Ines Michelle

Room Five: Finding Their Good Girl

Club Sin

Copyright © 2021 by Ines Michelle

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Contents

1. KENJI

2. ALEX

3. DEAN

One

KENJI

The first time I saw Dean, Alex and Kenji, their chiseled faces were plastered on a giant billboard, squat in the middle of Times Square. The picture was amazing, hypnotic, capturing. They stood against a pitch black background, Dean smirking in the middle, the two others flanking him, intense, stern expressions on their faces. Hands shoved in the front pockets of beat-up jeans that hung low on their hips, revealing much more than they concealed. The sharp lines of their hip bones, defined stomach muscles and ripped chests… man candy in all flavors. Kenji’s delicious olive skin, dark, slanted eyes and sharp features betrayed his Japanese ancestry. Alex had less tattoos at the time but his golden skin was already ornated with intricate swirls and elaborate designs. And Dean… even at eighteen, on the cover of their very first album, Dean Ward looked like rock and roll royalty. Tall, dark and handsome. With his signature cocky smile firmly in place, creasing the dimple in his cheek. They were beautiful. Not pretty boys or handsome men, but alluring, mythical creatures that enraptured you even through the artificial image of a flashing display. And like every girl, woman and old lady in the world who watched TV, read magazines and listened to music, I was done for.

I remember some of the girls at my posh Upper East Side high school fighting over which one was sexier, who looked hotter, who seemed to be the best kisser. And I remember looking at them like they were crazy and wondering how they could possibly try to choose between the three. Because even back then, before we’d even met in person, the men of Rock Hard were one and only motherfucking sexy unit to me…

***

I grew up a princess. Not an imaginary fairy tale one, but a real life heir to a music mogul’s empire. And although we had it all, money and fame, visited the most beautiful places on earth and knew tons of celebrities, I was never a spoiled brat. Never entitled or demeaning to anyone. I got along with our staff, tried not to make the personnel’s life hard in the restaurants and hotels we stayed at. Pretty much everyone liked me. My parents, their acquaintances, my teachers and friends, the people working for us. Shit, even the press and general public. I was America’s sweetheart. The lovely, life-size Barbie doll with golden hair and skin, a healthy weight and trooper’s attitude. My toothpaste commercial smile was plastered on the cover of magazines showcasing all the high-society and charity events I attended. My life was boring. At sixteen years old, I had never been kissed, never smoked as much as a cigarette, had only sampled very limited amounts of expensive wine, and I was afraid this was exactly how the rest of my life would go. A beautiful, smart, good girl groomed to become the face of a multi-million dollar business. Her entire existence already planned out and decided for.

At times I wanted to pull my hair out and scream to the skies above. Break something, start a fight with my parents, spend the night out and return home hungover from hours of debauchery. Drugs, alcohol and raunchy sex. Instead, I went to school, planned for a future with a career at my parents’ side, hung out with kids my age from other wealthy families and waited. I didn’t know what for, but I was sure this couldn’t be all there would always be. This absence of feelings, of caring for anything, of true connection with anyone. I was surrounded by a safe bubble where nothing could hurt me, but also nothing could reach and move me. Boys my age, and a few older ones, all seemed to want me for the role of efficient life partner and trophy wife. Every male of my acquaintance treated me with the utmost respect. No one ever tried lifting my skirts or kissed me without permission. I dreamt of the rake dukes and rough bikers from my steamy romance novels, who took without asking and left the heroines satisfyingly ravaged. But all I had were very public dates at the Met Gala and other fancy venues, and chaste goodnight kisses, the brush of a hesitant hand, heated gazes that turned away when they met mine. Little did I know all that was about to change.

***

The first time I met Kenji Watanabe, he was standing stark naked in the middle of my parents pool house. In broad daylight, not having bothered to pull down the blinds. His swim trunks carelessly discarded on the back of a chair, rubbing a towel over his jet black hair. I remember he wore it longer at the time, the inky strands thick with dampness. His sculpted body was covered in droplets of water he didn’t bother to dry off.

I had stepped into the pool house looking for something, but the vision of all that bronzed, naked skin, six feet plus of tight, toned muscles, erased all coherent thought from my brain. I had never seen a naked man in the flesh. His large feet were masculine, his calves toned, thighs thick… my timid eyes skipped up to the washboard abs, climbed to the strong pecs and dusty nipples, to the corded lines of his throat, the strained biceps rolling under his tanned skin from the movement of his hands. I stood there paralyzed, frozen in wonder. Lips parted, hand clutched to the door handle. Afraid to breathe, filling my vision with this miracle, taking in as much as I could while my presence was still unnoticed. My eyes traveled back down, following the pronounced ‘v’ departing from Kenji’s hips and almost popped out of my head when they fell on his cock. It was an absolute thing of beauty. So perfect that I, the virgin, the girl who’d only ever seen naked men on a screen and touched a penis through the layers of clothing, could tell.

