by Mina Vaughn
“It’s almost time for your surprise,” he replied, and toweled himself off. “Gotta run.”
I leaned against the doorframe and watched as Trickster City reemerged with their biggest hit, “Troubled in Paradise.” Even I went nuts for this, singing every song and hitting every note the way Keaton did on the CD. Only onstage, he mixed it up a bit and threw in some alternate lyrics that made the crowd laugh. He was such a jokester sometimes.
When the song ended, my ears perked up.
“This is a new song, and tonight’s the first time I’m performing it,” he announced to the roaring crowd. “It’s called, ‘YOURS.’ ”
The rest of the band took a break, and Keaton sat on a stool with just a guitar and the spotlight.
“You,
You know I’m yours.
You know I’m sure,
About this being
A love for the ages,
A timeless endeavor,
I’m talking forever.
Eons will pass
And our love will last
Cities will crumble
Empires to rubble
But you and I,
Baby we’ll stay dry while it pours . . .
Cause I’m yours.”
I wiped tears from my eyes while Keaton launched into an acoustic guitar solo; he looked as emotional as I was. It was so beautiful, the way he sang those words. That he loved me, that we will outlast the world together. I was moved beyond belief.
He continued singing the chorus a few times, and the crowd started to sing along. Singing our song, about our love. Sammie passed me a tissue. The song ended and Keaton turned toward me on the side of the stage and said, “I love you, Goddess.”
“Love you, rock god,” I said back.
And somehow, thousands of miles from everything I knew, I felt at home. With Keaton, with our unconventional relationship, and with myself. A singer helped me find my voice, and a player abandoned his game for a different kind of victory.
Six Months Later
My heart pounded and the sweat dripped off my face in rivulets. My labored breath shot out of my mouth in hot bursts as I gasped for cool air to calm me down.
“Great game, Thea,” Coach said, patting my shoulder.
Jami, one of the new co-captains, gave me a fist bump as we reentered the locker room. “You gotta teach me how you do that.”
“Do what?” I asked, toweling myself off. I couldn’t wait to hit the showers, so I squirted some of my water on my forehead just to keep the sting of sweat from my eyes. Today’s game was intense.
“That thing where you know what everyone around you is doing?” she laughed. “Seriously, it’s like you’re psychic.”
I laughed. “Like I said before the game, you just have to look for patterns. Who does what in a typical situation, you know?” Part of me wondered if it was the same way Keaton knew things. He could just see patterns in how things worked. I didn’t care, though, since it was what brought us together, his unusual gift.
She shook her head. “I still can’t believe that just because of a busted ankle last season, you could predict every one of Nikki Schlotter’s moves. That was something out of the Twilight Zone.”
“Just observation,” I said. “If you want, I can talk to the team again before the next game.”
Jami grinned. “Yeah, I’d like that. We’ve been talking, the other seniors and me. We think you’re going to make a great captain someday.”
I nodded. “I’m in no rush.”
She patted my shoulder and we made our way to our lockers. Things this year had been amazing. Being the reigning national champions made us celebrities on campus. Coach had asked me a few times for strategy tips, and the team had come to rely on them.
“Thea, can you lock the door behind you?” Callie asked. I didn’t realize it, but I was the last one in the locker room. Guess my nostalgia for this year was slowing me down.
Time for that shower.
I peeled off my damp uniform and tossed it into the laundry bin. I had packed some fresh clothes in my locker’s drawer, but for the life of me I couldn’t find them. I rifled through my belongings, desperate for even a T-shirt so I didn’t have to put that gross uniform back on.
Finding nothing, I went back to the laundry hamper to fish out the yucky uniform. I’d just shower after I got back to the dorm.
But the hamper was gone. And one of the showers had been turned on.
“Looking for something?” I heard from the shower-room entrance.
I smiled.
Keaton stood leaning against the doorway, all leather and eyeliner, holding a pair of my panties.
“How is it you’re so quiet and stealthy?” I asked. “Especially when your schedule says you should be in Philly tonight.”
