King’s Roster (Humbled Superstars #3)

Chapter 1

Rosalie

“So, what kind of things do you like to do for fun?” the very nice man sitting across the table from me asked.

His lines felt so rote and basic I could almost have said them in my sleep.

After all, I had been on so many first dates.

His name was Vermillion and he was squeaky-clean, with an “aspiring politician” haircut, his polo shirt and khakis pressed within an inch of their life, his boat shoes gleaming in the lights of the restaurant.

The straight-laced Dockers guys always wanted to date me. They loved gothic alt girls. Probably because they thought I was extra freaky. And I kind of was. Just not for them.

“Thrifting for vintage clothes, sewing. I love making my own clothes. And reading.”

“And?” Vermillion prompted, practically drooling all over his steak as he looked at the black lace around my throat, his eyes devouring every little glimpse of my tongue piercing.

“And exploring old graveyards.”

“Oh my,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “I’d love to do that with you, Rosalie.”

I smiled politely. Vermilion was clearly a nice guy who would adore me, treasure me, and unhesitatingly enable every single hobby and vintage shopping trip with breathless thrill.

I should be into this, into him.

That would be the mature choice. After all, I was 27 now. Maybe it was time to stop the immature shit, the hoping, and settle down with a nice guy.

“And what do you do for a living?” he asked.

“I’m a songwriter.”

“Songwriter?” he cried eagerly, sawing away at his steak. “For who? Anyone I’ve ever heard of?”

Oh, you’ve heard of him. Everyone’s always heard of him. Even finance bros.

“I can’t say,” I said. “I’m afraid who I song write for is confidential information.”

Vermillion looked positively green with envy. “Well, do you ever meet anyone famous? Who is the biggest celebrity you’ve ever met?”

When I didn’t answer immediately, he pulled out his phone eagerly. “I’ll look you up. You in any of those gossip mags? I wouldn’t be surprised. You’re so beautiful! You look like a younger Morticia Addams.”

Not the first time I’d heard that, and since it was inevitable, I decided to tell him.

“Kingsley Ames,” I said. “I’m going with him on his upcoming tour.”

Vermillion choked on his wine, slopping it all down the front of his shirt.

“Wait, are you serious? You know the Kingsley Ames? But he’s the most phenomenal songwriter! A true 21st century bard. Maybe he can help with some of your songs. Make them better, you know. The man’s a certified genius.”

“Yeah,” I said, smothering a laugh. “We’ve been friends since college.”

If left to his own devices Kings would rhyme fuckin with southern, I thought to myself.

“Ohmygod,” Vermillion said excitedly. “I’m a massive fan of his. He’s not like that bland corporate rock shit, you know? His songs really slap. I was a fan before everyone else was, you know.”

I had heard this many times before. Everyone was always convinced they were Kingsley’s first fan, they appreciated his true genius before he was big.

“What’s he really like? He basically invented dirtbag rock, you know.”

What was he like? There weren’t enough curse words in the world. . .

Just then my phone buzzed and I looked down at it.

Come blow me before the plane takes off

“So, what do you do for work?” I asked Vermilion, even though I felt instant liquid heat flood through me.

My date babbled on eagerly, but I didn’t hear a word he said, skin crawling with arousal as I fought my urges.

I couldn’t be that hard up for sex. I had seen him a week ago. And I didn’t have to be always available for him.

This one time, I could ignore his text. Why should I drop my nice date to go blow him?

Oh, sorry, I was busy, I could say.

Like he’d ever believe that.

When had I ever denied Kings anything?

How embarrassing for me. No flowers, no chocolate, no “I missed you when we were in fucking Pittsburgh.”

No need for any of that when his best friend would always drop everything for a quick, dirty fuck.

Maybe at least he’d double text, I thought desperately. Ask me again. Show some urgency. Maybe then it wouldn’t be so embarrassing.

But as the minutes stretched by. . . he didn’t.

That was all I was getting, apparently. That’s all I usually got.

U up? or DTF?

Let’s see. . . I could pursue something with this perfectly nice man who had brought me flowers or leave for a booty call with my permanently emotionally unavailable rock star best friend?

I’m out with someone, I forced my fingers to type.

There. I had done it. For once.

I had resisted a hookup. Look how mature I was.

My phone dinged again.

lol

I barely suppressed a yowl of irritation at him.

Cocky motherfucker. What kind of response was lol. I was out with someone.

A picture flashed on the screen

Fuck.

Lazy asshole was apparently somewhere in a bathroom, since the picture showed Kings in the mirror, one muscular arm pulling his T-shirt up so I could see his flat defined abs and the outline of a stupidly thick dick that was a massive bulge in his athletic pants.

I didn’t want him I didn’t want him I definitely wasn’t in love with him. . .

“I’ve got to go,” I said abruptly, almost stumbling to my feet.

“Oh—what—”

“I’ve—it’s my job. We’re flying out to Chicago for a concert today and there’s—maintenance problems on the plane.”

Lies, but I was already gathering my things and practically sprinting to the door.

“Call meeeeeee!” Vermilion warbled.

But I knew I wouldn’t. I was stupidly and head-over-heels in love with someone else.

Where are you? I texted Kingsley.

For several minutes, there was no response, and I tensed, my stomach dropping.

