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    Three Rockstars of Sin: A Reverse Harem Romance
    Three Rockstars of Sin: A Reverse Harem Romance
    Three Rockstars of Sin: A Reverse Harem Romance
    Ebook269 pages4 hours

    Three Rockstars of Sin: A Reverse Harem Romance

    By Cassandra Dee

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    Kate is an eighteen year old curvy girl with the opportunity of a lifetime: to be a personal assistant to the three OTT alpha males of Hard Fought, a record-breaking band known for its soaring music; pulsing rhythms; and of course, the sculpted bodies of its musicians. What she doesn’t realize is this job puts the personal in personal assistant.

    Brody, Hudson and Gunner have been living in the fast lane ever since they got famous. But secretly, they’re looking for a woman who’s lush and lovely, with a sweetness and light about her. In walks their new assistant with a sassy smile on her lips and a fertile look to her hips. But what happens when the curvy girl gets pregnant? Will the rockstars settle down, or will Kate be a single mother raising a baby on her own?

    Hey Readers – If you love bad boy rockstars who look like Greek Gods, then this is the book for you! If you’re looking for THREE bad boy rockstars with muscular, gleaming chests and washboard abs, then get your guitar because we’re going to make some sweet music. Swords do not cross in this book because this story is all about HER. As always, an HEA guaranteed with no cliffhangers and no cheating. Love, Cassandra
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCassandra Dee Romance
    Release dateJan 15, 2020
    Three Rockstars of Sin: A Reverse Harem Romance

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    • 1/5
      This book is dumb and stupid. I can't believe I'm saying this about someone's work
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      This was a really dumb story.Didnt enjoy it at all.I wont be reading this authors books.

    Book preview

    Three Rockstars of Sin - Cassandra Dee

    Cassandra

    1

    Gunner

    Another pair of lacy lingerie sailed through across the stage and smacked Brody on the leg.

    Ten points!

    Brody, the front-man of our band, Hard Fought, snarled over his shoulder at me. I laughed and kept banging the hell out of the drums because it served him right. After all, my buddy was playing to the crowd. Just minutes earlier, he’d drenched his white T-shirt with a bottle of water and then ripped off the fabric, displaying a rock-hard chest and washboard abs.

    The asshole was good-looking, even I had to admit.

    Bronze skin. Sculpted. Hard muscle everywhere.

    And of course, the ladies ate it up, screaming like banshees. They were practically losing it right before us because Hard Fought is bona fide rock star catnip. If you think the females went wild for the Beatles or New Kids on the Block back in the day, then you’re almost in the ballpark.

    We’re ten times that. Fifty times more magnetic.

    And the ladies are insane. They go hog wild, ready to sell their firstborns to get their hands on a pair of our concert tickets. Mothers and daughters, hell, even grannies in the crowd were losing their minds, not to mention their panties.

    Because our female fans never have any self-control when it comes to their favorite rock stars. Lingerie? Oh, please. That’s just the beginning. Last week, we got back to find two nude girls swimming in our pool, slick and wet like slippery, hairless otters. Plus, Brody threw gasoline on a raging fire, cannonballing into the pool with a roar.

    Yeah, this is the life. The rockstar rage that makes us unstoppable. Throwing my head back, I let out a howl to the delighted squeals of the all-female crowd. Sweat poured down my face and the beat pounded through my hard, muscled body. Everyone wanted a career like ours. We owed it to the fans to give it our all.

    So yeah, life is good. Better than good. The best. After all, for the past few years, I’ve been the drummer for the hottest band on the scene, with money, girls, and cars galore. Everything at my fingertips.

    The guys and I have been on magazine covers. We have billions of dollars in the bank. Plus, all three of us have been on every hot bachelor list in the past five years. We were on top of the world and rockin’ it like kings.

    Mostly.

    Hard Fought! a group of girls screamed from the front row while flashing their tits.

    Choose me! Eeeee! hollered another chick, eyes wide and hair wild.

    I should have been on top of the world. Yet incredibly, inklings of boredom were beginning to make me dizzy. Right there on stage under the hot spotlights, things were starting to get dull. It seemed impossible, but never say never. Because after five years of dodging dirty panties and every filthy proposition in the book, easy sex was getting old. Maybe you don’t know what you have until it’s gone, but right now, I wasn’t jumping on the carousel.

    If I was attracted to skinny, anorexic-looking groupies, then the rock star life would be perfect. That wasn’t my scene, though, because scarecrows did nothing for me. I like them plump and curvy, with a sweet smile and innocent ways.

