The Rockstar's Virgin Read online

  Table of Contents

  Free Book

  Hazel

  Sean

  Bonus Book: Resisting Temptation

  Also by M. S. Parker

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The Rockstar’s Virgin

  M. S. Parker

  Cassie Wild

  Belmonte Publishing, LLC

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Belmonte Publishing LLC

  Published by Belmonte Publishing LLC

  Contents

  Free Book

  1. Hazel

  2. Sean

  3. Hazel

  4. Sean

  5. Hazel

  6. Sean

  7. Hazel

  8. Sean

  9. Hazel

  10. Sean

  11. Hazel

  12. Sean

  13. Hazel

  14. Sean

  15. Hazel

  16. Sean

  17. Hazel

  18. Sean

  19. Hazel

  20. Sean

  21. Hazel

  22. Sean

  23. Hazel

  24. Sean

  25. Hazel

  26. Sean

  27. Hazel

  28. Sean

  29. Hazel

  30. Sean

  31. Hazel

  32. Sean

  33. Hazel

  34. Sean

  35. Hazel

  36. Sean

  37. Hazel

  38. Sean

  39. Hazel

  40. Sean

  41. Hazel

  42. Sean

  43. Hazel

  44. Sean

  45. Hazel

  46. Sean

  47. Hazel

  48. Sean

  49. Hazel

  50. Sean

  51. Hazel

  52. Sean

  53. Hazel

  54. Sean

  55. Hazel

  56. Sean

  57. Hazel

  58. Sean

  59. Hazel

  Bonus Book: Resisting Temptation

  Also by M. S. Parker

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Free Book

  Get my new book for FREE! Click Here to subscriber to my newsletter and start reading the exclusive 200 pages stand-alone Erotic romance, The Billionaire’s Sub.

  One

  Hazel

  The bride was doing it again.

  “Hey, Emelie, you look beautiful,” I said, wary of the little brunette's temper. “Only one suggestion I'd make is to maybe purse your lips a little bit less. Just relax your face, let it come naturally.”

  I received a scathing glare in reply, and the duck lips became more pronounced. I sighed and snapped the photo. This woman was a nightmare. The whole wedding party was a nightmare. It was everything I could do to get them to take a few nice photos between shots of them grabbing each other’s butts and taking swigs straight from the tequila bottle.

  The wind whipped a few strands of my long black hair into my face, tickling my nose. I'd come to the wedding with my hair up in an elegant bun but had been pressed to give my hair tie and bobby pins to one of the bridesmaids, who'd rolled in looking like she'd woken up on the floor of a country bar. Now that my hair was free, it was making my job bloody difficult.

  “Just pretend I'm not here,” I instructed to the group of women gathered in front of me. “Talk amongst yourselves.”

  It was everything I could do not to talk down to them like a group of children. They were acting like it. They kept trying to glamor pose as I circled the group with my camera, making sure that some of the shots had a backdrop of the beach and late afternoon sun while others were set against the tall pines just back from the shore.

  The Pacific Northwest was a photographer’s dream. Coastline, greenery, mountains – the whole kit and caboodle. But for weddings...

  “Shit! Is it starting to rain?” the bride shrieked.

  Next thing I knew, the five women were hoofing it across the sand back toward the hotel. I sighed and let my camera drop on its cord, running a hand through my hair.

  The rain was a mere sprinkling. A mist, more like. There was only one gray cloud in the sky, and though it was making its presence known, it would pass. I could have even used it to the advantage of the photos.

  But apparently, the bride and her friends weren't taking any chances.

  “We'll take a break and come back to finish in a bit, when the, uh, rain has stopped,” I called after them.

  Emelie waved in acknowledgment but didn't so much as hitch her stride. It amused me that someone worried about the rain ruining her hair and makeup apparently wasn't concerned about what the physical exertion would do.

  Whatever, not my problem.

  I strolled up to the rolling green at the back of the hotel where Emelie and her new husband had exchanged vows. The hotel staff was busy bringing in the folding chairs and decorations, and inside, the reception was already beginning to fill up. Soon, my role would be reduced from the already not important status of glamorized selfie-taker to being harassed by drunk people who all wanted to smile for the camera.

  Gotta love weddings.

  Not.

  I headed inside and grabbed a glass of champagne from one of the circulating waiters, then sequestered myself in the corner of the ballroom. I wanted to finish the bridal party pictures before I adjusted for indoor lighting. I'd give the girls five minutes, then we were back outside – rain or shine. Probably shine, given that the lonely dark cloud was already passing.

