“Do you hear that?”
Kylie stops nibbling on the scruff on my chin to follow the direction of my gaze. The frantic beat of her heart nearly drowns out the scuffling of feet, but I’m confident that is what I’m hearing. With crazy ass paparazzi and overzealous groupies, I’m always on the ball when it comes to personal protection. And considering Kylie is as naked as the day she was born, you can sure as hell be guaranteed I’m not going to allow anyone to sneak up on her.
I had lawyers coming out my ass two years ago when I smashed a pap’s camera with his nose, breaking it in three places—both his nose and his camera. The guy had it coming to him. He wasn’t just trespassing on private property, he was filming my wife lazing in the swimming pool of our backyard. If that wasn’t bad enough, his footage contained images of our little girls.
I’m all for the media. I knew what I signed up for the day I convinced Marcus to teach me how to play an instrument, but my kids aren’t part of the bargain. I haven’t kept them out of the spotlight the past six years to have some grub strip their privacy in their own home. They should feel safe there, not under scrutiny.
“I don’t hear anything,” Kylie says, returning her lips to my mouth.
Even though her lips are the only ones I’ve had pressed against mine the past decade, I can’t help but pull away. I’m not just hearing footsteps anymore; I’m hearing mumbled laughter.
“Stay here,” I demand before clambering out of the pool.
It is lucky Noah’s pool is heated, or my naked stomp across the patio may have dented my ego. Florida has nothing on some of the winters we’ve spent in New York, but it is still crisp enough to send my cock into hibernation. Well, that’s what I told Kylie when I coerced her to let me use her slit as a heater.
The steel baseball bat I usually keep in the saddlebags of my Harley scrapes along the marble floor when I secure it in my hands. With my jeans, long-sleeve shirt, and vest sitting next to it, I could get dressed, but who’s got time for that?
After a quick glance over my shoulder to ensure Kylie is concealed by the high-pitched roof of Noah’s cabin, I tiptoe toward the murmured voices. I have my bat held high, ready to swing at any moment. I’m not scared, just prepared. I pled guilty to aggravated assault two years ago. I didn’t do that because it was the easy way out; I did it to relay a message. If you mess with my family, you’re messing with me. We haven’t had an incident with the paparazzi since that day.
“Oh, Jesus! Oh god! It’s us!” Jenni squeals at the top of her lungs when my wildly swung bat misses Nick’s skull by a whisker.
Although Nick startles like a girl, his protective instincts have grown tenfold since I knocked him out sixteen years ago. He curls his arm around Jenni’s tiny waist before hoisting her behind his back.
His tug on her arm firms when he realizes I’m not wearing any pants. I’m tempted to swing my cock as well as I did the bat when the expression on his face switches to anything but amused.
“Fuckin’ hell, Slater, put some pants on,” Nick growls, his eyes diverting to the sky.
I rest my baseball bat at my side, but I don’t bother covering my crotch. “Why? Afraid Jenni will realize ‘one hit’ isn’t just referencing the incident in Marcus’s garage?”
“About that—”
Jenni’s sentence is cut off by Nick stepping into her path.
“Nick—”
“No!”
“But—”
“No, Jenni.”
I fold my arms in front of my chest, loving that my stirring is still as effective as it was years ago. My shit-eating grin sags when a warm hand spreads across my shoulders. My eyes rocket to Kylie so fast, my brain rattles in my skull. She has a towel on—but only a towel. The short cut of the material barely contains the generous swell of her chest, and the high rise on her thigh reveals she only has a matter of inches before her bare slit becomes exposed.
“I told you to wait in the pool.” The anger in my tone can’t be missed.
The adorable freckles sprinkled on Kylie’s nose soften her scowl. “And I told you to stop giving Nick hell. You can’t forgive someone then continue acting like you don’t like them. That is not the way forgiveness works.”
I huff, my age not affecting my ability to act childish.
Nick smirks, believing he has the world at his feet. He doesn’t.
“You have five seconds to wipe that look off your face before I wipe it off for you.”
His smile weakens, but the arrogance in his eyes bolsters. “You’ve got five seconds to put your dick away before I drop my drawers and return the visual for your wife.”
My furious steps to rip his stomach out via his throat stop when Jenni murmurs, “Oh here we go, a pissing contest, how original!”
“Do you want us to go and get a ruler so you two can measure up?” Kylie adds on, her tone as annoyed as Jenni’s. “Get this macho man contest over and done once and for all.”
After locking her glistening hazel eyes with mine to silently relay her disappointment, Kylie connects them with Jenni. “Wine?”
The first two letters haven’t even left Kylie’s mouth before Jenni’s nods. “By the time these two finish squabbling, we’ll be halfway drunk.”
“Might make their moronic behavior easier to stomach,” Kylie replies, looping her arm around Jenni’s elbow.