Had I taken too long to respond? Had he moved on to the next girl on the roster?

God, everyone knew his roster was absolutely legendarily deep, packed with the hottest actresses, models, Olympic skiers, WNBA stars, and politician’s wives desperate for his dick.

Back of the plane

Sick relief and joy flooded me.

He hadn’t immediately moved on to the next girl.

Because my dumb hopeful heart couldn’t help hoping this was it.

He’d always said he would be ready to settle down. . . when he got to the right point in his career.

And now he was an international superstar and one of the top-earning musical artists in the world. If not now, when? What was he waiting for?

Maybe now was the time he was finally going to admit he was in love with me.

I’d been hopelessly in love with him ever since the first moment I saw him in college, the first moment my friends had dragged me over to see this hot guy playing his guitar at a coffee shop.

And no other man had been able to match up.

I rushed over to the airport and showed my ID to get past security and onto the stairway for Kingsley’s private plane.

The front of the plane was already filling up.

The rest of Kingsley’s band—grungy drummers named Mick and Rick.

A serious, quiet bass player named Constantine.

His harp player Dolly, who was a sweet, shy classically trained musician around our age, with bouncy blonde curls.

Our college friend Matt, who was an NFL quarterback and out with an injury this season, so he was able to come on the whole tour this time.

Rounding out the group was Kingsley’s manager Cornelius, a hard-driving corporate suit bootlicker.

I gave everyone a quick nod and pulled back the divider to the rear of the plane, where Kings had a private bed, chef, and spa.

And there he was.

Kingsley towered over me in a T-shirt that was molded to his muscular form, his golden skin looking impossibly mouth-watering. He had messy golden-blonde hair, with messy stubble, brown eyes with the most unfairly gorgeous lashes, his face perfectly proportioned yet strong and masculine.

And of course he knew it.

“You took your sweet time,” he said, with that shit-eating sexy grin that I was fucking weak for.

Then he pulled me into the back bathroom and I could already feel drool pooling in my mouth at how his athletic pants hung low on his hips, showing off his impeccable v-lines.

V-lines like that on a man should be fucking illegal, and I dropped to my knees before him, pulling down on his waistband so his cock sprung out.

My skin was buzzing, arousal soaking my panties as I flicked his tip with my piercing, then ran my tongue around the smooth metallic bar curved around that big head.

“Just like that,” Kingsley grunted as I took his length eagerly in my mouth. After five years I was pretty good at being able to relax the muscles in my throat and jaw to be able to take him deeper, suck him longer.

“You’ll have to hurry, baby girl,” he said. “We don’t have much time.”

I never wanted to rush through anything with Kingsley, but I obeyed.

I knew just how to please him, exactly what combination of pressure he liked, when he’d want me to switch it up, exactly what time to cup his heavy, swollen balls.

The sight of his hips thrusting into my mouth was unbelievably erotic, the feel of his big hand cupping my head, and he released into my mouth with a grunt.

Looking up so he’d see me swallow every drop, I was rewarded with another one of his groans.

“Fuck, Ro, that was good.”

His words made me wiggle in place, my wet thighs sticking together under my skirt.

I sucked up every drop of that pure salty-sweet cum, and licked the tip of his dick as he put it back in his pants.

“Seemed like you were gone forever,” I said, getting up. “How did it go in Philly?”

Usually I went on every leg of the tour. But this time, I wanted to prove to myself that I could stay away. But I hadn’t made it very long. God, how even a few days away made me crave him so badly. . .

“Miss me?” he grinned, his white teeth flashing out with that irresistible smile.

“Yes,” I said, my breath catching in my throat.

Maybe this was finally it. . .maybe now he’d admit it. . .

His career had never been stronger, and we’d built it together. He said he would settle down in the future, but the future was now. . .

Then there was a crackling sound over the intercom.

“Shit, we better get back out there. Your turn later, baby girl.”

“OK,” I said.

After all, usually he did return the favor. Mostly.

Kingsley did think his big pierced dick was God’s gift to women, so it wasn’t like he always felt the need to reciprocate.

“You know, next time you could stay in my hotel room the night before a trip,” I said, trying to affect a casual tone in my voice. “Save some money on two rooms.”

“Ro, you know I don’t do overnights,” he said, ruffling my hair as he pulled down his T-shirt. “That’s not my style.”

“I know, Kings,” I said, swallowing my disappointment.

“Good girl,” he replied, winking at me as he opened the bathroom door. “What I love about you is you’re never clingy. You’re not like other girls, always asking for more. I love it.”

“Right,” I said. “That’s me.”

The back of the plane was still empty, and we walked through it as Kingsley flicked the dividing curtain aside.

Everyone was sitting down and buckling up, and now there was a pleasant brown-haired woman I didn’t recognize, with big teased bangs and a navy blue pantsuit.

She hurried up and shook Kings’ hand.

“I’m really looking forward to interviewing you and your new girlfriend on this trip,” she said.

“Your new girlfriend?” I couldn’t help gasping.

Was that supposed to be me? Was this Kingsley’s way of saying he finally wanted to make us official?

I opened my mouth to accept, and then pretty, sweet Dolly came right up to Kingsley and slipped her hand shyly in his. Her eyes shone like stars as she looked at him.

“I guess our little secret is out. I’m so excited for our first trip together!”