My parents were throwing one of their summer beach parties and had invited the entire who’s who of the music industry. Kenji and the other men of Rock Hard were the new big thing. Their first album had been unanimously saluted by both critics and fans as an homage to classic rock, infused with an original new voice. They wrote their own songs and music, looked like male top models and could light a stage on fire. You bet your ass they were the hot new thing everyone wanted to be around. And here I was, alone in a room with one of them naked. My heart was beating a mile a minute, my mouth felt as parched as the desert, my palms sweaty as I stayed glued in place, staring at Kenji’s dick.

“Like what you see?” Came his deep voice.

I was startled and my gaze jumped back to his handsome face. The point of his tongue quickly flicked along his lower lip, before his strong, white teeth grazed over the plump flesh. Kenji’s somber gaze moved the length of my body at a slow, caressing pace. Tracing a burning path over my bikini- clad skin. I knew I was beautiful. I had been told and shown many times. I was tall for a girl my age, already five six. My tits were full and generous, my hips and ass started molding into feminine curves. But I’d never had the attention of a man like Kenji Watanabe. Edgy, dangerous, quiet and mysterious.

I’d seen them through the crowd and shockingly admitted to myself they looked even hotter in person, but that was it. My conscious mind hadn’t allowed itself to consider the possibility of any of the men of Rock Hard taking interest in me, little miss goody two shoes.

“I asked you a question,” he rumbled. His intonation further mesmerizing me.

“I…,” was all I managed to let out, swallowing with difficulty.

Kenji lowered the towel from his head and wrapped it around his narrow hips, before crooking a finger at me. “Come here.”

My feet started moving before my brain caught up with their decision. I stopped at a foot’s distance, close enough to feel the heat emanating from his body and smell his intoxicating scent. A blend of musky male aroma, woodsy aftershave and ocean breeze. He smelled of the sand, the sun, the crashing waves and the light blue sky.

“What’s your name, peeper?” He asked in a low, enticing voice, lifting a hand to run his knuckles along the side of my face.

I instantly reddened at the nickname, feeling my face heat up both from embarrassment and sizzle where he touched me. “A… Allie,” I managed to stutter.

“Allie,” he repeated, rolling the two syllables over his tongue, savoring them, changing my all-American name into something foreign and exotic. “Come closer, Allie,” he added. And I went. Unable to resist his pull, not even wanting to. Totally taken by this man, his charisma. “Good girl,” he crooned and I felt my nipples stiffen, my pussy grow wet and a warmth grow in my chest. What the fuck was happening to me? Kenji’s dark eyes roamed over my face, taking in my big blue eyes, pert nose, high cheekbones and came to rest on my full, pink mouth. Before he even touched me, I fell the press of his mouth on mine, the intensity, pleasure and mark of his kiss. Still staring at my mouth, he slowly ran the pad of his thumb over my lower lip. “Such a pretty girl,” he lulled, drawing me in deeper. My breath hitched and I watched in fascination as his pupils dilated with lust, making me feel womanly and powerful. Kenji brought his thumb to his mouth, sucking it in, before he pulled it out and ran the now warm and damp, calloused skin over my lips. I let out a whimper and instinctively grabbed on to his powerful arms, legs turned to jelly. He let out a low, dark chuckle and wrapped a large, warm hand around my waist, pulling me closer to his big body, bringing our midsections flush. I felt his long, thick, hard erection through the thin layers of his towel and my tiny bikini bottom and another moan escaped me. “You like that, baby?” He pushed his hips into mine, making me jerk from the unexpected jolt of pleasure his contact triggered. I felt my eyes roll back into my head. “Fuck, you look good enough to eat. Can I have a bite? I bet you taste as sweet as honey,” he murmured close to my ear, face buried into my blonde locks where I heard him inhale deeply. He cussed low and sharp: “fuck, baby!” And fell on my mouth…

I thought I’d been kissed before. Thought those incompetent idiots rubbing their tepid lips over mine counted. Boy, was I wrong… Kenji Watanabe kissed the same way he wrote one of his soul-moving songs. His mouth played a symphony with mine. His tongue invented shapes never before executed. He was an artist, a master. Our lips connected, brushed, pressed, kissed, disappeared into each other’s mouth in a mingle of moans, groans, licks, sucks, gravelly praises and soft pleads. He kissed me like I was his and I responded with all the want, need and devotion of a branded submissive. When Kenji finally detached his mouth from mine, we were both out of breath, panting, lips swollen, wet, at an inch’s distance. Breathing each other’s air. He threaded his fingers through my hair, holding me firmly in place, and I realized my hands were now resting on the strong planes of his chest. “How old are you, baby girl?” He breathed out, forehead connected to mine, his hardness still pressed against me.