They walk to the cabin arm in arm, leaving not just me hanging, but my mouth as well.
“I thought we were. . . you know. . . reliving old memories?” I sound like I’m two minutes away from having a tantrum. I fucking am. Before Nick ruined the party—once again—I was five seconds away from taking my wife in the pool like I have every year for the past eight years.
“Kylie!” I shout, peeved by her ignorance. “It’s our tradition. You hate breaking traditions.”
The panic in my voice forces her to turn around. “I do hate breaking traditions. . . except this one.” She isn’t talking about us fooling around in the pool; she is referring to my nearly twenty-year feud with Nick. The disappointment in her eyes leaves no uncertainty to this. She finalizes her plea with a thoughtful glance before pivoting on her heels and recommencing her dramatic exit.
I wait for Kylie and Jenni to enter the cabin before my furious eyes swing to Nick. “You’re a fucking dead man,” I snarl under my breath, my anger palpable.
“For what?” he asks, shadowing me into the pool area so I can gather my clothes. “For returning the tricks you’ve been pulling on me for years? I’m your daughter’s godfather, for fuck’s sake, yet you still treat me like I’m a lecher.”
“That wasn’t my choice,” I murmur while tugging my jeans up my thighs.
Nick huffs. “Oh, yeah, that’s right. I forgot. You didn’t just give up your groupie ways when Kylie came back; you gave up your balls as well.”
I’m two seconds from knocking him out cold for the second time in his life when a little voice stops my campaign. “Unky Nick said ‘balls.’” The little twang of Neveah’s voice is swallowed by Penelope’s hearty laughter.
As quick as lightning brightens the sky, the smile is wiped off Penelope’s face. “What’s a groupie?”
My eyes missile to Nick. “Now I’m definitely going to kill you,” I mouth. No one is allowed to corrupt my little girls—no one but me.
Snubbing my furious glare, Nick crouches down to the girl’s height. Although Neveah is four years younger than Penelope, they are nearly the same height. Neveah got my height and personality; Penelope got her mother’s.
“You remember that Christmas story I read you last week?” Nick asks, his voice eccentric and over-the-top.
Penelope and Neveah’s faces light up like a Christmas tree as they nod.
“Well, a groupie is one of those naughty elves in the story. She thinks she’s helpful, but more times than not, she’s more trouble than she’s worth.”
I bite on the inside of my cheek to hide my laughter. My attempts are borderline. Nick’s response was respectful, but spot on. I loved groupies back in the day, but they’ve got nothing on the love of a good woman.
“Ohhh. . .” Penelope and Neveah sigh in sync. I’m five seconds from giving Nick a pat on the back for a job well done when Penelope pipes up, “I want to be a groupie when I grow up.”
Nick’s throat works hard to swallow as he stands from his crouched position, bowing out of the fight.
“I thought you wanted to be a cowgirl?” I ask, taking up his campaign like a real father should.
The excitement on Penelope’s face grows tenfold. She loves horses and anything to do with nature. “I do,” she agrees, nodding. “But I also want to be a groupie.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. You can’t be both.” Even though Nick is shooting down my baby girl’s dream, I let him. Because if this fails to work, I’ll padlock Penelope’s door years before she reaches the age of consent. Kylie says I’m a good man, but there is no way in hell my daughters will marry a man like me.
Penelope huffs while crossing her arms. “Why not, Unky Nick? Mommy says I can be anything I want to be.” With the drop of her lip comes a handful of tears.
My desire to kill Nick eases when his face pales over Penelope’s sob. After lowering back to their level, he tugs both Penelope and Neveah into his chest. “I’d love you to be both a groupie and a cowgirl, Penelope, but it isn’t possible.”
“It’s not?” Nevie asks, her sister’s pain crossing to her adorable face.
“No, honey. I’m sorry. Groupies are allergic to horses, so you can’t be both a groupie and a cowgirl.”
Although appreciative of Penelope’s agreeing nod, Nick’s assurance isn’t one hundred percent accurate. . . . . .
My eyes lift from the album cover I’m signing when the smell of wildflowers filters through my nose. Kylie is at the hotel nursing our three month old daughter, so I know it isn’t her, but the twitching of my cock is too great to ignore.
Don’t misconstrue my confession. I don’t care if the woman standing before me is a ten out of ten, neither my cock or any part of my body will get within an inch of her, but curiosity killed the cat.
Every word I just spoke is a lie. This woman didn’t just bow the Richter scale, she demolished it.
“Hi,” she breathes heavily, shifting on her feet to give my eyes the chance to absorb her fantastic rack in glorious 3D visual. “I’m so glad to finally meet you; I’m your biggest fan.”
