Twisted Rhythm: A Dark Rockstar Romance (Twisted Rhythm Series Book 1) Page 7

  “Fuck!” he screamed, his erupting rage engulfing them both and he straightened, shoving her roughly backwards, again and again and again, until she slammed breathless and hard against the storage room’s concrete wall.

  Outside in their breeding quarters, Kontikki and Morocco went insane, pacing frantically in their pen, moaning and huffing, finally erupting into deep growls and roars. They crossed paths, spiraled, paced and crossed paths again, ramming roughly and absently into each other, scarcely noticing, bashing hard against the heavy steel that kept them from their mistress, clawing against the posts. Again and again they rose, Morocco just under six feet tall on hind legs, and slammed against the caging, skirting freedom, eager to join the fight and end it their way. But just outside their pen, Jake’s way ruled.

  His strong arms lifted her just as she began to crumple against the concrete. His voice, raspy, melodically sweet, slithered through her veil of disorientation as he grabbed her.

  “Bend over bitch,” he crooned, his green eyes alight with passion and rage, silky-warm sacred memories of their last encounter, their infamous final incident together, exploding fireworks within the twilight of his soul.

  Amanda shivered at his touch, his fevered, hurried maneuverings. Heated breath in her ear as, positioned behind her, he roughly kneed her legs apart and bent her forward at the waist, her palms slapping down hard on the concrete. She gasped when he groaned softly as he hiked her white sundress up to her waist exposing her ass and the swell of her pussy beneath her white lace thong, its moist pink lips swollen and ready, peaking slightly from the sides of their lace confines. Jake dropped to his knees behind her.

  “Fuck...” he moaned deliciously, leaning forward, incited as always by her subservient anticipation, her total submission to his appetites and desires.

  Turning her head to see him behind her, Amanda’s breath caught in her throat. Electrifyingly sensual as always, silky bangs hanging decadently into his ardent green eyes, long brown hair cascading over his biceps, down his chest, Jake crouched behind her and smiled, slowly, sensuously licking his lips, coveting the meal to come.

  Whispering resolutely, “It always comes down to this...”

  And then his hands were upon her, roughly pulling her thong aside, adept fingers exploring the length of her pussy, teasing, probing ever so tauntingly inside. Fire and warm exhilaration flowed and expanded between her legs and up, throughout her entire body till she felt his luscious presence in every pore. Breathless, she whispered “Jake...” but he didn’t even hear her, lost in the shimmering-carnal world of his own making, trapped in the sordid confines of his sickly-sweet illicit desire.

  Even as she gasped, her body on fire, tensed and hungry for more, his open mouth was upon her, tasting her first delicately and then roughly, his warm silken tongue licking and exploring, his full, luscious lips sucking the tender pink folds of her pussy till she thought she’d die if he didn’t keep going, if he refused to take her home. But Jake was an expert, she gratefully remembered as he continued, and luckily tonight wasn’t one of those brutally agonizing times when skillfully, deftly, he yielded his body as a weapon, denying her until she succumbed to whatever whim or desire had suddenly entered his mind.

  Sweating, long blonde hair flowing into her face as she bent forward, legs straight and splayed, Amanda struggled to make sense of her world. This, Jake, was all she’d craved, all she’d thought about nearly every minute of every excruciating day since their final incident together but now, even as he skillfully worked her, she remained empty and afraid. Eyes shut tight and breath labored, she hung on, petrified that somehow she’d ruin the moment so in her torrid silence she struggled, pushing panic to the fringes as if its distance would deny its very core. For some ungodly reason one of Jake’s songs, Sacrilegious Second Coming, began blasting inside her head and suddenly, crazily, it seemed Jake’s mouth and tongue were ravaging her to the thrashing, sordid rhythm of its beat.

  Hands on the pulpit from the time you were seven

  Mommy took ya to church tryin’ to save your brain...

  Then, as his left hand cleverly massaged her, expertly playing with her piercing, a silver tear drop ring through the hood of her clit, he pumped her pussy with the fingers of his right and inserted his tongue, so wet and wonderful and warm, aptly up into her positioned ass and moaned intently as she shivered and groaned. And still, the song in her head continued, accompanied by visions of Jake center stage, a wanton messiah, tattooed arms raised, long brown hair flicking and blowing in the wind, tattered net-and-leather jacket a billowing shroud behind him.

