Being the Senior publicist at my firm made me quite the busy girl. Despite that, the experience has yielded me a great living. I live on my own in a nice condo on the upper west side, nice car, whole wardrobe for my nursery of shoes. Sure, I'm always traveling, so I don't see my condo very much, but I guess I can't complain. It's there when I want to come home.

Anyway, I can't really tell you why I decided to get into public relations, after college I just kind of found myself in this industry. At first, anyone who knew me would laugh at the thought of me being in publicity. After all, I was always pretty quiet and kept to myself. Getting in front of hundreds of cameras, people and microphones was not something my friends and family expected. But to tell you the truth, neither did I, however there was an edge of the job that was my forte.

I was great at keeping secrets.

If anyone wanted to describe my mind, there would be a little aisle in the library of my thoughts that had file cabinet after file cabinet of people's secrets. Ever since I was a kid in junior high, I became sort of an un-crackable safe of friend's secrets. It's a very handy skill when you're in an industry where loose lips really could sink ships and bad publicity could sink fledgling music careers before they even get off the ground.

I had a couple of notable clients that I worked with. Mostly musicians since they needed the most maintenance. Some of the younger, up and coming pop stars were a pain in the ass. Sometimes, it was hard for me to tell if I was their publicist or their mother. It was exhausting at times, but usually keep thinking of the investment these days to turn a bubble gum pop star into a bonefide artist with musical credibility and clout.

But it was sooo much better when a publicist like me didn't have to worry about that. There was only one of my clients who offered me that type of freedom, and they were a rock band known as Roadside Bandits. They were an established band, who had an amazing following. With two albums already under their belt and getting ready to promote another, they were making huge strides in the rock industry. I normally didn't care for my client's music--it wasn't my job to like their work, but with the Roadside Bandits, I enjoyed their sound. I always had a fondness for good, gritty rock and they definitely delivered.

The band was pretty chill. They didn't do hard drugs (or they hide it from me extremely well) but there was no denying the marijuana sent that lingered on their clothes and tour bus. They haven't been caught on camera or busted yet. So as a publicist, I cannot comment on their use status. Like I said, file cabinet of secrets.

Everyone is the band for the most seemed to get along and they complied with me, most of the time. Oddly enough, the frontman had every reason to reap the rewards of being a great musician with a banging new sound, but Jameson Roarke actually chose his battles with me and wasn't much of a prima donna. He also happened to be one of the sexiest gingers I've ever laid eyes on. He was all rock n' roll, of course. Tattoos on his arms, leather wrist guards, vintage jeans that smelled like whiskey and cigarettes (and of course, weed.) There was nothing train wreck about him, just boyishly unkempt, that's all.

When I first saw him perform, I couldn't breathe. Standing at 6' 4" wearing a fitted black button down, I watched him rock out with his guitar and pedals, crooning into the microphone. His razor-cut, red coif was short, and always seemed to have a bit of red stubble on his face. He'd lose himself up on stage, and I would just watch his unraveling as he filled the venue with sick riffs and melodic vocals. There was something ridiculously sexy about him up there, playing the shit out of guitar like it was he could do it in his sleep...nude. I distinctly remember feeling that arousing rush of heat culminating between my thighs as I watched him offstage; that naughty little tingle a woman gets when she creams her panties. Just as much distinctive was the memory of guilt and annoyance as I chided to myself on how ridiculously cliché it was to lust after a bad boy rocker.

It was when I first saw him play that I began to understand how poor women all over the world drooled over him and rock stars in general. Who doesn't get hot over a confident musician who can expertly use his fingers?

But he was total sin; the good looks didn't fool me. And as kind as he was, Jameson was not the type of guy you brought home to mom and dad. He most likely was the type to take you on your childhood bed while visiting your mom and dad.

