Rock Hard (A British Rockstar Bad Boy Romance)

By: Nikki Wild


“Come on, sweet tits, join the party!”

“What a prick!” That was my first thought.

“Holy fucking hell, he’s so much hotter in person.” That was my second.

“How am I ever supposed to remain professional with a man like him? A man that would have made Mother Theresa spread her legs and beg for forgiveness for all the forbidden sins she was about to commit.” That was the third.

Ten years. Ten years that I’d worked my ass off, hustled and bargained, slaved over a keyboard until dawn, cracked out on caffeine trying to chase a lead. I’d interviewed world leaders, gone undercover to expose sex-trafficking rings, hell once I’d even scored an interview with the Queen.

And now, here I was, on the most asinine assignment ever, in the back of a rockstar’s tour bus, forced to endure the scene in front of me. Not only that, but the most arrogant prick I’d ever met was the subject of my interview.

It didn’t matter that he was so fucking drop-dead sexy it almost hurt to look at him. The problem was, he knew it.

Liam Mercury - the biggest rock star this side of the pond. The lead singer for the Electric Horses, the biggest Brit-pop band since Oasis.

Deep in the back of his tour bus parked outside of Madison Square Garden in New York City, Liam’s lanky limbs spilled out on a black leather couch, the table in front of him littered with empty bottles of champagne and whiskey. Sitting at his side were two of the most gorgeous women I’d ever seen. If you could call them that. They didn’t look to be any older than nineteen.

His crude greeting was hurled at me in between removing his tongue from the blonde’s mouth and shoving it into the brunette’s. I waited till he came up for air to respond.

“I’m Catherine Donovan.”

“I don’t care if you’re the fucking Queen, shimmy off those knickers and get over here!”

I shook my head. He was frightfully mistaken if he thought I was another one of his groupies. Everything about him was a cliche. Hot, spoiled, sexy, topped off with a thick British accent.

He was every teenaged girl’s dream. And every parent’s worst nightmare.

His long black hair flowed past his shoulders, his dark hooded eyes smoldering with sexuality. His slim, toned physique was familiar - it’d been splayed over every magazine cover and tabloid rag for the last ten years. He was all sinewy muscle and hard angles. His smooth skin was slathered in tattoos, engraved with skulls and screaming monsters and one very large British flag that I knew was spread across his back, even though I couldn’t see it now.

I knew lots of things about Liam Mercury. I’d spent hours googling him before my arrival. I was hoping to discover something about him that hadn’t already been reported a hundred times before. That was how I worked. I took my job seriously, even if it was something that I felt was completely superficial.

“I’m sure your manager told you to expect me —,” I began again, just as the table began moving on its own, sliding backwards until the ginger that had her head buried in his lap popped her head up - exposing his very thick, and very hard… cock.

I couldn’t help but look.

In fact, once my eyes locked on its throbbing magnificence, I couldn’t tear them away. My jaw dropped. So this was what all the fuss was about. It was gossip worthy, that was for sure.

That thing should be in a museum somewhere.

Liam Mercury and his brother Ian were the most talked about rock stars on the planet. Not only were they known for their out of this world ability to completely shred a stage, leaving crowds of thousands panting and begging for more every night, but Liam was just as famous for leaving women begging for more in the bedroom.

His cock had met more than its fair share of supermodels and actresses and although his professional reputation was beyond scarred, every woman he’d ever dated only had wonderful things to say about him…and his cock

It was almost as famous as he was.

And here I was ogling it for what had suddenly become an uncomfortably long amount of time.

Liam’s reputation out of the bedroom wasn’t exactly stellar.

He was known as a cut-throat businessman, a spoiled and unrelenting artist, and difficult to handle prick, to put it bluntly. He’d gone through so many managers and PR agents, his label was having trouble finding anyone who would work with him.

That’s why I was here in the first place.