  Angel of death demon holds your salvation

  Sacrilegious second coming, your savior’s the game...

  Her breath hitching, heart pounding with the renewed realization that Jake’s magnetism, his brutal feral allure, as much for her as for millions of fans, was his raging chaotic contradiction, the half-tamed savage beast fueled by darkness and danger, obsession, lust and an aching, driving insatiable need.

  “You taste so motherfuckin’ good,” he murmured as he consumed her.

  She arched her back and leaned backwards, grinding her butt in his face. Jake laughed softly and stood, brushing his bangs from his eyes.

  “Is this what ya want?” he smirked boyishly as he rolled his tight shorts to his thighs, taking his dick, poised and hard, into his hand.

  And then quickly, before she could answer, he rammed up inside her and they both moaned.

  “Oh my God...oh my God...” Amanda whispered as he pumped her; this was everything she’d wanted for so long and much more.

  I can’t lose him...I can’t goddamn lose him was all she kept thinking and each powerful thrust drove her desperate desire home.

  “Like that bitch?” Jake rasped over her, his face a torrent of elation and rage.

  None of his lovers ever so drained him. No one took so much out of him body and soul. As each new wave of searing ecstasy washed over him and the closer he came to blowing his load, the more he wanted and despised her. Sweat glistening his rippled chest and biceps, long hair hanging into his eyes, he threw his head back in exhilaration. Amanda was his sweet addiction. You can run, he thought, but you can never hide. And like the unholy, insidious enchantment of the meth pipe he’d been dodging off and on for years, Amanda had once again lured him to his seduction and malignant sweet demise. He was seconds from coming and pulled out of her, grabbing and twisting her around, down on her knees to face him. And she knew. Fuck that bitch knew.

  His aim right on, he shot thick and hot onto her upturned face. Her lips parted, she looked up at her former boyfriend and smiled. He’d been half-assed OK up until that point, pissed at himself, at her, but finally resigned to the fact that no big deal, they’d gone for one last romp in the hay. But then her beguiling smile impaled him, her gorgeous blue eyes warm and soft as she raked in his soul. He rubbed his dick on her face, her cheeks, cleaning up his jism and then he put it in her waiting, parted mouth.

  “Taste good? You like that, huh?”

  Amanda moaned and smiled and sucked and licked him clean, his hands on her head, fingers tangled roughly in her hair. Jesus, she thought, I can’t believe this is finally happening, I can’t believe he’s really here. But, jolting her from her reverie, he suddenly shoved her backwards and she fell, surprised and humiliated, on her ass. His eyes, cold and angry as he glared down at her, crushed her questions deep in her chest. Panic consumed her and her heart, like vomit, rose and gurgled in her throat.

  “Did I do you good baby?” he laughed, long silky hair flowing down his shoulders, sweat-glistened bangs teasing his fiery eyes. “You deserved one fuck of an encore for yesterday’s wonderful performance, courtroom center stage.”

  Regaining her senses, Amanda rose, straightened the skirt of her dress and said, still shaking, “God Jake, why are you mad? I saved your ass.”

  “You put it in the sling in the first place.”

  He rolled up his shorts, smoothed his lo
ng, sensuous hair from his eyes and backed away.

  “No...” Amanda lunged forward but he brushed her hands off him and smiled bitterly.

  “Got that answer you wanted now,” he froze her in her tracks, his voice low, even and decadently decisive.

  “What?” Amanda was breathless, already in the grip of the icy hands of fear.

  “How’s it feel to be the only beast you couldn’t tame...remember?” his smile was evil, depthless and cold. “Pretty fuckin’ good,” he crooned, “Thanks for the freedom,” he smirked and turned to walk away.