Jameson didn't have groupies all over him all the time, but he definitely did partake in some hefty green room sessions from time to time. He was a rock n' roll musician after all. Usually, the women would come out doing their walk of shame, going on and on of how not only was Jameson a rock god, but a sex god as well. That's usually around the time I shrug them off , herd them and tell them to grab a CD on their way out. However, a part of me couldn't help to wonder if that other half was true. Groupies treated fucking the talent like a trophy, so they typically didn't need to lie--they got what they wanted after all. They get a cool story to share with other groupies of how they got worn out by a famous rock celebrity. All I can say is that in my time working for them, I never saw a groupie leave Jameson's room unsatisfied.

Now let's get one thing straight. I wasn't a prude or shy girl, but with all things considered, I saw myself as a "good girl". I didn't like to sleep around. I stayed responsible to my duties as a publicist and was a habitual rule follower. I hated breaking the rules. Call it all the guilt -stricken years of Catholic school if you want, but anytime I broke the rules, it always came down hard on me. So, it just made sense to walk the straight and narrow. Perhaps, that was my problem. When I dated, I always sought the good guys. The ones who had that perfect, boring job. The tender mannerisms. The ones who politely came when we were having sex, in the typical between-the-sheets fashion. Sometimes, when I looked at Jameson, there was a foreign part of me (well, not all that foreign) that wanted to know what it was like to have a hot, down n' dirty fuck. Not lovemaking. The type of sex that was hard, impulsive and decadent. I'm talking about that back against the wall, nails down the back, mighty orgasm sex that leaves one spent and sore. The shit authors write about in romance novels but never really happen to people like you and me.

Being the control freak that I was, I never had that before. The possibility of such an encounter seemed extremely far-fetched considering I didn't get involved with clients, but that didn't mean I couldn't dream, right?

One of my latest publicity wins for Roadside Bandit was organizing a shoot for them to be on the cover of Rolling Stone. It was a fantastic accomplishment, and the editor of Rolling Stone was all too accommodating on this joint investment. I was excited to tell Jameson and his guys, so instead of calling them, I decided to meet them at their latest gig since they were playing in New York.

The first shoot was Jameson and the guys dressed in their typical rock garb. A few, like the drummer, complained about having to go through wardrobe and makeup, but Jameson joked saying it could only improve his image. I coaxed him and the bassist to comply and with a little alcohol, they shut up and let the magazine team have their way with them. It was worth it. Their grungy, stoner sound was beautifully reflected in that first set. They knew Jameson loved his plaid button downs, and since he actually looked great in them, they had a nice blue one for him. He posed quietly under the direction of the photographer and I stood there staring at the length of him. I always had a thing for red heads and tall men. Jameson crossed both of those off my list. For a ginger, his paleness was not as stark as others, probably due to all the outdoor concerts.

Then, the photographer wanted a couple of shots of just Jameson in a more dressed wardrobe and I could tell that he was not too thrilled about staying behind when the guys were ready to party and celebrate. Unfortunately, the photographer was actually shorter than me, so when Jameson refused, from afar it looked like a giant talking to an ant. As soon as I heard his voice escalate, I ran to step in.

"Jameson, what's the matter?"

His grey eyes cut to me as he stood on the platform, and suddenly I began to feel like an ant myself. His frown softened a bit upon seeing me, but not by much. "They told us two sets. They didn't say there would be one with just me and not the guys. I'm not comfortable with that."

The photographer, which was a 40-something guy, tried to placate Jameson, but clearly, he saw right through him. The photog was definitely seasoned enough for shooting a high profile magazine, but didn't seem too confident handling the talent.

Guess that's why I make the big bucks.

Seeing I needed to get him out of Jameson's face, I gently smiled and tapped the nervous photographer's shoulder. "Could you excuse us for a moment, please?"

Frustrated, the photographer sighed, threw his hands up and walked over to craft services to take a breather.

When we were alone-ish, I looked up at him. "Do you mind stepping down, so I don't feel like I'm talking at God?"

Seemingly against his will, Jameson cracked a smile. "Sure." He hopped down from the platform, landing in front of me. Didn't seem like that adjustment didn't make much of a difference, but in any case, I continued.

