Dirty Laundry

by Lauren Landish

  Fun. My own sister, telling me to have fun, which of course means get my fucking freak on. “I can’t believe you’re telling me to fuck the reporter. This has bad written all over it.”

  Sarah grins and punches me in the arm. “Well, a little bad can be a good thing sometimes, little brother.”

  I groan, remembering how Elise said something similar just last night. And now, my sister. “Ugh, don’t. For the love of fuck, do not. You’re my sister, Sarah. Just hush.”

  She laughs, miming locking her lips as she gives me a sassy look and walks out of the kitchen, calling for Carsen. “Carsen, c’mon, honey. Grab your gear and let’s roll. Don’t forget to think of a chick flick for us to watch. Something romantic . . . maybe Enchanted?

  Quieter, I hear her mutter under her breath. “Mmm, McDreamy . . .”

  I shake my head, definitely not wanting to know who my sister fantasizes about.

  Carsen runs through, bag tossed over her shoulder, grinning. “Bye, Dad, we’re leaving.”

  “Hey, wait a second, young lady,” I declare, holding up a hand. “I at least need a hug bye.”

  She grins, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, and I pick her up, giving her a big hug. She’s still so young, so fragile, and if I were a stronger man, maybe I’d be able to keep the promise I gave her. But I’m weak, I’ll admit it.

  Elise lights me up like no woman ever has, and I can’t hold out much longer against my desire. I’ve got to figure out a way to keep Carsen a secret, keep her safe, but give in to this thing with Elise, at least a little to let the pressure off.

  Giving Carsen one more squeeze, I give her a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, baby girl. You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

  She looks at me weird, like I’ve lost my damn mind. “Of course, Dad. I love you, too.”

  I set her down, and she’s off with Sarah, already talking about ordering pizza. “And popcorn too! Okay?”

  Sarah laughs, nodding at Carsen before looking at me, giving me a little wink. Before I know it, they’re driving away in Sarah’s SUV and I’m alone.

  Elise won’t be here for hours, not until dinner time. But I’m already craving her, her breathy moans as I picture fucking her like I have every time I’ve jacked off since last night.

  If I’m honest with myself, it’s not just the sex I’m after though. I want her smiles, her laugh, for her to tell me about her day.

  I want to know her. That’s the scariest part of all.

  Chapter 11

  Elise

  My fingers are flying across the keyboard for this second article. It really is some of the easiest writing I’ve ever done. It’s like I’m just pouring myself out on the pages, and I know the hardest part will be keeping myself under the word limit.

  “So tell me about your first performance.”

  Keith’s recorded voice is deep and casual, sending warm ripples through my body as he chuckles in my earphones. “Wow, that takes me back. It was . . . fourth grade. My school’s talent contest, and I knew that I wanted to sing my ass off. I couldn’t play well enough yet, but I got my hands on the instrumentals to some Garth Brooks.”

  “Garth Brooks?” I asked, laughing. “You didn’t.”

  “Oh, I had the whole getup, from that solid black colored shirt to a black cowboy hat. The only other song I could get the chords to was Shania Twain, and I looked like hell in a dress.”

  I smile at our mutual laughter. “So, what happened?”

  “Well, I was nervous as hell when I got up there, even though I’d practiced for a month straight. But I closed my eyes and started singing. The response was good, and so I kept going. Everything was good up until the bridge.”

  “What happened?”

  “Let’s just say I’m a better singer than dancer,” Keith says with a laugh. “There’s a reason I don’t do dance numbers in my shows now. A whole month of practice in front of the mirror at home . . . not enough. Still, I got a standing ovation, which I guess set the bar pretty fucking high for future performances.”

  I snicker to myself and work in some backstory of his years perfecting his craft on small stages in dive bars before I segue into my experience with Keith’s local show, the way he kept it pretty low-key and wasn’t some hard-to-work-with diva star but instead was easygoing and casual with the small backstage crew and band.