She twists a strand of her mousy brown hair around her finger as my eyes roam her body. Long, tanned legs barely covered by a teeny tiny mini skirt, a plaid shirt twisted at her slim waist, and a rocking body that would only look better if it was sitting on my face.
“Is that so?” My voice is deeper than usual, more husky than discreet. I’m throwing out feelers left, right, and center, praying she’ll catch one.
“Uh-huh. I’ve been to every Rise Up show the past year,” she gushes, biting down on her lower lip.
This is the one time I wish I still had my dreads. They would be my only ploy to hide the lust detonating in my eyes from this entrancing brunette’s attention. I’m so fucking hard just watching her chew her lip, I’m waiting for the signing table to lift from the ground. I’m not bragging; I’m just giving you an indication of how beautiful this woman is. She is enticing enough to turn a gay man straight.
Her dazzling hazel eyes shift to the side when an annoyed huff sounds through her ears. The queue of women held up by our flirty conversation glare at her in disdain, their anger unmissable.
“I think I’ve attracted unwanted attention,” she murmurs, returning her amused eyes to mine.
“I can see that being an everyday issue for you. Do men follow you around like puppies? Or do you clip on a leash and lead them astray?” I inwardly cringe. That was the worst line I’ve ever given.
Worries of making a fool of myself are left for dust when the brunette smiles a heart-stopping grin. I adjust the crotch of my jeans, not caring who is watching. If I don’t do something to ease the swell of my cock, the bite of a zipper is going to be the least of my problems. If my hard-on is spotted, every groupie in this room will think they have as much chance to heat my sheets as this brunette. They don’t. Not in the slightest.
“Are you heading out now? Or you gonna wait for the after party?” Lust thickens my words. I’m not even halfway through the fan meet and greet we host at the end of each concert, but I’m seconds from packing up shop and leaving with this brunette beauty—if she’ll have me.
“Hmm. . . I don’t know? I could be convinced to stay. . .if the incentive was persuasive enough.”
“Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll call you as soon as I’m done here?”
Her finger taps her pursed lips. “There is only one number you need to know.” Her long pause between sentences frustrates the fans. Once again, I don’t give a fuck. The meet and greet is a free event we do at the end of each concert to show our appreciation. It isn’t compulsory.
Any chance of easing the throb in my cock is lost when she murmurs, “One hundred and fifty three.”
“Your number is 153?” I ask, the hammering of my heart resonating in my tone.
She hooks her thumbs into the loops of her skirt, lowering the waistband enough for the slightest peek of a tattoo to sneak out before nodding. “Yeah. Do you think it will be long before you call?” She lowers her heavy-hooded gaze down the line that stretches further than the eye can see. “I’ve got places to be, people to see—”
“Cocks to ride.”
Her eyes snap to mine. She is equally shocked and turned on by my brazenness. “Maybe?” she purrs with a shrug.
The room falls into silence when a deep growl rumbles up my chest. I’m all for role playing. . . until it comes to anyone touching what is mine. This brunette isn’t just mine, she owns my heart as well.
“Five minutes.” The annoyance in my tone makes it sound like I’m asking for five years.
Kylie strays her eyes to the long line of women itching to take her place. “Do you think five minutes will suffice?”
“For them, yes. For you, never,” I reply without pause.
The rise and fall of her chest triples when she hears the honesty in my words. I’m dying to ask her who is watching Penelope, but with my cock seconds away from busting the zipper of my jeans, I’ll harness my interrogation until after I’ve fucked the hunger from her eyes. With this being the band’s first tour since Penelope’s birth, we’ve stumbled onto a few teething issues. It isn’t anything to do with the band. It is the groupies who think Kylie’s lack of presence backstage gives them permission to up the ante. I’ve been groped more the past three months than I was the year before Kylie reentered the equation.
Groupies love a challenge. Taken rock stars are as challenging as they come.
“Five minutes,” Kylie agrees, returning my focus to her. “But if you’re not done in five minutes, I might accept one of the many offers I had on my way here.” She winks then exits, snubbing the fury twisting in my stomach.
I sit frozen, muted by her final comment. What offers was she referring to? The warning I gave Sonny and the roadies two years ago remains firm. There is no fucking leeway when it comes to the band’s other halves. They are off limits—no additional words needed. Noah won’t be the only one knocking out the guys who don’t get the hint. I won’t use my fists to relay my displeasure; I’ll use my beloved bat.
My head strays to the side when a deep voice asks, “You alright?”
The smirk on Nick’s face tells me he didn’t miss my exchange with Kylie. It isn’t that he’s unsympathetic; he is just loving my discomfort.
“You wanna go after her?”
I furl my lips. “When did you become Mr. Fucking Obvious?”
Ignoring my snarky tone, he nudges his head to the door. “Then go. I’ll cover for you.”