"Look Jameson. I know what you're getting at. And I didn't know the 2nd shoot wasn't going to include the guys, so that's my fault. But this is normal, okay? The frontman always gets extra treatment, but it's not like the guys are chopped liver." I tugged on his wallet chain playfully. "The band is going to be on the cover of fucking Rolling Stones! Not just Jameson Roarke. The band Roadside Bandits. This will just be some extra fluff to go along with your interview."

"Did you really just jerk my chain?" he asked.

"No, of course not. I told you the truth." I winked, letting him know I got the play on words.

Jameson lowered his head and laughed. "You're ridiculous, Mia."

Perhaps he was right. But that didn't mean I couldn't get what I wanted. "I know that laugh. Does that mean you'll do the shoot for me?" I asked him, hopeful.

He turned to walk towards the hair and wardrobe area, waving me away as he left. "Yeah, yeah."

"And not kill the award-winning photographer?" I added, wincing.

"Don't press your luck, Mia." He said without turning back. I giggled to myself. I never understood why some people could be so fearful of him, for the most part, Jameson was a pussy cat...to me at least. Even when I first got hired and the band was deep into their whole "Fuck mainstream, Rock purist!" mantra, I managed to get what I wanted--which was basically what was best for them. Jameson tried to size me up back then, challenging me, suspecting I was just another suit and knew nothing about music. When his challenge turned into a two hour conversation of us debating The Beatles, Motorhead, and Frank Zappa, I finally felt him ease off and respect me a little more.

Two years later, the Roadside Bandits and their manager still didn't fire me and still listens to what I say in the realms of exposure and publicity. My job was to get them seen and heard and this latest shoot was an testament to that dedication.

As the rest of the band decided to head out to celebrate, I stayed behind while Jameson got ready for his second shoot. When he finally stepped out from the wardrobe area, I found myself grinning at the tall, red headed rock star decked out in a sleek pinstriped Tom Ford suit. Jameson's black button down shirt was untucked and the first button unfastened to give him that unconventional look. I didn't know if it was the idea of the stylist or Jameson, but I didn't care. As he stood on the platform, the man looked good enough to eat. Leaning against the wall behind the photographer, I inadvertently met his eyes as he posed. The strobe lights flashing in sync against Jameson's handsome features and as he smiled I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or the camera. For the first time, he was clean shaven, which had me both smitten how a little shave could make him even that much more dashing, but I also was convinced that perhaps someone switched bodies with him. How else could the stylist convince him to shave?

When the photographer took a break to adjust the lighting, Jameson looked at me with raised eyebrows. "I bet you're enjoying this, aren't ya?"

With innocence, I shrugged. "Whatever do you mean?"

Jameson took his hands out of his pockets and crossed them at his chest. "Getting me all dignified. Groomed. It's probably been you and my manager's dream to get someone to do this to me."

"You don't like it?" I asked, not really wanting to admit he was right. I personally always wanted to see how he looked all sophisticated and dressed up. I really wanted to know, and I was right. He's delectable.

He curled his lips. "Do you like it?"

Total honesty beckoned me and I answered the call with a smile. "I love it."

Jameson nodded in acceptance, his bright eyes sparkled against the halogen lights as he stood on the platform. "Good. Then I'll learn to like it." He pointed at me. "But you owe me a drink, woman. It's fucking hot up here and I'm missing out on screwing around with the guys." A hint of mischief in those peepers of his told me I better accept.

I crossed my arms, still leaning against the wall. "You've got yourself a deal, Mr. Roarke. Any drink you want."

The rest of the shoot, we were quiet. I became preoccupied imagining Jameson slowly peeling off those swanky clothes, calling me over to run my hands all over him. Coming back to reality, I was pleased at how the shoot was going. Jameson listened to the photographer and did quite well considering I could barely get him to take a photo for their first album cover two years ago. Now, he seemed much more comfortable in the spotlight...and less irritated at the staff. Perhaps I've managed to have a hand in grooming him for stardom after all.