  I add in how he talked about his fans with sweeping compliments and appreciation, making sure to highlight the little girl he’d stopped and signed an autograph for. The guys’ stories from the green room add a bit of a rock ‘n roll element and tour absurdity that makes Keith feel like a perfect blend of country good ol’ boy and rock star god that I know will tickle the fancy of even the non-country fan readers.

  It’s hard to stay objective, though, when I talk about the concert itself. More than once, I find myself deleting whole passages as I gush like a fangirl about his command of the room, the way his voice vibrated through my body to enflame my desires, or the sexy swagger and the way his ass looked in his jeans as he strutted back and forth across the stage. Sure, some of it can be in my final cut. I need to entice the readers and maybe make a few panties wet, but I can’t come off like some newbie with a total crush on him . . . even if I’m starting to feel that way.

  I most definitely leave out the moments in the dark backstage. Those are ours, whatever they were. Even now, with his voice talking though the recorder, my body heats as I remember the feel of his hand smacking down on my bare cheek, the taps on my clit. I can feel the blush in my cheeks as I remember our agreeing that we can’t pursue anything and then seconds later, going at each other again.

  It’s like we’ve crossed a line, and no matter what, it can’t be uncrossed. The pull between us is too damn strong.

  I’ve never felt anything like this before. Even though we haven’t seen each other that many times, the time we’ve spent together has been intense, full of deep conversations and sharing about ourselves over long hours. I’ve had whole relationships that lasted months that haven’t been as deep as the sharing that Keith and I have done. Add in the explosive chemistry, and we’re so fucked.

  Well, I am.

  If something happens and people found out, Keith comes out like a famous music star. The worst someone might accuse him of is slumming it with a reporter to try and get a better angle. A little naughty, but nothing all that bad.

  I’m the one who’s compromising her professional morals. Even if I’m not doing it for the story, which I’m definitely not, no one would believe that. They’ll think I’m just as bad as Francesca, using my body to get ahead professionally. And quite frankly, too many girls get chewed up and spat out by the industry once it gets out that they fuck their way around. There’d be no chance in hell of my ever getting out of the sleazy tabloid circuit. No chance of getting the job that I really do want.

  As much as that should give me pause, and normally it would, I know that if Keith had come upstairs last night, there’s no way I could’ve said no. Underneath my desk, I have to cross and uncross my legs just to relieve some of the pressure as I think about the ridge I felt in Keith’s jeans, the jealous possessiveness as he punished me in the dark.

  My hands drop from my keyboard to press against the top of my shorts just over my pussy. My mind is back to picturing him stroking himself, imagining his groans as he cries out my name when he comes, thick spurts of cum coating his hand.

  Fuck it . . . professional morals be damned.

  I want Keith.

  I want him in a way I’ve never wanted a man before. Something about the way he’s both soft and rough unexpectedly does it for me, and if I have a chance, I’m going for it. If I get burned . . . well, I can try starting over writing books. They say every reporter has their own version of the Great American Novel kicking around in their heads. Might as well put mine out there.

  Decision made, I shake my head with a smile and take a deep breath, attempting to refocus on my article.

&nbs
p; As I read back over it, I know it’s good. Really good, maybe the best I’ve ever written. I know for sure it’ll make our readers feel like they’ve actually experienced what backstage with Keith is really like. Donnie will like this one without a doubt. It paints Keith in a positive light but has just enough exciting dirt from the tour stories to be intriguing. It teases, and while it doesn’t say anything bad about Keith, it does let the reader fantasize just a little.

  It’s more than a usual ‘man on the stage’ piece, delving into Keith’s performances from day one to now, along with his thoughts on the whole journey he’s been on. I’ve even got a lead for the next story . . . where does Keith go from here?

  With a flourish, I hit Send and lean back in my chair. Two down, at least another couple to go, but Donnie is going to expect some dirt now that I’ve set up Keith as the hero in this tale. He needs a dark moment, but I really don’t know if there is one. I’m beginning to think that Keith really is just who he says, a guy who wants to write, sing, and be left alone.