“From who? This is our show. . . My show,” I correct when pride detonates in his eyes.
He slouches into his chair before accepting a CD from a fan. “Whatever, man. I was just trying to help.” For the first time ever, his tone sounds genuine.
I sign an additional three CDs while running his reply through my head. I’ve never given the guy a single bit of leeway—not even after he apologized for fucking my fiancée in my bed. In reality, I should probably thank him. If it weren’t for him exposing Nikki for who she really was, I would have never met Kylie. That alone should scratch him off my shit list.
“Psst.”
Nick stops signing a Ken doll that looks spookily like him to turn his eyes toward me.
“You’ll cover for me?”
He jerks his chin up. “Yeah.”
“Why?” My short reply can’t hide my shock.
“Why not?” Nick replies like it is no big deal. “You’re my bandmate; that practically makes us family.”
It is the fight of my life to repress my gag, but I do—barely. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“I’m sure,” Nick replies before returning to sign the freaky doll.
“Alright,” I reply, more to myself than Nick.
I stand from my chair and gather my jacket in my hands. I don’t move. I stand frozen like a soft cock, unsure if I am coming or going. I’m not worried about the repercussion of skipping a fan meet and greet; I’m just shocked by Nick’s offer. He knows I’d rather eat shit than accept his help, so he’s never done anything nice for me.
All it takes is the faintest whiff of Kylie’s wildflower smell to snap me out of my serene composure. Using her scent to guide my steps, I dart through the fans stretching down and around the corridor. The fans’ screams rise when they spot me racing by, but my steps remain as determined as ever. Kylie didn’t just pop in for a visit, she brought all the arsenal with her. Her legs. Her smile. Her glorious tits. And don’t even get me started on her eyes. I’m still hard from the lust in her heavy-lidded gaze.
I find Kylie not even thirty seconds later. She is sitting behind my drumkit, the faint rise and fall of her chest seen from this distance. She stares at my drums in the same manner I do every time she enters the room. It isn’t a stare of admiration or wonderment; it is the stare of gratitude. My life significantly changed when Marcus threw a bedsheet off a set of drums over a decade ago, but it was nothing compared to the impact of Kylie walking into my life. She truly is a gift from above. She just wasn’t delivered by god. She was gifted from Serena.
“I thought you said five minutes?” Kylie murmurs, sensing my presence.
Not speaking, I lift her from the stool, take her place, then pull her to sit in my lap. A peppering of goosebumps trail down her nape when I gather her hair to the side so I can nuzzle her neck. I drink in her scent, loving that the grittiness of Vegas hasn’t overpowered her country smell.
“I thought you were on mommy duty?”
I can’t see Kylie’s face, but I know she is smiling. I can feel it in my bones. “I was. Penelope’s sleeping.” She twists her neck so she can see me. “Jenni’s watching her.”
I smile. Now Nick’s lack of concern when Jenni said she was leaving due to tiredness makes sense. He knew the girls’ plan. I shouldn’t be surprised. Sometimes he is as big of a pansy as a girl.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping while Penelope is?”
I’m not trying to scare her away, I just know how exhausting being a first-time parent can be—because I am one. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had an entire night’s sleep. Unfortunately, my daughter isn’t to blame for my lack of sleeping. That blame solely belongs to me and my stupidity.
“Uh. . . probably? But I’ve got more pressing matters on my mind.” The huskiness of Kylie’s voice stiffens my cock in an instant.
“One hundred and fifty three pressing matters?” I prompt, ensuring she is aware I know her bucket list as well as she does.
The deep moan she releases vibrates all the way to my cock as she nods.
“Then what are we doing out here? Shouldn’t we be in my dressing room?”
Upon discovering I didn’t cavort with a groupie backstage, Kylie’s keenness for public romps has veered up a notch, but it is nowhere near high enough for her to get frisky in a location that can’t be locked. I don’t mind, as I’d rather kill a man than let one see her naked.
My cock pulses when Kylie swivels around to face me. Although we aren’t traveling down a highway at sixty miles an hour, her maneuver is just as dangerous as the one she made on my Harley years ago. It isn’t just my life at risk; it is my heart. Her eyes are projecting a love I never knew I craved, but now want more than anything.
“I can’t cross it off my list if it isn’t done properly. Melanie said backstage. This is backstage.”
I shake my head. “This isn’t backstage, baby. This is the back of the stage.”
The small pants of her breath are the only audible noise before she murmurs, “Close enough.”
I slant my head to the side and arch my brow. “You want to fuck here? On my drums?” I try to keep my tone neutral. I fail. I’ll fuck her on the top of the Louvre if it is what she craves, but this isn’t about me. This is about Kylie and a lifelong dream.
When she nods her head, I double triple-check, “Here?”