When everything was wrapped up, Jameson loped out of the wardrobe area, wearing his button-down and jeans. He came up behind me as I headed outside to my car. "Now, about that drink..."

Not turning around, I smiled feeling his presence so close behind me. "Yep. Deal's a deal. Where do you want to have this drink?" I paused at the valet podium as they retrieved my car.

Jameson moved around to face me while simultaneously lighting his cigarette. He quickly took a drag and smiled. "I have bottle of Johnny Walker Blue at the studio, and I plan on breaking that one in tonight. Come join me and we'll call it even."

I clutched my bag in front of me and looked out to the street. "I've gotta catch a flight to see the Leo Brothers tomorrow."

Jameson scoffed at my piss-poor excuse. "Shit. Sorry to hear that. Sounds like you'll definitely be needing a drink if you have to face those bubble gum nightmares. Hence, my offer still stands."

As the valet pulled up my car, I laughed and cut my eyes to him. It was only a drink and not like I was going to get shit-faced. Besides, he rarely got to chat one on one and I liked the idea of it--if only for a short while--before I leave town. "Alright." I said nodding with my consent. I held up my finger. "One drink!"

"Sure Mia," he said as he opened the door to his limo. "Anything you say."

I loved hanging out at the studio and Jameson seemed to practically live there. When I arrived, he was in the sound booth laying down some guitar recordings.

He cracked open the new bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and poured us each a shot. "Now, many would tell you that you don't shoot something like Walker Blue, but fuck them." He handed me my shot of liquid sin. "They didn't just have an interview and shoot with Rolling Stone." Jameson raised his shot glass. "Thanks, Mia."

I held up my glass, watching the overfilled shot spill onto my fingers. "You're welcome." I kicked the liquor back down my throat, wincing at the burning as it blazed a trail down my esophagus. I choked out a cough. Jameson gave a soft laugh.

"You'll be alright. It's the drink of champions." He poured us each another glass. Feeling more relaxed, I grabbed mine and kicked it back. "Are you curious about me?" he asked.

Caught unaware, I nearly stuttered. "What are you talking about?"

Jameson sat down across from me next to the audio board and shot his whiskey. "I see you looking at me sometimes. Kinda checking me out, but not really."

I scoffed at his accusation, but I could feel the heat on my face as he totally tried to put me on the spot. "You have tons of girls checking you out! You're Jameson Roarke of the Roadside Bandits! You're Ginger fuckin' Elvis!" At least that's what the masses were calling him.

He poured himself another shot of whiskey. "I'm not talking about those girls." His bright eyes met mine "You're Mia. That's different."

I shook my head, dismissively. I didn't know what he was getting at, but it was making me uneasy. "I don't see how. I have eyes just like everyone else. But that doesn't mean...anything." I was doing a terrible job hiding the fact I found him attractive.

He kicked back the shot of whiskey he poured, slamming the glass back down on the wood. "I don't think that's true."

"Man, you're arrogance is astounding", I mused.

He slung the shot glass down the wood, letting it land against the bottle of whiskey with a clink. "It's perfectly okay. Because I happen to be curious about you as well", he confessed. "No worries. he added. It's hot really. You, this highly educated, gorgeous and proper lady interested in a misfit like me. Just imagine what the neighbors would think." he smiled with a wink.

"Well, getting involved with a client is a big no-no, Mr. Roarke," I said with a hint of flirt. "And I'm a professional." I smiled even through the nervous tic I had as he flirted with me and watched him watch my lips as I wet them with my tongue.

Standing up, Jameson grabbed the whiskey bottle and slid it to the other side of him and moved closer to where I stood. "I'm not talking about 'getting involved'. I wouldn't dare sully your pristine image." My body tensed as he got even closer, towering over me as he raked his grey eyes over me with a curiously hot stare. "I'm just talking about a good, old fashioned fuck." A shudder ran through me at his unbridled invitation, and left my panties wet with desire. He leaned in, tortuously running his lips down the hollow of my throat, until I felt his breath against my ear as he whispered to me.

