by Mina Vaughn
I kicked, amazed at his ability to lift me with such ease. Those lean muscles were stronger than I had imagined. “Put me down!”
The baby blues I had come to love gleamed. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, pulling me from the air and sliding me right onto his submerged cock. I was so stunned that I bucked hard, sending another hot wave of bubbly water onto the floor.
“Keaton,” I moaned, feigning protest, “you’re manhandling me.” He felt so good, both of us nearly weightless, water caressing our bodies. I could barely get the words out.
I squealed as he pumped again, and then responded, “I couldn’t help myself. You’re a tease sometimes, you know.”
I nodded, giving in. I didn’t always have to be in control.
“Now about that bubbly,” he said, popping the champagne cork.
Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I leveraged my weight and tried to get some more friction. “I thought you didn’t drink,” I noted.
He smiled. “Only off perfect tits,” he said.
I giggled and tilted my neck back.
“Welcome to the tour,” he said. “Cheers.”
“Why don’t you go explore London for a few hours?” he asked as we dressed and dried.
“I’m going to do whatever I want, including whoop your ass so hard you won’t be able to fit into your leather pants tonight.”
I had brought our favorite paddle.
He looked at me hesitantly. “Did you sign the NDA? I’m sorry but Benjamin has been on my back. I’ve got another copy in case you lost the first.”
I didn’t want to address the thing that made me think we had broken up, so I just put the paper on the table, pissed. We’d talk about it later.
After he left, paper in hand, I turned on the TV just to clear my head and orient myself. British news, endless BBC channels, I flipped absentmindedly. I looked around me at this crazy, opulent room and the things he had provided for me. Was I being ungrateful about this whole thing? Or was I being unnecessarily spoiled?
Part of it felt wrong.
I was an athlete from a hardworking family, not some little princess who was to be pampered with chocolates and champagne and new ropes.
Okay, the new ropes I could get used to.
And that was before I found the closet full of clothes he had bought me. Several pairs of laminated jeans, the kind that look like leather but are actually denim. Some embellished tanks. I was guessing those were for shows. A leather jacket. Hmm, was I supposed to look like a rocker myself? There was a dress here and there, and a few casual clothes.
Some of the outfits were workout gear from lululemon athletica, a high-end store that sells ninety-dollar yoga pants. I usually just bought my gym clothes at the Nike outlet off the discount rack. I slipped on a pair of the tight, black stretchy pants and sighed. The material was so soft and luxurious, no wonder women paid so much. I looked in the mirror and confirmed another reason for the price tag: My ass looked phenomenal. I slid on a running top and tied my hair back.
A run would be good for me right now. Sweat out the anger and confusion.
I hit up the lobby and studied a map for a few minutes before taking off. There was a park that looked decent for running and it was a couple of blocks away so I could take in some scenery before doing laps. Not a bad warm-up, checking out London.
The buildings flew by in a blur as I jogged toward the park. I tried paying attention, I did, but that nagging part of me that told me I was out of my league prevailed. I worried about losing Keaton’s attention as soon as he found someone else or got bored with me.
He may wear my collar, but he also stole my heart. How could I keep the power if he had the most vulnerable part of me in his grasp?
And then there were the shows.
I had only been to one Trickster City show, and already it sent me into a tailspin of jealousy. Those girls, surging toward him as if the air around him would give them an orgasm. They loved him; they wanted him. Dammit, they couldn’t have him. Was I going to get into a fistfight?
By the time I had made it to the park, I was ready to tear up the pavement. I burst down the runners’ path, checking behind me to make sure there wasn’t skid marks left by my angry feet. Dammit, why couldn’t I have fallen for someone normal? Why couldn’t my life just be the regular day-to-day life of a college kid? Here I was thousands of miles from home and completely over my head.
As I raced, tears formed in my eyes. Who was I becoming? I was across the ocean from my family and friends, alone save for a crazy rock god, and questioning my entire life while wearing yoga pants that cost more than my prom dress.
