She starts to finish her original thought, but my cock pumping in and out of her perfect pussy distracts her again. Brooke’s eyes fall closed, a whimper slipping from her mouth.
Christ, her tits look glorious, bouncing with each hard thrust.
I pick up the pace. “Love, you’re not doing a very good job of trying to win this one.”
“I don’t care who wins.” Her legs tighten around my waist, hips thrusting up towards mine. “Just don’t stop doing this. Don’t ever stop.”
“Like I said, H-E-motherfuckin-A. Happily ever afters and happy endings all around, pretty baby.”
She starts to giggle, but they’re quickly cut off by more moans.
Then, she’s urging me to go harder, deeper.
And then, Brooke is screaming my name through not one, not two, but three glorious orgasms.
Bonus Track
Brooke
One year later…
‘Just landed. Bloody hell, tell me you’re here.’
‘So demanding.’
‘You know it, love. I miss my Little Wing. Where is she?’
‘Waiting at your baggage claim, Bright Eyes.’
‘I hope you’re ready to not wear clothes for the next 3 days.
We’ve got 21 orgasms to make up for.’
’21?’
‘Yeah, baby. 21 motherfucking orgasms. We’ve been apart for 7 days.’
‘That’s 3 orgasms a day.
You’re awfully confident in that cock of yours, Mr. Bissette.’
‘Don’t forget my mouth, Mrs. Bissette.’
My thumb taps away another text as a woman’s voice buzzes over the speaker, announcing the arrival of Dylan’s flight from New York.
‘Get your ass off the plan and come kiss me.’
He flew home a day early from London, the last stop on the band’s international tour. They hit twenty cities in two months. I was there for most of it, even managed to sing Blur with Dylan on stage a few times, until my body just couldn’t handle it anymore. I came home over a week early from our originally planned departure. Dylan wasn’t happy, but understood. Honestly, I think if he could have canceled the last few shows, he would have. Crazy bastard. Lord, do I love him though.
‘So bossy.’
I snort, adjusting in the plastic airport seat. God, they should make these things more comfortable. My back is damn near throbbing. But my aching feet trump the back, that’s why I’ve settled my ass right in this seat, not moving until I lock onto one perfect green gaze. People start to file out of Dylan’s gate. I search through the crowd, and decide to send another message, desperate for him to get his ass out here.
‘Less texting and more walking. I’ve missed you.’
While I’m waiting for Dylan to appear, I try to find my happy place. It’s somewhere warm, somewhere beachy, and the exact location of where Dylan and I got married.
It only took three months after my big gesture on the EMAs to decide we wanted to make it official. We ended up flying to this tiny island in the Maldives and getting hitched. It was last minute, just the two of us, and it was perfect.
Of course, Lindsay, Ember, and Jamie would all disagree with that sentiment. We got a lot of flack for not having a big hoopla of a wedding, but it doesn’t matter, because we had the wedding we wanted.
We managed to unruffle some feathers by throwing a big reception shindig in LA. All of our family and friends—Dylan’s family flew in from London and Paris, plus everyone from Truth Records—mine and Jamie’s record label— were there to celebrate the big occasion.
To say we’re lucky would be putting it mildly.
Both my sister and Lindsay eventually got over the secrets I had been hiding from them for all of those years. Neither was happy, but they understood my reasons. And our bonds have only grown stronger because of it.
And Alistair Wallace agreed to all of Jamie’s terms. He let us out of our non-compete clause and gave our top ten bands the option to leave their contracts and come to our label. Careless Cockups was one of the bands, and I’m happy to say my husband made the right decision.
All nine other bands? Well, they came too.
Needless to say, business is thriving. I’ve even managed to start working on my own album. It’ll be a slow and steady process, but I’m really excited to pave my own music path.
A bag drops with a loud thud on the linoleum, drawing my attention to the black biker boots standing before me. My eyes move upwards, and my heart practically jumps out of my chest. Dylan. My cheeks strain from the giant smile consuming my face.
His smile mimics mine. Dylan leans forward, grabbing my hands and pulling me to my feet. Strong arms wrap around me, pulling me close—well, as close as physically possible, which isn’t very. “Brooke,” he whispers into my hair, his face nuzzling my neck. “Oh, Little Wing, I’ve missed you.”
I grip his shoulders, sighing in contentment, finally feeling home. “I’ve missed you too, baby. So. Much.”
He leans back, hands grasping my cheeks. “My beautiful girl,” he says, heart in his eyes. “Never again will I go seven days without you.”
I shake my head. “My sentiments exactly, Mr. Bissette.”
“Can I at least get a welcome home kiss, Mrs. Bissette?”
I nod, grinning, and tears fill my eyes. It’s pathetic I know, to be crying over not seeing Dylan for a mere week, but I can’t help it. He’s my home. My life. My everything.
“Brooke,” he whispers a second before placing his lips over mine. Slow and soft, the caress of his mouth has heat surging along my skin. My heart speeds up, thumping at an erratic pace with glee. I fall into his kiss, letting him explore my mouth and taste me.