"I won't tell anyone, Mia. I'm good at keeping secrets too. You hold a lot of mine and the band. Don't see any reason why I can't keep a really big one for you."

Jameson pushed me up the against the wall, his eyes trained on mine like I was some sort of prey. I physically dwarfed him by nearly a foot and his tall frame was powerful and intimidating.

"And I think you'll enjoy it because I'm pretty hell-bent on finding out the sounds you make when you come." He leaned down, letting his thick lips capturing mine. I tasted the faint hint of nicotine, and the hot whiskey we just drank as his tongue invaded my mouth. Unable to fight the sensation, I kissed him back, letting my tongue massage against his. My breathing went ape shit as I felt all of him pressed up against my body. His large hands grabbing my hips and shifting me to lean on a large amp case as he groaned into my mouth.

As I leaned, braced against the huge amp case, Jameson's hand crept up the hem of my dress, grabbing a handful of my ass, his calloused fingertips a hard contrast to my soft skin. I found myself crawling backward against the hard case as his hand moved up and I felt his thumb catch the hip string of my panties and pulled him down. A gasp caught in my throat as Jameson followed his hand, bending down against me to slide them to the floor for me to step out of them. He looked up at me with a smirk on his face and pushed me back on top the speaker, bracing my back against the wall.

Standing up to his full height, his hand pushed open my legs as they dangled over the speaker, and I moaned as his fingers stroked my slick, tender folds hidden under the thin fabric of my dress. My hands braced on the sides of the roadie case as Jameson began working his fingers back and forth strumming my flesh. Hot flashes hit me and I shuddered as I became shamelessly wet, practically humping his fingers as he slipped two inside of me. He leaned towards my ear while I endured his sensual assault, feeling his thumb rub my clit.

"You're smoking hot, Mia. Are you gonna let me fuck you?", his dark, melodic voice whispered in my ear as he licked it. His fingers swirled inside of me and I could barely think. There were so many reasons to walk away from this, but I was too far gone with the primal desire of it, a "no" would be unthinkable.

I nodded breathlessly. "Yes."

As if I just gave him the keys to the kingdom, Jameson claimed my lips again, tugging at my bottom lip as I heard him unzip me. All the while, his other hand was still pleasuring me senseless. I had to hand it to him--he was talented.

When he reached the base of the zipper, his hand tugged feverishly at the fabric at my shoulder till finally, I gave him a hand. I pulled the front down, feeling the chill of the studio air hit my chest giving me goose bumps. Jameson briefly pulled back from his kiss, his grey eyes looking through his ginger eyelashes as I reach behind to unclasp my bra. Before I could barely pull it off, Jameson leaned in, sucking the tender part of my neck. I groaned against him as I felt myself get even wetter, a delicious feeling of shame and liberation as I begin to settle in the well worn shoes of those groupies before me that got to experience this.

As he stood, my hands reached for his fly, anxious to free the bulge straining against it, but he pushed them away.

"No, ladies first, sweetheart." He sunk down to the stool behind him and pulled himself up between my legs. "Come here, Mia." he commanded as his large hands slid under me, cupping my ass and pulled my hips forward. My hands the only thing keeping me steady on the roadie amp case, my legs went elastic as his magnificent tongue found the center of me. Jameson's moan reverberated against my flesh as he skillfully tasted me.

My head instinctively threw back as the pleasure of his warm wet stroking had me almost gasping for air. I surged forward, greedy for him to explore me deeper and longer. When I finally looked down, I realized that at that angle, I was able to watch Jameson lick and tease me. I felt my body began to spasm as the heat from his touch shot through me, mounting me until it rode me into a fierce orgasm. I cried out as my body reached a new level of sensitivity. My arms nearly gave out, and would have sent me falling back against the case, if it wasn't for Jameson's grip on my hips. Standing up, he pushed my hips back onto the case, and I began to miss his hands immediately.

With hooded eyes, Jameson reached into his back pocket and pulled out a condom, holding the wrapper between his teeth as he unzipped his jeans. He was watching me and I froze, still panting as I watched his hand reach in and pull out his thick cock.

