by Kacey Shea
“But the flip side is I worked very hard to become nothing like him. I was an angry teenager, out on the streets at sixteen. I found peace in the sport of MMA. It gave me control. It gave me confidence. I didn’t fight to kill, I fought for the sport, and yeah, a little for the glory. If I won and in turn I contributed to his death, then wouldn’t I be just like him?
“In the end, Suarez took the decision from me. He’s one hell of a fighter, and my only regret is not being able to challenge him to a rematch.” At that, Matt’s lips pull into his signature smile. The one that melts even the most jagged of hearts—including mine. Matt continues to answer questions and after they wrap up production we all enjoy a hearty meal of deep dish at Giordano’s.
I’m proud of him and how far he’s come. For being brave enough to share his story across the nation. He’s humble and kind, and has an incredible work ethic. I know he did the interview to help other women, other families, but as I glance around the table it’s clear he’s already changed so many lives. He’s also forgotten what day it is. I can’t wait to get home and surprise him.
“You realize how much I want you right now?” Matt aligns his body against my backside as I slip the key into my apartment door.
I push my ass back a few inches and feel his hardness through his pants. “I’m guessing a lot,” I smart and am met with a growl.
His lips bury into the crook of my shoulder and he kisses the skin there. “So damn much. Can we go inside now?” His rough chuckle only spreads goosebumps across my flesh.
Shaking him off, I turn the key and push inside my apartment and stomp all the way to the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” He laughs after me.
“Stay there.” I slam and lock the door with a giggle. “I’ll be out in a minute!”
“This is not what I was expecting,” he grumbles through the door, but he doesn’t try to gain entry. I hear the television click on and quickly get to work. I’ve been planning this for a month. It is his favorite holiday, after all.
It takes me longer than it should because I’m not a lingerie kinda girl. But I get the black lace bra, thong, garter, and stockings all in place, then head to the bathroom to pull back my hair in a high ponytail. Painting on a nose and whiskers is simple. The headband with cute little ears adds the final touch. I spin in the mirror with satisfaction. Not bad, considering the improvisation.
A knock at the bedroom door interrupts my preening. “You almost done in there? There’s a new Walking Dead episode calling our names.”
I pull open the door and greet him with a smile. “I was thinking we save the show for later.”
He tilts his head and his smile’s wide. “What’s this? Did Halloween come early this year?” His eyes take me in with an appreciation that’s worth all the effort.
“Sexy Groundhog. Of course.” I wrinkle my nose and shake my butt.
He nods, his lips fighting a full blown smile. “Oh, right. My first guess was puppy.”
I shrug. “Must have been the ears. They don’t really make groundhog costumes. I had to improvise.”
“I’m glad you did.” He steps forward so I have to back up, and he doesn’t stop until the backs of my legs hit the bed’s edge. He catches me before I fall and his lips press against mine. Like all the times between us, I can’t help but kiss him back. Our mouths and tongues battle against each other for the lead and by the time he lowers us against the mattress we’re both out of breath.
“Matt?” I whisper against his lips.
He pushes up to his forearms to meet my gaze. “Yes, Mia.”
“Happy Groundhog Day.” I grin, hoping he understands just how much I love him. How thankful I am to have a partner like him in my life. There are so many stupid, mushy things I want to say, and if I weren’t so damn happy I’d be sickened at myself by the thoughts. I have so much to learn and I’m not perfect, but as we make love Matt makes me feel as if I am. As if what I have to offer is more than enough. He’s awakened my heart. He honors my mind. He’s a man I’ll fight for to the end. Zombie apocalypse and all.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for purchasing My Undead Heart and spending your time with Matt and Mia. Writing this story was a challenge; not because of the characters, but because of a tight deadline that pushed me to write more words in a short time frame than I ever had before. Plus, it was summer and three children at home automatically equals less writing time (but my mom-taxi game held strong).
