Hillbilly Rockstar (20 page)

Keeping his right arm around her hip, he slid his boots between hers and scooted her foot out, widening her stance. Then his hand was on his cock. He dragged it down the crack of her ass, then slipped it between her thighs, letting the tip glide up her wet slit until the head bumped her clit.

Just as she was ready to beg him to fuck her, he poised that thick head at her opening and fed his cock into her inch by inch.

Once he was fully seated inside, he paused.

Devin nuzzled the back of her head. His lips found the top of her ear
and he brushed a line of kisses down to the hollow below her earlobe. His rapid breaths flowed across her damp skin, making every hair on her body stand up.

In one breath-stealing moment, he pulled out and rammed his cock back in fully.

Her right hand, still on the piano keys, shifted, playing higher notes as she braced herself against his pounding thrusts.

Devin's body covered hers so intimately that although she was almost fully clothed, she felt the heat of his possession searing her flesh clear down to the bone.

Needing another contact point with him, Liberty turned her head, and his lips grazed her jaw, sending new shivers rippling through her.

The tremors coming from him surprised her.

That's when she recognized he'd reached the edge sooner than he usually did. She also knew he'd hold back, waiting for her to come again, even when she'd already had two explosive orgasms.

His grip tightened on her hip and on her wrist. When he slowed down, she squeezed her inner muscles around his cock. He made a soft grunt and pumped into her with short, shallow jabs.

Against his lips, she whispered, “Let go. I need to hear you roar.”

And roar he did.

Musical notes distorted the air as he fucked her without pause. His release was so hot she felt it through the latex.

In the aftermath, Devin's hips kept moving. Swiveling. Driving against her G-spot until she detonated again. As she spiraled down from the place he'd sent her soaring to, she swore he was coming again too.

He nuzzled her ear. “Told you it was a rush.”

“Mmm. So does this make you
my
groupie now?”

His teeth nipped her neck. “Since I was on my knees in front of you? Yes.” He soothed the love bites with a soft brush of his lips. “You looked fucking hot onstage tonight. But I prefer you like this, half-dressed, my cock in you and a thoroughly fucked smile on your face. Because I know no one else will ever see you like this.”

“That was a pretty possessive thing to say.”

“I'm a pretty possessive guy.” His lips skimmed her temple. “Get used to it.”

A
lthough Liberty had fun singing backup vocals, she was relieved when Tay bounced back from her pregnancy sickness and returned to her job the following night.

They'd hit the grueling part of the tour. The past fourteen days had been brutally exhausting, travel-wise and performance-wise. Two back-to-back cycles of six nights on, one night off. Hour after hour spent on the bus.

For the past three nights, she and Devin had both been too tired to do anything but crawl into bed, curl up together and fall asleep.

Since the venues were small, mostly county fairs, additional security was limited, and Devin didn't have a separate space to get ready for the show, so he'd resorted to staying on the bus. The problem with that was the zealous fans stood outside the barricade, chanting Devin's name, serenading him with his own tunes. While he admitted he found it more flattering than annoying, he'd had to resort to noise-canceling headphones to drown them out.

Things had gotten tense the first night when she'd stationed the lone security guard in front of the barricade. As soon as Devin stepped off the bus, the crowd knocked down the wooden barrier and charged him. She fought the urge to pull out her gun and fire warning shots in the air to get them to back the fuck off.

Fortunately, Crash had been nearby, and between him and her, they got Devin inside the back entrance without injury.

Devin had been rattled by the incident, but he pretended to take it in stride. He even pointed out his fans hadn't acted with malice.

To which Liberty retorted that if his fans had intended to act with
malice, they could have gotten to him way too easily and it would've been too late to do anything about it at that point.

So they'd reconfigured the position of the buses into a V outside the back entrance, which allowed limited privacy and protection as he got on and off the bus.

She had a hard time believing the gigs where Devin played to a crowd of fifteen hundred were worth it. Not just financially, but the back-to-back shows were physically exhausting for everyone involved with the tour. When she'd mentioned her concerns to Crash, he told her that by headlining the smaller venues, Devin was reaching upward of twenty-five thousand people with his music—no different from if he'd played a large arena during that week. Then he'd gone on to point out the only chance some of these people living in rural areas would have to see Devin McClain live is if he came to them—and that decision had been one hundred percent Devin's.

Snapped back to the present when the house lights dimmed, Liberty waited by the edge of the stage after the second encore.

After Devin handed off his guitar to Check, he grabbed a towel. Amid congrats from the crew, they returned to the sponsor's tent, which seemed half a mile away in the middle of a cow pasture. But they were upwind from the Porta-Potties for a change. The rockstar life wasn't all five-star hotels and gourmet food.