    Nonetheless, there was money to be made. Winking at the ladies like a Lothario, I hooked the panties out of the air with my right hand, all the while hitting the cymbals with my left.

    Oh yeah. I got this whole thing down.

    The girls in the audience screamed louder as more lingerie flew at us. It was a blizzard of lace and leather.

    "Yeah, yeah, yeah!" I growled into the mic along with Hudson, our bass player.

    We were on fire tonight and the packed amphitheater shivered and shook. I banged on the drums even harder, creating a storm of beats. The music was thunderous and passionate, but I wasn’t really into it.

    It’s sad, really.

    Creating and performing is one of my only gifts. Ever since I was a little boy in the basement banging out sloppy beats, it was clear to me that I was meant to be a drummer. The music is my muse, my destiny, and my lover all rolled into one.

    It’s the audience that gives me the blues. Screaming, noisy, emaciated chicks don’t give me the rush I need. Not anymore.

    But again, there’s money to be made. In the music business, giving the fans what they want is half the battle.

    "Tighter, baby! was my shout, the chorus to our latest hit. Harder, baby! Yeah!"

    I waved a drumstick in the air and twirled the bright purple panties around them. They were practically child-sized. The chick who’d tossed them had to be a double zero—possibly smaller.

    Are there negative sizes?

    Regardless, it was a show and these women had paid to be entertained. So I flashed my signature smile and killer sapphire eyes, all the while tattoos rippled up my back and arms.

    Of course, the females screamed like crazy. That was always the reaction. A balled up piece of paper landed near my foot—probably some girl’s phone number.

    Meanwhile, Hudson ripped into his bass guitar, scowling. His naked chest rippled with muscle under the lights, blue ink snaking up his arms in two full sleeves.

    Shit, that fucker is scary.

    The asshole was a beast, like he was ready to start a fight with anyone who dared cross him. The tattoos and the scowl were all part of the look, though, ladies eating it up like the sweetest cream.

    Plus, he was an animal on bass.

    The girls couldn’t get enough of him or that ink of his. They loved the bad boy persona and the take-no-prisoners frown that decorated every magazine cover. Females screamed even harder, ear-splitting shrieks buzzing in my skull.

    But Hudson isn’t like me and Brody. He refused to cater to the ladies. Instead, the dude scowled at the audience, declining to touch a single pair of panties that sailed his way.

    Of course, the reverse psychology tactic worked like a charm. The girls adored him even more for it, screaming his name hoarsely, waving their arms and jumping up and down. They acted like teenage groupies seeing their favorite band.

    Funnily enough, we were their favorite band. I don’t know if it was for the music or our look, but they loved us. The women certainly weren’t young, though. All of our shows were only for people eighteen and older—for obvious reasons.

    Knock it off, dude! Hudson snarled at me once he turned his mouth away from the mic.

    Grow a set and give the girls what they paid for, I growled right back, drumming away with a pair of panties slung around my wrist. They don’t come here to watch you glare at them!

    Some of them did, though. Without Hudson’s signature scowl, we weren’t Hard Fought.

    Suddenly, a flash in the audience caught my eye— somebody’s diamond ring maybe. There was just enough light for me to see a woman in the front row drag off her underwear, struggling in the crowded space. Elbows must have hit her head and torso. There wasn’t much room in the darkened pit below.

    Even after that, the blonde was unstoppable. She held the crotch up to her nose and breathed deep like a junkie before winding up and pitching the thong straight at Brody in a whirling fastball.

    Growling about sex into the microphone, my buddy stepped back, ducking like a pro.

    Smooth, real smooth.

    The audience couldn’t tell, but Brody was obviously grossed out, but not because the girl wasn’t pretty. Hell, any stroke mag would have made her a cover model. The blonde had it all: big hair, big tits, and puffy lips in a perpetual O.

    That’s just not our type. We like ‘em real all around, curvy and luscious, and this chick needed to pack on another fifty pounds—minimum.

    I grunted as another thong came flying Hudson’s way. It was seriously getting out of control, like a hail of missiles from World War II. We were taking fire down in the bunker—except the fire was in the form of tiny, little panties.

    My bro was losing patience fast. Not even bothering to hide his revulsion, he scowled and stepped back, his expression one of murderous rage.

    That poor motherfucker.

    I swallowed laughter, looking at the stage floor to hide my reaction. Our fans didn’t want to see me react in such a way. Rock stars living the dream weren’t supposed to duck and cover, but it was all that we wanted to do.

    Go figure.

