Keith grabs the strip of lace, pulling it tight against my soaking pussy and whispering hotly in my ear. “Are you gonna come for me? Just from me smacking your delectable ass?”
I shake my head. As on the edge as I obviously am, I need more, my hips bucking as I look for relief. Keith laughs darkly. He knows I’m lying. “Need me to rub your hot little clit? Make you come all over my fingers?”
Whimpering, I look over my shoulder, meeting his eyes in the dark, begging silently. He grabs a handful of my tender ass in his calloused fingers, squeezing hard, and I know—hell, I hope—I’ll have his fingerprints there later.
When he lets go, his fingers dive around my hip, tapping little smacks right over my lace-covered clit. I’m so on fire it only takes a few, and I detonate, my body shaking and convulsing as I press his hand tighter on my mouth, muffling myself so I’m not too loud.
As I come back down from the high, I pull his hand down, gasping for air as I still writhe against him. I feel him bend down, grabbing my jeans and trying to pull them up, and it’s like a wakeup call.
Holy fuck . . . I just fucked my assignment. Well, not fucked, but I might as well have. And I’ve never had anything blow me up like that. I can’t imagine what he could do to me pounding that thick fucking cock into me, but I damn sure want to find out.
I can’t get my racing thoughts corralled, so I start to button my jeans back up. “That guy . . .” Keith growls, and I turn, placing a hand on his cheek.
“That guy . . . was the sound tech. You had me in the palm of your hand all night.”
I can hear Keith’s teeth grinding before he gives in, his voice velvet over gravel. “Fuck. Get in the damn car. Let’s go.”
Chapter 10
Keith
Stupid.
So fucking stupid.
I was so on edge, but that . . . I can’t believe how I exploded when I saw her. It wasn’t like she was eye fucking the guy. Sure, he was some young stud, whispering in her ear, getting her smiles. Fuck that. I felt played and pissed, but apparently it was only my mind playing tricks on me, not Elise.
But I basically attacked her when I saw her uncertainly stumbling backstage, even if she didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she went with it, giving me all the sexual energy that I knew she kept inside her. The feeling of her body writhing against me, the sound of her ass smacking under my hand . . . my God, she’s perfect.
As long as I live, I’ll never forget the moment she pressed my hand tighter on her own mouth as she vibrated through her orgasm, covering my hand in her sweet cream.
I wanted to taste her, to drop to my knees behind her and bury my face in her ass as I feasted on her. I wanted to shove her up against the wall and fuck her so hard they’d have heard her screams over the music on the dance floor. She’d have let me, too. I fucking know it.
At least I didn’t lose that much control of myself. But I’ve damn sure done enough to screw myself up in a big way. Because as hot as that was, and as much as we both wanted it, she’s still the reporter digging into my private life.
As we sit in the car, speeding back to her apartment, it’s hard to focus on that when my fingers are tingling with the desire to grab her again. It doesn’t help my cock any when Elise puts her pink-nailed manicured hand on my thigh, making me turn to look at her. “The show was awesome.”
She’s trying so hard to settle me, the tension obvious. I stare at her hand for a moment, trying to decide on the best course of action. Cold professional or hot lover? Inside, I feel like I’m both right now. I want to push her away, to keep my secrets safe . . . but the other side of me wants to make Elise mine, to show her what it really feels like to have a man take her completely and fully.
What keeps Carsen safest? Finally, I decide that’s the only real result I need, regardless of what my throbbing cock wants. I can’t push her away. She’s so smart she’d just keep digging. And I can’t trust her either.
Decision made, I play somewhere in the middle, taking her hand loosely in my own . . . not quite professional, but decidedly not the guy who just spanked her ass and made her come.
Giving her my best attempt at a ‘fan-friendly’ smile, I answer her evenly. “Thanks. Those really are my favorite types of performances, even better than the huge arenas stuffed with fans. Those are great too, the roar and energy of the crowd, but the smaller shows where I get to shake hands with folks, see their faces as they sing along . . . it’s more intimate and more satisfying.”
