Bad Girls Read online

  ‘Whooh!’ she said, grinning at him. ‘Good call! I’m ready to go back and work the hell out of that room!’

  ‘That’s how we like it,’ DeVaughan said drily.

  Skye bounced out of the back room as if she had springs under her platform heels.

  ‘Girl, you are buzzing!’ Jada said, gliding up next to her, smelling intoxicatingly of her own fresh sweat from dancing, mingled with the heavy Paloma Picasso perfume she doused herself in every evening, a rich musk.

  Skye pulled a guilty little-girl face. ‘I know we said we weren’t going to for a while,’ she confessed, ‘but—’

  ‘Oh, no, you didn’t!’ Jada, recognizing the brightness in Skye’s eyes, was way ahead of her. ‘You holding?’

  Skye shook her head. ‘DeVaughan. He boosted some off a john.’

  ‘I’m gonna have a word with him right now!’

  Jada’s place was instantly taken by the guy from the bar, his eyes bulging, his face red with excitement.

  ‘You said five minutes, babe, and it’s been, like, ten!’ he complained.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Skye said, smiling up at him as he leered down at her diminutive, glittering golden body. ‘That’s so naughty of me! What could I possibly do to make it up to you?’

  And she took hold of his tie, leading him off to the private room, as if her last encounter there had never happened at all.

  Petal

  The publicist who’d booked KillBuzz into the InterContinental Park Lane was definitely going to get the sack. Not for her choice of hotel – the InterContinental was stunning, with its amazing location on Hyde Park Corner, its luxurious lobby with its specially made glass chandeliers, and floral arrangements provided every day by Moyses Stevens, the florist who also supplied Buckingham Palace.

  No, she was going to get the sack because, as well as booking the band members into individual suites of their own, she had had the bright idea to hire the hotel’s superb Spa Boudoir for them all to party in. Even Petal, who had a great deal of experience with five-star hotels, was impressed by the Spa Boudoir, which was a luxury suite, plus a private spa treatment room off a state-of-the-art bathroom with wetroom and Jacuzzi. The décor was rich and luxurious; expensive wenge wood, chaise longues piled high with silk cushions, Bang and Olufsen plasma screens with Bose sound systems in every room, even the spa.

  It would have been the perfect venue for a romantic weekend, or an exclusive hen night, if you wanted to be cocooned together in a private world, where you’d be visited only by room service, your Elemis-trained masseuse, or your private butler. It was definitely, however, not the perfect venue for a budding rock group of coked-up, drunken, and generally over-stimulated musicians and their entourage, fresh from the high of a riotously successful gig.

  The InterContinental staff had prepared the suite to the last detail. Every table was covered with white linen cloths and arranged with plates of hot and cold canapés and exquisite bowls of spring flowers. Ice buckets filled with miniature blue and silver bottles of Pommery Pop were scattered on every ledge. In the spa treatment room, tealight candles had been lit all along narrow glass shelves, flickering gently in the soft lighting. Elemis products were arranged between the candles, their tiny flames glinting off the elegant silver packaging. A low white leather chair on silver rockers with a matching footstool was placed by the window, the curtains drawn back to display the marble arch of Hyde Park Corner and the glittering lights of the traffic flowing round it.

  And through it, KillBuzz and their hangers-on rampaged like bulls in a china shop. In the space of half an hour, the Spa Boudoir suite was unrecognizable.

  ‘God, these people are animals,’ Petal drawled as she sprawled back on the white leather rocking chair in the spa room, a glass of champagne in her hand. The plasma TV was playing videos, but she was watching two girls in tight skirts as they climbed onto the silk-upholstered corner bench seat, teetering in their stack heels, pulling down the boxes of Elemis creams with acquisitive squeals.

  ‘Oh, fuck, there’s nothing inside!’ screamed one of them petulantly, throwing the box across the room.

  ‘Cheap bastards, putting empty boxes up there!’ the other one chimed in.

  ‘I checked those out as soon as I came in,’ Tas, perched on the table, muttered to Petal. ‘How stupid are those twats?’

  ‘Trust you to look for freebies, Tas,’ Petal grinned.