“That’s tonight, and it’s only three o’clock,” he said, crooking his finger at me. “And you’re not nearly wet enough for my liking. Come, I got your lucky shower nice and hot. Let me clean you up.”
“Good, because I’m feeling dirty.” I walked toward him, naked and ready, holding my lucky roll of tape behind my back. It had been two weeks since I had seen him last, since he was busy recording their new album, A Fresh Start.
The summer in Europe was spectacular. Each city was a wonder, each show a marvel, and each night a miracle. I treasured every moment on the road, and although I returned home exhausted, I wouldn’t have traded the trip for the world. When fall came, we made plans to see each other at least once a month before his next tour, which he had carefully planned to coincide with my basketball season.
“As much as I love that leather,” I said, eyeing him up and down, “I’m afraid it will get ruined in the shower.”
Keaton shrugged. “I can buy more.”
“Get. Naked.”
He bowed, rolling his wrist dramatically like some sort of fancy butler. “Yes, Mistress.”
I chuckled, and watched him wiggle out of his insanely tight pants and threadbare tee. Then I was looking at all muscle and ink. Delicious.
I walked past him to the shower he had waiting for me.
“May I wash your hair?” he asked, stepping under the hot spray beside me.
I nodded.
Keaton worked lavender-scented shampoo through my long curls, massaging my scalp and neck with his fingertips. It sent jolts of pleasure through me, foreshadowing more of what his touch could do to me.
I tipped my head under the deluge, enjoying the sensual sensations.
After rinsing my hair until it was shiny, Keaton massaged in the conditioner, raking his hands through my hair, carefully separating the locks, occasionally running his hands down my back as if accidentally.
“Massage me,” I said once the conditioner was rinsed from my hair. “Today’s game was particularly rough on my shoulders.”
He slid his hands across my collarbone and I nearly lost control of my legs. His fingers, so nimble, worked at the muscles of my shoulders and upper back with such gentle yet aggressive pressure that I wanted to scream in pleasure. He started kneading down my back and I wobbled.
“How about you lean against the shower wall,” he said, pressing himself to my back. I moaned, feeling his erection against me as the cold tiles pressed against my hot skin. He kept his pelvis against my ass as he massaged, and the more I wiggled under his touch, the more I wanted him.
And I could feel just how mutual it was from the pulsing twitch of his cock.
“Baby Blue,” I moaned, “Mistress needs a more . . . comprehensive massage.”
He brought his lips to my earlobe and sucked. “But of course.”
Keaton slipped one hand over my hip bone and downward, grabbing me between my legs.
“That’s a start,” I said as he thumbed my clit in small, slow circles. I arched my back and felt his tip nearly inside me.
His free hand roamed my ass, squeezing, caressing, and basically driving me crazy. “Keaton, deeper please,” I insisted, further angling my body so he cou
ld slide right in.
Taking my cue, Keaton slid into my wetness, pushing me harder against the tile wall. I grabbed on to the shower’s controls for leverage as he held me there, pinned. With his hand still working me on the outside, I came hard and fast and already desperate for more on the inside.
“On the floor,” I said, pointing to the spot right under the spray.
Keaton pulled out of me and lay down on the wet tiles.
“Hands where I can see them,” I said, revealing the tape, and his eyes went wide.
“Where’d you hide that?” he asked, stunned that I had out-Keatoned him.
I tossed it in the air and smirked. “I’ve picked up a lot of tricks,” I said, lowering myself to him and binding his wrists. “What can I say? I learned from the best.”
About the Author
Mina Vaughn is an international woman of mystery and a shoe whore with a heart of gold. When she’s not writing her unique brand of silly smut, she’s plundering Sephora for any pin-up girl makeup she can find.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR: authors.simonandschuster.com/Mina-Vaughn
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ALSO BY MINA VAUGHN
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Mina Vaughn
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First Pocket Star Books ebook edition July 2014
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Interior design by Lewelin Polanco
Cover art by Shutterstock
ISBN 978-1-4767-7023-9
Table of Contents
Cover
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright