She wanders out of the bedroom wearing next to nothing and yawning. I allow my gaze to drift over her body and fight the hardening of my cock and the desire to fuck her on the table again. It’s become my favourite place to have some hard and fast sex with her, and I try to convince myself I have time for a quickie before work.

“Jett!” Her voice snaps me out of my thoughts and I turn to find her holding my keys out to me.

I grab them off her and pull her to me for a kiss. A goodbye kiss, nothing more. Fuck, it’s so damn hard to walk away from her, but I let her go after I kiss her. “Thanks,” I say as I shove my wallet in my pocket and pick my phone up off the table.

She smacks my ass as she walks past me to the fridge. “I’m gonna miss you today,” she says in her sleepy voice. “After having you all to myself over the weekend, I’ve gotten used to being able to have sex whenever I wanted.”

I groan. “Fuck, baby, did you have to say that?” The table is looking more inviting every second I stay in this room with her. I eye her skimpy singlet and panties. I could have those off in two seconds flat, and my cock out just as fast. Five minutes tops and I’d be a happy man for the rest of the day.

“Jett!”

Jesus, I’m not with it today. “What?” I ask as I drag my gaze from her pussy.

Shaking her head at me, she says, “Your phone is going crazy with texts so you need to stop imagining fucking me and check those.”

I rake my fingers through my hair. “I just screwed you twice in my mind.” Pointing at my dick, I ask, “Can you see how fucking hard I am for you right now?”

“Oh I see it, Jett, but I’m trying not to look because I want to screw you twice but not in my mind, so hurry up and get your ass out of here or else I might not let it leave.”

I stare at her. “Not fucking helpful, sweetheart,” I mutter, doing my best to stop fucking thinking about her pussy.

Fuck.

My phone goes off twice more with texts and I check it to see who the hell is bombarding me with messages. They’re from Tom and as I read them, I let out a loud, “Fuck me!”

“What?” Presley looks at me in alarm. She’s obviously picked up that my stress levels are now through the roof.

After I finish scrolling through the messages, I dial Tom and place my phone to my ear. Eyeing Presley, I fill her in. “West has been accused of rape. It’s all over the news.”

She stares at me in shock and I nod in agreement. This is fucking ludicrous.

Tom snaps into my phone, “Where the hell have you been? This shit is hitting from all angles and you need to get down to the studio now.”

“I’m on my way.” I shove the phone in my pocket and start to make my way out to my car. “I’ve gotta go, but I’ll call you later,” I yell out to Presley right before I leave her apartment. Getting to the studio is the only thing on my mind now; there’s no fucking way West raped a woman, and I need to get to the band fast so we can work out how the fuck we’re going to deal with this.

* * *

The traffic is a bitch, and it takes me a good forty minutes to get to the studio, during which time I’ve listened to the breakfast radio announcers trash talk rockstars for sleeping with anyone and everyone. And that was right after they discussed the possibility of the rape allegation against West being true. I had to restrain myself from calling them and giving them a piece of my mind. They never stop and think about the fact the person they are talking about is a real person, and that a lot of their audience takes what they say as gospel.

By the time I finally walk into the studio, I’ve got a massive headache and I feel like the world is conspiring against me this morning after the traffic and then no car park being available, resulting in me having to park a couple of blocks away.

Van scowls at me the minute I enter. “It’s a good fucking thing no one was dying here, Jett. You took your time.”

I hold my hand up at him and return his scowl. “Don’t fucking start on me today; I don’t have the patience for your shit.” Turning my attention to West, I take in his appearance. He looks a mess, and I can’t blame him; if I’d been accused of rape, I’d look the same. “Tell me what happened.”

He stares at me for a moment, not saying a word. The exhaustion has taken over his face and I can only imagine how tired his mind is, and how hard he’s finding it to form words. Fuck, this side of the business is bullshit, and I hope to God I never run into the woman who’s put him in this position. Our band has had a clear run with scandals so far but I’ve seen other bands and other men broken by this kind of shit. When he speaks, his voice gives away the shock he must still be in. “She’s told her story to one of the magazines, said I raped her when we were in Sydney last time.”

I frown. “Have the police contacted you?”

Shaking his head, he says, “No . . . fuck, Jett, I didn’t do this. Sure, I slept with her, but she was the one begging for it, not me.” He rakes his fingers through his hair and begins pacing the room.

“I believe you, man.” I look at Tom and tell him my thoughts. “She obviously wants cash if she’s gone to a magazine - ”

West cuts me off. “I’m not fucking giving that bitch a cent!” he roars.

“That wasn’t what I was going to suggest. I’m just thinking out loud here, and what I’m thinking is the likelihood of her going to the police over this is slim, which is good for you.”