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Fuck it . . . professional morals be damned.
I want Keith.
I want him in a way I’ve never wanted a man before. Something about the way he’s both soft and rough unexpectedly does it for me, and if I have a chance, I’m going for it. If I get burned . . . well, I can try starting over writing books. They say every reporter has their own version of the Great American Novel kicking around in their heads. Might as well put mine out there.
Decision made, I shake my head with a smile and take a deep breath, attempting to refocus on my article.
As I read back over it, I know it’s good. Really good, maybe the best I’ve ever written. I know for sure it’ll make our readers feel like they’ve actually experienced what backstage with Keith is really like. Donnie will like this one without a doubt. It paints Keith in a positive light but has just enough exciting dirt from the tour stories to be intriguing. It teases, and while it doesn’t say anything bad about Keith, it does let the reader fantasize just a little.
It’s more than a usual ‘man on the stage’ piece, delving into Keith’s performances from day one to now, along with his thoughts on the whole journey he’s been on. I’ve even got a lead for the next story . . . where does Keith go from here?
With a flourish, I hit Send and lean back in my chair. Two down, at least another couple to go, but Donnie is going to expect some dirt now that I’ve set up Keith as the hero in this tale. He needs a dark moment, but I really don’t know if there is one. I’m beginning to think that Keith really is just who he says, a guy who wants to write, sing, and be left alone.
There’s a tiny voice in the back of my head reminding me of what Maggie said about finding out what he does in his free time, and I make a note to ask some questions about that tonight. Selfishly, I want to ask about his ‘why no dating, now or later’ rule, and as I get dressed, I try to decide if I can do that without sounding like a whiny cling-on.
Realizing the time, I decide casual is the order for the day and grab black leggings and a soft pale blue sweater I knit last winter. The neckline is wide and hangs off my shoulder. I’m still not as good as Grandma ever hoped, so I slip on a lacy purple bralette underneath. I change panties too, into a matching purple thong that nestles softly between my cheeks, making me bite my lip thoughtfully.
Yeah, I’m going in with all thoughts of being professional tonight, but if something happens, I don’t want to be wearing ugly granny lingerie.
I drive quickly to Keith’s place, my mind whirling as I try and think of questions to ask . . . but really, all I want to do is hang out with him, to see where this evening takes us.
I knock on the door, expecting to have to wait, but instead I hear a voice from inside. “It’s open.”
I swing the door open, and my first thought is that Keith seems to have had the same thought of casual comfort. He looks downright edible, grey sweatpants hung low on his hips and a tank top stretched across his chest. I can see tattoos peeking out along the neckline and twisting down his arms in thick bands of design that I’ve never seen before. They’re intricate, they’re detailed, and I want to trace them with my tongue.
My eyes are running across his chest, down his thick arms to his clenched fists. He’s here not to talk, not to have a casual dinner. He’s here to conquer, to take what he wants. And fuck, do I want to give it to him.
“Elise.”
It’s not a question, it’s an order, and I look up as a shudder races through me. I can see the lust he’s holding back, the control he’s using just to stand in front of me. I want to test it, push him and see where his limit is, if for no other reason than my own sanity, which is mind-numbingly lost in his presence. “Keith, what are you thinking right now?”
He doesn’t step toward me, but his whole body seems to vibrate as he growls quietly, his eyes blazing with need. “Right now, I’m thinking that I want to bite that bare shoulder, leave a mark while I hold you in place and pound into you from behind. I want to make you scream my name and fill you with my cock and come until we’re both satisfied.”
And I’m done.
I haven’t even made it in the door yet, not a single interview question asked, but I can’t hold myself back like he is. I don’t have the iron will he does.