    But it is what it is. Doing this shit keeps the dollars rolling in. There are miles of money and rivers of cash pouring into our bank accounts each and every second, especially during a tour. So of course, we feed the beast, playing every show with our shirts off, glistening with sweat. Playing shirtless was our agent’s idea back in the day, but it had become a trademark. Hell, it’s practical too, considering how damn hot it is on stage.

    The rest of the show was fiery and high-energy, with Brody tearing it up on the mic as usual.

    After it was over, we stumbled off the stage, high from the music, the energy from the crowd sparkling like electricity across our skin. Performing is addictive. The vibe is more potent than cocaine, or what I imagined cocaine was like, anyway.

    The only problem was: my brain was dead.

    We’re performers, though. The brain-dead feeling afterwards was always worth it. You’ve got to give them what they came to see.

    Hell yeah! I growled, my swagger turned all the way up as we strode towards the dressing room.

    An answering mewl sounded.

    Oooh Gunner! came the whimpering cry. My head jerked back to take a look around.

    It was impossible to see who’d spoken the words because girls lined both sides of the wide hallway. Their hands were reaching out to touch us, their backs arched to show off their assets. Fortunately, our security guys have always been good at keeping them away. Growling and grimacing, they were giant slabs of muscle acting as a barrier between us and the females.

    We don’t want them near us. Keep them away.

    The girls were a blur before my eyes. Every single one of them was nearly naked with those fake tits of theirs pushed up and out. Eyelashes were like wild caterpillars and stick legs poked out from under miniskirts. Once upon a time, I could appreciate a good pair of booty shorts, but the ones that my fans wore had ruined that. I didn’t want to see their flat asses and neither did the Hudson or Brody.

    I thought America was known for big girls. Why are all of these females the same?

    Where were the curvy chicks? The ones with racks so big that my hands could barely grab them? The ones with big, soft bottoms?

    All of the females were the size of mice. I often refer to them as microscopic women, because they’re so small that you can’t see them from far away. One ninety-pounder wiggled her tongue my way, flashing a silver piercing. Disgust filled my veins.

    Get some meat on your bones, girl, and then maybe we can talk. While you’re at it, stop doing the whole skank thing. It’s not working for you.

    Soon, we were in the privacy of our dressing room. Hudson slammed the door shut with a thud. The crowd could still be heard, small thumps and wild giggles piercing the thick slab of wood, but that was okay. For now, we were safe.

    Fuck that was good! Brody grunted.

    Yeah, Hudson growled like a badass. I can feel the money, but not much else.

    He was right. Touring was getting to be a pain in the ass with the endless travel and the screaming crowds. We loved the music, though. The three of us knew how to make catchy beats. We were damn good at it. What else would we do? Get desk jobs?

    I decided to focus on lighter subjects.

    Did you see that last chick, Brody? was my amused rumble. She was ready to give you a fucking blowjob right there onstage.

    As if that’s anything new.

    In the beginning, we saw and did much worse. Orgies. Sex shows. You name it. The three of us indulged and overindulged. We were a trio on fire. Hell, Brody, Hudson, and myself were practically triplets! We all had black hair and blue eyes, making us look enough alike that we were often mistaken for brothers.

    The shit is getting old, though.

    Too much of anything goes sour, eventually. It’s like gorging on prime rib night after night. After a while, a salad starts sounding good—real nutritious and fresh. Unfortunately, we wanted that salad already. Just a few years of touring was starting to do us in.

    Maybe a desk job wouldn’t be so bad.

    I never thought I’d crave salad in my life, but sometimes that’s how things work out.

    We wanted someone real.

    Genuine.

    Innocent and sweet, who didn’t smell like cheap perfume and used lube.

    Too bad she doesn’t exist.

    You didn’t feel like giving up your dick tonight, huh? Hudson grunted at Brody. Keeping it on a leash, are you?

    Brody shot him a nasty look. You know I’m done with that shit, was his terse reply. Shut the fuck up.

    And with that, our lead singer flopped down on one of the couches in our luxurious dressing room and shoved his thick black hair out of his sweaty face. He tilted his head to the side, giving the typical tortured artist look—if a tortured artist had tattoos up both arms and the rock-hard body of a soldier ready for battle. Even the sweat made him look savage-like.

    The guy needed to wipe down. Hell, we all did.

    I scowled.

    Where the fuck is our assistant?

    Suddenly, a naked girl jumped out from behind one of the screens in the dressing room, platinum hair flying. Instead of swinging naturally to and fro, her bare boobs were stiff like hard balls of plastic, unnaturally rounded and pink.

    If I held a flashlight up to them, they’d glow.

