joseph for one. Of course he loved sex with groupies, but truthfully, he yearned for something more significant. Because the trouble was, while they were shouting that they loved him, they didn’t actually know him, did they? Joseph missed those simpler times when he could stroll down the street without encountering an assault-course of grasping hands, pressing bodies, and screeching squeals. He’d loved his college days when he’d taken women out to dinner… chatted, laughed – and then made love all night long, without the details appearing in the tabloids the next morning.
Fun. That was what was missing right now. His current life seemed monochrome but he wanted technicolour.
He climbed out of the cab onto the icy Manhattan street and pulled his Armani coat around him. It was so dark this morning. Well, everything always looked dark through his Ray Bans, which had become a permanent fixture in an attempt to keep the world out. But winter had come hard this year. It was only November and already the freezing snow had set in. Wher
e the hell had the last few months gone? The band’s tour over the summer had culminated in their appearance on the David Peterson show which had rocketed Joseph into superstardom overnight. The morning after that appearance, he’d been unable to walk down the street unmolested – and he still couldn’t. Now the pressure was on to make this new album – to strike while the iron was hot.
And he would if he could get into the studio. As the girls spotted him, they surged like a tsunami, and he was immediately struggling against the tide. This crowd of hysterical drooling teenagers was the only thing between him and the sanctuary of the recording studio – where the love of his life would surely be waiting. His muscles tensed, ready to fight.
He glanced around for the trusty security guard, who darted outside and pushed his way through the girls to make some space for Joseph.
Joseph drew his elbows into his body and prepared to run the gauntlet of groping hands, autograph requests, and offers of oral sex. It was the same ordeal everyday – the girls on either side of him pushed and shoved inwards, crushing him like a piece of meat in a pulveriser of lust. Luckily, this security guard was well-trained – he’d been through this with Joseph every day for the last three months – so together they fought their way to the inconspicuous studio door. Unfortunately, the security guard was unable to be everywhere at once, and while his attention had been on the screaming girls, a few journalists had blocked the entrance. The guard tried to shove past them, but they were determined. Joseph hated this game, but punching journalists was apparently frowned upon. He’d tried it a few weeks ago and his manager had informed him that if he did it again, public opinion would turn sharply against him. Or worse, he’d end up in jail for assault. He forced himself to stay calm.
“Joseph,” a journalist said. “You haven’t yet explained why you decided to call your band ‘The Banned’. Could you tell us the reasoning behind that?”
Oh god, not this question again – it was just a name. “Excuse me,” Joseph mumbled. “I’m late.”
“Can I just ask you a few questions?”
“I really need to get to work.”
