The Rock God's Indecent Desire: The Rock Gods, #1

By Aphrodite Hunt

AN EROTIC ROMANCE DRIPPING WITH LUST AND SENSUALITY!

Meet Jordan Brown. There's ain't no mountain high enough for this sassy and dynamic BBW journalist. Except when it comes to drop dead sexy rock superstars that everyone else in her magazine wants to interview.

"But Blaine Mitchell is a spoilt, overexposed brat, and I don't even like his music," she vehemently protests when her editor drops the assignment on her.

"That's exactly why you're the right person to do it," her editor shoots back. "You'll offer a different perspective."

Oh, Jordan will offer a different perspective all right. She's going to do an interview so intimate, so sordid that it will expose all of Blaine Mitchell's tawdry sexual secrets. He's exactly the type of man she hates, and she's out to teach him a journalistic lesson.

Meet Blaine Mitchell. He has won every single 'sexy' accolade in the world. He's a rock and TV superstar and a multimedia mogul. Then he meets Jordan, and suddenly, all he can think of is sex. He wants to f**k her against every surface, in every possible location -- planes, cars, rooftops. He is obsessed with having her over and over.

But can he get her, and what happens when his former girlfriend thunders back into his life?

THE ROCK GOD'S INDECENT DESIRE is the first erotic romance in THE ROCK GOD series. WARNING: Contains sex so hot it will melt whatever you have down there!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aphrodite Hunt
• Release date: Jan 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781519900791

Aphrodite Hunt

Aphrodite Hunt is an Amazon, Barnes and Nobles, All Romance Ebook, Bookstrand and 1 Place for Romance Bestselling author of erotica and erotic romances. Her stories have been in the Top 100 of the Barnes and Nobles overall charts, Top 2 of the Amazon US Erotica charts, Top 30 of the Amazon Romance charts and the Top 15 of Movers and Shakers. She has had no less than 23 stories hit Amazon's Top 100 Erotica and two which have hit the Top 2. Twelve of them have hit the Top 100 Barnes and Nobles bestseller charts. She also writes under Artemis Hunt for erotic romances and other non-erotica subjects.

Book preview

REVENGE IS A DISH . . .

Oh, it is. It is indeed.

And I’m going to serve it precisely the way I choose.

*

There he is.

Blaine Mitchell. Synonymous with sex god, rock superstar, front man for the top band in the world, Altitude. Yeah, I know. Fitting name, right?

He doesn’t know I’m in the audience. It’s not a concert. I’ve wrangled a free seat for his reality TV show based on his life: ‘Sex and Blaine Mitchell’s City’.

I know.

You don’t have to say a word.

Blaine Mitchell is on stage, trading insults with his best friend, Cole Penn – a staple on every episode of the show. Blaine is the visual epitome of sex on legs, which sometimes undermines how hilarious he can be. He has coal black hair – cropped neatly at the sides and back, and flaring to a glorious peak at the top – and vivid hazel eyes underneath prominent, very alpha ridged eyebrows.

He could have been a throwback to a sixties James Dean style matinee idol, except that he manages to look spectacularly modern at the same time.

I am so close to the stage – three rows deep, to be exact – that I can notice every feature of that obscenely famous, obscenely beautiful face.

Those smoldering eyes, for instance. Those brilliantly hued hazel eyes that are sometimes green in a certain kind of light and golden in another. That perennial five o’ clock shadow that graces his strong jaw.

Oh, everything, I guess.

I won’t even go to his body. He’s wearing a tight white T-shirt and ripped skinny jeans, the way he usually does. The T-shirt conforms to his lean, muscular body that doesn’t have a single ounce of spare fat.

The body I remember so well from two years ago – up close and personal.

And there we were, Blaine was saying. On the 105, stuck in a jam stretching all the way to the Pacific Palisades, with each other. And I needed to pee . . . so bad.

Blaine has no filter. He says what he likes on TV and radio, and hopes the censors bleep out whatever they need to. On live TV, this can be a challenge, but Blaine gives fuck all about that, too.

Every time he needs to pee, he gets real antsy, says Cole.

In contrast to Blaine, Cole is a hulking giant of a man. Blaine is six feet tall, but Cole tops him at six seven or some basketball player thing like that.

How antsy? asks the host, Alan.

As luck has it, I managed to video him on my cellphone, Cole says.

You did?

Blaine starts to laugh. No, you didn’t.

I have always wondered how much of this show is ad lib and how much of it is rehearsed. Blaine always seems so natural onscreen in whatever he is doing – whether he’s driving a car, going to a Lakers’ game, catching a movie with his date of the month, or jet setting around the world in his private plane.

I have proof. Here's the clip.

Behind them, the screen lights up with the (I’m sure it has been pre-arranged and well rehearsed) clip.

In the clip, Blaine and Cole are in a car. They are both in plaid shirts. That’s the thing about Blaine. He’s sexy in whatever he throws on. Although he’s most comfortable in a T-shirt and skinny jeans, he can alternately wear a snazzy suit or gym shorts and look perfectly remarkable in them.

Blaine is singing in that glorious, surprisingly high register voice of his.

"I’m leaving on a jet plane,

And I badly need to pee,

I’m squirming in my seat,

As you can clearly see,

I’m dripping beads

And crossing my legs

I’m curling my toes

To find something that rhymes with legs . . ."