I was overwhelmed when I returned to the hotel, and looking forward to a night of quiet talks with Keaton and catching up on the last two months. I realized I melted down a bit because I hadn’t had time to really adjust myself to this strange situation. And as for the NDA, well, it was part of the package, like he had said.
My plans were derailed, however, when I opened the door to a surprise party.
I FELT OUTRAGED. KEATON HAD said this was our place, a private oasis for us. But when forty strangers had packed themselves into the suite, it felt much more like a club than a love nest.
“Darling,” Keaton said, greeting me as I walked in. I must have the deer-in-the-headlights look, because his face registered a bit of alarm and disappointment. “I thought you’d be out a little longer. The food isn’t here yet. This is your welcome party.” The crowd of unfamiliar faces cheered and I felt myself blush. He pulled me in close for a whisper. “I hope you’re not still mad.”
I shook my head, dazed.
I was sweaty, stunned, and regardless of how hot the yoga pants looked, I wasn’t dressed for the occasion.
“Everyone,” Keaton said, quieting the room with his characteristic charisma, “this is my girlfriend, Thea. She’s very special to me, and will be going on tour with us for the rest of the shows. Let’s show her a real Trickster City welcome!”
Again, cheers. A few very surprised faces. Just as Keaton finished his speech, the door opened again and a fleet of butlers came in wheeling trays of food.
The crowd was equal parts men and women, but all intimidating. The guys looked like rockers and the girls were all super skinny and glittered. I was made of muscle and frizz right about now and wanted to crawl under a rock.
Until Keaton planted a kiss on my cheek. “You look amazing in those,” he said, hand straying from the small of my back down a little lower. “So gorgeous.”
I smiled and felt the blush coming back. Maybe I could navigate around these people who were cooler than everyone I had ever known combined. I noticed a few faces from those Cosmo-style magazines my friends read, so there were clearly models here. I saw more than a few musicians and was able to pick out the other bandmates. I tried to channel the athlete part of me that had total control over my body, and felt a surge of energy that radiated from my center outward, and I pulled my shit together.
Work the room, Thea.
I began to walk up to groups of people and offer my hand. The folks were cordial and I tried to remember all their names, but most faces just blurred by. Keaton, when he was around me, was all I could ever really see. About five minutes after my quick jaunt around the suite, he handed me an hors d’oeuvre.
“You look upset,” he said with a disappointed face. “Do you want to step out and talk?”
I shook my head. “I’m just surprised by this.”
“That’s the point,” he said, shrugging. “You don’t look surprised in a happy way.”
“I’m smelly and didn’t get a chance to shower.”
Keaton pulled me close and kissed my neck. “You smell as good as you look. And let me just say that I think you can make simple yoga pants look like haute couture.”
“I’m going to change.”
He frowned.
“My top.”
Keaton grinned and checked out my behind once more.
I gave
him a playful swat on the bum and headed to the bedroom to change. I slid a long, spangled tank over the yoga pants and laced up some of the sexy boots Scarlett had given me. I unbound my hair, added a smudge of mascara to my eyes, and walked back out.
Suddenly, more eyes were on me than before. Part of me felt emboldened by my new look and the reactions it was getting, but I also hated confirming that sweaty and athletic wasn’t a look that got attention. It was much more me than this outfit was. Again, I felt awkward.
“You didn’t need to change, you know. Everyone here, all friends. Everyone’s cool,” Keaton said, handing me a chocolate.
“You don’t need to keep feeding me,” I said, holding the chocolate. “I’d rather see this in your mouth later.”
His eyes widened and he put the chocolate aside, wrapped in a napkin. “I’m starting to think you’re developing a chocolate fetish.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”
He shook his head. “Not one bit.”
The night wound on and I finally got to learn some names, and on the whole it wasn’t so bad. The models were much smarter than I had imagined, and the rockers were far more polite than any stories I had read about them. Breaking misconceptions seemed to be the theme of the evening.