In spite of that, Mia and Matt became all-consuming characters, and I’m so in love with their story. It’s one of redemption, and rising above the experience of abuse. If you or someone you know is caught in an abusive relationship www.thehotline.org is an excellent resource, or contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233 or TTY 1-800-787-3224 (US). No matter your past, or what you’ve endured, you deserve to be loved without physical or emotional abuse. We all do.
I’m always working on my next book, so be sure and sign up for my newsletter to never miss a new release. Or if you use BookBub, give me a follow. Also, I like to throw big giveaways with each release day, and sometimes just for fun in between. You can find details on my website www.kaceysheabooks.com.
Thank you again for your support. If you’d like to help this book reach others, please consider leaving an honest review on the retailer you purchased from, or telling a friend. I am forever grateful for readers like you.
Much love,
Kacey
Enjoy the first few chapters of Detour, Kacey Shea’s rock star contemporary romance available now
Why does a young adolescent boy spend endless hours learning to play electric guitar, practicing covers of Nirvana, Metallica, and Green Day until he’s perfected them just so? Is he chasing a life of fortune or fame? No. Is it for the music? Maybe a little, but still not the main reason. No. He does it for the ladies. That’s the number one reason, and any little shit who tells you otherwise is lying. Sure, the music, fame, money, and recognition, it all plays into the equation soon enough. But the real motivation, the reason most of us ever even started was for one thing and one thing only. The chance that someday flocks of gorgeous women would gladly line up at the chance to become well acquainted with our cock.
In that respect, I’ve made my teenage self wildly proud.
We’re between tours, enjoying some well-earned downtime at our place in LA. Today is Tasty Tuesday, an endearment I’ve proudly bestowed upon every Tuesday while we’re between tours. I love Tasty Tuesdays because, when we aren’t on the road, I’m free to hit up a contact or two from my proverbial Little Black Book for some afternoon delight. Today I opt for double trouble—newbie LA beauties who moved here just six months ago after graduating from some Pacific Northwest junior college.
Actresses. Code for waitress, barista, and sometimes stripper, depending on the girl. These two are green enough that I’d be surprised if they’re working the clubs just yet. Though, one could argue coming over to fuck a rock star in the middle of the day only one week after meeting in a bar could be construed as selling out. Well, we’re not technically fucking. Yet. Only standing in the middle of the media room, engaged in some kissing and heavy petting before the opening credits have had a chance to roll through.
But these women aren’t innocent. No, these girls know exactly where this is headed and they can’t wait.
“Mmm, you’re so hot. Can I suck your dick?” The blonde one purrs into my ear while her friend nibbles my neck on the opposite side.
Uh? Isn’t that the point of me bringing you back here? Instead, I go with the anticipated response, “Yeah, babe. Suck me.” I kiss her hard and weave my fingers into her platinum locks. Work the lips. Suck her tongue. Nip the lip. She’s panting when I pull her head back a few inches and push her down to her knees. Her fingers go straight to my belt. See, not innocent at all.
“Your turn, sweet girl.” I twist and lower my chin to the friend.
False lashes blink a few times and
reveal tempting jade irises. Cherry lips. Her inky black hair falls forward in her face and her pink tongue darts out to wet her lips. I glance down, just as the blonde shoves my jeans down my legs and my cock springs forward, nearly slapping her in the face. With my left hand resting on blondie’s head, I revel in the way her wet mouth and soft hands expertly work my hard-on. I use my other hand to wrap around the friend’s neck and tug her to my side.
She’s petite and I’m tall, so she only comes to my chest. I lean down to capture her lips in a kiss, which proves problematic when trying to keep my dick aligned with the blonde’s mouth. Doesn’t work. We need to move this party horizontal. “Couch time, ladies. Clothes off.”
They grin at my demand and begin a little strip show. I relax into the soft leather, eyes transfixed on the performance taking place in front of the screen. I shed my remaining clothes much faster, but never drop my gaze from the dancing duo.
God damn, I love women.