Shit, ten seconds in and I’ve already fucked up and betrayed what I’m thinking. That’s definitely not what I meant to say because ‘intimate’ and ‘satisfying’ do not have me thinking of the show anymore.
Apparently, Elise’s thoughts track the same way, and she lowers her voice just in case the driver and bodyguard up front can hear. “He really was the sound tech, Keith. Not that I’m at all upset about the misunderstanding.”
I cut my eyes over at her, and she’s smiling broadly, her whole face lit up, but there’s a flash of uncertainty in her eyes. I know what she’s saying, and I guess she’s got the same fears running around in her head. I can’t be a total asshole about this.
I sigh, running a hand across my head, and turn to face her fully. “There’s obviously something between us, chemistry for damn sure. But—”
She interrupts, placing a hand on my forearm, giving me that pitying look that I know but so rarely get. “It’s inappropriate while I’m interviewing you,” she says, sighing softly and making this hurt a little. “I agree. Maybe later, we can see where this goes, or maybe not? But I need to be as impartial as possible while I’m writing this series.”
I nod, relieved knowing she’s at least partially right. “Elise, I told you the first time we met . . . I’m not dating and not looking. I have my reasons that are not up for discussion or for reporting. But they won’t change, not even when the job’s done.”
She bites her lip, nodding, and all I want to do is lick the sting away where she’s worrying it between her teeth. It hurts. It hurts a lot. So many years, sleeping alone in an oversized king bed for no reason other than my bedroom would look ridiculous with a twin-sized mattress in it. So many nights sitting up alone after Carsen’s gone to sleep, wishing I had someone I could share those things with that I can’t even share with Sarah. Too many years, but I have to protect my daughter, and that means I can’t let Elise in further.
“I understand. Won’t say I’m not disappointed, but I get it,” she says bravely, trying to keep her voice light but not really quite making it. “You’ve got a lot at stake here. You’re a big country music star and I’m a tabloid reporter.”
I nod, and she smirks, but it feels sadly ironic. “Funny thing is, I’ve shared more with you, stories and connection, not just chemistry, than I have with anyone in a long time. Maybe ever. I know your original arrangement was just to even the playing field a bit, but I have to tell you, I like you. I like talking with you, hanging out. You hide it in a lot of ways, but you’re a good guy, Keith. Not too many of those out there.”
I smile, genuinely shocked by her words. “I don’t know that anyone’s ever called me good . . . good for nothing, maybe?” I joke. “And I didn’t feel good backstage.”
Elise smirks. “That wasn’t good. That was bad. But in that case, bad was fucking awesome.”
Her words draw me in, and I can’t stop my fingers from gently grabbing a curl of hair that’s hanging by the side of her face, twirling it around my finger. “I like you, too. Definitely made this whole interview thing a hell of a lot better than I thought it’d be.”
All too soon, the car stops at the curb in front of her apartment. It’s late, after two in the morning, and the street is dark and deserted. When the guard opens the door, I get out too. “Gonna walk her up.”
The guard takes another look around, then dips his chin once. I chuckle. I’ve already ditched the hat and changed shirts. The most noticeable thing about me right now is the Town Car with a m
uscle-bound man in black in the front seat.
As we get a few feet away, Elise whispers. “That is so weird. That’s one scary ass dude.”
I laugh. Our thoughts are so similar. “He’s just doing his job, and I appreciate that. I try not to be an annoying asshole that makes the security team’s life hard, but I couldn’t sit in the car and watch you walk to the door alone. Better say good night at the door though. If I try to go up, he’ll shit a brick.”
Elise stops on the steps by the door, turning to face me, and puts her hands on my chest. “Probably best if you don’t come up anyway. I’m not sure I have the willpower to not . . .” She stops, and fuck, do I wish she’d finish that sentence, tell me what she’d do if we weren’t fighting this thing between us.
Before I can ask, she leans in, kissing my cheek with her velvety soft lips before moaning lightly.
She lingers, and I can’t take it, groaning. “Fuck it, Elise.”
