“Shit, so tight . . . it’s so good,” Keith grunts. His cock swells, and I feel him slap into me a final time, his cock exploding deep inside me, the warmth of his seed coating my insides and making me softly weep in satisfaction.
As we pant, trying to catch our breath, I collapse to the bed, Keith still on top of me and inside me. Gathering me in his arms, he kisses my cheek, tasting my tears. “You okay?” he whispers, concerned. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
I smile, moaning happily. “So much better than okay. So much better.”
I feel the rumble of his laughter at my back, and he kisses my shoulder before slowly pulling out. I feel the loss instantly and wish he were inside me still. I’m too exhausted to look up, but I hear Keith pad to the bathroom and walk back to the edge of the bed.
“This might sting for a second.”
I hiss as he presses a wet washcloth to my sore pussy, but almost as soon as the shock of discomfort starts, it passes and a soothing warmth takes its place.
“Mmm, that feels good. But you might have to kiss it all better.”
“Normally, I’d give you a smack for that sass, but maybe I’ll take mercy on you for now.”
I chuckle, looking at him from half-hooded eyes. “Maybe just save it for later?”
“I can definitely do that.”
After a minute or two, the washcloth loses its warmth and Keith sets it aside, gathering me to curl up to him as he wraps his arm around my shoulders.
He covers us over with the blankets, tracing his thumb along my shoulder. “I love you.”
I look up at him, seeing the honesty, the depth, the truth in his eyes and knowing it’s all we ever need to say.
“I love you too, Keith.”
Epilogue
Elise
I can’t believe how nervous I am, sitting in the dressing room backstage. It’s the first night of Keith’s new summer concert tour, and it wasn’t until I looked back that I realized he’s always started his summer tours in his home state, Idaho.
Some investigative reporter I am. Luckily, since I quit my job with The Daily Spot, I’ve been doing freelance reporting so I was able to come along. Freelancing has been better than I could’ve ever hoped, letting me work on whatever stories interest me. With Keith and Carson’s permission, I even did a whole new in-depth profile on our new family, and Rolling Stone snatched it up at a good premium. Not quite The New York Times, but you really can’t get much more respect in the music industry media.
Ironically, the tabloids have left too. With no more secrets—well, none that are that big, my wonderfully aching ass tells me—the buzz of intrigue has died off. There’s just nothing there for the paparazzi to pick clean.
I’m even doing a weekly blog post for a country music site called Life on the Road with Keith Perkins. So even while we’re on tour, I get to work and spend time with Keith. It’s the best of both worlds. Paparazzi still show up in droves for awards and concerts, but it’s settled down enough so that we can live pretty quietly at home.
Carsen is safely back at school, at least for another week until her summer vacation starts, and then she and Sarah will join us on the tour starting in San Diego. Best of all, Keith and I can usually sneak out for coffee without hassle as long as he skips the cowboy hat and wears the Clark Kent getup.
I’ve come to like the faux nerd version of Keith, and we’ve definitely put those glasses, along with some of my wigs and disguises, to good use over the last few months. He plays my nerdy computer repair guy in glasses and a polo, or I’ll pretend to be his personal lap dance stripper thanks to the moves I saw at Maggie’s gig. Keith says it’s sexy to have a blonde one minute and a brunette the next, and I’m thinking of ordering a short red wig for some extra spice. I think a red-haired version of myself might be a bit more bossy, and it’ll be fun to see if Keith can handle that. Ha!
But today, Keith is in full cowboy mode in his tight jeans, plaid button-down shirt, hat, and boots. He looks hot as hell and I’m reminded again how lucky I am that everything has worked out this way.
It could’ve been very different. If I hadn’t written the initial article. If we hadn’t given in to our attraction. If we hadn’t gone public with our story. Hell, if Donnie hadn’t tried his blackmail schemes.
There are a thousand what-if’s, but they’ve all led to this moment right here. We’re happy, in love, with our careers doing well . . . and I’ve got my very own dominant sexual beast of a country music star to satisfy every desire I could ever imagine.