  There’s a tiny voice in the back of my head reminding me of what Maggie said about finding out what he does in his free time, and I make a note to ask some questions about that tonight. Selfishly, I want to ask about his ‘why no dating, now or later’ rule, and as I get dressed, I try to decide if I can do that without sounding like a whiny cling-on.

  Realizing the time, I decide casual is the order for the day and grab black leggings and a soft pale blue sweater I knit last winter. The neckline is wide and hangs off my shoulder. I’m still not as good as Grandma ever hoped, so I slip on a lacy purple bralette underneath. I change panties too, into a matching purple thong that nestles softly between my cheeks, making me bite my lip thoughtfully.

  Yeah, I’m going in with all thoughts of being professional tonight, but if something happens, I don’t want to be wearing ugly granny lingerie.

  I drive quickly to Keith’s place, my mind whirling as I try and think of questions to ask . . . but really, all I want to do is hang out with him, to see where this evening takes us.

  I knock on the door, expecting to have to wait, but instead I hear a voice from inside. “It’s open.”

  I swing the door open, and my first thought is that Keith seems to have had the same thought of casual comfort. He looks downright edible, grey sweatpants hung low on his hips and a tank top stretched across his chest. I can see tattoos peeking out along the neckline and twisting down his arms in thick bands of design that I’ve never seen before. They’re intricate, they’re detailed, and I want to trace them with my tongue.

  My eyes are running across his chest, down his thick arms to his clenched fists. He’s here not to talk, not to have a casual dinner. He’s here to conquer, to take what he wants. And fuck, do I want to give it to him.

  “Elise.”

  It’s not a question, it’s an order, and I look up as a shudder races through me. I can see the lust he’s holding back, the control he’s using just to stand in front of me. I want to test it, push him and see where his limit is, if for no other reason than my own sanity, which is mind-numbingly lost in his presence. “Keith, what are you thinking right now?”

  He doesn’t step toward me, but his whole body seems to vibrate as he growls quietly, his eyes blazing with need. “Right now, I’m thinking that I want to bite that bare shoulder, leave a mark while I hold you in place and pound into you from behind. I want to make you scream my name and fill you with my cock and come until we’re both satisfied.”

  And I’m done.

  I haven’t even made it in the door yet, not a single interview question asked, but I can’t hold myself back like he is. I don’t have the iron will he does.

  Instead of answering, I drop my bag inside the door and jump into his arms.

  In a testament to his strength, Keith doesn’t even flinch when he catches me, his large hands easily cupping my ass and holding me high as I wrap my legs and arms around him, hanging on. He presses into me, taking my mouth in a heated kiss. I hear the door shut behind me and vaguely realize he must’ve kicked it shut because his hands are squeezing me, kneading my cheeks roughly.

  He slams my back against the door, using it as leverage to get one hand free. He dips his free hand under my sweater, tracing my hip, up my side, and finally grabbing a handful of my breast. His thumb swipes across my lace-covered nipple, already hard for him, and I arch for more. “Fuck . . . Keith . . . fuck, I can’t—”

  He pulls me to him and holds me against the door, leaning his head back to meet my eyes.

  “Tell me no, Elise,” he grates out, control and choice battling in his eyes and his voice. “Tell me to put you down and stop this. Because if you don’t, I’m gonna fuck you. This is my point of no return. I fucking need you.”

  The last part is nearly a whisper, and I’m not sure he meant to say it, but as much as he needs me, I need him more . . . need him to fuck me, make me come apart under his hands. His tongue. His cock.

  I cup his face and try to insert some steel into my voice to show that I’m doing this of my own free will. “Put me down.”

  I can feel the power it takes him to do it, how much he doesn’t want to, but he does, letting my pussy slide down every inch of his rock-hard abs and cock. His fists are on either side of my head, knuckles pressed to the door, his breathing so heavy I can feel it on my cheeks. “I need . . . an answer.”

  That’s the sweet with the rough I want, that edge where he’s in control but just barely, hanging on by a thread.

  Once my feet touch the floor, I push him back just a half-step, giving me enough space to grab the hem of my sweater, pulling it up and off before dropping it to the floor next to us.

