I rush to do as he says, yanking my maxi skirt up and pulling at my thong. Keith grabs my wrists, stopping me in my tracks. “Wait. I didn’t know you had that on. You know how much I like those.”
I do know. That’s exactly why I’ve taken to wearing them more frequently. Keith caresses my bare cheeks, humming happily. “Leave it on.”
I nod, and keeping my skirt gathered in my hands, I press my cheek to the cool wood of the door, arching my back and pressing my pussy closer to Keith. He stands behind me, wrapping his arms around me and dropping his hands to my hips, urging me open some more.
I spread my legs a little wider, giving him access, and feel him chuckle behind me. “Oh, no, you’re gonna spread those pretty pussy lips for me. Hold your skirt with one hand and then open yourself for me. I need one hand for your sweet little clit and one to fuck your pussy.”
I do as he says, and as soon as he touches me, I cry out softly, knowing this room might not be soundproofed. “Oh, fuck, Keith. That feels so good.”
He goes fast, his fingers moving across my clit in hard sweeps, and I feel his cock grinding against my ass, turning me on until I’m soaked and I want more. “There’s not enough time. I want—”
Keith interrupts me, tugging on my ear with his teeth. “You’ve got three minutes, Elise. Then I’m walking out that door for the show. I want your cum on my fingers. You need to get there. Squeeze my fingers and imagine it’s my cock filling you up and come for me like a good girl.”
He shoves his fingers deep inside me, pressing them forward to my front wall, his other hand grinding against my clit. It’s so good, and all I need is to fall off the edge, gasping and coating his hand. It’s hot, intense, dirty, quick . . . but sometimes, that’s just as good as the times we’ve spent hours slowly teasing each other to multiple orgasms.
Before my vision even clears, I’m spinning and dropping to my knees as I wrench Keith’s jeans open. I look up and give him a flirtatious smirk. He’s not the only one who can tease his partner. “Two minutes and you’re walking out that door, Mr. Perkins. You need to come down my throat before then. Or else.”
“Or else what?” he growls, gasping lightly as I lick his shaft from base to tip.
“Like you said, you’re walking out that door. So get there, cowboy,” I say as I wink at him.
Before Keith can respond, I take his whole cock deep in my mouth and suck with everything I have, immediately bobbing up and down on his cock and loving the intoxicating musk of his natural scent. Keith groans loudly, planting his palms on the door behind me and spreading his legs wide as he tries to fuck my face. But I’m faster, holding his hips, slurping and hollowing my cheeks as I suck, hungry for him.
I squeeze his balls, tugging gently as I hum, gazing up at him with the innocent look that I know he loves. He groans, his orgasm rocketing through him, and he shoots jet after jet of sweet warmth down my throat and I swallow, satisfaction buzzing in my head as I take every drop like the good girl I am.
He pulls back, yanking me up from the floor to kiss me fiercely. “Damn, Elise. Now I’m gonna be thinking about burying my cock in your pussy the whole damn show.”
I wink, dabbing at the corners of my mouth like a lady. As if I missed a single drop. “It’ll probably be your fastest show ever. Don’t forget to blow kisses to the crowd.”
Keith lifts his hand to his mouth, inhaling deeply and then licking a taste of my honey from his fingertip. “Mmm, I have a feeling this is gonna be a great show.”
He tucks his shirt back in, helping me adjust my skirt so we both look more or less put together. Hopefully, no one will be able to tell we just fucked backstage. Then again, this is music . . . this might not be out of the ordinary.
We speed-walk through the dark curtained hallways and I remember the first concert I went to where Keith fingered me in a jealous fit backstage. It all seems like a dream, so perfectly impossible but somehow true and real.
“Okay, you ready?” Jim asks when Keith joins them. “Pain don’t hurt!”
“Glory never dies!” Shane adds.
“And chicks dig scars!” the others yell, making me laugh.
“Kick some ass!” they all finish, heading out on stage to the cheering crowd. I’m just as loud, but this time, though, I’m just off stage. Which in some ways is better. I can see my man more easily.