“Sixteen,” I exhaled without thinking. Giving the honest answer I’d regret for years to come.

Kenji stepped back from me and I almost fell. He let out an angry: “fuck!” that was so charged with wrath, it made me jump. Then, he walked out without even a glance back. And stayed away from me. For years.

Kenji Watanabe thoroughly mouth-fucked me, brought to life a passion I had never experienced, then he abandoned me to deal with my frustration and desire. For the next couple of years, he didn’t talk to me, look in my direction or acknowledge my existence in any way. As their career grew, we found ourselves at the same events, but never alone again. It felt like our brief but life-altering encounter never happened. As if I’d all made it up. I hung on to the memory for as long as I could. Relived and exhorted it an infinite number of times. It was mine and clung on to it. Through my lonely nights, behind my shut eyelids whenever I slid my hand between my wet folds. In the secret of my heart every time I needed to remind myself there was more to life than the passing of identical days. High school, college, friends, parents, obligations, travels, duties and commitments… The brightly burning light that was my brief but magical encounter with Kenji stayed the beacon in the fog of my existence for years. Until it wasn’t anymore. Till the vibrant image of his naked glory started fading. Till I wasn’t able to conjure the feeling of his hot cock against me. Till the phantom caress of his magical mouth dimed into nothingness…

Two

ALEX

It’s funny how looking back on the pivotal moments of your life, they all start like ordinary days…

I was eighteen, interning in London for the summer. Far from most of my family and friends. I rented a small but posh apartment in Queensbridge and spent my days making photocopies and coffee runs at my parent’s UK office. Things were strange and wonderful. Very few people recognized me in the street. I was able to run errands, go out with friends I’d made at work who were not from the same lavishly privileged background as me. I did dishes and laundry, dusted and vacuumed, cooked for myself, rode the tub and even had a bus card. That’s how wild things were. And I loved London in the summer. The museums, the parks, the warm weather, the flocks of tourists. This was a completely different experience from prior visits with my parents where we’d stayed at the Ritz or some similar establishment, been coddled and only saw the city through our one-percent-er colored glasses. I missed New York. The lights and noise. My clique. My routine. And I couldn’t wait till the fall and the start of my freshman year at Columbia. But for now, I was here. Living a life I’d never experienced, soaking up each day, each adventure. In a wide-eyed but tranquil state of mind that was about to get smashed to smithereens.

***

One Friday afternoon, our agency’s executive assistant caught me on my way out of the office, shoved a package in my hands and instructed me to deliver it at the Savoy Hotel. I was to remit the wrapped box in person to a Mr. Ripley, surely a pseudonym for one of our star artists.

Tired on my feet and eager to get this chore over with, I jumped in an Uber and dragged myself to the Savoy. The reception desk employee called the guest, then sent me upstairs to the penthouse suite. I took in my luxurious surroundings, absently thinking this could be a nice change from the Ritz next time I’d be in town with my parents. In the elevator, I ran my hand over the strands of hair that had escaped my high ponytail and smoothed down the cream colored blouse I’d combined with high-rise Valentino jeans and a pair of black leather booties. I looked cute and stylish, ready to meet whoever Mr. Ripley truly was. Or so I thought.

I’d barely knocked that the door to the suite opened to reveal Alex Riley’s bright smile. Rock Hard’s Alex Riley… He was taller than I remembered, his dark hair clipped short and still a bit damp from a shower he must have just hopped out off. A five o’clock shadow on his square jaw. He stood in the door bare feet, a pair of gray sweatpants riding low on his hips. His strong, wide chest covered in a plain white cotton t-shirt. Bright green eyes widened by recognition and surprise. Smelling wonderful. Of clean boy and scented detergent. I could tell he hadn’t had the time or inclination to put on Cologne. It was just soap, his own delicious natural scent and great laundry. I felt a pinch of guilt for noticing his mouthwatering appearance and aroma. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about Kenji for a while now, but our encounter was still the most physical thrill I’d ever lived. And this man was his band mate.

“Hey, I’m Alex” he greeted me.

“Allie,” I replied, waving a hand and smiling.

“I know you,” Alex added, ushering me in.

I returned his grin, pushing away the sharp twinge that stabbed my heart from being in the presence of one of the members of Rock Hard. And my eyes quickly assessed the room, searching for any hint that someone else might be here.

“Hi, yeah we’ve met before. Back home in New York.”