  From the corner of my eye, I noticed a tall, dark-haired man approaching me. I kept staring straight ahead, thinking I was mistaken. But he kept getting closer, until finally, I was forced to turn and acknowledge that he was coming over to talk to me. There was nobody else tucked away over here, after all.

  “I was admiring your skills during the ceremony,” the man said. “I'm Jack Shaw.”

  He stuck out his hand, and I shook it, unease settling in my stomach. This scene had played out many times before, at many other weddings.

  “Hazel Hunter. Lovely to meet you.” I dropped his hand and took a sip of my champagne. “Is there something I can help you with, Jack Shaw?”

  He grinned, revealing a set of dazzling white teeth. Too white, if you asked me. He was handsome though, in that clean-cut businessman way. But he also looked a bit older than me, mid-thirties to my twenty-two. Unless he answered that he wanted his picture taken, I doubted I'd be much help to him at all.

  “I just wanted to come over and say hi,” Jack replied. “You seem like you've got your hands full today. Can't be an easy job. And that’s coming from a lawyer.”

  I chuckled. “Sometimes it's the easiest job in the world.” With a wink, I added, “Sometimes the bride won't stop making a duck face and insisting you take a photo from a higher angle so her double chin doesn't show.”

  “Is it a job you like, at least?”

  “I like being a photographer, yeah. But my aspirations lie in a little higher profile work. I like landscapes and all that jazz, but I really want to do something urban and raw. And weddings are very...”

  I paused, searching for the word.

  “Orchestrated?” Jack posed.

  I grinned. “Exactly. Nothing feels organic.”

  “May I see some of your photos?”

  I hesitated, unsure of his intentions. I got hit on at
weddings a lot, but I didn't usually have people take an interest in my work. I was a wedding photographer. Nothing exciting about that.

  But hell, it would help pass some of the time. I shrugged and passed my camera over to him, watching his face as he flicked through the photos.

  “You know, these are pretty damn good,” Jack said finally, handing the camera back. “Even with the duck faces.”

  I smiled, gripping my camera self-consciously. “Thank you.”

  “You know, if you're looking for more professional work, I may be able to help.”

  I raised a skeptical brow. “And why would you do that?”

  “Because I've been watching the light leave your eyes all night,” he joked. “I've got a thing for damsels in distress.”

  When I gave him a flat look, he merely laughed it off.

  “It's true. There are support groups for that kind of thing.”

  “Maybe I'm not a damsel in distress,” I replied, feeling myself bristle.

  He smiled, eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Good. Then I don't have to give up my chip for helping you. So, can I get your number?”

  My heart had accelerated in my chest, and I couldn't tell whether it was because he was cute and funny or because he was offering to give me a boost into some better work.

  I was skeptical, sure, but what harm could giving him my number do? Worst case scenario, he’d call and invite me to do some photography work in a hotel room downtown, and I would tell him to fuck off.

  Just as I was handing him my card, a sunbeam slanted through the window and across my face. I blinked and turned to look outside. The cloud had moved on.

  “I've got to go,” I said, pointing to the beach. “I've got a flock of ducks to corral before everyone gets too drunk.”

  He saluted me off, wishing me luck.

  I was going to need it.

  Two

  Sean

  “Oh yeah, baby. Oh yeah!”

  The woman on top of me was performing a one woman show. Her hands squeezed her tits, sending the flesh spilling over the top of her fingers deliciously. Her head was flung back dramatically, bouncing loosely on her neck with each thrust of my hips. And she was keening something fierce.

  “Oh god! Fuck me! Yes!”

  She'd already come a few minutes ago. This little production was undoubtedly meant to titillate me into reaching my own climax, but it was more off-putting than anything else. But she was a nice girl, and hot as hell, so I wouldn't fault her for going a little above and beyond when it came to theatrics in bed.

  I focused on the feeling of my cock spearing inside of her, the visual of her tits and ass bouncing. And then, finally, I released with a groan of pleasure. I shuddered, still pumping in and out, then fell back against the bed.

  The girl rolled off me, and I pulled the condom off and tossed it toward the wastebasket.

  “That was amazing,” she said breathlessly. Her lips teased my nipple, then worked up to my neck, my cheek...

  “It's pretty late,” I said.

  She giggled. “Ain't no rest for the wicked. Except maybe we should get a little rest, then we can go for another round or two in the morning?”

  She looked at me with big, hopeful eyes. They all did. Having a reputation for going through groupies like Tic-Tacs meant I'd become a challenge for them. They knew the score – all groupies knew the score – but that didn't mean they'd stop hoping to be the one to tame my wild heart.

  It had been annoying at first, but after all this time I'd come to think of it as cute.

  Not this time, baby girl.

