A/N: Greetings! This is a very different story from my first and second Fanfics - an AU take with a bad boy Jake Black and an extremely innocent Bella. Jake is a rock and roll lead guitarist in a very successful band, and Bella is the cousin of a professional groupie. When their paths cross, changes take place that neither side expects. This story contains VERY MATURE subject matter, really bad language, lemons, and some gratuitous drug and alcohol use, so if any of that offends you, please read with caution or don't read at all.

All recognizable characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, but the story is mine.

I took a long drag on the smoke dangling from my lips and exhaled sharply without bothering to take my hands off my axe. My forearm shook as I held that last note, listening to all the little screamers drench their thongs. I made eye contact with a blonde with tits the size of grapefruits in the third row. She was mesmerized. Her douche of a boyfriend was unabashedly trying to feel her up as she raised her hands over her head, clapping for me. I winked at her, a slow smile spreading across my face. Lifting my chin slightly at her, I raised one eyebrow. It was my signature move, and it was never known to fail. Her eyes got huge. Just like every chick's did. Every fuckin night.

Fuck, if anyone had told me when I was six years old that the piece of shit I'd called a guitar back then would have the power to get me laid on a nightly basis, I'd've told them they were effing crazy. I swear, I'd've never bitched about the lessons once if I'd only known. My old man knew more than I did though. For once. Because here I was, 21 years old, getting more ass than a toilet seat, making a shit-ton of money and playing my guitar for a living. It was fuckin awesome.

I let the string go with a flourish, sweeping my hand up in the air and shaking my head free of sweat. It's a rock thing; you wouldn't understand. It's all for show and we all do it. When we leave the stage, there's a puddle of sweat around each of our feet. You'd think it was gross. You'd be wrong. Chicks literally wipe it up with their clothes. They love it.

After I shook out my hair and pieces of it stuck to the sweaty sides of my face, I took the pick and tossed it at Blondie in the third row. I watched as it reflected the light for a split second and then she jumped to catch it, her top riding up to show a good six inches of soft, flat, tanned belly. Yeah, I'd definitely be tapping that later. Her full lips pouted out in a baby-mouthed smile. Yeah, those lips would look great wrapped around my cock in about an hour or so.

The guys were leaving the stage and the roadies stood prepared to take over - but Paul, our lead vocalist, wasn't ready. "C'mon, one more encore!" he said, excited as he always was at a show. "Freebird!"

Seth and I groaned as Embry and Paul fist bumped. "No!" I insisted "No fuckin Freebird! I'm sick of doing that song. We'll be out there another half hour. Let's change up the encore and stick to our own stuff. Covers suck."

"C'mon, Jake!" Paul pleaded. I looked at him. His pupils literally hid his irises.

"Jesus, you stupid fuck. How much blow did you do before we went out there?"

"Back the fuck off, Black. Who are you, my mother?"

Embry giggled gleefully. If I didn't know better, I'd say that stupid shit was high too. But Embry never touched the stuff. He was a big enough pinhead without it.

I rolled my eyes at Seth, then regarded Paul. Of course I had to be in charge once again. I said, "We'll do Hotel California. I'll do some long riffs so you don't fuck it up too much, okay – since you're high as a fuckin kite. We'll be done in ten minutes. And I got dibs on Blondie, third row center."

"Hotel California?" Quil whined. "We'll sing 'em to sleep!"

"That's the idea," I said.

"Playlist says Freebird for the second encore," Embry grumbled. Everyone ignored him. We'd made that playlist at the beginning of the tour, and we regularly deviated from it. I'd decided weeks ago that Freebird was too much work for me after a two hour set. I played lead axe; I was the one doing all the performing for Freebird. Paul barely broke a sweat - what were there...ten words to that song?

"Blondie in the third row," scoffed Paul sarcastically. "I got my eye on twins, mothafuckaaaa!" His voice went high at the end there and then trailed off. I stared at him, shaking my head and thinking of what an idiot he was.

"Don't strain your cords, man," I said, patting him on the shoulder with a grin.