Keith grabs the microphone, looking out on the crowd. “Helloooo, Boise! Are you ready to sing along with an old hometown boy?”
He leans an ear out, listening to them scream wildly. “That’s what I thought!”
I watch as he brings his fingers to his mouth, blowing a big kiss to the crowd before looking over at me and winking. I almost melt, and I’m glad nobody can see me swoon.
God, this man is so damn sexy and amazing. And most importantly, he’s mine.
I watch transfixed as he sings song after song, working the stage like a master. It’s a bigger setup than the small shows I’ve seen at home, and it’s exciting to watch him use the space, flirting with the audience as they watch him with rapt attention, singing every word back to him.
Knowing the big closing is coming soon, I’m surprised when I hear the music play on with a soft beat as Keith takes off his guitar, handing it to a stagehand.
He approaches the mic and pulls off his hat, wiping his forehead. “Hey, Boise. You mind I do something a little different tonight?”
Yelling back their agreement, he continues. “You see this yellow scarf tied up on my microphone?”
His fingers run along the length of yellow fluff tied to the top of the stand and hanging down to almost brush the stage. I blush, knowing why it’s there but not noticing it before.
“Well, it was made for me by someone really special to me. She joked one night that I could tie it to my mic like Steven Tyler, a little rock star style for this country boy. In fact, she dared me that I wouldn’t do it. And you know what I had to do, right?”
I can hear a mutiny of voices yelling back, mostly seeming to agree that Keith had to do it. I laugh, thinking of Keith saying, “hold my beer,” but I still get warm and fuzzy inside because Keith did put the scarf I’d knitted for him on his mic and promised he’d do it every show for the whole tour.
“That’s right. I put the damn scarf on the mic, because contrary to some folks’ opinions, I’m not a stupid man. And when your woman tells you to do something, you’d best do it. When she dares you to, well then, you damn sure better do it!”
There are some hoots and hollers, and I grin. That’s right . . . his woman. And he makes it sound like I’m in charge. If they only knew.
“So the woman who made this scarf for me is here tonight. You think I could bring her out and introduce you to her?”
My jaw drops as Keith looks over at me, waving me onstage. I shake my head no, honestly terrified. I’m not shy, but shit, this is on another level. There are thousands of people out there. No fucking way. I’m the one behind the camera and keyboard, writing the stories.
Keith grins, talking to the crowd again. “Oh, looks like she’s shy, but I promise she isn’t. She just needs a little incentive. Hey, Elise?”
I glare at him, and he smirks, “I dare you to get that fine ass out here with me.”
Fuck, he knows I’m coming out there after his whole speech about my daring him and his following through. I take a deep breath and step out onstage.
The wall of supportive sound that hits me as I step awkwardly out helps unlock my knees, and as I give a little wave, I even hear a few wolf-whistles, which helps even more. Still, it seems like Keith is miles away as I walk the few yards to him in the center of the stage.
As soon as I’m close enough, he takes my hand, pulling me to his side and kissing me fully . . . in front of everyone. But it settles the swarm of butterflies in my belly a bit, even as it starts another type of fluttering in my body.
There’s some noise again, but it seems to be a mix of cheering, more wolf-whistles, and a lot of ‘
awws.’
Keith releases me, spinning me out to let the whole crowd get another look at me. “So everyone, this is my woman, Elise. Elise, this is . . . everyone.”
The crowd goes wild again, and I see lots of people waving, but even more phones being held up, recording this craziness. “So, I’ve got one more song to play for you, but I thought maybe you could help me with something first.”
Keith moves the microphone out of the way and looks at me, our eyes locked as he slowly drops to one knee. The crowd roars again, a physical force that nearly knocks me over as my head spins. From the corner of my vision, I see a two-man crew run onstage with a camera and a boom mic above us and realize they’re beaming us to the big jumbotron screens for the audience.
