Getting on my knees, I ran my nose up her inner thigh. “You’re gorgeous everywhere. Have I told you that before?”
“Maybe a time or ten, but I never get tired of hearing it. The amazing person you are and way you look at me makes me love you more with each passing day.”
“You make it easy when I’m around you. You bring out all the goodness in me as well as move me, heart, body, and soul.”
Using her feet, she pushed my shorts down until they slipped and hit the floor. “When you say words like that, they take my breath away.”
My mouth claimed hers in a searing kiss. When we finally pulled away, I ran my hand through her hair and tugged. “I only speak the truth of how you make me feel.”
“If you’re so inspired, maybe you should write a song about it,” she giggled and then moaned as I ran the pad of my thumb over her sensitive nub.
“I have a feeling both you and this place will inspire many more songs to come. In the meantime, why don’t you lean back and let me show you how much?”
For the rest of the night and early into the morning light, I showed Pen what words couldn’t say. How not a day went by that I didn’t thank the Greek gods Pen agreed to marry me. Hell, that an amazing woman like her even gave me a chance when she had so much to lose.
My muse. My soul. My everything.
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where it all began
This is where The Rocker started. I wrote this for something else and fell in love with Walker. I thought you might enjoy where it started and see where they are now.
epilogue 2
PEN
I stood to the side of the stage like the groupie I was and sang along to the music. Words I knew by heart. My body swayed to the beat in a practiced rhythm it knew all too well. The moment I heard the first note of Crimson Heat’s debut song, I was an instant fan.
My body heated as I watched the lead singer, Walker Pierce, sing with his deep and raspy voice. It was an aphrodisiac to every red-blooded female on the planet— and quite a few men as well.
Glancing to my left, I watched as a woman with the biggest and fakest tits I’d ever seen threw her bra up on stage, barely missing the lead singer. He didn’t miss a beat as a seasoned singer and kept going as if nothing had happened. I’d watched Crimson Heat rise from a barely known garage band into one of the biggest rock bands of the decade that sold out stadiums around the world only two years later.
I was in awe of their showmanship. At every concert I’d seen, and there had been hundreds, I noticed something else that made the band stand out amongst the others. No matter if it rained, snowed, was sweltering hot, or freezing cold at outdoor venues, they played like they were inside with the best conditions. Tonight, it was Kenton who looked more than a little worse for wear, probably hungover, but he still smashed his drums with the energy of a hummingbird. I’d seen Walker belt out lyrics while he had the flu, and no one ever knew he’d been sick until the article came out two days later.
Every time their concerts came to an end, I was sad yet exhilarated as the crowd went wild from their encore performance. Even with earplugs in, their screaming and clapping were almost deafening. I clapped and screamed along with them like I did at every concert I attended. There was nothing like seeing your favorite band up close in concert. It was a rush that I never wanted to end.
I watched as each guy went up to stand next to Walker, waved at the crowd, and bowed before they individually headed off stage. Each member eyed me as they moved past me and through the halls to their green room. Walker was the last to leave the stage. He gave one last flick of his wrist before he headed straight toward me.
Walker Pierce was raw masculinity in everything he did, even walking. He prowled toward me, his dark eyes piercing straight through me until he marched past me like I was nothing but a piece of gum beneath his shoe, and followed his band members into their room.
Slowly, I followed all the other groupie girls who hoped to have a shot with one or all the members of Crimson Heat tonight. I flashed my pass as needed to get by and waited patiently with everyone else in the hallway for one of the guys to open the door and let a few lucky people inside. I’d seen it done a dozen times before and watched hundreds walk away with broken hearts after not being picked. It always made me feel bad for the girls.
Tonight was special, and I had a feeling I would be one of the lucky ones. So did every other woman who was pushing up their boobs until they were near to bursting out of their skintight shirts, hiking up their skirts, and applying another layer of lip gloss to their overly plump lips. Pulling down the hem of my red halter top, I looked down at my leather skirt that was shorter than I was used to wearing. Seeing as my heels weren’t as high, nor was my hair as perfectly coiffed as the rest of the women, made me second guess my chances for the night.
The door to their green room opened up, and out walked Cross, the bass guitarist. There was a burst of excitement as he went down the line of women on both sides of the hall and pointed at each deemed worthy or slutty enough to be let inside for the night. Cross passed me by and started back for the door when he turned to look over his shoulder and then pointed at me.
A smile stretched across my face as I took the few short steps to walk inside. Each member of the band was assessing the women they wanted as they made their way inside with hungry eyes and wrapped their arms around their shoulders once they picked their flavor for the night as they moved further into the small space.
Alcohol bottles of every type of liquor you could imagine filled one table with a line of people waiting to make their own drinks. I took this all in with new eyes. The eyes of being one of the chosen, even though none of the guys had picked me. Yet.
Eyes as dark as night met mine from across the room, making my breath catch. It was like I was locked in a tractor beam as Walker Pierce, the lead singer of Crimson Heat, sauntered toward me. We moved toward each other as if on instinct. The tips of his black combat boots met the toe of my red stilettos, showing how different we were from each other. He was all hard rocker, and I was a nobody desperate to be used by him. I took in his soaked plain, black t-shirt and dark-washed jeans that he filled out spectacularly. I’d never seen another man able to make clothes look as sexy as he did. Each article of clothing showcased his muscular build. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized I hadn’t taken a breath until his arm went around my waist and pulled me into the only unoccupied corner in the room.
With his large build, he blocked out the rest of the room, making it seem as if it was only the two of us. The sounds from everyone else faded away as his eyes raked over my skimpily clad body. From the way his pupils dilated and how his tongue darted out to lick his full bottom lip, I took it that he liked what he saw.
Leaning forward with his front flushed to mine, Walker ran his nose up the column of my neck and didn’t stop until he met the shell of my ear. “What’s your name?”
“Pen,” I breathlessly answered.
“Pen?” he quirked a lone dark eyebrow and smirked. “What kind of name is that?”
Internally, my hackles rose, but I didn’t let it show. Instead, I shrugged and then answered with my hands going to his chest and getting a feel of the steel muscles that were hidden behind the black fabric. “It’s short for Penelope.”