Embry picked up a fresh pair of sticks and ran back out on stage, cracking them together over his head. The crowd was on its feet in seconds. Seth followed, picking up his bass where he left it leaning against a stack. Quil was out there a second later at the keyboard. Then I sauntered out. When I hit the stage the crowd got exponentially louder. But Paul always got everyone to go wild. The screams were deafening - and that was with earplugs in.

I started in and lighters flicked to life all over the theater. The spot was trained on me and me only as I plucked out an improvised, extended version of the intro. Seth stayed with me every step of the way - that kid had talent dripping off him. The Eagles always went acoustic on this, and while I respected their choice, I didn't agree with it. Besides, I liked the whine of my axe as I picked out the Spanish-inspired notes. You could've heard a pin drop.

As soon as the crowd recognized the radio-familiar eight count beginning of the lead-in, they were jumping up and down, screaming like they were in the presence of God himself. The spot expanded to include the whole stage. Paul practically made love to the mike as he wailed, "On a dark desert highway...Cool wind in my hair..."

I had to admit, the guy had amazing pipes.

At the end of the song, as I played the extro, Paul shouted, "Jake Black on lead guitar, ladies and gentlemen!" I raised my instrument up over my head, playing it behind my neck for show. For fun. The crowd exploded.

He went around and re-introduced everyone, starting with Embry. When he got to Seth, the crowd lost it again. Then it was my turn. I ambled over to the mike and shouted, "Ladies and gents, that's Paul BelAire doing our lead vocals!" Paul took a bow to the thunder of the fans. Yeah, that's not his real name. But BelAire is a lot cooler than Lahote. We assembled upstage and the house lights came up. We took a bow or two. Then we were out.

Done. The roadies took the stage as we cleared out as I threw another wink in the direction of Blondie. I leaned over to one of the crew. This was Emmett, a monster of a guy who'd been with us since the early days. He got plenty of tail in his own right, and I always sent him to bring me my groupie of the evening. He was nice to them without being too pushy, and never promised more than I'd deliver. I nodded in Blondie's direction. "Backstage pass for her, lose the boyfriend," I told him. He nodded once, finished coiling up the stack lead he was working on, and hopped down to flag her over. I disappeared. She'd be escorted backstage in fifteen minutes. Emmett was that good.

Back in the dressing room, we each poured our favorite poison. Mine was vodka, straight, very cold, no ice. I preferred it be kept in the freezer. One swallow of that down my throat revived me from the heat and sweat onstage. I finished it in two gulps. Shrugging off the black leather vest I wore as a shirt onstage, I tossed it on the sofa. "Where's the food?" I asked.

This was a rhetorical question that I asked after every show. It was meant to be humorous, though no one laughed any more. The table backstage was literally sagging with eats. As required, two coolers of 24 bottles of non-carbonated spring water on ice stood under the table. Seventeen diet Cokes and seventeen regular Cokes stood like soldiers on the end of the table, cooling their heels in an ice bath. Assorted 100% fruit juice bottles completed the beverage area - not including the bar, of course. That was set up in a different part of the room and had anything you could possibly want - or at least anything we could possibly want. There were nineteen hot and cold sandwiches on the table. The sandwiches were wrapped and labeled, four for me, three for Seth, four for Quil, three for Embry, and five for Paul. In addition, there was always a large green salad with a "selection" (caterer-speak) of dressings and toppings, a fruit plate for twenty people with a minimum of six different fruits, brownies and cookies, and candy galore. Seth had to have a gallon of 2% milk, a loaf of white bread, and a jar of Jif crunchy peanut butter. Also, one jar of honey. For Quil. Don't ask.

I found my hot beef sandwich, prepared as directed, and set myself down on one of the leather sofas to eat. The first bite after that swig of vodka was always the best. This one was good. There was something about Midwest beef, and Chicago knew how to make a great cow-meat sandwich. The hot peppers mingled with the salt on my tongue as I sucked the juice out. Damn, I loved a good hot roast beef.

"You're eating that thing like you wanna make love to it," Seth commented with a grin, his own sandwich half-gone.

"Mmmm, I luff this schtuff," I garbled, my mouth full.

"Yeah, they make some good beef here. Where are we again?"

"Chicago," Quil supplied.

"Yeah, should've known," Seth said, taking another bite.

