Run to You (2 page)

As I felt my stomach tighten and an orgasm start to build, I smiled momentarily at my reflection. I liked the look of being fucked hard. I liked it a lot.

Rick's cock began to pulsate and I clung onto for dear life as my body began to shake. The elevator made outrageous noises, the steel structure holding it up creaking and groaning as the box itself slammed against the walls of the shaft. Inside my body, Rick's warm, thick cream flowed inside me and mixed with my own juices.

The noise of the elevator barely concealed my screams as a crashing, devastating orgasm ripped through me. He continued to pulsate inside me, delivering several more hard, determined thrusts
that shook me to my core. As he gently lowered my body, I almost collapsed from legs that felt like jelly. But, as usual, Rick was there to be my strength. He held my still shaking body tight, kissing at my neck and lips, and whispering in my ear how much he loved me. As my breathing slowly returned to normal, I tried desperately to stop tears of joy from running down my cheeks.

"Oh, Mr Borrell! We were very worried for a moment there."

Rick and I exited the elevator to a concerned-looking hotel manager and dozens of people wondering what was going on. I giggled to myself, sure they would know.

"The elevator was making all sorts of noises. Our maintenance team were just on their way to free you when it started moving again."

Rick shrugged. "Not a problem. These things happen. Besides, it gave us ten minutes to talk about our evening. I'm very nervous, you know. That little delay was just the thing I needed."

"Of course, Mr Borrell. Good luck!"

We both tried desperately to stifle a laugh and managed only as far as our limousine waiting outside. As we got inside and kissed, Rick looked at me with shock. "Shit! Did you pick up the panties I ripped off you?"

I looked at him in horror, my eyes feeling as if they would bulge out of my face and dangle on stalks like a cartoon character.

His face broke into a smile as he pulled them from his inside jacket pocket.

"You bastard!"

"But I'm a sexy bastard, right?"

I kissed him again, lingering for a second on his lips. "The sexiest bastard I've ever met."

"Whatever happens tonight, I'm going to be endlessly turned on by the fact that I know you have no panties on."

I felt a warm rush between my legs and bit my lip. "That'll turn me on too," I said seductively. "But not as much as the feeling of being fucked that I'll have for the rest of the evening."

"Shit, Amy, I'm getting hard again. Ready for another round?"

I shook my head. "You're out of luck, Romeo. We're here."

As we pulled up at the Staples Center, I stepped out onto the red carpet. Rick took my hand and we slowly walked down the pathway to endless camera flashes and people calling our name. As if having sex in an elevator wasn't rock 'n' roll enough, this really felt surreal.

"Amy! Amy! This way! Is that Marchesa, Amy?"

I nodded, wondering for the life of me why people were shouting my name. Why did they want photos of me? Why did they care what I was wearing? I suddenly felt like a rabbit in the headlights and grabbed Rick's hand tightly.

He kissed me gently on the forehead and whispered in my ear. "Don't worry, Amy. Just enjoy yourself. Everybody will want a little piece of you tonight."

"Why are they shouting my name?" I asked quietly.

He turned and smiled at me. "Because you're devastatingly beautiful
and impossible to ignore."

I felt my face break out into the widest, happiest smile and I looked deep into the gorgeous eyes of the man I loved as the world seemed to spin around us.

"And the winner for 'Album of the Year' goes to…'This Charmed Life' by Rick Borrell!"

Rick and I turned to each other, our jaws hanging. "Holy shit, Rick! You won! Get up there!"

I caught myself leaping up and down on the video screens at each side of the stage as Rick headed up to collect his award. He glanced back at me, flashing a cheeky smile, and my heart felt like it would burst out of my chest.

"Thank you,” he grinned
as he held his Grammy. “Please, not too much applause. That’s how fascism started.” The crowd burst into laughter. “Well, this is where I break down in tears or say something incredibly witty," he laughed as he held his Grammy. "But since I'm not really the crying type and I assumed that Coldplay were just going to win this anyway, I'm a bit lost for words." As the screens focused on a close-up of his face, he looked right at me. "Instead, I'm just going to thank you for appreciating that I don't need to be part of the band to be a credible artist. And…this is for Amy, the most beautiful woman in the world. You make me a better musician and a better man. I love you. Thank you."

Dozens of cameras spun around to focus on me as Rick made his way back off the stage and into the audience. He threw his arms around me, holding me tight to him. I could feel his heart beating as we kissed and I ran my fingers through his
tousled dark hair. "That was lovely. You looked so handsome up there. I'm so proud of you. Are you going to stop whining about the Grammys not being relevant now?"

"Okay," he smiled, settling back into his seat. "I don't want to get too settled into the establishment. But that was cool. I'll take it."

"So where's your award?"

"They keep them backstage. They need to engrave my name onto it, you know."

"Where are we going to put it?"

"Well, we need a doorstop for the kitchen."

I playfully slapped his knee. "Knock it off. Stop trying to be so nonchalant. You're not fooling me."

"That's what I love," he whispered. "I never could and I never want to."

Several hours later, after some hot and not-so-hot performances, we headed out of the Staples Center and towards Sunset Boulevard. We had been invited to Red Light Management's post-Grammy party at Skybar. As we headed to our limo, we were accosted by an interviewer from Entertainment Tonight.

"Congratulations, Rick, on your award. Does this mean the end of Beautiful Losers?"

"Thanks, Shelley. No, probably not the end. But I think it's pretty fair to say we are on permanent hiatus for the foreseeable future. Sorry to rush, got to go."

As the car pulled away, I turned to Rick. "That's going to ruffle some feathers."