“Right,” he advanced closer, interest glinting in his eyes. “You live here now?”

“No, I’m just in town for the summer.” I gave him a polite smile.

Alex tilted his head to the side, emerald gaze hooking mine. “So am I. We should get together,” he offered.

I nodded. “Sure, why not?” Was my polite answer.

“Great, save your number here. I’ll call you so you can have mine.” He handed me his phone. I complied, then gestured toward the door, signaling I needed to leave. “Are you free tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I don’t have any plans,” I responded, already thinking of what excuse I could come up with to avoid spending time with another one of these dangerous men.

“Awesome, I’ll call you.” He bent down and dropped a soft, lingering kiss at the corner of my mouth, triggering a head to toe shiver and making me jump. I held my hand on my face where Alex’s lips had landed. Feeling my eyes grow as big as saucers. He winked and closed the door with a soft, hypnotic: “bye, Allie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I spent an agitated night. I tossed and turned, battling to push away the memories of my brief meet with Kenji, as well as today’s encounter. I could hear one man’s voice ordering me around, and the other’s playful tone as he undressed me with his eyes and made plans to see me again. I could feel one man’s erection pressed against my body, his mouth ravaging mine, and the other’s lips softly landing at the seam of my lips. I was so screwed.

That Saturday, when my phone rang and Alex’s name showed on the display, I ignored the call and continued strolling through the grocery store aisles. Determined I wouldn’t let the men of Rock Hard keep screwing with me. I made plans to get dinner and drinks with some colleagues, and we ended up at a glitzy club. Our bodies moving in rhythm with the loud, thumping music of the latest hits. The nightclub’s throbbing lights and artificial smoke creating a world of its own, where it was so easy to get lost. I danced, laughed and spoke loudly over the deafening volume of the songs. At some point, I left our group for a trip to the restroom, weaving through the packed crowd to end up in the eternal women’s bathroom line. Still moving my head to the beat of the music, I pushed away the wet tendrils of hair sticking to my forehead and pulled at the hem of my Alex Perry sequin mini-dress.

Lost in my own world, I didn’t hear or see Alex till he whispered in my ear: “liar,” in a playful tone.

I abruptly raised my head and cuffed him in the nose. Hard. Then I watched in horror as his hands came to his face and his eyes watered from the pain.

“Oh no, Alex I’m so sorry!” I hurried to say, resting my hands on his strong upper arms. My fingers met the soft fabric of a navy cashmere sweater. He’d paired it with dark, ripped jeans and motorcycle boots. My pressing need to use the ladies instantly evaporated, replaced by the urgency to make up for my mishap. We made our way to the entrance of the club. A hallway that was mostly soundproof between the coat check and the long flight of stairs leading to the dance floor.

“You know, if you didn’t want to see me, all you had to do was say no. You didn’t need to hit me,” Alex deadpanned, long, strong fingers still resting over his nose.

I felt myself blush. “Are you okay? Do you need to see a doctor?” I offered wholeheartedly.

He shook his head. “Nah, I’ll be fine. But it’s probably best if I go get some pain killer and put some ice on it.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, letting me know he was smiling, despite everything. But instead of making me feel better, that only broke my heart. Here was this beautiful, sunny and bright boy just out for a night of fun, and I’d ruined all his plans. Not only did I stand him up, I also wrecked his evening.

“Let me come with you and make sure you’re alright.” He stood silent, watching me with wary eyes. “Please Alex, it’s the least I can do,” I pleaded.

We both texted our friends that we were leaving. Alex called his driver to come get us and we were escorted to the back door by two security agents who ensured the rock star would leave peacefully. Our journey to the hotel was silent. Alex sat at one end of the limo, head thrown back on the leather cushion. His nose red and slightly bigger than normal, but still the image of absolute perfection. He rested his huge hand over his forehead and threaded his fingers through his short, ebony locks. Dark pink, full lips parted, he breathed evenly but heavily, his nose most likely stuffed from the effects of our collision. I squirmed in my spot on the opposite bench. Watching him, drinking him in. Too vulnerable in my current state to close myself to his pull. How was I finding myself in these situations? What was it with me and the men of Rock Hard? The same drill went on when we made it to the hotel. The car was parked at the back and Mr. Riley and his guest accompanied to the private elevators by a discreet but efficient team.

I was used to being treated differently, being watched over, my every need anticipated, but I could still walk through main entrances and my presence had never created a ruckus anywhere. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must have felt like for a young man, as vibrant and full of life as Alex to have to duck, hide and sneak in and out of places. All because he had a special talent he was generous enough to share with the world. Well, at least there were the millions of dollars he was making in the process.