We wolfed the sandwiches down. Not only were we hungry, but the babes would be here soon. The gotes, as we called them, or groupies of the evening. Each guy usually had their pick. It was an odd night when Paul didn't have at least two (hence the five sandwiches) but the rest of us settled for one. I honestly didn't have the energy after a show - though I'd tried it a time or two. It was interesting, if nothing else. And one tongue on your cock and one on your balls is nothing to sneeze at.

I'd finished two sandwiches and a salad, and was munching some pineapple when Emmett showed up with Blondie. She was your typical gote; all, "Oh my god, I can't believe this, I'm such a huge fan, can I have your autograph?" Peter and Jasper came in just a couple of minutes later with Quil's pick and Paul's chosen ones for the night. Paul had spoken the truth; he had actually scored a set of gorgeous brunette twins. We went through the same scene again; it was like they'd memorized the lines or something. Seth grinned at me as I pulled Blondie down next to me on the sofa. "Hey, baby," I said. "Nice of you to come out tonight."

She seemed to be all star-struck and hesitant. It was cute. "Thanks," she managed.

"You want a drink, honey?"

"Um, I'm not really…old enough?" She pronounced it like a question.

"How old are you, sweetheart?" I asked, already knowing she was at least eighteen. Emmett was nothing if not thorough.

"Nineteen," she admitted.

I laughed. "You're old enough here, babe," I said, handing her my glass. "Get me a refill on the Ketel in the freezer while you're up." She took the glass and scurried across the room as if she were afraid if she didn't, she'd get kicked out.

Uhh, not with that ass, hon.

I winked at Seth as he admired her ass from the other couch. His redhead had just arrived. He liked the redheads. A slim Asian chick with boy-short hair straddled Quil's lap, her top already on the floor, her tiny boobs pressed against his face. Paul was getting busy in the corner on the futon with the twins. I liked to take a few minutes, get to know my prey before I started in on the meal. And I liked a bit of privacy as well. Embry was absent, as usual. He was another one who preferred to take his business to the bus. He almost never went in the dressing room immediately after a show. He'd be here in about two hours, flushed and sweaty, no girl in sight. She'd be on her way home in a cab - we never even saw Embry's conquests.

Blondie came back with my drink and handed it to me, holding one that looked just like it herself. I hoped she could hold her liquor. It wasn't fun to fuck someone with vomit in their hair - though I'd done it on more than one occasion. I put my arm around her and pulled her in for a nice soul kiss, jamming my tongue into her mouth and sucking hers into mine.

She moaned in ecstasy. Yep, I'm here, making your dreams come true, baby. Give it over.

I pulled away and took a swig of my drink, letting its heat run through my veins and leaning my head back on the sofa. "Good show tonight," I commented to Seth, who had a handful of the redhead's hair and was pushing her face down into his lap. He grinned at me.

"Yeah, that take on Swansong was fuckin amazing, man," he said, complimenting my improvisation on one of the tracks from our latest release. The gotes looked at us like we were crazy - they always did. They expected that we'd be completely focused on them and everything else would be secondary. Little did they know: We weren't even thinking about them, except for what they had in their bras and panties. To me, they barely had faces.

"No shit, right?" I agreed. "Nice job following me."

He shrugged complacently. "It's what I do," he said.

"Here's what I do," Blondie said, bringing the conversation back to herself. She turned and straddled me, her tiny skirt riding up practically to her navel. She reached beneath herself quickly and pulled my fly open, letting that rascal in my pants free. At the same time, she pushed her panties aside. I flipped a condom out of the dish on the table and she expertly rolled it on me as she readjusted that dirty little skirt of hers. She slid her soaking entrance over my now half-hard cock and began sliding up and down, staring at me and licking her plump pink lips.

Okay, maybe I was wrong. She was no innocent - nothing about this girl was star-struck or shy. She'd fooled me, but that wasn't very hard. What's more, I couldn't care less. I was buried balls deep in her hot, wet tightness. Now if I could just find a place to put my hands...

As if she read my mind, she opened her little blouse, letting her beautiful salmon-tipped orbs out to play. I latched on with my lips and teeth, her head falling back as she hissed, enraptured.