The tent was completely empty, so that was a plus.

Devin mopped his face and neck. His black T-shirt was soaked with sweat. Even his jeans clung to his muscular legs.

She sauntered closer. “Great show.”

He smiled. “Yeah? Best crowd we've had in the last week.”

Pressing her body against his, she draped her arms over his shoulders so she could twine her fingers in those tempting ringlet curls.

“Sweetheart, you don't wanna get that close to me when I'm all sweaty like this.”

“I like you sweaty. Especially when we're naked.”

He kissed her quickly. “Hold that thought. We'll take a shower together
when we're back on the bus. Maybe the reporter won't stick around long if she sees I'm still in stage clothes.”

Liberty retreated. She hoped the interview lasted at least until the parking areas were empty and the crowd had gone home.

Devin sighed. “Remind me again what local paper this is for.”

She looked at him. “Do you even know where we are?”

He shook his head. “It's all blurred together.”

“We're in Berle County. Your contact is Daisy Sue Seftner from the
Tri-City Register
.”

“Thanks.” He flopped in the folding chair, closed his eyes and tipped his head back. “I'm beat. I don't mean to be a pain in the ass, but it'd be nice to have something better than these hard damn chairs to sit on during the interview.”

“Why don't you do these interviews in the bus?”

He peered at her from beneath heavy lids. “Because the bus is my private space. I don't wanna share it with nobody but you.”

She loved his sweet, protective side, but it wasn't about her. “Not even if
Celebrity Motor Homes
contacted you to do a segment on your life on the road?”

He shrugged. “This bus is nicer than any I've ever had; it's still not one of them million-dollar motor coaches.” Then he offered her a smirk. “And I'm supposed to be keepin' a low profile, remember?”

Crash entered the tent with a young woman who appeared to be fresh out of high school. Then again, the older Liberty got, the worse she was at judging ages.

Devin heaved himself to his feet and crossed the small expanse in three steps. “Daisy Sue? Thanks for postponing this interview until after the show. But I'll warn ya that without a shower I'm a little ripe.”

“I don't mind. You earned that sweat. What an outstanding performance.”

“Thank you.” He gestured to the two chairs in the corner. “How about if we sit over there?”

“I promise I won't keep you too long. I know you've gotta get on the road.”

Crash beckoned Liberty outside. “If you've got this handled, the band is gonna take off.”

“Are the drivers rested? It seems we're on the road for more than twelve hours every damn night.”

“They're all getting the required break. We worked that into the touring schedule, Liberty.”

She held up her hands at his brusque tone. “Not an accusation. I just worry about Devin. He's so exhausted, he's not working on music during the day. He just zones out in front of the TV.”

“It's the ebb and flow of the tour.” Crash frowned. “I'm more worried about you. Is Dev expecting you to entertain him so you're not getting the rest you need? Because it's crucial that you're on your game throughout these next few tour dates.”

“My workouts have been about half of what they should be, but besides that, I'm holding steady. And I am armed. That levels the playing field a whole lot.”

“Good. And I've been meaning to thank you.”

Liberty looked at him quizzically. “For what?”

“For keeping Devin on an even keel. About this time on tour, tempers start to fray. Especially his. Not only does he feel safe with you, but that safety allows him to concentrate on doin' his job every night.” Crash grinned. “And he likes havin' you in close quarters. He's never had that before, and he's gotten really protective of it.”

Not knowing how to respond, her answer was a little flip. “I'm glad to be of service.”

He clapped her on the shoulder. “Have a good night. See you tomorrow at sound check. Be safe.”

“Always.”

She hovered in the walkway, keeping an eye on the tent where Devin was being interviewed and squinting at the dirt parking lot where the roadies were loading up the last of the equipment. The only good thing about smaller venues is they didn't do a full stage setup, so teardown took less
than half of the usual time, but it was tricky to accomplish in the dark with
spotlights. Since Devin preferred to stick around until the semis rolled out, she was happy to see they were nearly finished.

An image jogged closer. Between the darkness, clouds of dust and exhaust fumes, she couldn't make the person out. Her hand automatically went to her stun gun. When she realized it was just Reg, she felt like an idiot. Maybe she was more tired than she thought.

“Hey there, Miss Liberty. I'm done with my final check. I'll be waiting on the bus.”

She wished Reg could pull the bus around. They were on the opposite side from where it was parked. But the behemoth was difficult to maneuver, so she didn't ask. “Shouldn't be too much longer.”

The interview was still in full swing, so she typed her daily report on her phone.

