by Lauren Rowe
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the emcee onstage bellows into a microphone, making me shoot upright in my seat. “Put your hands together for a talented gentleman who’s come here all the way from the Emerald City to entertain you!”
“Oh, shit, here we go!” Zander yells, rubbing his hands together.
I grab my phone off the table and scramble to set it to record, my hands shaking with nervous excitement.
The emcee continues: “Let’s give a warm and rowdy welcome to the man from Seattle with a hammer-in-his-pants... the one and only Ball Peen Hammer!”
Chapter 37
Maddy
When Keane swaggers onto center stage like he’s the undisputed heavyweight champion of the world—his astonishing blue eyes blazing, his hair spiked to perfection, his chiseled features and bulging muscles accentuated gloriously under the colored stage lights—the audience erupts, already sensing this blue-haired creature standing before them is going to deliver something unlike anything else they’ve seen tonight.
I hold my phone at the ready as I await the first familiar chords of “Pony,” my heartbeat pounding in my ears. But when the music starts, to my surprise the song isn’t “Pony.” It’s the sexy song that auto-played last night after “Trip Switch” had ended—“Itch” by Nothing But Thieves—the song that played when Keane kissed me and made me climax.
Keane lifts his head and scans the room, apparently searching for something specific, and when his eyes land on me, they stop searching.
Without thinking, I put my phone down on the table with a thud and give Keane my undivided attention. He’s looking right at me. Oh my God.
The sultry vocals of the song begin and, much to the screaming pleasure of the audience, Keane begins moving his hips and touching his torso, his eyes still trained on me.
I put my hand on my chest. Holy hell.
Keane rips off his shirt and throws it down like it’s searing his flesh, and the audience explodes into shrieking excitement. A moment later, the chorus of the song kicks into gear and Keane’s off to the races. He dips down to the floor, and then onto his hands. He dry-humps the floor with a fierceness that blows last night’s display out of the water. And then he hops back up and gyrates his body like a man freakin’ possessed.
Wow, the crowd is going absolutely crazy for him. And so am I, though I can’t seem to move a muscle.
Keane does an effortless backflip off the edge of the stage and strides with cat-like grace to the front row of the audience. In jaw-dropping, rapid-fire succession, he gives brief lap dances to several women in the front row, acquiring a flurry of crumpled dollar bills in his waistband as he goes, until, finally, he pulls a pretty brunette out of her chair and escorts her to the stage, shaking his ass in his low-riding sweatpants as he goes.
Once Keane’s onstage with his pretty brunette, he lays her onto the floor with gentleman-like care, brushes his knuckles against her cheek like she’s the great love of his life, and then rises to standing over her, gyrating deliciously the whole time.
First things first, Keane bends down to remove his sweatpants, a move that sends the dollar bills peeking out of his waistband fluttering to the ground—and when he straightens back up in nothing but the teeniest black G-string, every woman in the room, including me, gasps at the jaw-dropping sight of him. Holy hell.
For a long beat, Keane goes stock-still, his almost-naked body hulking over the giggling, prostrate woman onstage beneath him, his chest heaving, his muscles taut under the colored stage lights. He looks pointedly toward the back of the club again—and, this time, when he locates me, his eyes burst into freakin’ flames.
And so do my panties.
Oh my God.
Keane moves to the floor alongside his human prop and then proceeds to... well, there’s no other way to put it: simulate bonin’ the fuck outta her. Ho-lee shit.
First, Keane simulates eating her out with shocking zeal, and then he motorboats her breasts. Finally, he places her thighs against his chest, turns his head to stare right at me, and thrusts in and out of her crotch with grinding movements that make me shudder with yearning.
After the thrusting portion of his program is over, Keane leaps up, pulls the blushing, trembling brunette to standing, and positions her facing the crowd. With his eyes trained squarely on mine again, he saunters behind the woman (giving the audience an incredible view of his bare ass cheeks as he goes), wraps his muscled arms around the woman’s torso from behind, and begins simulating touching her, his hands simultaneously hovering an inch above her breasts and crotch like he’s massaging her to orgasm.