With one quick movement, I turned her over so she was underneath me and started plowing into her, making sure she'd have trouble walking out of there. My pants weren't even down. She squealed and squirmed beneath me, her face staring up at me, awed. Yeah, she was awed, because I'm hung like a horse. I didn't kiss her again. You never want to let them get too attached. After about fifteen solid minutes of pumping, I let go, collapsing on her rudely. Shit, that didn't take too long - but it was only the first time tonight. I had at least three more in me, and she hadn't come yet anyway. Not that I necessarily cared about that either way. If she did, great. If not, well...not my problem.

I kissed her cheek once and pushed off her, getting up to grab some more food. She readjusted herself without batting an eye, proof that she was a pro groupie. Any real girl would've stared after me, hurt. This one was used to it.

I made myself a plate of fruit and brownies, and grabbed another bottle of water; the first one was gone. While I was at the table, she refilled my drink. Ahh, yes. Sometimes it was nice to have a pro.

I infrequently bothered to ask a name. She was Blondie, sweetheart, honey or babe. The gote last night had been Tits McGee, dubbed that after an afternoon viewing of Will Ferrell in Anchorman. We'd all had a good laugh over that one, even Tits herself. Night before that...ah, who remembered?

But this girl intrigued me somehow. So I asked. Something I very rarely, if ever, did.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" I asked.

"Rosalie," she answered sassily. She knew the score. She hadn't been asked her name much, and this was something she was now proud of - that I'd actually bothered.

"Is your boyfriend still waiting for you?" I questioned.

"No, my boyfriend left, but my cousin's out there. She's with the roadies."

"Your cousin?" I asked, amused. "She a pro like you?"

Blondie laughed derisively. "No way!" she said. "I'm pretty sure she's a virgin."

The room stopped. "A virgin?" I asked. How archaic. Was there such a thing anymore? I hadn't even heard the term in years.

"She's not a virgin anymore," Paul commented, "if she's back there with Jasper and Emmett." We all laughed.

"I know," Blondie said ruefully. "But you might be surprised. She's pretty committed. It's pathetic. She says she's saving herself."

"For Jasper and Emmett? Yeah, I can see that," Paul joked, cracking us up again.

"No, for marriage," Blondie giggled.

Seth rolled his eyes in disgust. The last thing we wanted to talk about with gotes was marriage. "Come on, Red," he said, leading her across the dressing room and out the door. Ah, fuck! He was going to the bus. And the bus would only comfortably accommodat two band members and their gotes. Now I didn't have a place to go.

Well, Quil was pretty distracted right now, and Paul was over there with his twins. I guess I could still fuck Blondie, right there on the couch. It wasn't like I'd never done it before - I mean, obviously, I'd done it just a couple of minutes ago. But I didn't like leaving my bare ass in the air in a room full of people. So I guess she was gonna have to be on top, and my blow job would have to wait for another time.

"Reverse cowgirl," I whispered in her ear. Yeah, she was a pro alright. She instantly turned herself around, whipping off her thong in one smooth sweep. She sat on my lap with her back to me, and I hiked myself back on the sofa, lying with my head on one of the arms. She rearranged herself so she was over my cock again. I put on the condom myself this time and watched as she undid the button on her skirt. Oh, she was taking it off now? How considerate - now I'd have an unobstructed view of her rear as she gyrated on top of me. Nice.

She began riding me, and this time I held off. I watched the fine curve of her ass as she worked me over, moaning my name. She had a little tramp-stamp tattoo on her lower back – you know the kind – with our band logo and name, a howling wolf with Difficult Wolves lettering intertwined. I stared at it as she reached back for my hands and placed them on her boobs. I was happy to oblige - I squeezed them, closing my eyes to concentrate on the wobbly globes under my palms. Her nipples were like marbles, hard and round. As she writhed on my dick, I rolled them between my fingers, causing her to suck air in between her teeth. Did that hurt? Eh, I didn't really care. It felt good to me.

Now, for some stupid, fucked up reason, my mind kept on going back to her cousin. Some little chick, trapped in one of the crappier buses with the roadies, having to give them whatever to avoid being ridiculed. That was a much seedier scene than this one, believe it or not, despite the fact that blatant sex was occurring everywhere you looked. The roadies' bus is an actual shit shack - a genuine bus with seats halfway down the aisle and the back cold and vacant with a few mattresses scattered on the floor for the guys and some storage space for the more delicate instruments. It was no place for some little virgin.