  I meet his eyes again, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of his tank top. “Didn’t want you to ruin my sweater. Keith, yes. I need you, too.”

  I see the instant he recognizes what I said, his feral grin hot for a split second before he growls. “Fuck!”

  Grabbing me and tossing me over his shoulder, he strides further into the house, an area I haven’t seen before, but now, it’s upside down and my attention is mostly caught by the way Keith’s back and ass are flexing under my weight as he moves.

  I get a sense of a dark blue bedroom before he tosses me unceremoniously onto the bed, and I bounce. If I wasn’t so turned on, I’d be giggling and yelling, but right now, what I want is to be fucked as hard as Keith can give me.

  “Pants. Off,” he orders, his voice iron-hard. I hear the undertone. He asked, I gave him control, and now . . . I’m his to do with as he wishes. My choices are over for now.

  I’m already hurrying to do what he says, but as he rips his tank over his head, I freeze, taking in the picture in front of me.

  His chest is broad, covered in tattoos that would take my tongue hours to trace, and I make a note to do just that. His stomach ripples with muscles, lines and ridges that all flow together before dipping down to a V on the lower half. The lines disappear into his sweats, which are tented with obvious evidence of his arousal.

  Keith cups his cock through his pants, blocking my sight for a moment, and I look up, knowing my desire is all over my face. But it’s all over his face too, his blue eyes intense and focused on my still legging-covered pussy.

  “Take them off,” he warns me, his jaw clenching. “Or I’m gonna rip them off and tie you up with them. I need to see your pussy, taste you, feel you come on my tongue. Last warning.”

  I wiggle, trying to slip the leggings off gracefully, but I’m distracted by Keith’s hand rubbing up and down his cock through his pants.

  When I finally get my leggings down to my knees, Keith gives in and grabs them, pulling them the rest of the way off before grabbing my knees. He spreads me wide, leaning in close enough that I feel the brush of his nose through the lace as he inhales my scent.

  His face is buried in me, and I feel his hot breath dance over the small holes in the lace and against my burning skin. “They match. Your pretty purple panties match
your lacy bra. Did you do that for me, Elise?”

  I bite my lip, not sure if I should tell the truth, but when he traces a finger along the fabric at my hip, I gasp, unable to hold back from him any longer. “Yes, for you.”

  “Mmm, naughty girl,” he moans, pulling the hem of my panties to the side, exposing my pussy to his gaze. “Fuck, you’re soaked for me. This tight, little pink pussy wants my throbbing cock, doesn’t it?”

  I don’t answer this time because I can’t, but I lift my hips toward Keith’s mouth, and he takes my invitation, licking a long line up to my clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue before sucking on it hard. I cry out, balling the comforter in my fists as I buck my hips, desperate for him to do it again. “Please.”

  My wavering plea triggers him even more, and he yanks my panties off, immediately diving back in. Switching targets, he strokes his tongue over my outer lips, tasting my softness before using both hands to spread me wide.

  With a jolt, his tongue pierces into me, and he finds a rhythm, fucking me with quick, stabbing licks as he moves a thumb up to tease my clit in small circles that drive me wild.

  My body is thrashing back and forth on the soft bed, my head whipping from side to side as I rise higher and higher, but I need more. It’s so damn good, but I’m greedy and I want more.

  “More . . . Keith . . . please.”

  Keith hums, the vibration shooting sparks through my pussy, but he complies, pressing one thick finger into my pussy and licking at my clit lazily. He strokes his finger in and out, looking up into my eyes, his voice deep, water over gravel. “This what you need, Elise? Want me to fill your pussy with my fingers and suck your hard little clit?”

  I reach for his head, trying to direct him where I need as I give in to begging. “Fuck. Yes, Keith.”

  Finally, he gives me what I desperately need, slipping in another finger to fill me and pumping them in and out, curling up to my front wall to hit that spot that makes me see stars. He takes my clit in his mouth, sucking hard and flicking the tip of his tongue across it so fast it feels like butterfly wings.