Hips gyrate to a slow, imaginary rhythm. These chicks are beautiful in the way women envy, with the thin body, huge fake tits, and enough makeup to hide any imperfection. They’re as pretty as any other model or actress in LA, but these girls are nobodies. No connections, no training in acting, and they think they can ride their looks to a big break. Pretty young shells just vying for a slice of fame amongst thousands, and I’m no idiot. They see me as their fast track meal ticket to the good life.
It’s something I’ve grown accustomed to, but it wasn’t always this way. I’ve always done well with the ladies, but I used to have to work for it. That was before our band went on tour with Justin Hill, over a year ago. Since then, Three Ugly Guys have been flying high on success. After Justin, we did another short tour before settling in LA to record our next album. It’s unreal, going from wanting everything, working hard, and having almost nothing, to suddenly having anything I could ever want. Money, recognition, pussy. I have it all.
I nod to blondie and palm my erection in my right hand. “Kiss her.”
They kiss, sensual, slow, and I groan as their fingers skirt and skim across the other’s body. The perfect combination of erotica and tease. Licking. Sucking. Touching. This show’s all for me and these two deserve a standing ovation. Maybe they really have what it takes to make it in LA.
They start to finger each other, and that’s when I tire of the sidelines. “Enough. Come here. I want that pussy.” My demand only heightens their arousal and the room fills with the smell of sex.
“Who wants a ride first?” I say and when the black-haired beauty bites her lip, a momentary hesitation, I grab the hand of the blonde and tug her onto my lap. She straddles me and I grab the foil wrapped latex at my side.
“You don’t have to wear one. I’m safe,” she coos, reaching out to stop me from opening the package.
Ha! My mama didn’t raise no fool. I don’t mess around with sexually transmitted diseases or unplanned pregnancies. Even if she’s telling the truth, I sure as hell don’t need to be supporting a gold digging baby mama. I slide the condom on and catch the glimmer of disappointment that clouds her expression. Not for long, though. No, I’ll have her screaming with bliss in minutes. My fingers work her over, priming her, and then I slam her down onto my lap. “Fuck.” With my other hand I weave my fingers into the friend’s short hair, tugging her until our lips lock in a passionate kiss.
It doesn’t take long before the friend sheds her inhibitions and is as turned on as the blonde bouncing up and down my cock.
“Make me come, Trent,” the black-haired beauty whispers right before she licks and sucks my earlobe and sends a shot of lust darting through my body.
“Sit on my face,” I demand and scoot my ass down to the edge of the seat cushion. She stations herself over my face and my lips gladly lock on to her shaved pussy. Our new position gives blondie more room to ride my cock and she squeals when I meet her movements with thrusts of my own.
This is the good life.
“Oh, yes! Fuck me, Trent! Oh, Trent!” Blondie screams while Jet Black straddles my face. She’s limber, using the back of the sofa to keep her balance while grinding her cooch over my eager lips. I love eating pussy. I sincerely do. And I’m fucking good at it. I’ve never met a clit I didn’t like. But the one on my lap is extra mouthy. Her high pitch squeals collide against the mantra of “Fuck, Trent,” the one I’m tonguing won’t stop with.
Oh, shut the fuck up. The noises women make when they think they’re being sexy are fucking annoying. The pitchy screams. The whiny moans. The pouty baby talk. Sure, it made me hard the first twenty times—like it’s some twisted compliment or badge of honor for women who look and sound like porn stars to beg me to fuck them.
But this. This is distracting. In fact, I can almost feel my cock going soft at the sound. What the fuck is wrong with me? They continue the exaggerated squeals and I’m in serious danger of not keeping Mr. Trent up. Yeah, I named my dick, and I named him after myself because we’re awesome. Plus, it sounds official, and he’s the boss. A boss who’s taking an unauthorized vacation. Shit.
I grab the hips of little miss Cirque du Soleil and pull her from my face. “Your turn for a ride.” I wink. She grabs the back of the couch for balance, a giddy smile on her lips, and I turn to lay on the couch long ways.