I was momentarily distracted by the opening of the dressing room door. See, that's the other problem with fucking in the dressing room. The staff was instructed as part of the rider to restock the room periodically. The menu changed as the night wore on; there'd be more booze and more water, fewer soft drinks, some Red Bull and Monster, and things like popcorn and pizza. An urn would eventually be rolled in with coffee and all the accompanying condiments, and later there'd be pastries. If it was only a one-night stand, we'd spend the night in the dressing room, so it only followed that we'd need refreshments periodically. Y'know, it's one thing to fuck in front of your bandmates. It's another to have some random dude that works for the venue eyeing your nuts.

Just for a second, though. I was only distracted for a second. Then I looked back up at Blondie, who gave me a wicked grin over her shoulder. I felt her nails scritching along my balls, then her hand, soft and warm, cupped them and began a massage that brought me right back to the present. "Oh, fuck yeah," I moaned.

I got the feeling she was getting bored and wanted to speed things up so she could get this over with and go home. But I liked to take my time. She was there for me, not the other way around, right? I'm the rock star.

Ah, shit, she was just a little too good. I was gonna come now, despite my resolve to wait. Oh well - twice was okay. Three times was better but I could do with twice. And I wanted to kind of get her out of there too. Her cousin weighed on my mind. I went ahead and let it go, sighing out a long groan as I did. She actually came too, sucking me completely dry. I suspected her hands had been busy between her legs 'cause I sure as hell didn't try to get her off. She turned around, lifting herself off me and grinning sexily. "Thanks, baby," she said, planting a kiss on my lips. "You're unbelievable. I gotta go, sorry."

"Yeah, rescue your cousin," I told her, standing up and tossing the used cock sock in the trash. I tucked myself back in my jeans and zipped up.

Blondie turned back to me, a quizzical expression on her face. "What – you're worried about my cousin?" she asked. She wasn't being confrontational, she genuinely didn't understand. To be honest, neither did I.

I looked down at her. Why did I care? I guess I felt like she was an innocent. I seriously hadn't even heard of a virgin in years. Something about it got to me. And it wasn't like me. I didn't know what it was...but for some reason the big famous rock idol was bothered by the little virgin.

I shrugged at Blondie. "I dunno," I said. "For some reason it's bugging me."

She regarded me for a second. "Wanna come meet her?" she asked.

I stood there, thinking. Did I? What would it accomplish? I guess I'd satisfy my curiosity at least. "Yeah, okay," I muttered. I finished my fourth drink in one gulp, grabbed another bottle of water and a banana, and put my jacket on. "C'mon, I'll show you where the roadies are."

We walked down the hall to the backstage door and she pushed through, holding it open for me to pass. "Thanks for coming with me, Jake. I hate pounding on all the bus doors trying to find someone."

"Been in this boat before, honey?" I asked, grinning down at her.

She snorted a laugh. "Not with my cousin, but a few times with friends," she admitted ruefully.

We walked along silently for a few dozen yards while I ate my banana. The buses were out back in a fenced off area. Besides our big, tricked-out vehicle, there were about four other buses and a few trailers. A band this size needed a lot of equipment and a lot of staff. I knew which bus Emmett would be in, so that made it a little easier. Plus I had grabbed the ring of keys to all the vehicles that we always kept in the dressing room for emergencies. I took her to the roadie bus and banged on the door once while unlocking it.

"Hey you bunch of rejects," I yelled, walking in. "It's me. Is there a..." It suddenly occurred to me that I didn't know the cousin's name. I turned to Blondie. "What's your cousin's name?" I asked.

"Bella," she said.

"Is there a Bella here?" I asked into the darkness.

Emmett emerged from the black interior, shirtless and buttoning his jeans. "Hey, Jake," he greeted me. "S'up? Whaddya doin' out here in the slum?"

"Lookin' for Blondie's cousin. Bella. She here?"

"I don't fuckin know," he grinned. "Who asks names?" He turned back to the interior of the bus. "Bella?" he said.

Nothing. Shit.