Oh, my god!

I swallowed and felt my eyes widen as I stared at the sheer size, fully erect. I wasn't some expert who seen lots of sizeable cocks in my adventures, but let's just say it turned out everything about Jameson was sizable and intimidating.

Jameson must've seen my reaction and smiled. He probably was used to such a response. He took the condom, tore open the wrapper and slipped it on, rolling it down his shaft.

I was aching for him, the center of my body throbbing in anticipation of feeling him inside me.

Wetting his lips, he stared down at me and pushed me down flat, my back against the case. "Enjoy the ride, baby." he said as he slowly pushed his incredible thickness against my opening. I gripped the edge of the case hard and moaned low in my throat as he finally breached and drove into my wet heat. I felt my body stretch, feeling an odd mixture of pleasure and pressure.

He paused for a moment, graciously letting my body adjust to his size and rubbed my clit with his thumb. I gritted my teeth as I felt my body shudder again, contracting against him. That was all he needed to start driving himself inside me, full force. I couldn't close my mouth as I wrapped my legs around his hips and rocked against him. My top of my head bumped against the wall in rhythm as he slid in and out of me. The knocking sound of the case against the wall punctuated his strokes and I gasped as I felt so full with him inside me, pressing against my g-spot with his girth. My dress was like a belt around my waist, becoming a dividing line between my bare torso and hips. I was flushed, blood pumping fiercely through every part of me as he held my hips, fucking me senseless atop the giant roadie case. Enjoying the ride I was. It was heated and whirlwind and seeing satisfaction on his face was already enough to make me come. My hands tried to reach him, but caught my wrists and pinned them against the flat of the case. It was this manhandling and restraint that was continued to get me hot as he crushed against me.

Jameson's face was flushed as well. His ginger hair damp with perspiration, his full lips grew a smirk.

"I'm beginning to think you enjoy a good, hard fuck. Don't cha, Mia?"

As he filled me to capacity over and over, I screamed out through clenched teeth, as I slowly slipped away from reality. "Fuck, yeah!" I loved it. Never in a million years would I have thought I'd find myself holed up in a studio, laid up against the wall while a sexy rock star primal fucked me on top a roadie case. Definitely wasn't something a good girl would do. But it was definitely something a good girl needed.

He leaned down, still restraining me, and ran his hot tongue greedily across my breasts. Crooning at the welcomed sensation, I arched my back, eager for more. Fully accommodating, Jameson bent down, which began making his deep strokes even deeper, and let his talented tongue dance with my hard nipples. Keeping his rhythm, he closed his mouth over the right one, then the left, pulling and sucking until I felt prickles all over my skin. It was all too much and I yelled as an orgasm rocked me, arching my back and squeezing my legs against his waist.

As I came again, Jameson's strokes intensified and quickened. "Fuck Mia! You're so fucking tight! Finally, he buried his cock deep in me as he roared out a satisfying moan as he found his release. My body went limp, but inside I was ecstatic from the intense sex I just experienced. If I was a kitten, I would've purred. It now made sense how those groupies started singing his praises. If I didn't have any consequences to such an action, I would be telling the first person I saw. Rock god...check. Sex god...extra large check.

I got dressed and got ready to head home for some much needed rest, but Jameson wanted to stay behind. He felt inspired to do some songwriting since he was already there at the studio, but I had needed to go home and pack. I needed to catch a flight to L.A. for my other client.

Jameson walked me to my car, smiling as he held the door open for me. "I hope we get to hang out like this again."

I gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Haven't you learned anything, Mr. Roarke?" I smiled back, lightly shaking my head. "Never fool around with the help. It's bad for publicity." I tossed my bag in the car and got in.

With a quiet nod and a smile, Jameson closed the door for me and stood on the sidewalk till I drove away.

We never spoke of that night again, but every time I hear their latest hit song, I smile knowing exactly what inspired it. The art of keeping a secret, definitely isn't gone.

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https://youtu.be/vEiTynTFqAA