The immense room was dark and quiet. Faraway city lights twinkling through the floor to ceiling widows. We sat on the huge, plush leather couch running the length of the room just past the entrance hallway where I’d stopped yesterday. Alex assumed the same pose he’d been in in the car. Letting me put together a makeshift ice pack with a hand towel and ice cubes, bring him water and pain killers, and sit at his side while he gulped them down. After a while, he went and discarded the ice in the kitchenette sink, refusing my assistance.

“I’m gonna go lay down,” he announced when he returned in the seating room, his moss green eyes coming back to life.

“Okay, I’ll let you rest,” I answered, rising from the couch, unsure I felt comfortable leaving him alone.

Alex advanced closer to me. So close, our bodies brushed with each breath. “don’t leave, please. I’m still in a bit of pain. I’d love it if you kept me company.”

My eyes looked everywhere but into his, I bit on my bottom lip and fidgeted, unsure what to do.

“Please Allie, I promise I just want your presence. I’m not asking for anything else. Shit, I don’t think I could do anything with this headache.”

That pulled a small smile from my lips and I nodded and followed him. Alex led me to a vast bedroom decorated in white tones with a few splashes of color on the walls. He sat against the pillows at the head of the bed and invited: “you wanna use the bathroom?”

I felt my bladder remind me it was about to burst and accepted the offer. I did my business, washed my hands, cleaned my mouth with the pad of a finger and Alex’s toothpaste and slid back out. When I returned to the room, Alex put his feet on the ground pushing himself off the bed. He made his way to the walk-in closet and pulled out some clothes. Throwing black boxers and a dark cotton t-shirt on the bed, he let me know: “for you, in case you want something more comfortable than your dress.”

I thanked him with a warm smile, glad he felt well enough to worry about my well being, and made my way back to the luxurious bathroom. I kept my underwear and bra on, but traded my tight dress for Alex’s clothes. I pulled up the shirt’s collar and buried my nose in the soft cotton, taking a big whiff. It smelled of him and clean laundry. Delicious, intoxicating. I was going to have to ask for the brand of detergent his housekeeper used.

When I came back to the room, my folded dress tucked under my arm, Alex had already changed in a similar attire to the one he wore the day before. Sweatpants that were loose enough for comfort, but embraced his muscled body in a way I could discern the roll of his thick thighs and the outline of a generous cock under the jersey. His t-shirt didn’t leave much to the imagination either. It molded the strong muscles of his pecs, fell loosely over his flat stomach, the short sleeves stretching over his biceps. Making me want to lift the fabric for a peek, a lick, a kiss… to run my nose over his pale skin and see for myself if the man smelled of wild meadows and green apples. I shook my head, cussing the dark magic of the men of Rock Hard. They had to have made a deal with the devil himself, there was no other explanation for their irresistible charm. I was still a virgin. At eighteen years old. I’d had boyfriends. I’d actually just broken up with the boy I’d been dating for more than a year. I was attracted to men, felt pleasure from their kisses and caresses, but I’d never felt ready to take the leap. Except for that one time with Kenji. and the way my body was tingling, my pussy pulsating, my breasts growing heavy, their points hardening. I could feel the same wave of desire course through my veins. This was inexplicable and potentially dangerous. Was I projecting my lust for Kenji through his band mate? That wasn’t possible. That wasn’t me. They were complete opposites. Kenji was quiet and stormy. Intense, dark, commanding. Alex was sweet and alluring. A snake charmer who dazzled you into doing what he wanted.

“That’s a whole lot of frowning for such a beautiful face,” I heard him rumble from his vantage point on the bed. I hadn’t even realized he’d settled back against the pillows. I sighed long, clutching my dress to my chest.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to be here, Alex. Is there anyone you could call to come stay with you?” I asked, my tone resolute. Ready to bolt out of Trouble Town.

He smirked and patted the bed next to him. “Come here. I wanna hear all about what’s bothering your pretty head.” His voice was soft and velvety, it pulled me in and directed as efficiently as a strong command. And I went.