Panic dilates her eyes before she nods once more. “You won’t let anyone see me, right?”
“No fucking chance of that happening. I’m just. . .” My words trail off to silence. I honestly don’t know what to say. “You really want to do this?” I settle on.
“Yes,” she responds without delay, strengthening her short reply. “I want to finish my list, Slater, and I want to do it with my red pencil.”
“You’ve got nothing to prove, baby, so don’t rush into anything you don’t want.” My words come out strangled as I struggle to keep a rational head.
Just a few short months ago, I would have splayed her on my drum kit and eaten her greedy slit until she came on my face. Now, a sense of morality is harnessing my wicked dreams. Kylie is a mom; I can’t sully her like this. Can I?
“Hey, Mitch,” Kylie shouts, scaring the living daylights out of me.
Mitch, one of the bouncers Cormack brought in when Jenni and Nick were nearly crushed to death two years ago, ducks his head out of the thick stage curtains.
My cock stiffens so fast it is painful when Kylie demands, “Keep everyone away from the stage area.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” The grin etching on Mitch’s mouth reveals he is aware what we are about to do. If I didn’t trust him with my life, I’d question his motives, but Mitch is one of the rare good guys in this industry. He is also fifty-three and has been married longer than I’ve been alive.
“You’ve really gotten all your ducks in row, haven’t you?”
“Oh yeah,” Kylie purrs as her hands move to the three buttons on her shirt. “Why do you think I’m wearing a skirt?”
“Where’s my coverage?” I ask with a chuckle.
I’m just playing. As long as Kylie is covered, I don’t give a flying fuck who sees me naked. I’m also hoping a conversation will settle the ache in my cock. I haven’t seen this side of Kylie in a long time. She is still working through her grief over losing Melanie, and now she is a mom. It’s been a massive adjustment, but I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.
A lump lodges in my throat when Kylie’s slit gaze connects with mine. She doesn’t need to speak to explain; the jealousy blazing in her hazel eyes answers my questions. Hunter did his best to remove the numerous naked photos of me circulating the net the past four years, but the occasional one still pops up. It isn’t a lack of skill on Hunter’s behalf. He just had a lot of images to contend with.
“Warts and all, baby,” I remind Kylie, hoping our party for two doesn’t end before it has truly begun.
“Warts and all,” Kylie murmurs, backing up my pledge before the tenth-trillion apology can spill from my lips. I don’t care how many I have to issue before the turmoil is removed from her eyes. I fucked up, so I deserve to grovel.
Forever impatient—thank fuck—Kylie frees my cock from my jeans before slipping her panties to the side. Although the image of her glistening slit has me striving for greatness, if she wants to cross #153 off her list properly, we need to do this right.
“Stand up, baby. I’ll show you how a real drummer knocks out a tune.”
When she rises to her feet, I spin her around, then curl her over my floor tom drum. Since most of her weight is kept off my kit by her quaking legs, the chances of my drum collapsing is low. Well, until I slam my cock into her, then all bets are off.
A loss in my kit will be worth the sacrifice, though. I’ve never seen such an entrancing visual. Kylie’s skirt is sitting so high on her thigh, portions of her butt cheeks are sneaking out the bottom, and if I adjust my head, her moist panties also come into view.
I take a moment to scan the area. Only once I’m confident we are void of prying eyes do I glide Kylie’s panties down her thighs. The scent of her pussy has my mouth watering. She has a seductive smell that’s become more intoxicating since Penelope was born. If I weren’t aware the band’s meet and greet is wrapping up in approximately twenty minutes, I’d burrow my head between her legs and eat her for dessert.
“Ah, shit,” I grumble in a moan, my angry snarl bouncing around the empty stage.
“Here,” Kylie says, glancing at me over her shoulder.
I thank the music gods for bringing me Kylie when I spot a shiny square package between her fingers. My wallet no longer houses my condom stash. It isn’t that we don’t use them anymore, I just never got around to replacing them after Kylie’s return depleted my stash. She was pregnant, so protection was unnecessary. And although we’ve fucked since Penelope was born, it was either in our home or hotel room, so condoms were at the ready.
The moist condition of Kylie’s slit doubles when I roll the condom down my shaft. She looks how I’ve always wanted her to look: ready to be claimed. Her eyes are hungry, and her pupils are wide. I’m tempted to smack her ass for her earlier tease, but the image of her splayed out before me doesn’t just steal my rationality, but swallows my anger as well.
“Don’t lean too hard on the drums, or they may collapse.”
I grind my teeth together when Kylie pushes back, slamming her slicked sex into my primed and ready-to-go crotch. Her push back is so precise, the first inch of my cock stabs into her.
“Oh.” Her response to my unexpected penetration is not a gripe or a groan, but the moan of a woman in need. One I plan to hear many more times tonight.