  ‘I don’t have a fucking trust fund, do I?’ Tas said, quite unabashed. ‘I’ll take all the goodie bags I can get!’

  ‘Hey, pet, fancy a bath?’

  Petal turned her head to see Dan Drummond, a bottle of champagne in his hand. He’d already stripped off his sweaty T-shirt, and his chest was bare above the tight black jeans that clung to his narrow hips. If there was an ounce of fat on his entire body, Petal couldn’t see it. Just how she liked her boys: lean and hungry.

  ‘I’ve got the Jacuzzi going,’ he said happily. ‘It’s ace.’

  He stretched out the hand that wasn’t holding the bottle. His hair flopped over his handsome face, with those full sexy lips and cheekbones that could cut glass. His torso was almost perfectly smooth, white skin that looked as if it had never seen the sun; there were just a few hairs curling over the waistband of his jeans, slightly darker brown than the hair on his head. Petal licked her lips. A gorgeous about-to-be rock star, already half-naked, gagging to get her into the bath with him. Life didn’t get much better than this.

  ‘And we got ’em to send up a ton more booze,’ he added triumphantly. ‘I wasn’t bloody drinking out of those little girlie bottles.’

  ‘Well, it sounds like you’ve got it all planned out!’ Petal said, sliding off the treatment table and taking his hand.

  The whirlpool bath looked like it had been carved out of a huge single piece of smooth white stone. Free-standing, with nowhere on its narrow rim to put so much as a piece of soap, it would have been insanity anywhere but a five-star hotel suite, where its design-over-function aesthetic merely added to the over-the-top level of pampering. It was churning like a cauldron, with red velvety rose petals – scattered there earlier by the private butler – caught in the swirls of water, bringing an ‘aah’ of appreciation to Petal’s lips.

  ‘You can’t say I don’t know how to show a girl a good time!’ Dan laughed, putting the champagne bottle down on the Brazilian marble surround of the double sinks. But the incredulity in his eyes betrayed how unused he was to this level of glamour and pampering; he was talking a good game, but his inability to stop grinning was a dead giveaway.

  ‘Here,’ he said, reaching for her glass and refilling it. ‘And aren’t you wearing too many clothes? I took me top off already.’

  Standing there, his chest bare, the jeans as snug as a second skin, Dan already looked more than half-naked.

  But instead of stripping her own top off with as much eagerness as he was showing, Petal just stood there like a lemon.

  I hate this part! she thought, panicking, trying to cover her racing nerves by drinking more champagne. Why didn’t I think to run in here first and take all my clothes off and jump in the bath really quickly?

  It seemed ridiculous even to her, this bashfulness about getting naked in front of a guy who’d already pulled her tights and knickers down to her ankles and gone down on her. But for all Petal’s wild-child ways, she had her body insecurities. Petal’s Achilles heel was her breasts. Or rather, the lack of them. You didn’t get to be thin enough to wear designer sample sizes and simultaneously have breasts bigger than bee-stings – not naturally, anyway.

  She was terrified Dan would be disappointed by them.

  ‘Come on!’ Dan had his hands at the waistband of his jeans.

  Just do it quickly, Petal told herself, reaching down to unbuckle the belt slung around her hips. The trouble with projecting your image as incredibly sophisticated and confident was that, once you’d established your cool credentials and ensured that everyone was in awe of your poise, you couldn’t really
let down your force-field of assurance . . . Petal’s belt dropped to the floor, its buckle clanging as it landed on the granite slab. Dan whooped and unbuckled his own belt.

  Just do it quickly. Petal grabbed the hem of her ruffled top and dragged it up and over her head, shaking her hair as she threw the top aside so that her bob would fall back into its smooth shape again.

  She wasn’t wearing a bra. God knew, she didn’t need to. And though she wouldn’t want to be as big all over as Tas, Petal did flash back for a moment on the fuchsia lace of Tas’s bra, so clearly on display, and had a rush of envy for how good her friend’s 36DD boobs had looked.

  Warily, she met Dan’s eyes. She wasn’t an idiot; she knew he wasn’t expecting C cups to magically pop out from nowhere. Still, she was bracing herself against any disappointment, any expression that said, You’re joking! Is that it?