I pull her closer, encircling her waist in my arms, and turn to take her mouth once again. She’s right there with me, kissing me back as she wraps her arms around my neck.
I squeeze her ass, knowing she’s likely sore from the earlier spanking, and she cries out softly, opening her mouth, and I take advantage, invading her with my tongue to taste her.
Easing the sting, I rub her cheeks through the denim, cupping her and pressing her against my raging cock. From behind us, I hear a polite interrupting cough.
Shit, the bodyguard and the driver. I forgot about them, lost in Elise . . . again. Literally minutes after agreeing that we can’t do this, and I’m holding her, the two of us making out like horny teenagers at the end of prom night. I take a big breath, pressing my forehead to hers and firmly cupping her face.
“I have to go. Now. Or I’m gonna throw you over my shoulder, run to your apartment, and bury my cock in your pussy so deep, so hard, you’ll feel empty without me there.”
She shudders, placing her hands over mine and squeezing. “You do have to go. Because if you do that, I’m sure as fuck gonna let you. Hell, I’d beg for it. But . . . we can’t.”
Grinding my teeth, I agree. “We can’t.”
“We have a dinner interview tomorrow. That still okay?”
I laugh softly, inhaling the scent of her hair, the innate purity underneath the scent of beer and sweat from the bar. “I’ll probably still be jacking off from the raging blue balls you’ve given me tonight . . . repeatedly.”
Elise leans in and whispers in my ear. “If it’ll help . . . my vibrator might need new batteries by morning.”
I moan, knowing exactly what she’ll be doing and wishing I were the one doing it to her. “Fuck. I’ll see you tomorrow, and I promise to behave if you do.”
She’s quiet, not promising me back but still with that little smile on her face. “Elise?” I question. “Do we have a deal?”
She grins, but sassy as fuck and not apologetic at all. “Sorry, yeah. Behave. I was just picturing you stroking that thick cock I felt in your jeans, coming all over your hand but still not stopping because you’re still rock-hard . . . for me.”
I growl, but instead of grabbing her like I want to, I step back. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. “Watch it, woman. Don’t poke the bear. You just might get attacked. See you tomorrow night.”
She doesn’t answer, just nods and smiles, but as I turn toward the car, I hear her hushed whisper. “I fucking hope so.”
By lunchtime, I’ve already made up my mind about Elise and our situation. That is, before changing it at least twenty times.
Maybe we could have a little fun after the interviews are done and with a clear understanding that whatever things we get up to are not to be written about. There’s a chance we could be . . . well, I don’t know, fuck buddies? Friends with very good benefits? More? the little voice in my head whispers to me in my weaker moments.
But that’s playing with fire and I know it. Elise is an investigator at heart, curious and wanting to know things. I saw that when she was just chatting with the guys.
And the one most likely to get burned there is Carsen.
I promised myself years ago after what happened that I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize her ability to have a normal childhood, and fucking a tabloid reporter damn sure isn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had.
I’m still flip-flopping when Sarah comes in the kitchen, cautiously giving my grumpy ass a wide berth. She’s come over to pick up Carsen again so I can keep up the façade of a publicity-shy loner bachelor. “So, did the show suck last night or something?”
Caught off-guard, I give her a confused look, realizing I’ve been dipping a cookie into some milk for so long the poor damn thing has dissolved and I’ve got nothing but a chocolate chip between my fingers. “Huh? Not that I know of. Why?”
“Well, usually, the day after a show, you’re buzzing a bit, ready to tackle the day,” she says, coming over and rescuing my plate of cookies, grabbing one and munching on it contentedly. One of the ways I reassure myself when things are tough . . . eat cookies with Sarah and Carsen. “But you’re wearing a cloak of ‘fuck off’ right now. Ergo, did the show suck?”
I laugh at her, loving that she knows my routine to a T. “No, the show was great, as usual. They loved the songs, even did an old one I haven’t performed in years. Hello Girl.”
Sarah nods, doing some more chocolate chip deduction with another cookie. “That’s not in your usual set list. Anything in particular make you feel like singing that?’
