Authors: Vivian Lux
A Rockstar Stepbrother Romance
All Rights Reserved
This book contains adult themes, explicit language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature audiences.
NOTE: All characters in the book are 18+ years of age, non-blood related, and all sexual acts are consensual.
BOOKS BY VIVIAN LUX:
Sons of Steel Motorcycle Club:
Devil's Due Motorcycle Club
I love to hear from my readers.
Email me at
Friend me at
Like me at
Get the latest in new releases and limited time promotions by signing up for
Please respect the work of this author. No part of this book may be reproduced or copied without permission. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Any similarities to events or situations are also coincidental.
The publisher and author acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks and locations mentioned in this book. Trademarks and locations are not sponsored or endorsed by trademark owners.
(C) 2015 by Vivian Lux and Velvetfire Press
All Rights Reserved.
To B., first always.
To N. and E., Mama's so proud
To TTT, thank you for the letting me have the title, if I could have only used it! Oh and for everything else, too.
To Megan, my rockstar, for helping me out with the finer points of the music biz. I miss you ladies. Love to Team Manlis.
To Kaylee Song and Honey Palomino, both of whom were instrumental in getting me back on my feet and back to writing. Thank you for all of the help.
To the whole incredible community of indie authors to which I am fortunate to belong.
To my wonderful readers. I hope you like it.
"Hmm?" I was almost asleep. In the pitch dark of the studio, I could almost believe his voice was something out of a dream.
Until I heard his little snort of laughter. "Asleep already, Bit?' Did I wear you out that bad?"
I groaned and shifted. His naked body was pressed up against mine, warm and heavy and solid. I was as limp and floppy as a wet noodle after what we had just done, but I would never tell him that. He didn't need the ego boost.
"I'm not asleep," I huffed.
He pressed his lips to my shoulder. "Good. Because my arm is completely dead. Can I have it back?"
Muttering, I flopped onto my back. He yanked his arm out from under me with a sigh of relief. It felt like he was leaving. I almost panicked.
Until he immediately shifted out bodies even closer together, pulling me flush against him. "There,” he murmured against my forehead. "That's better."
I was pressed up against him on the narrow, beat-up sofa that hulked in the far corner of the studio. I couldn't see him—not in the close, thick darkness—but in my mind's eye I could perfectly picture his long body as I ran my hand along his side and down to his hips. "Did that just happen?" I whispered.
Now it was his turn to sound asleep. He sighed, stretched, then stroked his hand lazily along my stomach to cup my breast. "Yeah Bit," he chuckled. "It happened. This isn't one of your stories; it's real."
Damn right it wasn't one of my stories. It was better. Better than I could have ever imagined, really. I thought we'd be trading tender embraces. But no, it was so much more than that. Raw. Urgent. Primal, even. Instead of sweet words to remember it by, I had the marks of his fingers on my skin. And I liked it that way.
It made it so much more real.
"So, what you're saying is…" I trailed off. I needed him to say something else. About what this meant. To him. To me. For him and me… together.
He must have heard the edge in my voice, because he didn't rise to the bait. Instead he somehow pulled me in even tighter. "Yeah. We had sex, Liliana," he said, using my real name for once. "Made love. Whatever you want to call it, we did it. Don't you go freaking out on me now."
But I was already way ahead of him. Wide awake now, I stiffened and pulled back. Don't go freaking out? How could I not? I had just had sex with—no, worse than that, I had just lost my virginity to…
Jaxson fucking Blue.
"Lily, shh, I can feel you spazzing out. Stop." Jax somehow found my mouth in the dark, brushing his lips against mine.
"How the hell am I supposed to stop?" I asked him. I honestly wanted to know. "I can't believe we did… that I let you… that you did…" I blushed at the memory.
Jaxson smoothed my hair in the dark. I could feel the guitar callouses on his fingers. The ones I had been so recently suckling and kissing as he thrust himself inside me. "Why can't you believe it?" he asked. "I fucking love you, Lil Bit."
My heart stopped. Time stood still. I floated in the pitch dark in the warmth of his arms. I listened, waiting for him to laugh, to take it back, to say he got me and it was all a joke.
Instead I heard his breath deepen and quiet.
Holy shit, he had fallen asleep. Right after he dropped that bomb in my lap.
It was the most arrogant, cocky, Jaxson Blue thing he could have possibly done.
I couldn't help but laugh. "Goddammit, Jax. I love you too. Asshole."