Of course, blondie’s still screeching like a banshee while expertly maintaining her gyrations, but I’m about to rectify that. “Come here, sweet girl. I’m gonna make you come with my mouth.” I tug the blonde’s hips forward until she’s hovering over my face, and then bring her to my lips. I moan into her pussy when my cock’s squeezed by the tight wetness of her friend. Yes, that’s it.
My fingers work her clit, playing along the sensitive bare skin like the most precious of instruments. My other hand alternates between slapping both of their asses and holding the friend in place while I thrust up and pound into her pussy. It squeezes like a vice and I know I’m hitting just the right spot.
Blondie begins that scream again, but this time I reach up and shove two fingers into her mouth, holding them there for her to suck—and to shut her the fuck up. My ears fill with moans, slaps, licks, and wet kisses, and it’s a heady combo. So much better.
Mr. Trent approves.
The door clicks open, a stream of daylight pouring into an otherwise darkened room. A throat clears behind us but I’m not stopping now. With Thing One and Thing Two so close to falling over the edge of orgasmic bliss and myself not far behind, I can’t chance a glare over the shoulder to tell our cleaning crew to come back later to vacuum. At least, I think it’s cleaning day. God, who cares. The only sucking going down in this room is my mouth on pussy.
Speaking of life’s delicacies. I suck, groan, and flick my tongue over her clit, and am rewarded with a flood of juices. Her screams aren’t faked or forced this time, they’re every bit full of the orgasm that shakes her entire body.
“Trenton William Donavan. You put your pants on right this minute.”
Shit.
Nothing kills a boner like Mom walking in—fucking shit—and I was so close, too. Blondie turns, meets my mom’s glare, and rushes to wrap her hands modestly over her tits and crotch. Ouch. In her haste she misses and slaps my face.
The one on my dick is still chasing her release and doesn’t seem to care we have a visitor. Not that I should be surprised. She was the one who gave me her digits with the promise of a threesome.
“Come on, ladies. Off you go.”
I slap the ass of the one still hovering over my face and she scrambles off the couch.
“Trenton, I expected so much more from you.” Mom tsks and shakes her head.
I reach for my pants to pull up over my hips. “I don’t know why,” I tease over my shoulder. “I’m assuming you interrupted my fun for more than just a scolding.” I shove my semi erect junk inside and zip up my jeans before turning to meet her stare.
“Bedo’s on his way. Band meeting downstairs in fifteen.” She blows out a breath and shakes
her head, taking in the two women who are slowly righting themselves into a state of dress. When she meets my gaze again her eyes are hard, disappointed. But what’s new?
“Fifteen minutes. That’s enough time . . . Can you come back?” I bat my eyes and hold my hands together in mock prayer. She rolls her eyes because she knows I’m only joking—mostly.
“Trent, baby,” Blondie sidles up to my right and strokes her nails from my bare chest to the front of my jeans. She wouldn’t know I am joking and thinks she has a shot at getting back at it. My dick kicks painfully against the tight fabric of my pants with the tease.
“Trenton, so help me God, I will not wait outside while you get a blow job!” My mom scolds, and I almost feel a sliver of guilt. Sometimes I wonder how she puts up with my shenanigans. How she always has. She’s cool, a great mom, and I get my sense of humor from her. Maybe that’s how she survives in a houseful of idiot musicians.
“Come on, you’re no fun.” I wink and my mother’s hard glare softens as if she’s considering a smile. “What kind of mother dooms her son to a severe case of blue balls?”
This time she lets loose her patronizing grin with a bark of laughter. “This mother does. Now say good-bye to your friends and get downstairs.” With that she turns and walks out of the room, leaving the door open and calling over her shoulder, “If I have to come back here I’m kicking you out!”
“Mom?” The blonde one scoffs, shoving her arms through the sleeves of her dress.
The friend places her hands on her hips, confusion knit across her brow. “Wait, you live with your mom? I thought you were rich. Aren’t you like almost thirty?”
Twenty-eight, and I don’t look that old. Bitch. It takes all my self-restraint to not roll my eyes this time.