  But as she looked into his grey eyes, her heart stopped for a brief moment. His mouth was open, his gaze was misty. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

  ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he breathed.

  Petal felt her entire body grow warm under his stare of admiration. It was so blatant, so unabashedly appreciative, that she blossomed, the remnants of insecurity about her flat chest falling away like dried-up husks, with herself fresh and smooth and pretty at the centre, and a really cute boy staring at her as if he wanted to eat her up with a spoon.

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ she said saucily, grabbing the waistbands of her mini, tights and knickers and pulling them all down in one fell swoop, kicking off her cowboy boots, wadding her discarded clothes up into a ball and punting them across the bathroom, onto the granite floor between the two glass screens of the wetroom area. ‘Well?’ she taunted, hands on her bare hips. ‘What are you waiting for?’

  Then she screamed as Dan picked her up by the waist, swung her in the air, and dumped her into the swirling bath water. He stripped down in a few seconds, his boots dragged off, the buttons of his jeans fly hitting metallically against the bidet as he discarded them in a frantic rush of excitement.

  ‘Aww,’ Petal cooed as he vaulted into the bath. She reached between his legs, gripping his penis, making him groan with pleasure. ‘You got me a present! That’s so sweet of you!’

  ‘Sit on my lap and I can give it to you properly,’ he said eagerly, grabbing her round the waist, trying to pull her onto his cock.

  ‘No, I want to suck you off,’ Petal said, resisting. ‘I said I was going to, didn’t I?’

  ‘No, I want you to fuck me! Come on, pet, sit on me cock. I’ve been busting to fuck you for hours and hours now. I swear I’ll pull out in time . . .’

  He looked so handsome that Petal wrapped her arms around his neck and slid her tongue into his mouth, wriggling around, feeling the tip of his cock bobbing eagerly under her. Dan seized his opportunity; he grabbed her waist, lifting her a little, sliding one hand to his penis and directing it just where he wanted it, gasping with excitement, moaning: ‘Oh, fuck, yeah, that’s it, that’s fucking it!’ as his hard cock edged its way inside her, moving gently, nervous of going too far, too fast.

  ‘I’ll suck you off later, OK?’ Petal said, pulling back a little.

  They were both wet from head to toe now, the splashing water jets drenching them as they writhed around.

  ‘Yeah, thanks, that’d be great,’ Dan mumbled, so overwhelmed with sensation he was barely able to get a word out.

  ‘I give really good blow jobs,’ Petal assured him, grabbing hold of the edges of the tub, using the leverage to twist and wriggle herself further down on top of him, taking more of him inside her, feeling his hips jerking frantically as he responded to her encouragement.

  He reached out and stroked her nipples, making her sigh with pleasure; her nipples were very sensitive, maybe because her breasts were so small.

  ‘Your tits are so pretty,’ Dan said, picking up handfuls of bubbles and rubbing them over her breasts. ‘They’re so pretty and perfect, like two little mouthfuls . . .’

  He pulled her towards him, his lips closing over one of them as she writhed on top of him, so flooded with delight and so flattered by his compliments that she broke a usually iron-clad rule about her having to come first, and offered generously:‘Go on, you can come. You got me off already, and I know you want to.’

  ‘Really?’ he got out.

  Petal smiled. ‘Yeah, go on then,’ she said nobly, feeling him already bucking beneath her, his thighs pumping, barely able to maintain the last remnants of his self-control.

  Dan was beyond words. He threw his head back, gasping, his eyes closing, as Petal pulled up off him, wriggling her knees up the sides of the bath to get enough purchase, reaching forward to take hold of him just as he started to come, his arms draped over the sides of the bath, his hips thrusting upwards. The water was so warm that Petal, her hands wrapped around the tip of his penis, couldn’t actually sense his rush of heat as he exploded between her fingers. But she could feel his spasms, hear him groaning, as the bath bubbled all around them and his come mingled with the bubbles pumping up to the surface.

  Dan’s eyelids fluttered open again, and he stared dazedly at Petal.

  ‘You’re amazing,’ he mumbled blissfully.

  You’re amazing, Petal thought, remembering him kissing her breasts. I just really, really hope you don’t know who my dad is. I really hope no one told you by now. I want to think you like me just for myself, flat chest and all . . .

