AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 1
“Your tabby has missed you. Don’t you want to pet my pussy?”
Michael Shawcross rolled over in bed and flung out an arm. Instead of colliding with the mattress as it usually did, he hit soft, warm flesh.
A second later, wetness glided down his belly, stopping just above the sheet tangled around his torso. He shifted his hips against the bed, his body straining toward the slick line of liquid without thought.
“That’s it, baby. Whatcha hiding under this towel? Is he excited to see me too?”
Even still half-asleep, he frowned. What the hell? It felt like someone was licking him. Pouring more liquid on his stomach, low, lower, lowest, then dragging down the sheet to where he was popping up like a damn sailor saluting his country.
Then his eyes popped open to match, and he groaned. And it wasn’t because a gorgeous brunette was currently a deep breath away from sucking his cock.
“Dammit, Tabitha, how did you get in here?”
“That’s how you greet an old friend?” She sighed and sat up, gripping the bottle of champagne in one hand and the towel precariously wrapped around her body with the other. Catching his glance at her obviously wet and dripping legs, she let the towel fall down a bit more and smiled. “I had to wash the travel dirt off me, didn’t I? It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other, and I didn’t think you’d mind if I borrowed a little water from your shower.” She crawled up the bed toward him, her expression feral. “Don’t worry, I have some wetness to give back.”
He groaned again, and this time it wasn’t entirely because the sexy witch had broken into his apartment or tried to give him a sponge bath using bubbly and her tongue.
Some stupid, ridiculous part of him just wanted to tell the world to fuck off so he could enjoy himself. She was obviously more than willing, and from the feel of things, Michael junior didn’t have the same morals as his owner.
So what if she was engaged to a senator? Sure, it was absolutely wrong on a million levels to get involved in a situation like that, and he’d told her in every variation of English that he could think of that he wasn’t about to go there. Problem was, he already had, sort of, and she wouldn’t let him forget it.
She wasn’t the only one. Their names—along with Senator Dinkles—were on TV and in the rags constantly lately. Then there was the elevator footage from the Squire Hotel in LA that just happened to include him nudging her in such a way that made it appear like he was urging her to the floor. Oh yeah, and oops, her hand was on his zipper…
No one seemed to care he hadn’t even known who she was when she’d approached him that night after the concert. It hadn’t been the first time. She’d gone to full-on groupie status even before that fateful evening. He’d engaged in a friendly and furtive gropefest with her at a couple of meet and greets, because, surprise, she always seemed to have backstage passes no matter where they were. He hadn’t questioned it. Even at his level of fame—which granted him a label of rising star at best and nobody at worst, depending on the day of the week—he had girls throwing themselves at him. Hell, some guys too.
He hadn’t been part of a successful band for long. They were still suffering from growing pains. For some reason, they just couldn’t get their lineup to gel. Members had come and gone, and Ryan had tried to fill in wherever he could, but Jesus, they needed a real drummer, someone who could kill it like Matt Sorum or Dave Grohl. So he wasn’t that used to anyone seeing them as a legit entity, mainly because they didn’t quite see themselves that way yet. Even with all the shows they were doing, and the EP they’d cut that had done better than expected on the Hot 100, Warning Sign was definitely still suffering from poser syndrome.
And hot, willing, adoring groupies? Well, they eased the pain.
Not that he’d gotten to enjoy that many of them, despite recent public theorizing otherwise. He was too worried about being a good guy. Too concerned about not being like his dad and leaving behind a trail of broken hearts—or like his mom and leaving behind a trail of broken marriages, and engagements, and embarrassing legal battles.
Tabitha was actually one of the first women he’d connected with a few times on their mini tour of the west coast. The rest had been faceless, momentary thrills. Amazing, but brief. He’d also usually been too drunk to remember names the next day.
According to his manager—and former stepmother, Lila Crandall?
?he had a problem.
With the drinking and the girls? Nah. He was just having fun. No one was getting hurt, so what was the big deal?
Now there was Tabitha, who was pouring more champagne on his abs, and licking it up while her big brown eyes made love to his.
“You can’t do this.” His voice sounded faint, even to him.
He wasn’t drunk or hungover, but he was horny. He was also a twenty-three-year-old male. Fuck, it got so tiring being the morality police all the time. That was exactly why he’d started letting loose a few months ago. He’d always been sheltered from the real world, locked away in the ivory tower of his father’s money and his mother’s endless carousel of crappy relationships. When he hadn’t been forcibly rejecting their bad examples, he’d been sequestered playing his guitar.
Was it any wonder he’d gone a little nuts when he’d first tasted freedom and success of his own? But he could rein it in at any time.
That mean telling Tabby sayonara. Again. This time he’d have to convince her that she was murdering both of their reputations, and he damn sure wasn’t going to have sex with her anyway, so she might as well not bother.
After his background, there was no way he’d be a homewrecker or a cheater, even by proxy. Helping someone else to cheat wasn’t any better. If she wanted to leave her relationship, fine. Instead she wanted her piece of “rockstar cake” as she’d once called him while she married a senator.
Fuck that. He wasn’t anyone’s cake. He also needed to actually speak up and get her back into her clothes before she started eating him without benefit of a fork.