And then I fell asleep in his arms.
At the very first note, my heart dropped to my shoes.
I had to get out of here. Fast.
"Angel?" I called frantically into the dressing room, "I'm running next door. I'm desperate for caffeine. You want anything?"
"Caramel latte?" my roommate called from inside. This shopping trip was supposed to be about bonding, getting to know each other, but fuck it. I couldn't stay in this store a moment longer.
The beat was infectious. I could see shoppers starting to sway near the racks of discounted jeans. It was a four-on-the-floor, balls-out pop song, all glittering synth and pounding bassline. Almost impossible to ignore.
And it was already in my head. The last place I wanted it to be.
I rushed out into the oppressive heat of the New York City streets, but my cheeks were blazing even hotter as I tried like hell to avoid the song of the summer. I fled into the cool of the Starbucks next door and took my place in line.
The overhead speakers were piping in some plinking little indie folk tune. I sighed in relief. I checked my nails, resolving for the fifty billionth time to stop biting them, then immediately stuck my thumbnail in my mouth and started nibbling.
I was next in line when the plinky song ended. There was a pause. I craned my neck and saw one of the baristas changing out the iPod behind the counter.
And there it was again.
I managed to hold it together, right up until the vocalist began. He started with the chorus, a nail right to the center of my heart.
"You got it right, babe/We spent the night, babe/And I'm just a little bit cocky, yes, it's true…"
I was out of there before the rest of the song ramped up. Because he didn't say, "little bit." No, he snarled and slurred his words, so that it came out sounding a lot more like, "Lil Bit."
Jaxson Blue had worked his way back into my life, managing to ruin everything for me once again. This time without even having to see me face to face.
I ran out of the coffee shop with my hands clapped over my ears, but the bassline still pulsed in my chest, making my heart beat irregularly… just like it did when Jax stood in front of me naked for the first time. Tattooed and smoldering, with electric blue hair that did disconcerting things to his deep, deep blue eyes, he cupped my face in his hands and I melted right into a puddle at his feet.
I was halfway back to my apartment before I remembered Angel. And her coffee. And mine.
This was a matter of life and death. She'd have to understand. Or, if she didn't, then this bout of erratic behavior would be one more thing she could titter about with her boyfriend who stayed over every night and yet never pitched in for rent… or food… or the miles of toilet paper he clogged our aging toilet with every morning. Or maybe she could throw another party without consulting me, leaving me to be the one to have to clean up our tiny shoebox of an apartment.
I can't believe he used my own words in a song about me.
I stopped short with a sigh. It wasn't Angel I was mad at. She was a flighty slob, a spoiled Midwest princess who lacked in every real world skill an adult should have, but then again, what was I? We were both nineteen, strangers in this city and far away from our loved ones. I could cut her some slack.
"You didn't mean a word of it," I whispered.
"You're deluded," he chuckled.
"You're a cocky asshole."
"You got that right, babe."
He could rot in hell.
I was getting tired of having to chat up every two-bit blogger that crossed my path, but what was even worse is having to sit there and listen to them blather about my mother with the kind of reverence usually reserved for the freaking Pope.
"And what was it like, growing up the son of Annie Blue?"
This blogger, a curvy little thing that I could definitely see taking home—providing she lost the obnoxiously huge cat-eye glasses that dominated her face—just asked me the same damn question that the previous ten reporters on this junket asked me.
How many times can I come up with a witty, concise way of saying what I really want to say? How am I supposed to answer a stupid question like that?
Being the son of Annie Blue is all I've ever been.
Even now, as my label readied the release of my first EP. Even now, as my first single was blowing up. Even now, as I had studio time booked for the full-length follow-up. Even now, as I had a Rolling Stone cover story in the works and my first tour was in the planning stages.
Even after all of this, I was still the fucking son of fucking Annie goddamn Blue.
I didn't say that, of course. Instead I shifted in my chair, spreading my legs for a second. The pretty blogger's eyes went right to my crotch, and I smiled a little. Yeah, she wanted it. A few choice words, and I'd have her begging for it.
"Well…" I smiled, showing the dimple I knew drove girls crazy. "Being the son of Annie Blue? That's the only thing I've ever known, sweetheart." She wiggled a little right then. I'd have her squirming one way or another. Just get those glasses off… "To some people, my mom is an icon," I added, hating how glib and portentous I sounded, "but to me, she's always going to be Mama."