After securing a grip on Kylie’s hip with one hand, I slide my other around her waist. I toy with her clit while lining my cock with the cleft of her pussy. She is saturated, but there is no such thing as too much wetness.
“You ready?” I ask, struggling to keep calm.
My chance of maintaining a rational head is lost when Kylie answers my question by ramming backward, impatiently impaling herself. Except this time, she doesn’t just take an inch, she takes all nine. The breathless grunt she releases makes me want to bang my drums like I do at every concert, but instead, I spank her ass.
The welt of my hand on her milky white skin has me sitting on edge. I’d never hurt her, but I have no trouble spanking her ass until it is red. The way her slit clamps around my cock with every spank leaves no doubt she finds it pleasurable, much less the fact her moans grow with every slap.
Kylie has the goodie country girl image down pat, but when she’s being controlled by her desires, there is nothing saintly about her.
She likes to be spanked.
She likes sucking cock.
But more than anything, she loves being fucked.
She’s damn lucky I had no problem crossing every item off her list the past four years. Playing drums is hard work; every concert sucks the life straight out of me, but keeping up with Kylie and her insatiable needs is the fiercest job I’ve had. A lesser man would have crumbled months ago. Lucky for both Kylie and me, I’m as hardheaded as she is stubborn. She makes me and my cock very happy, so why wouldn’t I return the favor?
I slowly slide out of Kylie’s snug canal, feeling my cock grow with every needy suck her pussy does. I want to pound into her on repeat until she’s screaming my name as loudly as the crowd roared it tonight, but I also want to take my time with her. Perfection can’t be hurried, no matter how much my cock wishes it were true.
When my cock pops all the way out, I slide it along the folds of Kylie’s pussy. She purrs when my crown flicks her clit. I pretend my cock is my tongue, using it to tease her aching nub until her pants of breath clink my symbols—and no, that’s not a euphemism.
After teasing her clit long enough her knees are close to giving out, I direct my cock back into her slit. She’s even tighter now, the clutch of her impending orgasm tightening the walls of her pussy.
“Slater. . .”
“Hmm,” I murmur, raising my eyes from a visual the world’s best artist could never duplicate. Fireworks in Time Square, my daughter’s first toothless grin, or seeing the dipshit President booted out of the Oval Office has nothing on the image of my cock inching into Kylie’s pretty pink pussy. I’d die the world’s most painful death before I’d give this up.
When my eyes lock with Kylie’s, she raises a brow. She looks humble, but somewhat pained. “What is #153 on my list?”
I stare at her, shocked she wants to bring up her list now, but decide to play along. “Fuck a drummer backstage.”
“That’s right,” she agrees, smiling in a way that nearly has my cum lining the walls of her pussy. “Fuck a drummer backstage. So will you stop playing around and get the deed done? I’m dying over here.”
She doesn’t need to ask me twice.
After twisting her long, wavy locks around my hand, I press my ears to the shell of her ear. “Just remember you asked for this,” I murmur.
My clutch on her hair makes it hard for her to nod, but she does. “You know what I need, Slater. Give it to me.”
Her words shift to a moan when I ram my cock into her dripping channel in one fell swoop. My speed is brutal, a cross between worshipping her for her impatience while also punishing her. I was trying to be a stand-up guy. I don’t know why I bothered. Kylie doesn’t want a man; she wants a beast, an animal, a man who will fuck her until she can’t remember her own name.
The good girls don’t want flowers and poetry; they want to be claimed. Possessed. Taken. There is no better man for this job than me. I’ll take everything she’s willing to give, then I’ll flip it on its head and give her ten times more.
Kylie’s erotic screams drown out my sack slapping her clit, but it doesn’t weaken the intensity. With one hand on her hip to guide my thrusts and another clutching her hair, I drive into her on repeat, rolling my hips with every pump I make.
The plastic protectors on the feet of my drum kit bounce across the polished floor when I use every muscle in my body to ensure she’s being fucked as she craves. I can feel the hinges slowly giving way, but I continue rocking on, giving it everything I have. My hold on Kylie’s hair ensures she won’t be a victim to their instability. I’ve played these drums every night for the past three years, so I know what they can and cannot handle. They’ve got their shit locked down as well as I do. They won’t disappoint me.
When Kylie’s pussy clamps around my cock, announcing she is close, I yank her head to the side. I want to see her face etched with ecstasy. I want to see how undone I’ve made her.
“Come on, baby,” I grunt when a feral groan tears from her mouth. She sounds like a wild animal, unrestrained and on the hunt.
Another three pumps is all it takes for Kylie to crumble. My name roars from her throat as the drum kit collapses beneath her. I tighten my grip on her hip before I continue plunging into her. I have to balance on my tippy toes to ensure her slit caresses every inch of my cock, but her pussy’s squeeze when she prepared for impact was all the incentive I needed to keep our exchange on track.
