Rock Stars Do It Dirty Read Online Free PDF

still there. She wasn’t as sexually frustrated as she had been, but the root cause of her ache hadn’t changed. She listened to Ian’s sleeping breaths, felt his heart beating under her ear, watched his chest rise and fall, admired the contours of his body. He was damn sexy, and a good lover. A girl could do worse. He had a good job, a hot-as-hell accent, and he could make her come twice in a row, while they were both drunk. She should hold on to this one while she had him.  
    Maybe it would turn into love. Or at least…something like it. Something as close as she could come without— no. She wouldn’t, couldn’t go there. That wasn’t a possibility. She’d made her choice.  
    Her instinct to flee kicked in. It was that time. Ian was asleep, her car was waiting, and by the time she made it to her car, she’d be sober enough to drive. Or she could just sleep in her car. Or even get a room in this same hotel.  
    As if sensing her inner dilemma, Ian’s arm curled around her waist and held her tight against him. Jamie kicked the flight reflex down, choked it down, shoved it down. This was good. Ian was good. She reached down and tugged the flat sheet and the comforter up to her breasts, covering herself and Ian. This was nice. He was holding her. She’d be here with him when they woke up. They’d have breakfast together. She might even learn his last name.  
    This is good , Jamie told herself.  
    The problem was, she didn’t quite believe herself. Not deep down. A voice in the shadowy corners of her soul, that place where one’s darkest truths reside, was telling her this was still just another futile attempt to bury her heartache.  
    She felt the pressure in her belly, the burning need for release. She wasn’t sated. Not by a long shot. Maybe she could wake Ian up in a few hours and go again, take the edge off. He’d be game, most likely. She knew, though, that for as long as she was with Ian, the edge would still be there. He simply wasn’t capable of satisfying the blood- and soul-deep desires within her. He could—and would—try his best, and she’d let him. But it wouldn’t be enough, and she knew it.
    She fell asleep wondering how long she could keep this up.

    CHAPTER 2  

    The music was fire in his veins. It was raw, primal fury pounding through his blood and his muscles and his brain. The shrieking guitars and chugging bass and pounding drums, the poetry flowing from his mouth in the growled and sung lyrics—these were the only things capable of drowning the hurt, capable of disguising the cracks in his heart.  
    Chase crouched on top of the speaker stacks, shirtless, sweating, screaming into the mic as thousands of fans watched, rapt. They could see the agony in his performance. He didn’t try to hide it. Rather, he used it. He left his soul on the stage every single night, and the fans ate it up. Music journalists and bloggers were watching him carefully, offering write-ups praising his “raw, soulful, and deeply tortured performances,” as one writer put it. Chase didn’t care for any of that. Let them blog and tweet and and whatever else. Let them talk. The music was what drove him. He wrote on the tour bus, ignoring the wild parties, the joints and fifths his bandmates indulged in around him. Ignored the gaggles of topless girls. He wrote, worked out the melody, and gave it Gage and Linc to perfect.  
    The guys were increasingly distant. Or rather, they recognized his need for space and distanced themselves, left him alone. Didn’t invite him to after-parties, didn’t offer him the joints or the bottles. He hadn’t had a drink in over a month by the time the tour schedule allowed them a few weeks off, and hadn’t touched a woman since the experiment in Las Vegas with the girls from Murder Doll Asylum.  
    Back in Detroit, Chase didn’t know what to do with himself. Without the rush of the performance, without the fans and the music, he was left loose and numb.  
    He’d long