Tears stream down my cheeks, overwhelmed by him, by us, by everything we have. We’re so damn blessed, and to think, we could have lost it all. Sometimes, it’s too much to even fathom the fact that I almost had to live a life without him.
His scent, his strong arms, the warmth of his skin, they wrap around me, reassuring me that he’s mine. I get to keep him. Forever. Damn, I’m a lucky girl.
The saltiness of my tears mixes into our kiss, causing him to pull back. “Love?” he asks, brow creasing. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, rubbing the tip of my nose against his. “I love you.”
He smiles. His thumbs brush tears off my cheeks. “I love you too. Damn, I missed you, woman.”
“How was London? Jamie sent me a few videos, and from what I could see, you guys killed it.” I ask between the little kisses he presses against my lips, my cheeks, my jaw, my nose. I hated not seeing them play the final show on their Songs About Her tour, especially since it was in Dylan’s hometown.
“It was fantastic as shows go, but not the same without my best girl there.”
“Such a sweet talker.”
“You know it, baby,” he says. “Speaking of baby…” He places his large hands against my ever-growing belly. Not caring that we’re in the middle of LAX, or that there are probably paparazzi milling about nearby.
My husband has definitely reached the point in his career where he’s noticed, everywhere. Which is why I wasn’t able to pick him up from the airport without two bodyguards at my side.
But it never matters to him. He handles the celebrity status like he handles everything else—with perfect composure. This man will never be at risk for letting fame or fortune go to his head. He’s too down to earth, too good to his core. He’s the epitome of a rock star on stage, but once the spotlight dims, and it’s just us, nothing else matter to him. Only us, together, that’s the only thing he focuses on. And I adore him for that. Fall in love with him all over again, every single day, for that.
I never thought I’d find someone to spend the rest of my life with, and the fact that it’s someone as good and wholesome as him…well, it blows my mind. He makes my life worth living. The good, the bad, Dylan makes it all worth it.
He drops to his knees, warm eyes staring at my stomach. “
How’s my baby girl doing? Are you being good for your mum?” He places his ear against my belly button. “Really? She didn’t listen to daddy and finished painting your nursery before I got home?” he says, eyeing me with mock disapproval. “I guess I’ll have to have a talk with your mum when we get home.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I didn’t finish painting the nursery, I just…”
“You just what? Accidentally got the paint out and then the paint brushes and then finished painting the nursery?”
Biting my lip, I fight my smile. “Maybe,” I say with a shrug.
“Mommy is going to get punished for that when I get home.”
“Dylan!”
The bastard just chuckles, kissing my belly again and whispering, “Daddy missed you, Joni girl.”
Yeah, you guessed it. We’re going to have a girl, and we’re naming her Joni.
Joni Emmeline Bissette after my Millie (her given name was Emmeline) and her favorite singer, Joni Mitchell.
Grinning like a fiend, Dylan stands up. “Come on stubborn woman, let’s go home.” He leans down, grabbing his bag, and then holds his hand out to me.
I take it, following his lead out of the terminal. Wrapping my fingers around his arm, I whisper into his ear, “Home is anywhere you are, Bright Eyes.”
He stops abruptly, wrapping his free hand around the back of my neck, and pulling me close. “You’re it for me, Brooke. I’ll always feel it, baby. Always.” And then he kisses the hell out of me, not the soft and sweet kisses he gave me moments ago, but something else, something more, something that leaves me breathless and makes my knees weak. It’s a determined kiss, one that proves his words. His lips whisper promises of rough and sweet, tenderness and heat. When he pulls away, his voice is husky. “Let’s go, love. We’ve got seven days to make up for.”
“Twenty-one?” I ask, grinning.
“Twenty-one for me, but Brooke, you know I always make sure you get yours first, and then we both get ours together.”
My jaw drops. “That’s like…” I stop, mouth too dry and body too turned on to finish that sentence. Holy hell. That’s a lot of orgasms…
“Yeah, love. It is.” He winks, grabbing my hand and leading me out of the airport.
N.A. Alcorn resides in Northern Kentucky with her husband and son. Never following the norm, her style of romance “flies outside [the box.]” She is the author of the wildly hilarious Infamous Series, and also delved into romantic suspense with her third release, Covertly Strong.
She loves music, can’t take a proper selfie if her life depended on it, refuses to parallel park, and probably has the most obnoxious laugh you’ll ever hear. If she could live off coffee and Reese’s Cups, she’d be one happy lady.
Procrastinator at heart, N.A. tells herself she’ll meet every deadline. Tomorrow. She’ll finish it tomorrow, she swears.
She loves meeting readers. Always feel free to send her an email or message.
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Other N.A. Alcorn Books:
Laugh-out-loud, Romantic Comedy Series:
Infamous Series
The Infamous Ellen James (Infamous #1)
Avoiding Amy Jackson (Infamous #2)
And I promise, Finding Lizzy Montgomery (Infamous #3) is coming VERY VERY Soon!
Romantic Suspense Series:
Strong Series
Covertly Strong (Strong #1)
Contemporary Romance Series:
Changing Colors
Part One: Forget
Part Two: Blur
Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) Page 39