I sat on the bed next to Alex. At first, still holding on to my dress. He smiled gently, gesturing for me to come closer. And like a moth to a flame, I obeyed again. He opened his big arms wide and I snuggled against his broad chest. Finally able to bury my nose into his scent. I inhaled long and deep. Filling my nostrils, my lungs, my entire being of his amazing fragrance. Committing his warmth, his strength, his large hands tightly wrapped around y body to memory. At first, Alex rested his lips on my forehead, running his palms along my arms in a comforting gesture that had me relax into his big, tall body. Then he started lightly caressing my hips. My body had changed in the last couple of years. Curves that were barely there when I was sixteen, had fully blossomed. I was one of those PAWGs with a full rack, slim waist, a juicy ass that flared out high and firm, and long, shapely legs for days. My sensual body, golden blonde hair and sun-kissed skin attracted men and women, but I rarely cared. With this one, I did. I felt beautiful from the soft caresses he administered. And all woman when I felt his erection grow long, thick and hard between our tangled legs. Letting out a soft moan of mixed pleasure and desire, I tucked my face in the crook of his strong, corded neck. Taking in more of his spicy, woodsy smell. Snuggling deeper into his heat. Running my nose and lips over his soft skin. I was so wet, so turned on, so fucking into this guy… Alex gently pulled my face up, holding me by the chin. and when his firm lips landed on mine, I thought fireworks exploded inside my body. It felt like coming home. The taste of his mouth was both novel and familiar. Exciting and comforting. I was completely possessed by this man. Drunk on his smell, wrapped in his heat, my mouth worshiped by his, my entire body touched, caressed, kneaded by his big, calloused musician’s hands. He played me the same way I’d seen him handle his guitar. With skillful, loving gestures. Alex pushed me back against the mattress, settling himself between my parted legs. He pushed his hard length against my core and I whimpered with pleasure. He felt amazing. I held on to his massive shoulders, our eyes riveted between kisses. Lips and tongues engaged in a sensuous dance. He rolled his hips and thrusted into me, rubbing against my clit, sending waves of pleasure through my body. I gasped against his mouth, lifting my legs to wrap them around his trim waist. I pushed myself up to meet his thrusts and we dry-humped for fucking ever, like goddamn high schoolers. Dick throbbing between my thighs, Alex raised his head and breathed into my ear: “I wanna fuck you, baby.” I searched my head, my heart, my very soul, but I had no objection. This right here and now was the moment I’d been waiting for. I was ready, things felt right. He felt fucking amazing, and I knew the score. This man was the sailor of modern times. He didn’t have a woman in every city. He had a woman in every city of each continent. With his godsend looks, artistic talent, natural charisma, fame and wealth, Alex Riley was a blessing to womankind, but he would be a curse to any girl who thought she could keep him for herself. I was ready, I wanted Alex and I trusted he could make this an amazing experience. So, I kissed him deeper, wrapped my legs around him tighter and rolled my hips the length of him. He lifted his head. “Fuck, my good girl is turning dirty. I like that.” Hi swords sent throb to my clit. Making me come a little… and it must have shown on my face because when I opened back my eyes Alex was staring at me with a dark intensity I would never have suspected him capable of. “Fucking gorgeous. I wanna see that look again. Tenfold.” He slid down my body, caressing and kissing his way to my core. He settled at the apex of my legs, throwing my thighs over his big shoulders and sunk his face in. I run my hands over the soft strands of his hair, tugged and held on to every piece of him I could reach. Alex pulled down the boxers he’d lent me and my soaked lacy thong in one swift movement, then he dived in. Licking me from entrance to clit. Gently sucking at my pussy lips. Loudly slurping my juices. Twirling the pointy tip of his tongue over my nub. Fucking my cunt with his tongue and fingers. Driving me crazy, making me moan loudly, writhe and clasp at the bedding. He held me firmly in place, feeding on me, gently biting into the soft skin of my thighs. At some point, he lifted a face covered in my juices and ordered in a low, raspy voice: “lose the shirt, I want you to play with your tits.” I didn’t hesitate a second, feeling fucking beautiful under his hungry gaze. Alex watched as I removed his shirt and started kneading my breasts, rolling and pinching my nipples. “That’s right, baby. You’re fucking amazing.” I cried louder under his praised and he instantly moved up from between my legs. Pulling a condom out of the nightstand, he unwrapped it, lowered his sweats and let his gorgeous dick spring out. It was as long, thick and even harder than I’d pictured it. Sitting back on his haunches, Alex loomed over me, all big and broad, his playful smile returning. Licking and biting on his lips. Face still glistening of me. My pussy contracted on an emptiness that needed to be filled, a thirst that no other could quench. I watched in fascination as he rolled the latex over his beautiful cock then lowered himself back between my thighs. I was a bit apprehensive. Thinking about the pain, the blood, all the horror stories I’d heard through the years. But I should have know a man who made love to his guitar for a living, wrote melodies that pulled at your heartstrings and made millions of women fall in love with him day after day, wasn’t some fumbling teenager with limited pleasuring skills. Alex pressed his warm, wet mouth to mine. Kissing me in long, deep, insanely delicious strokes, thrusts and swirls. He lifted my legs, bending my knees over his shoulders. And positioned himself at my entrance. For long minutes, he thrust his long, heavy cock through my folds. Barely pushing the head inside me, to pull out and push it up, rubbing it against my engorged clit. The back and forth movement so good, so fucking good I wailed in pleasure. but the throbbing deep inside me demanded for more. So I told him.