Our position looks like some fucked up downward dog yoga pose, but it’s the hottest visual I’ve ever seen. If I weren’t striving to grind out every frenetic quiver pulsating through Kylie’s pussy, I’d be tempted to ask Mitch to snap a picture of us. This is a moment I’ll never forget, but having an image to re-spark the memory would be out of this world.
I bet if I asked Kylie to make a sex tape with me, she’d say yes. She’s often underestimated as the quiet, shy girl. They don’t see the wild side hidden beneath her country girl appearance. Just the thought of how scandalous she can be has me thrusting harder. I’ve always been wild, but Kylie brings out a side of me I’ve never seen. She doesn’t just make me reckless, she makes me unhinged.
“Oh. . . mmm,” she purrs in an eccentric moan when I fail to hold back the excitement gripping every inch of my sack.
My cum spurts into her clenching slit, stealing her senses as well as her kiss on my bike four years ago. Even with a raincoat stopping her feeling the effect she has on me, she knows I’m defenseless to her. If she didn’t, the furious throb of the vein feeding my cock would leave her with no doubts.
As sweat glides down my cheeks, I slow my thrusts. The faint purr of Kylie’s breaths is more ego-raising than the roar of any crowd. She is panting without constraint, as exhausted as me, but too pumped with adrenaline to let her slow down.
“Look at me, baby,” I demand, my voice rough with ecstasy.
When she does, I say the words I’ll never keep from her again. “I love you.”
She smiles in a way that takes my breath away. “I love you too, Slater. Warts and all.”
* * *
Since we were barely undressed, it doesn’t take us long to return to our clothed selves. I dump my tied-off condom into a bin at the side of the stage, release Mitch from his guard, then head back to Kylie. The shit-eating grin on my face triples when I spot the quake of her legs. She’s barely standing upright.
“I think we broke your drums?” she murmurs, her husky voice making me want to take her all over again.
“Eh,” I say with a shrug, not at all worried. I love my drums, but I love this hazel-eyed cowgirl more.
“Hand it over,” I request, holding my hand out palm side up. “We can finally cross #153 off the right way.”
The heat coloring Kylie’s cheeks grows when she digs her hand into the tiny pocket of her mini skirt. My brow shoots into my hairline when her trusty red pencil emerges with her tattered bucket list. Where the hell was she hiding that?
We’ve crossed a lot of items of items off her list the past few years, so her once full pencil is nothing but a stub, but I don’t see how that would have been comfortable in her backbreaking position.
When Kylie hands me her list, I carefully pry it open. The accidental tear from her tussle with Melanie has weakened the paper, but the memories their exchange generated can’t sully its importance.
Once I have the list spread across my jean-covered thigh, I lift my eyes to Kylie. “Go on.”
My cock twitches when she nibbles on the end of her pencil before leaning over to officially scratch off the second to last item on the list.
“Wow,” she murmurs, her eye welling with tears. “It’s nearly done.”
“It is,” I agree, glancing down at the list she made but never expected to fulfill. “There is just one item remaining.”
“We’re engaged. That’s close enough to being married.” She snatches her list out of my hand, pretending she isn’t bothered the second wish remains untouched. She’s a shit liar. She wants to finish her list as much as I want her to be my wife. I shit bricks the day I asked for Kylie’s hand in marriage, but I don’t know why. I’m more petrified of losing her to ALS than marrying her. Just thinking about her not being in my life scares me shitless.
After a quick swallow to clear my nerves, I stammer out a set of words I never thought I’d say for the third time in my life. “Marry me, Kylie.”
Her eyes rocket to mine; shock is smeared on her face.
“Now. Tonight. Here. In Vegas,” I continue before she can voice a single concern filtering through her uniquely beautiful eyes.
“We can’t do that—”
“Why?” I interrupt.
Her lips twitch, but not a word seeps form her mouth.
“We need witnesses?” Her voice is as worried as her facial expression. She has no plausible reason to deny my request. She’s just unsure if this is what I want.
“You’re the mother of my child; you have my ring on your finger, and you stole my heart the day you walked into the Bar N Barrel. What more proof do you need, Kylie?”
I bend on one knee like I did in Fiji only six short months ago. “Marry me. Marry Me. Marry me.”
I continue saying the same two words over and over again until Kylie nods her head. It isn’t an overly confident nod, but I’m going to accept it as if it is.
A girly squeal tears from Kylie’s throat when I stand from my kneeled position, throwing her over my shoulder on the way. Her hearty laughter drowns out my frantic stomps as I charge for the exit like I did when she got drunk playing card games with the roadies backstage two years ago. Although this time she isn’t pounding my back with her fists, I still experience the same feeling. It is just my heart smashing into my ribs this time around.