    Hiiii! she squealed, wiggling and jiggling her hips. Hi, I’m Candy! I’m a huge fan—

    We figured, Hudson growled.

    If I hadn’t been used to this kind of shit happening, I would’ve leapt right out of my skin, but this was just more of the same shit on a different day.

    I can’t believe we did it! the girl gasped, still jumping up and down, her fake jugs like giant balloons on top of that skinny chest. Mandy, where are you? Come out, come out, wherever you are!

    What the fuck? Mandy? Wasn’t her name Candy?

    Then, as if on cue, another girl popped out right behind her, also nude. They were both wearing high heels and nothing else. Pink lipstick and rouge were caked on, while her foundation was as thick as a geisha’s.

    We were repulsed, yet they had no idea.

    You guys want a taste? the second one panted like a she-dog in heat. I’m so good it’ll blow your mind.

    Yeah! squealed Candy. "Mandy’s pussy is good! I mean my pussy! My pussy is good! No offense, Mandy."

    It’s okay! Mandy chirped. There’s enough for both of us.

    Even their words pissed me off. Before they could say anything else, I was on my feet, brows lowered.

    What the fuck? Get the fuck out.

    Hudson jumped on the bandwagon too. How did you get in here? he growled, threateningly. Did security let you back here?

    That took Mandy and Candy by surprise. They were probably used to open arms and a warm reception. Befuddled, the girls looked at each other uncertainly.

    We bribed them, murmured one, blinking like a lost cow. Pink female flesh shimmered under the fluorescent lights. Back in the day, we might have went for it.

    What the? rasped Brody. Those fuckers are fired. As of now.

    Yeah, which one of them let you back here? I demanded.

    Huh? The cute one let us—I mean…oops! Mandy slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. I wasn’t supposed to tell you that!

    She was as dumb as a bag of rocks.

    I don’t give a shit what he looked like, Brody snarled. "Taking money for access? No shit, sayonara to the whole crew."

    Those assholes were done for. Their actions were a serious breach of contract. Females penetrating right into our inner sanctum? Absolutely inappropriate.

    It didn’t matter who did it. The others should have stopped him.

    The girls were still staring at us, wide-eyed and hopeful.

    Out, rasped Brody, his glare dangerous. Now.

    The naked groupies gasped, seemingly confused by our orders. Wobbling like baby deer, they staggered towards the door. One of them looked at me, eyes bulging and pleading.

    You’re not my type, baby girl. Not even close. I like real, luscious women, not tits on a stick.

    We treated our fans worse than farmers treated livestock.

    I’m such an asshole.

    You heard the man, Hudson hissed. Get the hell out.

    And with that, they were gone. There was no more talk, no more negotiating, no more pleading. The girls wobbled out, as naked as the day they were born.

    They asked for it. Not my fault that they don’t know how to act.

    Finally, the big door slammed shut again, leaving us in peace.

    Thank God.

    Unbelievably, a soft rap sounded mere seconds later.

    Go away! Brody shouted. We’re not interested!

    What now? Why can’t these girls leave us alone? Had they not seen the two naked chicks who’d been booted just a second ago?

    Sir? came a soft voice from behind the heavy wood. Excuse me, sir?

    In a murderous rage, I pushed past Brody and opened the door, ready to bellow at the unfortunate soul standing there.

    But the angry words were caught in my chest, because instead of yet another skanky twig, there was a girl there. She was innocent and sweet, with large doe eyes and cute pink lips.

    H-h-hi, she stammered. H-hi, I-I’m Kate, your new assistant. I-I have some bottled water for you?

    This chick was everything we ever wanted—soft and gorgeous, with assets to spare. It was more than that, though. She was the complete opposite of our usual groupie following. Instead of being dressed in some glittery number, the brunette’s pretty shape was covered in a white polo shirt and khaki pants. I hadn’t seen a woman wear actual pants in so long. Covered legs were actually a little startling.

    She certainly wasn’t a groupie. There was an official-looking lanyard around her neck with the word Kate printed in block letters.

    Holy shit.

    The brunette was the real deal. Our new assistant.

    Hey, I grunted, almost lost for words. Nice to meet you. Come on in.

    Slowly, Kate made her way into the dressing room. Silence greeted her, a stark contrast to the hubbub outside. All of us were staring at the incredible female with her lush curves and timid smile. Even Brody put his phone away to give her his complete attention.

    Yo, he drawled. Yo, what up?

    Kate blushed. Um, h-hi, she began hesitantly, putting down a wicker basket filled with water bottles. "I’m

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