Nocturnes
Authors: Kendall Grey
Tags: #tattoos, #Contemporary, #alcoholism, #erotic romance, #guitars, #Erotica, #hardcore, #rock stars, #strippers
Table of Contents
Side A (Rax’s Mix Tape): “One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer”
Side B (Eve’s Mix Tape): “Dance the Night Away”
Side B: “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap”
Side B: “Hear My Train A Comin’”
Side A: “Walk on the Wild Side”
Side B: “Life in the Fast Lane”
Side B: “Nobody’s Fault But Mine”
Side A: “Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’”
Side B: “When the Levee Breaks”
Side A: “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door”
Side A: “You Shook Me All Night Long”
NOCTURNES
Hard Rock Harlots
Book Three
Kendall Grey
NOCTURNES
Copyright © 2013 by Kendall Grey
Published by
Howling Mad Press, LLC
P.O. Box 660
Bethlehem, GA 30620
All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the Author. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Edited by Jennifer Sommersby Young
Cover design by Renee Coffey
ISBN 10: 0-9911928-0-X
ISBN 13: 978-0-9911928-0-9
First E-book Edition: December 2013
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Blow Pop, Jose Cuervo, “Porn Star Dancing” by My Darkest Days, Juicy Fruit, Tic Tac, Big Red, Popeye, Underoos, Baskin Robbins, Wonder Twins, Mr. Clean, Olympics, Vienna sausages, King Kong, Zippo,
The Exorcist
, Pop-Tarts, Zoloft, Prozac, Vicodin, Fender Guitars, Indianapolis Colts, Princess Leia, Café du Monde, Eternity for Men by Calvin Klein, Wiffle ball, Cheetos, Slushie, Betty Crocker, Jell-O, Coke Zero,
Aliens
, Jacuzzi, Vulcans, Kryptonite, Superman, Grey Goose vodka,
Little House on the Prairie
, Dudley Do-Right, “Reunited and It Feels So Good” by Peaches and Herb, “Gett Off” by Prince, Saran Wrap, Ritalin, “One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer” by George Thorogood, “Dance the Night Away” by Van Halen, “Lola” by The Kinks, “Highway to Hell” by AC/DC, “Stairway to Heaven” by Led Zeppelin, “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” by AC/DC, “Money” by Pink Floyd, “Hear My Train A Comin’” by Jimi Hendrix, “Fool in the Rain” by Led Zeppelin, “Riders on the Storm” by The Doors, “Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd, “Surrender” by Cheap Trick, “Backdoor Man” by The Doors, “Burnin’ for You” by Blue Oyster Cult, “Walk on the Wild Side” by Lou Reed, “Life in the Fast Lane” by The Eagles, “Ballroom Blitz” by Sweet, “Nobody’s Fault but Mine” by Led Zeppelin, “I Wanna Be Sedated” by Ramones, “Piece of My Heart” by Janis Joplin, “Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’” by Journey, “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen, “When the Levee Breaks” by Led Zeppelin, “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” by Bob Dylan, “Purple Haze” by Jimi Hendrix, “Wild Horses” by The Rolling Stones, “Manic Depression” by Jimi Hendrix, “Come Together” by Aerosmith, “Free Bird” by Lynyrd Skynyrd, “Magic Man” by Heart, “You Really Got Me” by Van Halen, “You Shook Me All Night Long” by AC/DC.
Acknowledgments
This series has been an incredible ride. Thanks to
everyone
who’s stuck with me from STRINGS to BEATS and now NOCTURNES. Allow me a moment to hail some of the usual suspects at the top of my Gratitude List: Jenn Sommersby Young for top-notch editing, warm friendship, and psychic twindom; Renee Coffey for designing all three of the Hard Rock Harlots book covers; Noelle Pierce for beta reading, additional cover art on the paperbacks, and for helping me form my misshapen, lumpy ideas into something useful; the Rockers and Harlots group for unwavering support, friendship, and lots of laughs; and finally, to my family and friends for being there when I need you and for supporting me, quirks and all.
Dedication
NOCTURNES is dedicated to Rax Wrathbone. You had me sweating bullets for a minute there, but thankfully, you proved me wrong.
Long live happiness. Long live The Rock.
To My Readers…
Thanks
so much
for joining me on this Hard Rock Harlots journey. We’ve had a wild and crazy ride, haven’t we? I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
Before you start reading, I wanted to give you a quick explanation of how this book is organized. Instead of maintaining a single first person point of view throughout the story, NOCTURNES features two POVs—Rax’s and Eve’s. I set up the book like an 80’s-style mix tape. All chapters labeled “Side A” are written in Rax’s point of view, and chapters labeled “Side B” are told from Eve’s point of view. The POVs alternate, except near the end, so pay attention there. As a tribute to Killer Buzz Float’s musical influences and to some of the artists who inspired me to write the Hard Rock Harlots series, all of the chapter titles except for one are songs from the 70’s.
One more thing. There’s a sex act in this book (you’ll know what I’m talking about when you read it) I’m sure many readers will question. People are going to say, “That’s unrealistic and physically impossible.” You’re certainly entitled to your opinion, but there are plenty of movies out there that prove it can be done. Google it if you don’t believe me. :-)
Now that the boring setups and disclaimer shit are out of the way, I hope you enjoy Rax’s and Eve’s book. Thank you for reading!
—Kendall Grey
Side A (Rax’s Mix Tape): “One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer”
Tuesday, March 4 – Mardi Gras, New Orleans, Louisiana
The blond stripper onstage is hot. I like the way her hair fans out with her jerky dance moves. Wearing a crisp white men’s button-down dress shirt with a tie loose around her neck, stuffed animal dangling from the tips of her fingers, she’s got a young Britney Spears thing going on. I wouldn’t mind stealing her teddy bear and making it watch while I fuck her with a Blow Pop.