  Skye

  Skye raised her head, slowly and cautiously, and squinted her eyes open a crack. It hurt as badly as if someone were squirting bleach through the chinks. Trying not to moan aloud with pain, she wriggled up into a sitting position. As she opened her eyes fully, the sunlight, flooding in because she hadn’t drawn the drapes the night before, scorched her retinas.

  We did it again. We fucking went and did it again. After we promised each other we wouldn’t.

  The display on her bedside clock, bright red numbers flashing mockingly at her, told her that it was just past noon. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Skye sat for a while, head down, fighting the waves of nausea that were threatening to rise dangerously up to her throat. The sunlight didn’t help. The apartment was on the fifth floor, high up enough in this low-rise part of Hell’s Kitchen so it got excellent morning light. It wasn’t ideal for a girl who worked night shifts: she’d had to buy blackout drapes.

  And now my head hurts too much for me to even reach out and draw them. Fuck it.

  Anyway, her priority was to get to the bathroom. Eventually, she pushed herself unsteadily to her feet.

  I’m still drunk. Tequila shots till dawn, for fuck’s sake? What was I thinking? Oh, that’s right! I was letting the blow do my thinking for me! And it always makes such good decisions!

  The apartment was trashed. Skye didn’t even dare to glance sideways into the kitchen as she passed down the corridor. She could tell from the sour odour in the bathroom that someone had upchucked in the toilet, but at least they’d flushed it. Skye rinsed out a discarded glass, took two Advils and washed them down with two glassfuls of water from the tap. A good five minutes later, just as she was beginning to think she was OK, which meant she wasn’t going to puke her guts up, she heard someone stagger down the corridor and push open the door that Skye hadn’t bothered to latch.

  ‘Why didn’t you stop me?’ Jada moaned.

  Jada looked like hell. She was wearing the jacket of her favourite Victoria’s Secret flannel pyjamas, lime green printed with pink strawberries, and her long shapely legs, emerging from the short jacket hem, were as stunning as ever. At the neck, it was a different story: the bright green, which usually suited her rich dark skin, was a scary contrast with the ashy grey tint of her face. The whites of her eyes were red and inflamed, and the bags under her eyes were puffed out like a frog’s.

  She slumped against the chipped paint of the door jamb, staring reproachfully at Skye.

  ‘Why didn
’t you stop me?’ Skye retorted.

  ‘At least you don’t have to see yours again!’ Jada complained. ‘I just keep pulling the same old shit, over and over. It’s like a dog going back to its own vomit.’

  Skye’s stomach churned ominously. ‘Could you please not use that word?’ she begged, pressing both her hands to her stomach as if that would somehow keep her from puking.

  ‘I need to pee,’ Jada said. ‘You’re going to have to move.’

  Staggering to the side of the bath as Jada sat on the toilet, Skye began to replay the events of the night before. She and Jada had got through plenty of blow at the Midnight Lounge – of course they had, that was the trouble with blow. They’d partied and danced till four a.m., closing time, and then, naturally, they’d been all ramped up and no way ready to crash, so they’d had a few more drinks and lines at the Lounge with DeVaughan, and then they’d—

  ‘Oh, no.’

  Skye had just realized what Jada was talking about. Not the blow, though they’d said they were cutting back on that too. No, Jada meant DeVaughan. He’d come back to their apartment, picking up a bottle of tequila on the way, and that only meant one thing. Well, two, if you counted the tequila shots with champagne floats. But basically, it meant that Jada and DeVaughan had hooked up again.

  ‘You did DeVaughan?’

  Jada nodded gloomily. ‘It’s not going anywhere, so what the hell am I doing?’ she sighed. ‘The man’s a damn bouncer! That’s never going to get me out of this dump!’

  It was a dump, no question about it. The irony was, a lot of people would have killed for their midtown apartment. It was rent-stabilized, which meant the landlord couldn’t raise the rent more than four per cent a year, and it was a proper two-bedroom, which meant that both Skye and Jada had their own rooms with doors that closed – neither of them had to sleep in a walk-through corridor in a railroad-style apartment.