"She's not here?" Blondie said worriedly. "Is there another roadie bus?"

"Nah, but don't worry," I said, beginning to regret coming out here with her. I stepped back out into the cooling night. "I'm sure you'll find her." I turned to go back to the stage door.

"You're not going to help me?" she asked, her pink lower lip pouting out.

I looked at her, annoyed. I knew it was stupid to come out here. What the hell had I been thinking? Ah, shit, she looked really worried. Okay. "Let's just make sure she isn't in this bus," I said, climbing back in. Blondie followed me.

Emmett got in the driver's seat and turned the lights on in the passenger section of the bus. Groans emitted from almost every seat - all the roadies were busy getting their reward. Lots of girls liked the roadies more than the actual band members. And some were just looking to get laid by anyone associated with the band. The roadies got almost as much tail as we did.

"Ah, shaddup," I said good-naturedly, leading Blondie down the aisle. She looked from side to side, but apparently no one was there that she recognized. We got to the back and checked out the mattresses, but she wasn't there either. We turned to go, but then Blondie gasped.

"Bella?" she said, staring into the dark back corner of the bus, where one of the pricier keyboards was stored. Sitting in a ball behind it, I could just make out a pair of jean-clad legs tucked under a skinny body with long dark hair. This must be Bella - the virgin.

She poked her head out and I could see how pissed off she was in one glance. "Rose, what the heck?" she demanded.

"Oh, you were looking for the virgin," Emmett laughed. "Why didn't you say so?"

Bella turned three shades of red. I could tell right away that she'd already been given a plateful of shit for the virgin thing. It was written all over her face. Then her eyes fell on me.

They widened and her little mouth popped open before she could control it. "Ohmygod, you're Jake Black!" she almost whispered, awed. There were guffaws from the roadies.

"You're Jake Black," mimicked Jasper in a high-pitched voice. Jasper was close friends with Emmett and he'd been with us almost as long. Kid knew his stuff - and could do amazing things with keyboards. He'd replaced Quil on occasion, when Quil was too hung over to play.

"Shut the fuck up, Whitlock," I told him, still looking at this Bella chick. Something about her...

"She's a huge fan," Blondie told me, smiling at Bella indulgently.

"Hey, baby, thanks for coming out tonight," I said automatically. It was something I always said whenever girls told me they were fans before, during, or after a show. It was almost like a reflex now.

Bella's round eyes flicked from me to Blondie. "Did you...?" she broke off, dropping her gaze. Even I knew what she was asking - if Blondie and I had done the dirty deed.

Blondie didn't answer. "Come on, Bella, let's go," she said, grabbing Bella's hand. Reluctantly, Bella allowed herself to be led away, looking over her shoulder at me.

"Hey," I called as they got to the front of the bus. "You comin' out tomorrow?"

"Tonight was your last show here," Blondie said.

I looked to Emmett. "Is that right?" I asked. We traveled so much, I never knew where we were or how long we'd been there.

"Yep, Milwaukee tomorrow night," he confirmed.

"How far is that?" I asked Blondie.

"It's like two hours," she answered. "But I don't have tickets anyway."

"If I get you a couple of tickets, you'd come out?" I said. I didn't even know why I was asking. I never did stuff like this. I had never once used a free ticket for one of my friends or family members, let alone one of my conquests. I knew we had a shit-ton, though. It was part of the rider. Emmett usually carried them. He whipped two out and handed them to me. "Make 'em good," I said under my breath. He pulled a different pair from the bottom of the pile.

"Ohmygod, seriously?" Blondie wasn't the pro groupie any more. She was back to the star-struck girl. I couldn't figure her out. "Yeah we would. Right, Bella?"

Bella nodded, her mouth still agape as she looked at me. I figured I'd give the kid a break. I took the tickets from Emmett and strode up the aisle. I handed them to Bella and leaned down, kissing her once on the cheek. "See you tomorrow, baby," I said.

Emmett was right behind me and handed them both laminated Backstage Pass lanyards. "Come see me first, little virgin. I'll get you where you need to be," he said, raising his eyebrows a few times. The girls left with twin smiles plastered across their faces. As they descended the stairs of the bus, I heard the virgin say, "He called me baby! Twice!"