Oh. My. God. What is happening? Is he doing what I think he’s doing? Oh, my God.
Keith takes my hands in his, looking up at me. “Elise, I wasn’t looking for you. I didn’t think this was in my cards, at least not for a long time, maybe never. But you came into my life, full of sass and refusing to take no as an answer. And we somehow fit together perfectly. You have given me so much . . . your heart, your trust, your love. And you have mine too . . . all of me. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you make me. Elise Warner, will you marry me?”
From somewhere, he’s pulled out a ring and is holding it at my fingertip, his eyes shining hopefully. The tears are already rolling down my face as he waits, the shock and beauty of the moment overwhelming me.
I can’t get a word out. My head’s spinning so much, so I nod. “Yes, Keith. God, yes!” I finally whisper. “I love you.”
He slides the ring on my finger, and I can’t even see it as he swoops up, hugging and spinning me, and I can finally breathe, joyful laughter filling the air as I cling to him. “I love you so much, Keith.”
He sets me down, and I realize the crowd is still going crazy, a deafening roar of celebration coming from every direction.
Holy shit, I just got engaged on stage at a concert. My fiancé’s concert. Whose life is this?
Keith grabs the microphone again, still holding my hand. “Thanks, everyone. I think that went okay. What do you think?” he teases.
They cheer again, and Keith looks back, giving some sort of signal. The stage lights dim, and I see two stagehands come out, one with Keith’s guitar and another with a stool. I think at first that Keith is going to sit down and sing, but he gestures to me instead.
I settle on the hard stool, thankfully remembering to sit up straight as Keith strums a few chords. “All right, Boise. I started this new song when it seemed like everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. It was angry, it was bitter . . . a real country song.”
That earns a few laughs, and Keith continues. “But when I looked at the things that really mattered, that was all I needed to realize just how lucky I am. The song changed . . . because Elise changed me.”
The first notes are soft, and anyone who doesn’t know Keith might think they’re plaintive . . . but this is the Keith I’ve been able to get to know more over the past few months, the one who is controlled, and reflective . . . and who just asked me to marry him.
In the darkest of nights
When I’d near given up hope
You held me close
And you saved me
As the storm raged on
I had no fight left
You stood, sheltered me
And you saved me
You showed me love
You showed me light
You taught me pain was worth it
If you were the prize
It’s a whole new world
It’s a beautiful day
As long as you’re by my side
It’ll be a helluva a ride . . .
The End. Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed the book, please leave a review!
If you haven’t read Dirty Talk, continue on for an excerpt! It is where Elise was first introduced! It is also a complete standalone.
Excerpt: Dirty Talk
Katrina
Checkmate, bitch,” I exclaim as I do a victory dance that’s comprised of fist pumps and ass wiggles in my chair while my best friend Elise laughs at me. I turn in my seat and start doing a little half-stepping Rockettes dance. “Can-can, I just kicked some can-can, I so am the wo-man, and I rule this place!”
Elise does a little finger dance herself, cheering along with me. “You go, girl. Winner, winner, chicken dinner. Now let’s eat!”
I laugh with her, joyful in celebrating my new promotion at work, regardless of the dirty looks the snooty ladies at the next table are shooting our way. I get their looks. I mean, we are in the best restaurant in the city. While East Robinsville isn’t New York or Miami, we’re more of a Northeastern suburb of . . . well, everything in between. This just isn’t the sort of restaurant where five-foot-two-inch women in work clothes go shaking their ass while chanting something akin to a high school cheer.
But right now, I give exactly zero fucks. “Damn right, we can eat! I’m the youngest person in the company to ever be promoted to Senior Developer and the first woman at that level. Glass ceiling? Boom, busting through! Boys’ club? Infiltrated.” I mime like I’m sneaking in, shoulders hunched and hands pressed tightly in front of me before splaying my arms wide with a huge grin. “Before they know it, I’m gonna have that boys’ club watching chick flicks and the whole damn office is going to be painted pink!”