Holy crap.
Gimme that.
I feel like I’m on the cusp of a tiny orgasm, just from watching him.
When Keane’s done “pleasuring” his plaything, he grips her shoulders and shakes her, apparently portraying her body-quaking orgasm, and the entire place leaps to its feet with shrieking appreciation.
But Keane’s not done yet. With his scorching eyes still trained on me, he bends his new doll over at the waist, his large hands gripping her hips with dominating authority, and he proceeds to bone the living hell outta her from behind.
Oh my God. I’m transfixed. And soaking wet.
I’m not imagining the meaning of all this, right? He’s staring right at me. Playing the song from last night. Fake-fucking a brunette. There’s no other interpretation, right? He’s showing me what he wants to do to me.
And, hell to the yes, I want him to do it. Right effing now.
Keane bends over the woman’s back, grabs a fistful of her dark hair, and thrusts into her one last, beastly time, his eyes searing holes into my flesh as he does.
And that’s it. I’m gone. Put a fork in me. I’m done. I’ve got to have him. I don’t care what I said last night. And I certainly don’t care about his goddamned stupid brother. In fact, I don’t care about anything or anyone except me and what I want.
And what I want is him.
I want to kiss him. And have sex with him. And then do it again. I want to touch and kiss and lick and suck every inch of that insane body of his, and then do it again. And I want him to touch me, every inch of me, inside and out, all the way inside the deepest, most secret places of my body, and make me come again and again. And then fuck me. And lick me. And then do it all again.
No matter what we said to each other last night, or how my heart’s inevitably going to shatter when the pleasure’s all gone and there’s nothing left but pain, in this moment, I want him like I’ve never wanted another man.
And, by God, I’m going to get him.
Right freakin’ now.
Chapter 38
Maddy
Everyone’s laughing and talking excitedly around me at the table about the sheer savagery of Keane’s performance, but I can’t join them. I’m speechless, my entire body wracked with outrageous desire.
Onstage, Keane gathers up his clothes, slips on his sweatpants, and gallantly escorts his brunette plaything back to her seat. He gives the gushing woman a post-coitus peck on her cheek, flashes his killer dimples, and strides toward the VIP table at the foot of the stage, slipping his T-shirt on as he goes.
When Keane reaches the table, I’m not surprised to observe every single talent scout leaping up to greet him, their enthusiastic body language in stark contrast to the lukewarm reception they’ve given all prior performers tonight.
After a moment, Keane turns away from the VIPs, looks toward my table way in the back, beckons vigorously, and mouths what looks like, “Maddy.”
I’m frozen in my chair. Keane couldn’t possibly have just called me down there, could he?
“Hey, Maddy,” Zander says. “I think Peenie wants you to go down there.”
Keane beckons again, this time with unmistakable urgency.
“Yeah, Maddy,” Dax says. “Keane definitely wants you.”
And I want him, I think. So take your ‘off-limits’ proclamation and shove it up your gorgeous rock-star ass, Dax
Morgan. Without saying what I’m thinking (though it would have been so freakin’ badass), I rise from my seat and glide across the club toward Keane like he’s pulling me on a string.
When I reach Keane, he grabs my hand and pulls me into him. “This is Maddy Behind the Camera,” he says proudly to the VIPs. “Madelyn Milliken.”
Everyone says hello to me, and I return their greetings, though I’m utterly confused as to why Keane’s introducing me at all.
“Maddy goes to UCLA film school and she won a huge award at a film festival last year for this mind-blowing documentary she made,” Keane says. “What was the name of that festival, Maddy?”
I say the name of it and it’s clear the VIPs recognize it as something prestigious.
“Maddy’s the one who shot all those videos of me,” Keane says, flashing a charming smile at the group. “I sling the bullshit and take my clothes off, but Maddy here is the brains behind the operation.”
Okay, I think I get what’s going on here. Clearly, these talent scouts have seen Keane’s videos, and, understandably, their interest in him (and the fan base he’s so quickly attracting) is piqued. Well, let’s see if I can pique their interest in this blue-haired stripper-man even more.