  For only a second, Amanda froze. Dear God, her mind was screaming, she’d never wanted freedom from her. But it was too late. She’d given him, as always, exactly what he wanted. God how she hated this deadly, excruciating game! He walked briskly and she followed, flinging off her shoes, past the moaning and chuffing cats through the steamy tiger house, up the stone staircase, zigzagging through the gardens and halfway down her long and winding lane. Every time she reached him he shoved her aside, ignoring her pleas, until finally, crazed, she grabbed his shoulders, almost falling as he walked, and twisted herself up close in front of him.

  “Goddamn it Jake, stop!” but laughing, he sidestepped and desperate, she threw herself at him, on his back and tangled her hands in his long, flowing hair.

  “Motherfuckin’ bitch...” now he was angry. He spun, grabbing her hands, screaming, “Let the fuck go you stupid cunt!”

  But she refused and they struggled, her ripping at his hair and him gripping her wrists so hard she cried out in pain.

  “Fuck off or you’re gettin’ a shot in the head!”

  And it came hard. Amanda landed sprawled on her back, barely missing a jagged rock, one of many decorating the shrubbery lining her driveway. She gasped loudly, struggling to regain the breath knocked out of her but scrambled to a half-sitting position, in shock and despair. Stupidly she hadn’t seen this one coming and she should’ve known better than not to take Jake at his word. His eyes blazing, he stomped towards her and she covered her face in fear, her head already splitting with a headache but not one that came anywhere near to rivaling her breaking heart.

  “No, please...” but he kept advancing.

  Leaning over above her, his tousled hair hanging wildly in his face, he bellowed, “What I tell ya?!”

  “I’m sorry,” her voice a low whisper.

  “What?!”

  “I’m sorry Jake...I’m sorry...please don’t hit me.”

  “I’m leaving now,” he emphasized his words as if scolding a toddler, “and you’re gonna be a good little girl and stay put, right?”

  She stared up at him. He was amazed.

  “Right?!”

  Sobbing and afraid, she covered her head with her hands and turned away. She couldn’t bear to say the words. Then as he spun to walk away she lost it all over again, lunging, half crawling forward and grasped onto his thighs.

  “Please don’t go Jake, don’t leave me...”

  But he slithered away. Holy fuck, he thought, I’m gonna have to really beat this bitch.

  “If you leave,” she was screaming before she even realized, “I’ll put you back in jail!”

  This time when he came after her she thought it was all over. Slamming his hand around her throat so hard she nearly passed out, Jake lifted her brutally to her feet. Even as the pressure on her throat kept building his words were soft, seductively musical, as he spoke.

  “Want me to kill you?” he crooned.

  Shaking, gasping, fighting to breathe, she lifted her hands, never taking her eyes off his determined face, and clutched his arm and hand around her throat. Pulling her closer, so they were nose to nose, he leveled his gaze, powerful and dark and haunting. She shivered at the sensation of his soft hair on her cheek, his comforting warmth as he kissed her gently, open-mouthed, running his tongue ever so delicately along her lips.

  He smiled, released her with a sudden jolt, and said, complacent, “Go ahead and call the cops. It’s still freedom...” she looked confused, “...from you.”

  This time when he slowly backed away she stood her ground. Her heart shattering in her chest, she covered her face with her hands and helplessly sobbed. Dear God, not again, she couldn’t lose him this way. He was halfway to her ivory wrought iron gates by the time she looked up and her breath caught in her throat. Seeing him walk away was too much to bear. First one hesitant step and then another and by the time he reached her entrance she was chasing after him again.

  He punched the remote and his silver Ferrari roared to life, headlights slashing almond eyes in the charcoal sky, stereo blaring KROQ’s current tune, Nine Inch Nails’ The Hand That Feeds. Arriving at the gates just as Jake slid into the driver’s seat, Amanda ran forward, flinging herself onto the hood, partially obscuring the steel demon emblazoned there. Unshaken, Jake simply stared up at her, jabbed the stereo and his own raging voice erupted from its speakers, assaulting the hills and midnight sky.

  Savaged, defiled and defamed, feeding frenzy, this shark’s got a name; What’s she got to offer you, outside ‘a the horizontal things that you do

  Pumped and shackled, ravaged and tackled, spread eagle bitch is the price of fame

  Never taking his eyes off Amanda, he rammed into reverse, screeched out onto the road, and smiled. She was thrown before his car even straightened and with the raunchy chords of Spread Eagle Bitch, his most famous anthem, Jake, true to his name, vanished like a steel demon into the enveloping night.