Elise snorts, shaking her head again. “I still don’t have a fucking clue what you actually do, but even I understand the words promotion and raise. So huge congrats, honey.”
She’s right, no one really understands when I talk about my job. My brain has a tendency to talk in streams of binary zeroes and ones that make perfect sense to me, but not so much to the average person. When I was in high school, I even dreamed in Java.
And even I don’t really understand what my promotion means. Senior Developer? Other than the fact that I get updated business cards with my fancy new title next week, I’m not sure what’s changed. I’m still doing my own coding and my own work, just with a slightly higher pay grade. And when I say slightly, I mean barely a bump after taxes. Just enough for a bonus cocktail at a swanky club on Friday maybe. Maybe more at year end, they’d said. Ah, well, I’m excited anyway. It’s a first step and an acknowledgement of my work.
The part people do get is when my company turns my strings of code into apps that go viral. After my last app went number one, they were forced to give me a promotion or risk losing my skills to another development company. They might not understand the zeroes and ones, but everyone can grasp dollars and cents, and that’s what my apps bring in.
I might be young at only twenty-six, and female, as evidenced by my long honey-blonde hair and curvy figure, but as much as I don’t fit the stereotypical profile of a computer nerd, they had to respect that my brain creates things that no one else does. I think it’s my female point of view that really helps. While a chunk of the other people in the programming field fit the stereotype of being slightly repressed geeks who are more comfortable watching animated ‘girlfriends’ than talking to an actual woman, I’m different. I understand that merely slapping a pink font on things or adding sparkly shit and giving more pre-loaded shopping options doesn’t make technology more ‘female-friendly.’
It’s insulting, honestly. But it gives me an edge in that I know how to actually create apps that women like and want to use. Not just women, either, based on sales. I’m getting a lot of men downloading my apps too, especially men who aren’t into tech-geeking out every damn thing they own.
And so I celebrate with Elise, holding up our glasses of wine and clinking them together in a toast. Elise sips her wine and nods in appreciation, making me glad we went with the waiter’s recommendation. “So you’re killing it on the job front. What else is going on? How are things with you and Kevin?”
Elise has been my best friend since we met at
a college recruiting event. She’s all knockout looks and sass, and I’m short, nervous, and shy in professional situations, but we clicked. She knows I’ve been through the wringer with some previous boyfriends, and even though Kevin is fine—well-mannered, ambitious, and treats me right—she just doesn’t care for him for some reason. So my joyful buzz is instantly dulled, knowing that she doesn’t like Kevin.
“He’s fine,” I reply, knowing it’s not a great answer, but I also know she’s going to roast me anyway. “He’s been working a lot of hours so I haven’t even seen him in a few days, but he texts me every morning and night. We’re supposed to go out for dinner this weekend to celebrate.”
Elise sighs, giving me that look that makes her normally very cute face look sort of like a sarcastic basset hound. “I’m glad, I guess. Not to beat a dead horse,” —too late— “but you really can do better. Kevin is just so . . . meh. There’s no spark, no fire between you two. It’s like you’re friends who fuck.”
I duck my chin, not wanting her to read on my face the woeful lack of fucking that has been happening, but I’m too transparent.
“Wait . . . you two do fuck, right?” Elise asks, flabbergasted. “I figured that was why you were staying with him. I was sure he must be great in the sack or you’d have dumped his boring ass a long time ago.”
I bite my lip, not wanting to get into this with her . . . again. But one of Elise’s greatest strengths is also one of her most annoying traits as well. She’s like a dog with a bone and isn’t going to let this go.
“Look, he’s fine,” I finally reply, trying to figure out how much I need to feed Elise before she gives me a measure of peace. “He’s handsome, treats me well, and when we have sex, it’s good . . . I guess. I don’t believe in some Prince Charming who is going to sweep me off my feet to a castle where we’ll have romantic candlelit dinners, brilliant conversation, and bed-breaking sexcapades. I just want someone to share the good and bad times with, some companionship.”
Dirty Laundry Page 27