Ten Reasons Not to Fall For a Rock Star
Posted by mahalia2010
- Music will always be the other woman
- He will inevitably break your heart with broken promises
- You are not the only one fantasizing about his cock
- International Tours Suck… When you’re home alone
- Jealousy is a mean screaming demon
- Scheduling flights for quality time is difficult
- Let me say it again Paparazzi
- Lies or Truth Rag magazines spin their own tales with pictures as proof
- His Fans-if only they thought his privacy was as important as their obsession.
Ten Reasons To Fall For a Rock Star
- Undeniably hot sex
- When he falls, he’ll fall hard
- You become the muse that moves him
- Exploring every tattooed/pierced inch of his body
- He’ll move mountains to have you with him
- Pics don’t lie when you see firsthand how he looks at you.
- Thwarting the paparazzi becomes a fun game
- The song he writes for you will melt your heart
- Declarations of Love on Stage
- After the lights fade and crowds disappear he will be all yours.
One gigantic mistake threatens to bring Carlie Steven’s world crumbling down. Everywhere she turns she’s faced with reminders of the drunken moment leaving her friendless, expelled from her Ivy League College. With Jackson out of the country singing for the troops, his empty home will give her the breathing room she needs while coming up with a game plan to fix her situation.
Playing guitar used to be enough for Jackson Laurant. For years he’s played the part of not giving a fuck. Too many one night stands in the bag leave him wanting what his two friends have found. With only a handful of shows left on the tour, his mind wanders to the off limits Carlie Stevens. For years, he’s denied the brewing attraction. When he finds she’s taken up residence in his home. He may have the in he’s wanted for too many years to count.
The smell of ocean welcomed him. He stepped out of his service car, hoisted his backpack and clicked the handle on his suitcase. Why carry something that had rollers. The house was dark in the early afternoon, making him wonder if he still had a houseguest.
He entered and placed his things in the foyer. Emotions long forgotten tugged at him. Every time he stepped foot in his childhood house, he expected to see his mother come down the stairs to greet him with a warm smile on her face, smelling like an afternoon spent baking. And, as always, reality cruelly crashed down, reminding him of fate’s viciousness. With a sigh, he looked toward the staircase. Carlie. Carlie. Carlie.
Jackson walked up the stairs, toward his bedroom, noting how everything looked to be in in place, as if Carlie didn’t dare disturb anything. He passed by his mom’s bedroom, now a guest room. He ruminated on things, what to say, what would her reaction be to seeing him?
What he loved most about flying was sleeping, but thanks to one overprotective brother he barely rested at all, with his mind obsessing over the sweet woman in his bed.
A foul odor hit his nose upon opening the door to his bedroom. He ignored the stink and approached his bed covered in chocolate wrappers, empty bags of fast food and the girl sleeping on top of the covers in the same clothes he saw her in online while he was in Afghanistan.
Garrick always boasted of his ‘sleep like the dead’ sisters. He decided to test out the theory. He tapped her and got nothing. He picked her up. Her head lolled over, a halo of hair fanning out. A loud snore popped out of her mouth. He tried to smooth her tangled hair out of the way and carried her into his bathroom. With one hand, he turned on the shower and stepped into the cold water fully dressed, holding her.
Carlie screamed. Her beautiful eyes popped opened as she came to and began thrashing in his arms.
“Sorry, princess. You need a shower, you stink.” Jackson whipped her soaking wet shirt over her head and unsnapped her bra with one hand while she shivered and glared daggers at him. He bent down and whisked off her leggings and thong, and then threw all the pieces out of the shower.
“What are you doing?” Carlie hissed the words thorough chattering teeth. She gave up attempting to cover her nudity with her hands and wiped her plastered hair away from her eyes.
“Right now I’m standing in my shower under freezing water with a smelly girl.” He reached up and adjusted the blasts to give them warm water. Jackson stepped out to get a clean cloth and returned to her. Her skin flushed with the steam pouring through the glass enclosed shower.
“I mean what are you doing home?”
He chuckled. “I didn’t know I needed permission to come to my house.” He grabbed his body wash and lathered up the cloth.
“I swear I’m going to kill you for tossing me in a cold shower.” Anger blazed in her flushed face as she stared him down.
“That’s good then, means you’re no longer cowering in your stupid self-pity party.”
“What, are you going to do with that?” She eyed him nervously, ignoring his words.
“Well, I figured your hands must be broken or something so I’d wash you, since you can’t do so yourself.”
“Uh-uh, no way. Give me that.” She tugged at the sudsy cloth in his hand, his gaze dropping to her lush breasts.
“Nice.” He winked at the way they bounced with her efforts to take the wash rag. He let her have the wet cloth and watched the recoil, suds covering her chin, dripping down her neck, between the valley of her tits, and the path downward. Damn she was in great shape.
“Get. Out.” She pointed to the door, her face flushing a deep red.
“I don’t mind helping, not at all.” The sheer stubbornness in her glare told to him to surrender. With a sigh, he stepped out of the stall. “Get clean. We’ll talk after you’re done.”
“Fine. Privacy would be nice. Please close the door behind you.”
“See you soon.” He stripped off his clothes on the other side, knowing she had a direct view of him. His dick jerked in the cool air. At her gasp, he noticed her riveted gaze stayed on his Prince Albert and beads. He quirked a brow at her, ready to answer any questions she might have. “Done staring at my dick?” The crass words caused her head to jerk and her gaze to land on his.
“Could you be more of an asshole?”
He smirked in response, snagged a towel and walked into his bedroom. Carlie’s continued rant echoed in his bathroom, the sound carrying into his master bedroom.
“Perfect princess, you know this is who I am and you still wanted to jump my bones.”
“I hate that nickname. Whatever. I don’t want to jump anything on you.”
While she screamed expletives at him from the other side of the door in a righteous fit of temper, he dried off and put on a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt, impressed that she knew such a dirty range of swear words, and used them. Ten minutes later, Carlie emerged with a huge fluffy towel around her lithe body.
“Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not a new notch for your bedpost, don’t ever strip me naked again. I made a stupid drunken comment months ago that will not happen in this lifetime. Got it? Better yet maybe you should move to the other room while you’re here.”
“Don’t hole yourself in my bedroom like a hoarder,” he snapped back, grabbed his trashcan from the bedside and began tossing wrappers and leftover crap inside. He stopped to gift her with a glare. “This is my room. You don’t dictate where I will or won’t sleep in my fucking house, princess. Got it?” He resumed his task and counted backward from twenty to cool his temper. The heady scent of innocence dripped from her delectable body, driving him mad. He needed his hands occupied to prevent him from lashing out at her in sexual frustration.
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