Three Rockstars of Sin

13KateMy life was so perfect. There was no way that it could get better. The soft sheets caressed my tender flesh as I rolled over in the big bed with my eyes closed. Sticky thighs brushed together. Thick juice dripped from between them in a lazy rush. My sore asshole clenched up and I groaned, filled from head to toe with pleasure.

Hard Fought’s New York concert was over and we didn’t leave the city until the next day. Maybe we all could go for a walk around New York. The band and I would eat hotdogs and gaze at clouds. It was cold but the sun was bright in Central Park.

The four of us all together.

A sigh escaped my chest as I breathed in the smell of our sex still heavy in the air. Being close to my men was like heaven, sheer pleasure personified.

Because Gunner, Brody, and Hudson came to my rescue when I needed them the most. The way they touched me had to mean they had feelings for me. Otherwise, why would they bother?

Tender yet powerful emotions rushed through me.

For Hudson, my gloomy rock god with a soft side very few people saw.

For Gunner, fun, reliable, and sexy as hell.

For Brody, the one who loved the spotlight and interviews, and the frenzy of nightclub VIP rooms. Still, he gave all that up night after night to be with us in the hotel room.

Whether we were making love, talking, or just quietly enjoying each other’s company, I wanted to be with them.

Electric realization tingled through my fingers, up into my arms, and settled like a warm blanket on my chest.

Love. I’m in love with Hard Fought. It can’t be anything else.

My eyes flew open and I sat up in the bed to tell them.

But the oversized bed was empty. In fact, they weren’t anywhere in the room.

My brows lowered in disappointment.

What in the world? Where could they be?

All three of them were gone. Anxiety replaced the excitement of moments before. Fear trickled down my spine. I twisted around, checking the three other pillows a note, some sign that they would be returning soon.

There was nothing there.

Frantic, I dug under the pillows, threw the sheets aside, looked over the side of the bed in case the paper was blown away when they closed the door behind them. My breasts heaved with exertion.

Still nothing.

Before long, I was almost hyperventilating with anxiety. Panic attacks were something that affected me in high school. Suddenly, they were back. Red-faced, I crawled on my hands and knees all over the gigantic bed searching for something that I knew wasn’t there.

Calm down. You’re going crazy for no reason!

Yet, the desperation wasn’t going anywhere. Practically wheezing now, I stumbled out of the bed and fell with a loud thud to the carpet. My tits bounced everywhere and my hair fell into my eyes. I was sure that I looked crazy—like an insane woman even. Only the thought of Gunner, Hudson and Brody walking in to find me looking this ridiculous got me to my feet.

“Gunner!” I went from bedroom to bedroom in the three-room suite but I didn’t find anybody. “Brody? Hudson?”

And the strangest thing greeted me then. Because their closets were empty. No clothes. No guitars. No Hard Fought. Completely gone, as if the men had never been in the suite.

The trickle of nervousness down my spine was turning into an overwhelming flood. Trembling with cold fear, I paced around the room, my knees trembling. Bats instead of butterflies battled in my stomach. Grabbing a robe, I ran through the suite one last time in case I missed something. My fears were confirmed. And faced with nothing but more emptiness, I dashed through the connecting door to my own room.

Everything was where I left it.

My clothes, the clipboard with notes for the rest of Hard Fought’s schedule, and the official things my men needed help with.

My alphas. They’re still mine. Right?

Nausea rose up in my throat. Right then and there I thought I was going to be sick. My suspicions had rung true. They had found a new girl, and wanted to leave me with my parents in Brooklyn.

No. Keep it together, Kate. Just chill.

Suddenly, I had a realization. There was someone that could help me: Helena.

She would know what was going on.

In the rock stars’ main bedroom, I grabbed my phone and stumbled to the bed where I’d happily and freely given myself to them. The sheets still smelled like us, the incandescent pleasure mixed with true emotion. So what was going on?

With quivering fingers, I dialed Helena on FaceTime.

Come on, come on! Answer me!

It took forever for her to pick up. Finally, the middle aged woman’s face popped up on the small screen, lips pursed in disapproval. Desperation killed all of the politeness that I usually had.