“I have very little to do with what you see on those videos,” I say breezily. “Keane’s the one who comes up with everything you see—and all of it on the fly, I might add. After having spent two days on a road trip with this guy to get here from Seattle, I can assure you that what you see on those videos is just the tip of an incredibly talented iceberg. There’s no one like Keane. He’s a complete original. Endlessly entertaining. Funny. Insightful. At times, totally idiotic. But, always, as you just saw, completely mesmerizing.”
Keane blushes a deep crimson and squeezes my hand.
“I’m actually planning to make him the star of my next documentary,” I add. “He’s just that compelling.”
Several VIPs at the table pull out business cards and say they want to arrange auditions with Keane early this coming week, which prompts a dark-haired guy to leap up and proclaim his agency now represents Keane and any and all auditions must be scheduled through his office.
Keane suddenly looks like he could tip over.
“You okay?” I whisper, gripping his hand.
Keane nods.
After the VIPs have shaken Keane’s hand and repeated their various intentions to audition him for a bunch of projects early this week, it’s obviously time for Keane and me to blow this popsicle stand and let the VIPs watch the next guy onstage, a guy in a firefighter outfit dancing to “Disco Inferno.” Keane grabs my hand, pulls me into his body, and begins leading me toward the back of the club.
“Well, that went well,” he whispers under his breath. “Ho-lee shit.”
“They absolutely loved you,” I say.
“We’ll see. Nothing in ink yet. Hey, thanks for saying all that cool stuff about me. They ate it up—especially since it was coming from a brilliant, award-winning filmmaker.” He squeezes my hand.
“Keane,” I blurt, unable to contain myself a moment longer. We’re about ten steps from the VIP table, headed to the back of the club where our group is waiting. “I need to talk to you for a second.” I swallow hard. “Alone.”
Keane abruptly stops walking and looks at me expectantly. “Everything okay?”
I glance around at the screaming audience members surrounding us on all sides, and then at the table filled with our peeps on the far side of the club. “I can’t talk about it here,” I whisper, my cheeks blazing. “Somewhere where our peeps can’t see us.”
Keane glances in the direction of our table in the back and then, without a word, pulls me toward the side of the club and around a corner at the end of the bar. Once he’s got me nestled into a little alcove that’s out of sight from our table, Keane guides my back firmly against a wall and leans his body into mine, his palms on either side of my head. “What’s up?” he whispers, his blue eyes smoldering.
My heart is racing. My crotch is throbbing. I can barely breathe. “I can do it,” I blurt.
Keane bites his lip, clearly trying to keep a smirk from spreading across his lips. “Do what?”
“Friends with benefits.” I let out a shaky breath. “I can totally do it. Oh, God, Keane, I want you.”
Keane’s eyes darken but he doesn’t speak.
“Don’t worry—we won’t tell a soul,” I continue, my breathing ragged. “I promise I won’t feel upset or rejected when you go back to Seattle and go back to your manwhoring life. We’ll have a no-strings fling, just while you’re here in L.A., and when you leave, we’ll go back to being nothing but friends again.” Oh, God, I know I’m rambling, but I can’t control myself.
Keane leans forward into me, closing the tiny gap between our bodies. “I’m not up for a relationship,” he says, his face an inch from mine. “You know that, right?”
“I don’t care about a relationship. I don’t want one, either. I’m a man-eater now. New city, new school, new Madelyn.” Oh God, I’m trembling. “We’ll bone the fuck outta each other while you’re in L.A. and when you go back to Seattle, you’ll go back to manwhoring and I’ll start my downward spiral into utter debauchery, jumping into the sack with any stupid hottie who comes my way and—”
Keane cuts me off by pressing his lips into mine. I throw my arms around his neck and press myself into him, devouring him. When I feel the sensation of his hard-on grinding into me, I press myself into him even harder and moan softly into his mouth, my tongue swirling greedily with his.