“I’m surprised you’re going on tour with him,” Sammie said, a young model who was dating the drummer. “He never does that.”
I cocked my head. “Because no girl is around long enough?”
Sammie shook her pixie-cut. “No, I mean he doesn’t mix women and music. Which, up until now, made his manager very happy. Keaton never brings dates to parties, only goes out with them. Never invites girls to shows. He’s very private about his real life, his life on the road. Tabloids never get anything right.”
I felt my heart swell a bit and abandoned the worry that had been growing since I arrived. “So this is new for him?”
She nodded. “Very.”
I tucked away that one little word the way Keaton did the chocolate and knew I’d have a very satisfying evening, physically and emotionally.
I fixed my hair for the thousandth time. I wanted each curl in place so that it didn’t look like I needed a keratin treatment, or whatever that Perez blogger had said. I’d be seen publicly tonight, and I had to look the part of a rock star’s girlfriend.
I one-upped that and looked like a rock star’s Domme.
My boots from Scarlett gave the outfit a decidedly killer look. There was a fair bit more eye makeup than I was used to and these jeans did not offer me the kind of mobility that yoga pants did, but damn they looked fine. My top was corset-esque without being overtly lingerie. I looked at myself in the mirror and nodded.
I was ready for the concert.
The driver from the other day, I discovered, would be my chauffeur for the entire trip. He traveled with Trickster City and everyone loved his dependable nature and the way he knew all the European cities so well. The guy was pretty much a built-in tour guide.
As we drove to the venue he pointed out some of the local sights, which was nice because I wouldn’t be getting any kind of formal tours of any of the cities we’d be in except for Athens, where Keaton guaranteed we’d be for a few days. So sweet of him.
The driver, whose name was Len, pulled up to the entrance of the venue and gave me a warm smile.
“Mister Lowe thinks very highly of you, dear,” he said.
I smiled back. “Thanks.”
He shook his head. “I haven’t heard him gush about someone this much. Just wanted you to know. You look a little scared and wide-eyed, so I thought my words might put you at ease. You’re in good hands with him.”
I grinned all the way from the car to the ticket booth to the VIP entrance.
“Nice to see you,” Sammie said, sidling up to me with a hug. The place was bustling with friends, press, family, and crew. I couldn’t believe just how many people it took to put on a Trickster City show.
“Hey,” I said, overwhelmed. “This is crazy.”
She shook her head and took a swig of water. “This is quiet. Wait until after the show.”
“Wow,” I said, trying to picture even more people in here.
“The dressing rooms are this way, if you want to say hi before they go on,” Sammie said, pointing.
I followed her toward Keaton’s dressing room, which was bigger than the other dressing rooms and had a separate area for rehearsing. It was similar to the one where we shared our first kiss. Swoon.
“Hello, Goddess,” Keaton said, sitting in a chair in front of a mirror. A woman was applying his eye makeup, smudging and reapplying. It made the blue of his eyes really pop. It still made me laugh that I was with a guy who wore makeup, but he was probably still in shock that he was dating someone who was faster and stronger than he was. Hey, opposites attract.
I walked over to him without a word and put my fingertips on his collar. He kissed my hand. “You’re going to be awesome tonight,” I said.
“For you,” he said. “Every song.”
I smiled. “Can’t wait.”
The band’s manager entered and had to talk business with Keaton, so I left and sat down in the green room with Sammie. She was in college too, so it was nice to have some things in common to talk about. It was funny how much of a stretch it was, going from talking about dorms to partying with rockers.
The opening act was about to go on, and since the boys were busy, she and I took our places at the side of the stage and watched. I was able to peek out the side and see the crowd. I was nearly paralyzed with shock.
So. Overwhelming.
Thousands and thousands of people cheering, dancing, screaming. And this was just the opener! I knew a lot of people didn’t go to their seats until the headliner had arrived, so I couldn’t imagine how many folks would be cheering Keaton on.