He turns to Cole.

What rhymes with legs?

Kegs.

Beer kegs?

Powder kegs.

Who the hell use powder kegs these days? What century are you in, Napoleon?

Hey, I hear they store pressed powder in kegs.

Huh? What the hell are you jabbering about?

"You know, pressed powder in compacts. Women use them. Hell, you use them."

I don’t use pressed powder.

Oh yes, you do. I’ve seen those compact cases in your vanity kit.

I so do not have a vanity kit!

And on it goes, yadda yadda yadda. The eternal conflict of two best friends who insult each other all the time and love each other to bits.

Yeah. I get why America (and the world) loves the Blaine Mitchell show so much. How can you not, right? He’s super-talented, super-funny, super-sexy, super-toned, super everything.

But they don’t know him like I know him.

They don’t hate him like I hate him.

*

Blaine Mitchell doesn’t recognize me at all. Sure, I’m three rows in deep and he’s about twenty feet away. I’m close enough to see the tattoos on his forearms. There’s one of a dolphin that I can very clearly glimpse on his right forearm.

He glances at the audience only sometimes, and I’m sure he’s not looking at me. There are about three hundred people packed in this studio, most of them women. I’m just one in a sea of female faces. Besides, I look really different from how I did two years ago, and he mightn’t recognize me at all. Gaining twenty pounds will do that to you.

I’m putting my weight gain solely on Blaine Mitchell’s marvelously toned, well-sculptured shoulders. And oh, the ten thousand chocolates I ate in my fit of self-loathing after I was through with him.

In the clip playing onscreen, Cole has realized that Blaine needs to pee, and he’s pressing against Blaine’s bladder. Blaine is still attempting to drive. I know that this seems like frat boy humor, but it’s really funny when you watch a rock sex god in such a situation. It makes him really human and accessible somehow, and that’s the secret of Blaine’s appeal.

At least, that was a major part of his appeal to me.

My mind is tumbling with images from our last encounter – two years ago.

This is what happened.

TWO YEARS AGO

ENCOUNTER WITH A ROCK STAR

I need volunteers, said Amy Wagner, my editor.

Everyone but me put up her hand. We knew what the assignment was about. Or rather, ‘who’ the assignment was about.

Blaine Mitchell – five-time Grammy Award winning artiste, current winner of the People’s Choice Award for Best Group/Duo, and a former People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive. Naturally, everyone – females and males alike – wanted in on the scoop.

Is this, like, going to be ‘Almost Famous’? Which means I get to go on tour with the band and interview groupies and stuff?

Alexandra Day is speaking. She is my greatest rival here on ‘Parade’ magazine, and there’s not a day that goes by without me wishing that I could stab a pen into her.

No, Amy says firmly. It will just be an interview. Blaine Mitchell is not currently on tour.

There, it was confirmed. She said the ‘B’ word.

I don't think there are groupies anymore, I drawled. This isn't the seventies, in case you haven’t noticed.

Alexandra gave me an evil look, but I didn’t care. I never did.

I hated Blaine Mitchell’s music. Well, not exactly. He did have a couple of songs that were vaguely ‘sing-along-to’. He was always on the radio, no matter what channel you turned to. He was the reason I subscribed to Sirius FM – so that I could turn to channels that played songs before the year 2000 . . . so that I could get away from his voice.

I hated Blaine Mitchell’s public persona, which was all I knew at that time. I hated the way he only ever dated gorgeous actresses or even more gorgeous Olympic gymnasts. He was the type of man I know I would hate in real life. He represented every jock who ever laughed at my tomboy fashion sense in high school, and every hot boy who never wanted to kiss me at summer camp.

Damn guys like him.

Where do we interview him? said Audra.

I only disliked her marginally less than I disliked Alexandra. You might be thinking that I was a misogynist by now, and you might be right.

At his suite. Four Seasons. He’s in town for the Today Show.

I sat back and let the comments roll, together with my eyes.

Oh God, I so want this. He’s so dreamy!

I heard he’s a prick.

So what if he’s a prick? He’s the sexiest man alive!

Ex-sexiest man alive.

It doesn’t matter! How do you go from the sexiest man alive one year to not being the sexiest man alive? It’s all a rotation game on who’s in the celebrity spotlight. He’s still majorly sexy.

"I need to meet him so bad that I don’t care what the rest of you think. I need this assignment."

You need to ask him how he felt when he lost the Best Album Grammy to Kanye West.

Ask him why he dumped his last Russian Olympic gymnast girlfriend with just an email, that dick.

Amy turned to me.

Don't you want this assignment, Jordan?

No, I said quickly.

Why not?

Because Blaine Mitchell is an asshole.

Amy recoiled in mock shock.

What a thing to say, Jordan Brown.

Oh, who cares if she’s not interested anyway? Alexandra said in a bored tone. Just give the assignment to me.

Amy narrowed her eyes. That is exactly why I don’t want to give the assignment to you, Alex.

Only Amy was allowed to call Alexandra Alex. The rest of us mere mortals had to use the requisite four syllables.

What?

The last time you interviewed Ed Sheeran, you made a pass at him.

I did not!

He claims that you did. And Ed Sheeran is, well, Ed Sheeran. Imagine what you would do to the Sexiest Man Alive.

"Former Sexiest Man Alive," I put in.

I rolled my eyes