Another twenty minutes passed by. She finally caught Devin's eye and tapped on her wrist.

Devin gave the interviewer his million-dollar grin. “The boss lady is tellin' me we oughta wrap this up.”

“I have one last question.” Daisy Sue sat a little straighter in her chair. “You've taken some hits over the years as well as had your share of acclaim. Your song ‘What Love Isn't' has supporters and detractors. How do you feel when music critics weigh in?”

“Darlin', if I tell you what I really think, you'll get in trouble because you ain't allowed to publish that kinda bad language in your family newspaper.”

Daisy Sue laughed.

“In all honesty, critics' opinions don't mean squat. There's no such thing as a ‘critical review' because the phrase signifies the reviewer is already a critic lookin' to find something wrong. My fans' response to my music is all I care about. Those supposed professional reviewers, who feel entitled to say whatever nasty stuff they want about my work, are just lookin' for an angle and a way to get
themselves
noticed. In recent years it's come down to who can have the snarkiest sound bite; it's not about my work at all, but how clever they think they can be in dissing it or me.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Some of my peers claim it stems from jealousy because these so-called critics have no obvious talents of their own. I think it's because they have no idea how to create something. Alls they know is how to tear something apart someone else created. So like I said, I'll let the workin' people who plunk down their hard-earned cash for my CDs or to see my shows be my true critics. Life is too short and too precious to focus on negativity or the people who specialize in it.”

Liberty wanted to clap. Sometimes she didn't know how he kept doing it, putting so much of himself into his music and into his performances night after night.

“Well, you don't have to worry I'll put you in a negative light. It's been fun interviewing you, Devin.”

“The pleasure was mine, Daisy Sue.”

They both stood.

“Will you make sure my publicist at the record label gets a copy of the article?”

“Of course.” She shook his hand. “Good luck on the rest of the tour.”

Devin waited until she'd ducked out before he crossed over to Liberty. “What's the status on the equipment trucks?”

“Gone. As is the band bus. Reg is waiting for us.”

“Cool. Let's go.”

They exited the tent.

“I probably should've walked Daisy Sue to her car,” he said. “Why the hell is it so dark out here? Did they shut off the yard lights to save money?”

“No idea. I can't even see the neon glow from the midway.” She listened. She couldn't hear the noise from the carnival games or the music blaring from the rides either. The silence, especially this time of night, set her on edge.

Three more tents were spread out between the back of the grandstand and where the bus was parked. They picked their way through the deserted area; the only sound was the shuffle of their feet in the dirt.

Just as they cleared the last tent, Liberty heard a heavy step and a scrape behind them. She whirled around.

A man wielding some kind of club appeared from the shadows and headed straight for Devin.

Liberty's instincts kicked in as the man charged. Since his focus seemed to be solely on Devin, she held out her foot and tripped him. He went sprawling, but fell only to his knees. She followed through by kicking him in the lower back above his kidney. He let loose a howl of pain before he hit the dirt face-first.

Then she pressed her stun gun into the back of his head as she removed the spiked club from his hand. “Don't fucking move or I will send seventy thousand volts through you.”

He puffed out, “Fuck off,” and tried to twist his body away from her.

She stomped on his fingers and jammed the stunner more deeply into the fat rolls of his neck. “I said:
Don't. Fucking. Move
.”

The guy slumped to the ground.

She'd fallen for that trick before. “Put your free arm above your head. Palm flat on the ground.” When he hesitated, she yelled, “Do it now.”

He slowly reached up.

Liberty didn't ease up on him one bit as she looked over at Devin.

He'd completely frozen.

While she was relieved he hadn't interfered with her doing her job, his state of stock wasn't helping. “Devin,” she said sharply.

He snapped out of it and met her gaze.

“Call the cops.”

The attacker ran his mouth as he struggled. “Of course you're gonna call the cops. You're a fuckin' pussy just like I thought you were, McClain. Ain't man enough to take me on.” He snorted. “You're a pathetic loser if you're gonna let this chick fight your battles.”

So tempting to flip the switch and zap this motherfucker. See if that made his lips stop flapping.

Devin pulled out his phone.

“You think the cops will arrest me? I'll be a hero for taking a whack at you. They know what you did when you played here three years ago. How you invited a few girls onto your bus—most of them underage—fucked them and then kicked them to the curb on your way outta town.”

“That's why you came after him? Your girlfriend or sister was one of those girls?” Liberty asked.

“She was my fucking
wife
,” he spat. “What kind of hard-up piece of shit fucks another man's wife?”

“Evidently, your wife has a thing for hard-up pieces of shit, doesn't she?”