“Pretty incredible, huh?” Sammie asked.
Speechless, I nodded.
She giggled and put her arm around me. “Welcome to the club.”
THE PRESHOW FESTIVITIES PASSED IN a blur of lights and sound and before I was even mentally prepared, Keaton whooshed by me with a kiss. “I got a new song,” he whispered in my ear. “Just for you. It will be the second song in the encore.” And with that brief exchange, he was gone. Ready to rock.
I clasped Sammie’s hand and watched from the wings. We could have sat with the families in the first row, but being here on the side felt more intimate. I wasn’t part of the crowd; I was something else, something special.
The stage was dark and the curtain was down. There was an elaborate ramp system from what I could make out, and a large screen behind the band. This was a very different setup from when they played at UConn.
Suddenly, a snap-snap-snap on the drums and then a tsunami of guitar sounds. I skittered back, stunned by the noise. It was so loud! I felt my entire body tremble at the intro. The crowd went wild. This was one of the band’s new songs that had gone to the top of the charts on the single’s first day. It was called “Stomp On” and it chronicled life as a star, never stopping anywhere for too long.
By now, I knew their songs, but nothing could compare with seeing it performed live by my man. He positively ignited the stage with his presence, and when the spotlight shone on him alone, the entire world went away. He sang, voice loud and open with slight rasps on certain sounds. I felt my knees wobble and wondered if I should have picked the seats. Sammie glanced at me and I knew she was giggling at my swoon. I didn’t care.
Keaton mounted a huge amp and sang from on top, fist-pumping in the air, sweat dripping down his chest. Oh boy, my favorite part of any day, time for Keaton to take his shirt off. As he removed his shirt, the crowd surged ahead as if he willed it. I saw his collar glinting in the reflection of the spotlight and I felt my body clench. There it was, proof. Proof that he was mine.
I wanted to run out there and kiss him in front of all those people. Hell, the way I was worked up, I might even want to mount him right there
. Fuck, those leather pants looked so good, and those little dimples on his lower back glistened with the sweat produced by rock and roll.
Suddenly, the band filed offstage so the drummer could do his epic solo. Keaton said it was three minutes of pure unadulterated beats.
Three minutes, I mused.
As Keaton walked past me I grabbed him.
“Hey, G—”
I put my hand over his mouth and dragged him behind the back curtain. Nobody saw, and I was glad about it.
“What—” I heard from between his lips.
I felt the roar of the crowd in front of us, separated by a thin sheet of fabric and a wall of drum vibrations, and unzipped his pants.
Dropping to my knees, I pulled out Keaton’s cock and sucked hard.
“Thea,” he breathed. “You’re blowing me in front of thousands of people.”
I just nodded and kept going, tongue possessed by the music. My arms were wrapped around his waist and I slid my hands up and down his dripping lower back as my mouth worked him to a frenzy.
“Hurry, I think someone’s coming.”
I pulled him out. “You’re coming in thirty seconds or you’re going back onstage with a boner.”
He put his hands on my head, twisting his fingers into my hair, and moaning softly as the drum solo came to a roaring climax.
Along with Keaton.
I stood; he zipped.
He shook his head at me. “You are something else, Mistress.”
Slapping his ass, I pushed him back onstage and he resumed his position at the mic.
There, in the wings, I cheered and sang and danced to Trickster City’s set. It was unbelievable. The music itself was flawless, unlike other bands that sounded much rougher in person. The personalities were amazing; the drum solo from earlier was incredible, and Keaton’s antics with the bassist were straight out of a comedy-duo act. They were consummate entertainers.
When the main show came to a close, I was almost sad. But as Keaton, sweating and glowing from the crowd’s praise, approached me, I knew the best part was yet to come. He kissed me and guzzled some water in silence, arm wrapped around my shoulder. Keaton was soaked but I didn’t care about messing up my clothes. He was here and I was in his arms and I fingered his collar with pride. “My Baby Blue,” I whispered to him.