  Chapter 5

  My mama told me, my sister showed me, lepers on the streets they were callin’ my name

  Sweet intoxication, oblivion by fornication, no escape within the fortune and fame

  Like a glimmering ghost, the Ferrari careened and melted into the night. Slamming his fist onto the black leather dashboard, Jake swore and raked his fingers through his disheveled hair. That fucking stupid crazy bitch. With his dick still wet from her, he fumed at her unyielding arrogance and his anger and pain. He cranked his music but barely heard it; more anarchic things screamed inside his brain.

  He drove like a wounded warrior, battling to cleanse Amanda from his soul. “Fuck!” he smashed his fists on the steering wheel, again and again, the car skidding, threatening to fishtail out of control. But he drove on, window down and hair flying, scalding tears ravaging his face. Nowhere, not even back in Louisiana, not living and working the streets of L.A., had he ever felt so defeated, so violated and alone. Amanda sucked the life from him so he gave and gave and gave, long after there was anything left for the taking. Her love was an infectious plague, contaminating him body and soul.

  He gunned the motor, executed a hairpin turn, soared higher into the Hollywood Hills and sang along to his own raging, thrashing tune. Oncoming lights blinding him around the next bend, he turned his head and noticed the lights of HOLLYWOOD off in the distance, anchored high on the hills. He slowed, pulled over. Good a place as any to take a leak. Pissing behind the open car door and gazing at the lights, he remembered, soulfully, what brought him to L.A. Fuck, he was so different then; if only he could recapture that hopeful, raw innocence again.

  Zipping up and rounding the car door he spotted his cell, emerald light illuminating, on the passenger seat. Turning down the stereo, he grabbed the phone but missed the call. Couldn’t be Amanda; she didn’t have his new number. He’d changed it after his arrest to avoid her and luckily no one in his entourage or inner circle had caved in to or fallen for her multitude of pleas.

  Eighteen missed calls but no one he gave a shit about at the moment. J.Z., his manager, Drake, his publicist, the usual assortment of various bimbos and friends, and Billy and Zack, his drummer and bass guitarist. It rang again just as he was about to toss it, Ding dong the witch is dead, and he picked up mid ringtone.

  “Yo, bro’...”

  “Heyyyyyyyy Jake, my man!” it was Zack and he was plastered. Megadeth, Symphony of Destruction, blared in the background, distorting the various shouts an
d ravings of the party. “Been callin’ since yesterday. Where the fuck ya been?”

  “The wonderful world of OZ and the goddamn witch still ain’t dead,” Jake laughed.

  “What???!”

  “Never fuckin’ mind. I’m standin’ here pissin’ at the beautiful HOLLYWOOD lights.”

  “Huh?”

  “Pulled over on the side of Laurel Canyon. Had to take a leak.”

  “Where ya headin’? Come over, party like a rockstar!”

  Christ, Jake thought, just what I need. Crack made him even crazier. He slid back in the driver’s seat, smoothing his bangs from his eyes. A car sped by, and then another. Luckily L.A. had its fair share of expensive sports cars, and celebrities, and no one stopped to see who owned this one.

  “Jake?” Zack’s voice screeched from the microphone.

  “Still here...”

  “Come over. Ya gotta celebrate your victory.”

  Yeah, I’m just so elated, Jake mused. Dodging all celebrations, Jake had retreated to his mansion right after trial. Escorted there by his lawyer and manager, he’d bid them polite and grateful farewells at his door, went inside and spent the evening alone with a special friend, Jack Daniel’s, before and after retreating to bed.

  He’d lain there in his underwear, the day’s judicial circus flashing incessantly in his head. It’s only rape if she’s resisting. What happened with the whiskey bottle? Do you love Jake, Miss Wilder? A few times he’d actually come close to calling her, twice he’d actually begun to dial, irritatingly, her number still prevalent in his mind. Those times, toxic remembrances of her one night fuckfest with Wade put all of his reconciliations to rest.