I nearly vomited in my own mouth after that one. I had outdone myself. The last time I called Annie "Mama," I was still in diapers. She made me call her Annie the minute I stopped lisping and drooling, and any maternal feelings she might have had for me were drowned out by her own narcissism.
The curvy little thing giggled, typing furiously into her sleek MacBook. "I just can't imagine anyone calling Annie Blue ‘Mama,’ ” she said, shaking her head. "She's a goddess."
I tried to hold back the explosive sigh, but it came out anyway. Luckily for me, my publicist knew exactly what that meant.
"That's all the time Mr. Blue has right now," Beverly said crisply.
The blogger looked shocked, and that's when I knew for sure that she expected we'd end up in bed together after this. At least in that regard, I was my own man. No one ever called me in Annie Blue's son when I took them home. It was
name they screamed out.
I stood up and shook her hand, giving her the full benefit of my dimple. She made a noise like a little squeak, and I could smell the desire rising off of her in waves. May be I could get her off her Annie Blue lady-boner in my own special way?
But luckily, Beverly seemed to know me better than myself. "Mr. Blue," she said, "I've arranged for you to be able to take a break. Did you want anything from craft services?"
The blogger, clearly shut out, slunk away, stuffing her laptop into her shoulder bag. I allowed myself one last glimpse of her ass, then sighed. "How many times have you cock-blocked me now, Bev?"
Beverly arched an eyebrow. "Who, me? I'm only looking after my best client's well-being."
"Bullshit. You just don't like the competition."
Beverly laughed. "Luckily for both of us, were not competing in the same pool." She let her own eyes linger for a second as the blogger disappeared around the corner, and then shook her head. "I could've taught that girl a thing or two," she sighed.
I licked my lips. "Please make sure to get it down on video," I told her, cupping my groin.
"You're an absolute pig, and I have no idea why I put up with you. Come on." Beverly sounded severe, but I could tell she was one second away from laughing. Getting under my radical feminist, lesbian publicist's skin was one of my favorite hobbies, probably second only to making music.
Such a fucking cliché, isn't it? Son of a rock star, grandson of a rock star, trying to make his own way in the music industry. It's a story so familiar, it's almost sad. I knew the minute I walked into the studio that everyone figured I was just a joke. I'd put out the four song EP, just to get it out of my system, then go back to my sad, playboy life of living off of my mother's money. I even believed it myself, figuring I would just use my mom's connections to scratch the itch, satisfy my curiosity.
Never once did I count on the fact that I'd love it more than anything.
I also never counted on the fact that I appeared to be good at it.
Now the little song I wrote a year ago, a poem jotted down in one of my notebooks after the biggest fuck-up of my life, was fucking
. And none of us were prepared for it.
Least of all, me.
The label had me scrambling. A series of club appearances, really a small scale tour, were being planned at this very moment. I had studio time booked already for the full-length LP follow-up, an album's worth of material I hadn't even written yet. Of course, the label offered the services of the best songwriters in the business, but fuck it. This was my moment, my time to shine. “(Lil Bit) Cocky” was my words, but someone else's music. I was ready to stand my ground to make sure the world heard both this time.
Bev and I wolfed down a few sandwiches, watching the video guys break down their equipment. My face was still pancaked in the makeup the stylist had slathered on my face before the junket began, and it felt tight as a mask.
"What the hell time is it, anyway?" I asked Bev.
My manager snuck a look at her cell phone. "A fuck of a lot later than it should be," she said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Jax. I really need to get a better handle on these things for you."
I patted her arm for a moment. I once tried to get out of to sleep with me, a long time ago. She shot me down so gently that ever since, I'd felt a kind of protective instinct about her. "No, I talked too much. You know that."
Bev rolled her eyes. "You talk too much, and you reveal too much, Jax,"
I held my hand up to stave off the lecture I knew was coming. "I thought I did fine this time."
"What's it like to grow up the son of Annie Blue?"
she said, mimicking the blogger's wispy little tone. "Right there, she was trying to trap you. You say, 'Great!' and move on. Don't give them any more fodder than they already have on you."
I grimaced. Bev wasn't coming out and saying it, but I definitely knew what she meant. Pitchfork magazine had called my "enigmatic" lyrics "the biggest songwriting mystery since Carly Simon's 'You're So Vain.’ "
"Who is Little Bit?"
The headline blared.
But they got it wrong. Not “Little Bit.”
The only girl I’d ever loved.