I shake my head, not wanting to let her in on the truth. “I dunno, just felt it.”
She hums, and when I look at her, her eyebrow is raised as she dunks her cookie, obviously seeing through my bullshit. “So, wasn’t the reporter going to the show last night? That wouldn’t happen to be her favorite song or something, is it?”
I laugh. Close, but no cigar. “Hell if I know. Elise isn’t even a country fan, really. More of a rock person she says, good taste in rock at least. But she went to the show last night. Must’ve done her homework too because she sang along with almost every song.” I say, thinking back to how she looked as she belted out my words, my songs. Everyone was singing along, but somehow her doing it felt like winning a prize.
Sarah snaps her fingers, grinning impishly. “That’s it. It’s the reporter. Spill it, Keith.”
I know my eyes are wide, panic showing, because Sarah continues, her smile dimming but her voice becoming more intense. “It’s all over your face when you talk about her. And no woman just memorizes a bunch of songs for an assignment like hers. What’s her deal?”
I force my emotions back under control, schooling my face into a calm dismissal despite her comment about Elise dropping a bomb into my emotional calm. “She’s fine. We’ve had a few interviews now. The first article is already published, mostly just basics. Record company was happy.”
Sarah shakes her head and downs the rest of my milk, including the soggy cookie bits in the bottom. “Nice try at diversion, big guy. You forget I grew up with you and know all your tells. That’s what Todd and the record company want to hear. Tell me about her.”
I swallow, trying to speak in a way that won’t show my hand too much, even though Sarah has always been able to read me like a book. “She’s a tabloid reporter. The one who printed the first article that started this whole mess, actually. But she’s good, seems to want a real story, not a made-up melodramatic one, which is better than I can say for most of the vultures.”
Sarah interrupts, not interested in Elise’s resume. “Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . work, work, work. Tell me what she’s like.”
“Fuck, Sarah . . . what do you want to know? Her damn cup size and favorite food?”
Sarah smirks, hopping up on the kitchen island and swinging her legs back and forth. “Funny that’s where your mind goes. Question is, do you know her cup size and favorite food?”
I duck my head, busted and pissed as fuck about it. “Maybe.”
Sara
h claps like this a good thing. “Finally! Hallelujah and pass the peanut butter, my prayers have been answered!”
I growl, glaring at her pure . . . glee. “What the fuck are you so damn happy about? This is bad, Sarah. Really fucking bad.”
Sarah shakes her head, not clapping but still smiling. “No, it’s not. You took this vow of being alone like some martyr, sacrificing your own happiness for Carsen in a misguided notion that it’s somehow better for her. But she doesn’t need that. She’s a happy little girl who has everything she could ever want . . . but one thing. She needs you to be happy with her, with your work, and with a partner. Show her what love can look like.”
I sigh, wishing it were that easy. I love my sister, but sometimes she can be a bit idyllic. “What? I don’t love Elise. How could I? We just met, for all intents and purposes. I just . . . want her.”
Sarah puts her hand on my shoulder, patting it gently. “Fine. So you don’t introduce her to Carsen. But you take a little joy in life for yourself. She’s the only woman who’s even intrigued you in all these years. I never said anything before because I could see that about you. And I can see that you’re fighting this now. But maybe . . . don’t?”
“What about the articles? It’s not exactly professional for either of us to be fucking while she’s writing a tell-all expose on me,” I exclaim. “And it gets her closer to the truth.”
Sarah smirks, shaking her head. “Uhm, I’m sure more than one article has been ‘researched’ that way, especially in showbiz. At least you two can go into it with eyes wide open. Talk to her, see if you can figure out how to tell her what she needs to know for the articles without putting Carsen at risk. It could work. And judging by the way you’re behaving, it’s gonna happen sooner or later anyway, so best to get in front of it. Control the outcome, Mr. Control Freak. You can’t tell me you haven’t been going over every possible scenario already. Just pick the one where you get to have a little fun for a change.”
Dirty Laundry Page 8