Just before I exit the main arena, a flurry of blonde captures my attention. As Kylie’s piss poor excuse filters through my mind, my steps slow.
“We need witnesses, right?”
Kylie stops grabbing my ass to nod.
“Alright. I’ve got the perfect people.”
Her stomach gurgles in panic when I march away from the exit. If she is worried I’ve changed my mind, she doesn’t need to fret. There is no chance in hell of that happening.
“Hey, dipshit,” I growl, entering a dressing room on my right. “Do you want a chance to make things right between us?”
Nick stops stuffing his beloved guitar into its case to raise his blue eyes to me. His lips tug when he notices my caveman hold on Kylie. Even though his face shows his hesitation to agree to my question, he still nods his head.
“Then be my best man.”
He takes a step back like I punched him in the gut at the exact moment Kylie releases a sharp breath. They’re not the only ones shocked. I’m not just racing to the aisle like I have a rocket strapped to my back; I want a man I’ve hated more than I’ve liked to stand by my side.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“You’re serious?” Nick mumbles a short time later, shocked by the lack of jest in my tone.
I nod. “As the day I was born.”
He tries to shut down his eagerness. It is lucky he can shred the guitar, as his acting skills are crap. “Alright—”
His agreement is interrupted when I add, “On one condition.”
He rolls his eyes, revealing he knew there was more to my request than I first let on. “I’m not quitting.” He stands to his full height, bringing him a good three inches shorter than me. “I fucked up, Slater. I shouldn’t have messed with your girl, but I’m not quitting. Excluding Jenni and our kids, our band is my life. Look at what you went through when you lost everything you loved. Don’t ask me to do the same, because I won’t make it out the other end like you did. I’m not as strong as you.”
The pride in his voice nearly knocks me on my ass. We’ve always had a love/hate relationship, but the love never veered from our mutual respect of our bandmates and his fiancé. If he didn’t snag Jenni, I’d still hate his guts, but even the manic beat of my heart can’t deny the admiration in his voice.
“I wasn’t going to suggest you quit.”
Nick remains quiet, unsure of my motives. He should be worried. I’m about to knock the wind from his lungs as adeptly as Jenni slayed his playing ways.
“Make an honest woman out of Jenni. Stand by my side, then I’ll stand by yours.”
My sentence has barely left my mouth when Kylie wriggles her hips, requesting to be put down. I do, albeit hesitantly.
As the natural color returns to her face, her eyes bounce between Nick and me, shocked by my suggestion but also thrilled. She knows Jenni wants this more than anything, but she’d never force Nick to do anything against his wishes. How do I know this? Because her stance on marriage matches Kylie’s to a T. Neither of them want to force us down the aisle. They want us to do it by our own choice. That is exactly what I am doing. Nick. . . I have no clue how he will respond. I doubt it will be as I am predicting.
I stop staring into space when Nick mutters, “Alright.”
Now it’s my turn to look like a fish out of water. I was anticipating he’d say no; that’s why I came in all gung-ho.
“You’ll do it?”
Nick’s lips curve high as he nods his head. “Yep.”
“Holy fucking shit,” Kylie murmurs under her breath, matching my sentiments exactly. . . . . .
“I love horses too much to give them up,” Penelope announces, drawing me away from my memories.
“I know,” Nick replies, acting disappointed. “But if I had to pick between riding a horse or a groupie the rest of my life, I’d always pick a horse.”
“Me too,” Penelope and Neveah agree in sync, nodding.
“Then what are you waiting for?” Nick flips Penelope in his arms until she straddles his back. Her laughter bellows into the crisp night air when he gallops in a circle while neighing like a horse.
“Me too! Me too!” Neveah demands, glancing up at Nick like he’s the best thing ever.
Oh, fuck no. My girls aren’t allowed within two inches of a Holt boy, let alone make googly-eyes at them. I was tempted to tape Penelope’s eyes shut earlier today when she wouldn’t stop batting her eyelashes at Jasper. She’s not even eight, for crying out loud. She shouldn’t be idolizing anyone but me.
My crankiness lasts all of two seconds. The little drop of Neveah’s lower lip feels like an arrow was shot through my heart. I promised to give Kylie the world when we wed in Vegas that night nearly eight years ago. That pledge extends to our daughters.
“Come on, baby, let’s show them how it’s done.”
Neveah’s smile outshines the stars when she leaps onto my back so we can join Nick and Penelope galloping around the pool. Her smile is nearly as bright as Nick’s was when I stood at his side to watch him marry the love of his life. His betrayal hurt, but my inability to forgive him hurts more, because as much as this kills me to admit, he isn’t just my bandmate.
He is my brother.