"What?"

"About the band being on hiatus. We hadn't made any comments about it up until this point."

Rick kissed my cheek. "I don't care. Right now I want to show off my woman and get completely shitfaced."

"Your woman?" I gasped in mock indignation. "I didn't realise I was up for ownership."

"You're not. That's why you're mine and only mine."

"Sexist pig," I giggled. "You just set back women's rights by about
fifty years at least."

"About time someone did. Everything went to hell the moment we gave you lot the vote. Oh, here we are."

I playfully slapped him as we stepped out and into the Skybar. As we made our way past the paparazzi and into the club, Rick gently placed a finger under my chin and closed my gaping mouth. My jaw had literally dropped when I saw who was in the room.

"Try to remain calm," he said. "They're just people."

In addition to the dozens of industry managers and producers, I tried to pull myself together when I saw the huge stars around the room. Alicia Keys, the Dave Matthews band, Miley Cyrus, Lionel Richie…not all of them were the most rock 'n' roll of stars, but my mind was officially blown nonetheless.

"Lionel…
that's Lionel Richie…" I stammered.

"Yup, it is. Go and say hello. Ask him if it's you he's looking for."

"Shut up," I laughed. "I'm not used to shit like this. It's
Lionel fucking Richie
, for God's sake!"

"Even better. Let's go and say hello to Lionel fucking Richie. He'd appreciate you using his full name."

My encounter with the former Commodore was going to have to wait until another day. Jake Walker, the manager of Beautiful Losers, pushed his way through the throng of people in front of us and slapped Rick on the arm.

"Rick! Congratulations on the win."

"Thanks, man."

Jake looked me up and down. "Amy, you look gorgeous as always. Do you mind if I steal Rick away for a second?"

Before I had chance to answer, Rick interjected. "No, if this is about business you can wait. I'm here to party, Jake."

"Well, it's just
about something slightly concerning that a little birdie told me a few minutes ago."

"And what little birdie would that be, Jake?"

He pulled out his smartphone and held it up to Rick's face. "The kind that goes tweet, tweet. Fuck, Rick, it's all over Twitter! Apparently you told some Entertainment Weekly reporter that you were quitting the band."

Rick shook his head. "I didn't say that. And it was
Entertainment Tonight."

"Weekly,
Tonight, whatever. Rick, don't kill the cash cow! Let's get this little solo thing out of the way and then we can get back in the studio and start organising the next tour, yeah?"

"There won't be a next tour," Rick sighed. "I'm done writing songs for other people for the time being."

Jake moved in closer, his eyes narrowing. "Those other people are your bandmates, Rick. Don't let your ego get the better of you. After your little vanity project has come to an end, we could make an absolute fortune by reforming the band."

Rick's tone changed. He was starting to get irritated. "My vanity project, as you put it, just netted me
three million album sales and a Grammy. Meanwhile, what's your brother written lately? Or is he too busy getting high off my song royalties to put together any new tunes?"

"Rick, you bastard!"

The room audibly gasped as Sean, Jake's brother and the band's lead guitarist, stumbled through the crowd. "Right on cue. Speak of the devil," Rick said, gently moving me behind him. "He's high as a kite, Amy," he whispered. "Just stay back, okay?"

"You son of a bitch. You've just told the world that the band is finished! Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you know what that means for my income?"

Jake held his arms between the two men. "Whoa there, gentlemen. Let's all just calm down a little, okay?"

"Keep your brother under control,"
Rick scowled at Jake. "Written anything lately, Sean?"

"Fuck you!"

"Eloquent as ever," Rick sneered. "You've just reminded me why I write the lyrics."

Sean lunged forward, staggering on unsteady legs. "You're nothing without my hooks. You're just a poor man's John Lennon. All words and no tunes."

"Yeah, no one remembers 'Imagine' or 'Instant Karma', do they? Christ, Sean, what happened to you? You used to be so talented. Now you're just a washed-up junkie."

"I may be washed-up," he growled. "But at least I'm not pissing my career away writing soppy acoustic shit for some bimbo with big tits."

The next thirty seconds were a blur. Rick jumped forward, slamming into his bandmate and crashing through table after table. Drinks and white powder flew through the air, as Jake and several members of security pulled the men off each other. As the dust began to settle and Sean was dragged away and thrown out of the club, one of the bouncers shook Rick's hand. "I'd throw you out as well but luckily for you, you won a Grammy tonight."

"Thanks," he smiled. "Appreciate it."

I walked over to him and wiped some of the mess off his vintage suit. "Are you okay?"

"Never better."

"Well done, Rick. You're going to be on the front page of every entertainment blog on the planet within the next five minutes. Did you see how many people were tweeting photos and videos of you pair?"

Rick looked sheepish. "Damn. There goes my reputation as the
housewives favourite."

"Are you kidding?" I laughed. "No publicity is bad publicity. You'll probably sell an extra hundred thousand albums because of this alone."

"Well, that was my intention, obviously."

I kissed him gently. "And here was me thinking you were defending my honour, my knight in shining Hugo Boss."

"Oh I was, absolutely. No one disses my woman and gets away with it."

"My hero," I giggled, fluttering my eyelashes.

"Come on," he replied, grabbing my hand. "Let's get out of this shithole. I've had enough war for one night. Let's go make some love."

"My God, it's so peaceful up here. You wouldn't believe all that chaos going on down below."

I looked around the garden of Julia and Michael's stunning, hilltop house high above Los Angeles. Getting up here would have confused even the most sophisticated of GPS systems, but luckily Rick knew the way perfectly.