Slapping the bar hard enough to rouse the dazed voyeurs nearby, I laugh at myself and scoop up the next shot from the line before me. I dedicated the first two to Jinx and Toombs. Who should I toast next? I know…
I hold the glass high and say to no one in particular, “Here’s to you, Letty Dillinger. Thanks for fucking up my life, bitch.”
Pitch. Swallow. Slam.
Three down, three more to go.
The dancer makes quick work of her dress casuals. The heavy bass recalibrating human heartbeats via subwoofers hidden in the walls punctuates the slashing of her arms and stomps of her stiletto-strapped feet. Colored lights swirl above, casting mottled patterns across the stage. Psychedelic trailers ignite my already blurred vision.
She licks the length of the tie, meets my eyes, and smiles. Slinks a hand across her bare tits and rubs it down her front to her barely covered crotch. I notch a brow and casually brush my cock. Whistles from across the small round platform draw her attention away. A bunch of guys in polos wave bills in the air and high-five each other.
The music winds down. Lights dim. The topless dancer descends the steps, navigates the wall-to-wall crowd of deodorant-challenged tourists, and heads for the frat boys raising hell on the other side of the dais. Can’t tell if she ignored my “Wanna hump?” signals, or she’s too stupid to have noticed. Or maybe she smelled my nearly empty wallet.
Fuck her. And her bad boob job.
Laughter rises and pops like bubbles as the chick giggles and bounces for the boys falling all over themselves to get close. Fog machines pump out ozone-smelling vapor, mixed with hints of pot and cigarettes. A dull haze dampens the already poor visibility in the club.
My gaze returns to the stage. The steel pole jutting proudly from dead center mocks me. Cold and calculating. Behind it looms a huge purple neon sign that reads
Nocturnes
.
“What are you lookin’ at, motherfucker?” I say, bringing the next shot to my lips.
The pole doesn’t answer. Tight-lipped cunt.
My hand droops, and the tequila plays nice with gravity, behaving itself, slanting like it’s supposed to, sloshing like an object in motion staying in motion until another force intervenes. Glass. It’s some shit. I laugh again. Stupid as hell.
“No, you’re fixin’ to be
drunk
as hell,” I tell myself and swallow down Jose Cuervo’s next ejaculation of golden jizz. “Ahh…better than cum.” I flip the glass on its mouth and caress its ass end after it hits the table.
The guy sitting next to me flings a sideways glance, gets up, and leaves.
“The fuck, man?” I gesture to the stage. “It’s free pussy. And ass. And tits. I mean after you pay cover and stuff some bills in their snatches.” I shake my head. The dude clearly has no taste. And if he knew he was sitting next to Rax Wrathbone of Killer Buzz Float, that dickhead would probably be under the bar, blowing me right now.
I flip out a poorly executed bird with my sobriety-challenged middle finger and flick it like a booger at his back. “There. That’s for being a pussy with your motherfucking tweed-ass jacket and skinny fucking jeans on Mardi fucking Gras.” Worst fashion sense ever.
I scowl and face the stage again. Damn pole is still staring me down. I point a finger at it. Raise a brow. Wait for it to say something. Come at me. Try to buttfuck me. “I triple dog dare you.”
The pole remains as stoic as ever.
When the next song starts, a body intervenes. Hands, arms, and elbows molest the metal. Choke it like a thick cock. Flesh and fabric. “Porn Star Dancing” by My Darkest Days rapes the speakers, prompting the rusty gears in my head to grind and squeal. The new girl is another blond. She climbs the metal, mounts it near the peak, and spirals down in a blur of controlled rhythm. The damn pole is unshakeable. It gives nothing. It fears nothing. It cares for nothing.
Hard.
Like my dick would be if I weren’t… “So fucking drunk,” I shout.
Goddamn Toombs. Goddamn Jinx.
Why’d they have to…?
Ah, fuck the pity party. I slap the bar before me, and the stripper struts over wearing six-inch trash-walkers, nearly impaling my finger with a spiked heel. She shakes her thonged ass in my face. When the cash remains safely tucked inside my pocket, she drifts away in search of more loaded prospects in Greek-lettered ball caps and sensible khakis.
Enough with the self-imposed abstinence. I need to get laid tonight.
It’s been days since I last spoke to Toombs. He wants nothing to do with me. Jinx tried to strike up a conversation yesterday, but I’m done with her. Fucking bitch turned my best friend since childhood against me. My tag-team buddy. My rock.
I thumb the tender bruise under my eye, suppress a fury-filled expletive, and grab my next drink, swallowing it without a thought. My head tips left. The room is spinning real good now. I straighten, aligning myself vertically with that godforsaken pole. The annoying dancer covers the metal with her limber flesh, shimmying up as if it takes no more effort than breathing.
The truth is, climbing up is harder than shit. Going down is easier than drunk Killer Buzz Float groupies.
Down, down, down.
Taking the easy way out. Just like me. Because pulling myself out of this addictive, swirling clusterfuck requires more effort, motivation, and willpower than I’ve got. So I’ll just keep falling and let gravity do all the work. Maybe I’ll hit the bottom soon. Or maybe I’ll fall so far and so deep, no one will ever find me.
“Fuck you, Toombs. I don’t need you.” I’ve got my guitar and this here tequila. They’re far better company than Toombs.
I make eye contact with the stripper taming the pole and ease my tongue across my lips. A slight dip of her jaw tells me she gets the message. I shove a hand into my pocket and feel around for more bills. I’m down to my last hundred bucks. Thank fuck I already paid for the tequila.