  “I don't do sleepovers,” I told her. “But I'll be sleeping well after a fuck like that. Nice work–” I narrowed my eyes and looked down at her, trying to remember what the hell her name was. “Lara?”

  The girl frowned. Not Lara.

  “Leonie?” I asked. “You look like a Leonie.”

  “I do not,” she scoffed. “That's like saying that you look like a Bernard.”

  I smirked. “Then call me Bernard, if you want.”

  Not-Leonie rolled her eyes and rose from the bed. “I'll get dressed and be out of your hair, Bernard.”

  I reclined with my arms behind my head and watched her, appreciating her womanly form one last time.

  “I kinda like that. Makes me sound a little more distinguished, like I've got a holiday home in the Caymans.”

  Not-Leonie shook her head, grabbed her shoes in her hand, and walked out into the hallway. I wondered whether I should walk her out to make sure she didn't steal anything on her way but decided against it. What did I have to steal that I couldn't just replace? That was the whole point of fame and fortune, wasn't it?

  From the corner of my eye, I saw my phone light up on the bedside table. I picked it up, noting that I'd missed three calls from my manager while it had been on silent.

  I picked up this one, lying back in my bed with a sigh. “What's going on, Brad?”

  Brad Jones was not a man who sugarcoated. He was direct, brutally honest, and sometimes a bit of a dick. But he'd made me a fuckton of money, and he was a good guy.

  “It's your brother,” he said, not even opening with a greeting. “He overdosed and is in the hospital, but after he wakes up, he's heading straight to rehab.”

  I sat up straight, heart pounding. “Is he okay?”

  “He was lucky. He'll live.”

  I cursed, slamming my hand down on the pillow. My little brother. Why couldn't he just keep his fucking act together? Why did this have to happen?

  “Thanks for letting me know. Which hospital?”

  I took down the details, even though I knew I wouldn't be going to visit. Not in the hospital, at least. Way too public. I’ll visit him at the clinic. Then I tugged on a hoodie and some boxers and stumbled out onto the patio. The dew seemed almost frosty compared to the heat of my skin. Slumping onto one of the chairs, I lit up a cigarette and watched the first pink fingers of morning creep up over the horizon.

  Three

  Hazel

  Cora came out from the kitchen with a fresh bottle of wine. “I think somebody needs a top up.”

  I laughed, having just finished recounting my story of the wedding horror show I'd been party to this evening. I gratefully accepted another glass.

  Cora Charming had been my best friend since I first moved to Seattle at eighteen and always knew exactly what I needed. She looked out for me better than I could look out for myself.

  After refilling both our glasses and putting the wine back in the fridge, Cora perched on the edge of my couch, grinning wickedly.

  “So...were there any cute guys there?”

  I groaned. “You ask me that literally every time.”

  “Because it's important,” she teased. Her brown eyes were filled with mischief. “I need to know these things. Weddings are practically hotbeds of sexy man activity, and you've got a VIP access card.”

  “Yes, because I'm there to do my job.” I took a sip of the wine and shook my head in amusement. “Getting frisky with the best man in the coat closet is not what I'm being paid to do.”

  “Hey, nobody says you have to get frisky with anyone. Start small – talk to a guy first.”

  I could have gone on yet another lengthy chat with my best friend where I tried to explain that none of the guys who came up and hit on me at the wedding were worth my time, but then a face sparked to mind.

  “Actually, you know what...there was a guy.”

  Cora's eyes widened. “Tell me more.”

  “His name was Jack. He's a lawyer, something corporate and snooty based on the cut of his suit. Anyway, he came up and started chatting with me, said he might be able to break me into more professional work.”

  Cora tilted her head from side to side, processing this information. Her vibrant red curls caught in the light as she did, making it appear almost like her head was on fire. I'd always been so jealous of her hair. Much as I loved my dark waves, there was something so ethereal about a hea
d of tight red curls.

  “Not as dynamite as I was expecting, but it's a start,” she said finally. “So, will this be the one? The lucky man whom you bestow your flower upon?”

  I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “You make it sound so archaic and weird, Cora.”

  “The fact that you're still a virgin is kind of archaic and weird.” She shot a hand out and quickly added, “But sweet and nice and all that too. You know what I mean.”

  I laughed. Despite the fact that Cora and I got along like a house on fire and shared so many interests it was almost creepy, there was one area we deviated in significantly.

  Cora loved sex. She wasn't a wild, out of control nympho or anything, but she was always looking for her next great flame. And with a body that could have come straight from the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition and a face to match, she had no shortage of hopeful suitors.

  I, on the other hand, didn't like sex. I didn't dislike it either. I just hadn't had enough of it to properly form an opinion either way. And by enough of it, I mean any.