After a moment, Keane pulls out of our kiss with a sexy suck on my lower lip, his erection firmly lodged against my crotch. “You’re sure you can handle this?” His body is trembling against mine.
I nod, grinding myself into him. “I want you.”
“But, listen to me, Maddy. I party for a living. I’m not looking for a girlfriend with my life the way it is, especially not a long-distance one. That’s not gonna change, no matter how awesome the sex is, which, holy fuck, it’s so gonna be.”
“I understand. I don’t want a relationship, either—with you or anyone. I’m turning over a new leaf. I’m a man-eater now.” I bite my lip. “And my first meal is you.”
Keane’s eyes flash with heat. “When the fuck did you become sexy, Maddy Milliken? Good lord, woman, you turn me on.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay, fuck yeah, let’s bone, baby doll. Oh my God, I wanna fuck you so bad, my balls are the color of my hair. Come on.” He grips my hand and, much to my surprise, pulls me straight toward our table in the back. “First things first, though, we gotta show our faces to Dax or he’s gonna think I’m off fucking you in some dressing room.” He snickers. “Which is exactly what I’m gonna do as soon as I throw Daxy off the scent.”
“We could say we’re going backstage to interview some strippers for my next documentary. Right before you went on, I told everyone what I’m gonna do for my next project. Keane, I’m gonna do a sequel to Shoot Like a Girl—only this time with strippers.”
“Oh my God, babe, that’s genius.” He squeezes my hand enthusiastically. “Brilliant.”
“You’ll be in it, right?” I ask, my heart racing. “I want you to be the star of the film the same way Freddie starred in the basketball version. I’ll build the story around you as my narrator.”
Keane abruptly stops walking. “Are you serious?”
I nod. “We’ll see the world of male stripping through your eyes. You’ll be on-camera and in voice-overs throughout.”
“Wow, I’m honored, Maddy. Yeah, of course. Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me, Keane. Thank you. You’re gonna be a star, I know it. Having you in this film is gonna be a huge coup for me by the time it comes out, I guarantee it.”
“No, Maddy. You’re the star. Those talent scouts kept asking me about the videos,” he says. “They said they loved my performance onstage, but it was the videos that grabbed their attention the most. None of this would be h
appening without you.”
I bite my lip and touch his cheek. “I believe in you.”
His cheeks flush. “Thank you. I know you do. I can feel it.” Keane lets out an audible sigh. “Oh my fuck. My balls hurt so fucking bad.”
I laugh. “Well, then, come on. Let’s stop talking and bone, for fuck’s sake.”
“Yee-boy. First things first, though, let’s keep the Morgan Mafia off my ass.”
Chapter 39
Maddy
When Keane and I arrive at the table filled with our peeps, everyone leaps up to hug Keane and congratulate him on his take-no-prisoners performance.
Quickly Keane gives everyone the scoop about what just went down at the VIP table and follows that up by telling them our cover story. “So we’ll plan on meeting up with all of you when I’m done introducing Maddy to some of the guys backstage,” Keane concludes. “Just text us where you’re at and we’ll find you.”
Dax squints at his older brother, clearly suspicious. “So you’re gonna go backstage with Maddy to introduce her to strippers?” he asks.
“Yup,” Keane answers smoothly. “So she can gather some background info and arrange some future in-depth interviews. Hey, Zander, you wanna hang out with Maddy and me backstage while we schmooze the stripper-brigade?”
I’m shocked. Why the heck did Keane just invite Zander to our private party?
“Awesome,” Zander says.
Dax visibly relaxes. He turns his attention to Henn and Hannah, his suspicion apparently quelled. “So you guys wanna maybe go see a band? I think Maps and Atlases is playing with Finch at The Roxy at midnight.”
“Why don’t we party at my place?” Henn suggests. “I just bought a house around the corner—we’ll make it an impromptu housewarming party. Why don’t you call Fish and Colin and tell them to bring whoever? I’ll call Reed. He just texted me he’s back in town and wants to hook up. I’m sure if I promise him I’ll breakdance for him at the party, he’ll come running with a whole crew of people.”