“More, please baby.” I saw a flash of strong, white teeth through my hooded eyes as Alex pushed the head of his dick inside me. He was big and he felt so good, stretching me like that. There was a vague sensation of discomfort at the edge of my consciousness, but it only added to the thrill. Alex started thrusting in short movements, grinding his pelvis against my clit, alternating between kissing my mouth, sucking on my nipples, gently biting and licking my tits, and marking every patch of skin he could reach. I was crazy with pleasure and desire. Holding on to him with all four limbs, lifting my hips off the bed to try and impale myself on his magical cock, but he wouldn’t let me. wouldn’t break his stride. When I started shaking from the magnificent orgasm building inside me, Alex pushed in to the hilt, breaking my hymen in a painful thrust. But under his continued ministrations, his wonderful tongue, clever fingers and the dick I would forever worship, the pain started fading away, gradually leaving room to the waves of pleasure that had started threatening to crash over me. The trembling resumed and the burgeoning orgasm exploded through me in a tornado of ecstasy. I clasped Alex even harder and he pushed into me with force, rapidly pursuing his own finish now that I’d had mine.

“You feel so fucking good, sweet girl. So good…” he crooned into my ear, thrusting into me till the very last tremor. Alex got up to discard the condom and I felt my eyes widened in the dimly lit room. I’d just experienced the most pleasure I’d ever felt, and probably the most I’d ever feel. But now worried started creeping in Alex was going to see the blood on the condom. He was going to know and understand I wasn’t forthcoming. He was going to… before I could rationally think on it, I slid back into my clothes, grabbed my clutch and shoes and scurried out of the suite. Leaving behind my lost virginity and a beautiful, fun, fascinating beast in the sheets.

When I got to my apartment, I cleaned up, emailed my parents to let them know I’d decided to cut my summer in Britain short, and made arrangements to hop on the first flight home come morning. And after that, I ran out of London, taking with me the bittersweet memories of a man who smelled like a wild meadow, kissed like his life depending on it and fucked like the rock star he was. And this time? It was my turn to avoid one of the members of Rock Hard.

Three

DEAN

I nervously chewed on my nail, pacing in front of the main auditorium of the Department of Music Studies at Columbia University. This was my school, my turf. I was a top student. Serious, hardworking. Not taking any shortcuts or favors. Working for my degree with seriousness and determination. No one and nothing was going to frazzle me. Both professors and students liked and respected me. I was not about to let three years of hard work get flushed down the drain by another encounter with one of the stupid members of Rock Hard. No, uh-huh. Nope, not happening.

I turned my gaze to the auditorium, hearing echos of the animated exchange, wishing I could be in there, hear what he had to say, learn from him like my classmates. But noooo, here I was: chickening out, hiding. While Dean Scott gave a lecture on the evolution of rock ‘n’ roll, a subject I mastered, was interested in and that I could sure benefit from, I was hiding in the university hallway, for fear to fall under the spell of another one of the infernal trio’s member. Pathetic.

After my brief but extraordinary encounter with Alex in London, I stayed as much away from all things Rock Hard as was possible in my circumstances. I avoided all events I knew ahead of time they were meant to attend, and if I found myself in the same vicinity as any of them, I found an excuse to get the fuck out of dodge. Simple, foolproof and exhausting. I spent years juggling my social calendar to not meet these men, lied to my parents, friends, school and professional acquaintances. And all that for what? One day, I showed up to class and we were told there was to be a surprise guest giving a lecture. Ten minutes before said lecture, I found out from one of my gossipy classmates that Dean Scott was the speaker. So that was my predicament, ladies and gents. To test or not to test? Did I really want to assess the theory that when it came to the men of Rock Hard, I had no willpower? No, I didn’t. I really didn’t!

I was happy and relieved, but also a bit discouraged. I missed a learning opportunity. And like every time I avoided the guys of Rock Hard, I couldn’t help but wonder what if. What if I’d outgrown my irrational attraction to them. What if I was ready to move on but couldn’t realize it because I didn’t allow myself to be in their presence. What if I could actually be with one of them?… I’d daydreamt and wished. Tried dating and failed. No one ever compared. No one even came close to what Kenji and Alex made me feel. Therefore, I wasn’t risking meeting Dean and getting ensnared in his web. Famous last words.

***

I walked out of the bar’s restroom, shaking my hands to finish drying them, wondering what good automatic hand dryers were if you always ended up with partly wet hands, despite using the machine for the full recommended cycle. I was muttering to myself about how useless they were, in my bubble, walking back to rejoin my friends. This was our ritual. Friday, after classes, to mark the start of the weekend, we’d come wind down for a quick hang out at Smithey’s, a local bar, down the street from the campus annex where our program had its last class of the week. It was an unpretentious establishment, frequented by a mix and match of college students, working class patrons and corporate workers.