I’d been hired by Rolling Stone magazine to pen a cover story that shows that Liam Mercury in a better light… A misunderstood artist. A good man…

I needed to show that Liam Mercury is still worth the millions his label is investing.

I was supposed to prove that despite all the parties, the booze, the groupies, the tantrums, the interviews walked out on in a rage, the drunken fights with his brother, all the concerts started hours late or missed completely - leaving pissed off fans demanding their money back - despite all that, I’ve been assigned the task of proving that the irresponsible, bad boy reputation of Liam Mercury is all just one big misunderstanding.

Of course, following around an arrogant rockstar for a week is hardly my idea of a dream assignment, but my options are limited right now. I’d much rather be interviewing a serious subject, writing something that could change the world.

Hell, anything but this.

The last thing I want to do is babysit an immature party boy for a week.

But, as another famous rock star once said, “You can’t always get what you want.”

I was stuck. The offers weren’t coming as fast as they used to. Everyone got their news in a hundred and forty characters and the world seemed to be much more interested in who the Kardashians were screwing this week instead of a serious in-depth look at the civil war in Syria or the economic crisis in Brazil.

Unfortunately, my journalistic integrity came second to my stomach. I still had to eat, so here I was, paying the bills by accepting this job.

Which was basically professional slumming, as far as I was concerned.

This week couldn’t pass quickly enough. I’d write my puff piece, try to shower off the filth from being in this bus, and never think about Liam Mercury ever again.

I was glad my dad wasn’t around to see me do this.

“Mr. Mercury, I’m Catherine Donovan, your manager let me on your bus,” I tried once more, raising my voice. “I’m here from Rolling Stone magazine. To interview you? I’ll just wait up front until you’re…,” my voice trailed off as I realized I had reverted to staring at his cock again. I snapped my eyes up quickly, my gaze clashing with his, “ready.”

“Don’t I look ready, luv?” His blue eyes taunted me and he reached down, sliding his fingers around the base of his cock and waving it at me. He was ready. I swallowed hard, and forced my gaze back up and away from that famous masterpiece.

“I’m not here for that,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice curt and professional. The ginger squeezed in tightly next to the brunette and they began kissing each other and moaning loudly.

“What a shame,” Liam said, with a wink. “There’s enough of me to go around, you know.”

The blonde erupted in giggles and flipped her long locks over her shoulder. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

Stay professional, I thought to myself.

“I’ll be up front. Whenever you’re ready for me…” my voice trailed off as my eyes raked down his muscular chest and landed once more on his throbbing cock.

“Don’t hold your breath love. If you want to interview me, it’ll have to be on my terms.” His voice was teasing me, and he still had his hand wrapped around that snake between his legs.

I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t some small part of me that was interested in what exactly his terms might be…

But I had a job to do. And that didn’t include jumping on top of Liam Mercury’s illustrious cock.

“I was hired by your label,” I tore my eyes away once again, forcing myself to look directly into his bright blue eyes. I ignored the electric pulse that shot through my body. “I don’t work for you, and I don’t work on your terms. I’ll be on tour with you for a week. I’ll be reporting whatever I observe until we get to Los Angeles. What I report and how I report it isn’t really up to you.”

“Is that so, doll?” He reached over and pushed the brunette and the blonde down between his legs.

“I think you can see I’m busy. If you’re not here to shag me, luv,” he said, smiling up at me, his crooked grin slowly spreading across his insanely handsome face, “then piss off!”



The shrill ringing seemed to go on forever. White-hot shards of pain shot through my head as consciousness washed over me. I pulled a pillow over my head, hoping to block out the pain, the sound, and the piercing light that was slicing through my peaceful revelry. The smell of sex and booze permeated the air and I felt warm bodies stirring beside me.

And that incessant fuckin’ ringing that wouldn’t quit.

What the fuck was that?

I pushed at the body beside me. “Make it stop,” I muttered.

“It’s your phone,” a woman’s sleepy voice replied.