My reflection on hand dryers was interrupted when I collided into a tall, masculine form. The man held me by my forearms in a gentle but firm gesture, sparing me the embarrassment of falling flat on my ass. And I lifted my eyes to meet his… plunging deep into no other than Dean Scott’s baby blues. Why universe, why?! What have I done to deserve this hot guy harassment? I swear to never complain about my life ever again. I don’t want excitement and thrill. I’m done. I’ll marry a hedge fund manager, have two point five kids, a hamster, a cat and a dog, and turn into a Stepford wife. I swear! Just keep me away from these sex on stick Adonises, I beg you.

Dean arbored a magnificent smirk. The one I’d seen him display hundredths of times. On TV, in magazines, to their legions of fans yelling their lungs out and fainting at their concerts. “Whoa, easy there Tiger,” he teased me. His bright blue eyes roaming over my features with interest, large, warm hands not letting go of my arms. Fuck!

“I’m good, thank you. That was nice of you. I’m going the other way. Bye,” I blabbered, at the same time trying to free myself from his hold.

Dean’s gaze twinkled with mischief. “You’re going back to the bar? So am I. Let’s go,” he ordered in a soft, alluring voice. The voice a vampire would use to lure his victim into a dark alley. Sweet as honey, warm as melted wax, filled with temptation and dark promises. He wrapped a long arm over my shoulders and tucked me into his side, effectively dwarfing me. Despite my six feet eight height in heeled boots, Dean Scott towered over me in all his male virility.

I could already tell he moved, observed the world around him and spoke like a lazy big cat. Long, strong and lithe. In a misleading state of rest, ready to pounce at an instant’s notice. But I wouldn’t be pounced on tonight. I firmly removed his arm and turned around, resolutely walking towards the table my friends and I occupied. But I didn’t need to look back to know Dean was following right behind. I slid back into my booth and lowered my head, letting my hair fall around my face like a curtain, focusing all my attention on my girly fruit cocktail. I sipped, listened as Dean called over the other students who had invited him here for a casual chat. Looking to prolong the privilege of their meeting with one of the top rock stars worldwide. He’d indulged them and even in my desire to ignore or at least despise him, even I couldn’t help but recognize that was fucking cool of him. I wondered if he had a car waiting at the back door. If he’d choose one of the giggling girls eating up every single one of his words to ride back to his place. Fighting with myself to push away my desire to be the one. But from the moment Dean let himself in the seat next to mine, his strong, corded, bare forearms brushing mine every so often. The waft of his woodsy cologne invading my space, the heat from his body radiating the length of my right side, I knew I was fucked. The conversation was light and friendly. He didn’t lecture us, didn’t act as if he knew it all. Just exchanged ideas, jokes and even asked my classmates questions about our program, their future plans, their opinions. His voice was deep and poised. Full of confidence and maturity. Everyone at the table wanted to be him and/or be with him. I tortured myself and stayed another half hour, barely speaking, not looking directly at Dean. Keeping up the restrained act for as long as I could. Not sure if I was trying to prove to myself I was capable of not throwing myself at him, or if I just wanted to soak in every minute of this chance meeting. I knew what was the right thing to do. I had to leave.

When Dean left the table to go order more drinks, I quickly said my goodbyes and snuck out of the bar. I stood still for a bit in the fresh autumn night, breathing in the crisp air, gathering my thoughts, trying to calm the buzzing in my body. I could barely believe I’d walked untouched from an encounter with a member of Rock Hard. Thumbs flying over the screen of my phone, I pulled up the ride share app and started the process of ordering a car, but before I was able to confirm my request, a low voice tenderly murmured in my ear: “it’s not very nice walking out without even a goodbye.” I jumped, repeating the reflex that had caused me to injure Alex. But Dean was a completely different animal. His feline like swift retreat spared us both an unfortunate meet between my head and his face. Where Alex was a big oak tree, a force of nature with moss green eyes, who smelled like a forest, Dean was a tall, lean muscled panther, ready to jump and devour his prey at an instant’s notice. And Kenji? It’d been so long, I couldn’t clearly remember how Kenji compared to his friends. All I knew was these men were all dangerous in their own way. Fascinating and lethal.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Dean lied with a rueful grin.

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. “You didn’t scare me. You surprised me. What are you doing here anyway?” I shouldn’t have asked and I knew it…

“Why, taking you home, of course. I was raised better than to let a sweet young lady go home by herself.”

***