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Supporting me from behind, he reaches around, taking the panties from my mouth and letting a rush of sweet, cool oxygen flood my body. Placing his lips by my ear, his breath is warm as he holds me tenderly. “Such a naughty girl, but you took your punishment fucking beautifully.”
I grin, finding the strength to stand up on my own. Keith reaches down, grabbing my still pristine panties that are twisted and stretched around my thighs and pulls them up, smoothing the stretch of material between the cheeks of my ass. “Keith . . . I have so much to say.”
“Over pancakes,” he promises me, stepping back. He takes my panties and inhales deeply, savoring their scent. “You’re right, these are mine now.”
He puts them in his backpack, cinching the top closed. “Get dressed. I’m feeding you some fucking pancakes on the way home.”
Fuck yes, pancakes sound like heaven now, my body on empty after the intensity of what we just did. With one lick.
That’s all it took.
We take the ATV down, Keith using some ramps in the back of his truck to put the vehicle inside before he ratchet-straps it in place. “Just one thing,” I tell him as we sit in the cab, finally finding words. “You have to promise me something.”
“What’s that?” he asks, smiling as he sees me regain my equilibrium and a little bit of my sassiness.
“Promise that if you start wearing my panties, I have your permission to include that dirty secret in the articles. And maybe take a picture . . . but I’ll keep that to myself,” I say with a saucy wink, the imaginary image of a big, rough country boy like Keith even getting one tree-trunk of a thigh in my tiny panties quite laughable.
He laughs, twisting the key in the ignition before pointing a finger at me. “Not happening . . . the wearing, the story, and most definitely, not the picture.”
We start back toward the city, stopping at a restaurant known for its weekend brunches, and my thoughts return to the promise of pancakes and coffee. God, coffee . . . I need a thermos full considering how blissfully worn out Keith has made me.
“Just a moment,” Keith says, getting a hat from the back and pulling it over his head. “There.”
“You just going in here, thinking you won’t be recognized?” I ask, laughing.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Actually, if I don’t have a cowboy hat and tight jeans on, most folks don’t even give me a second look. Especially when I pull out the fancy disguise.”
He pops open the console, pulling out a pair of thick black-framed glasses, slipping them on. He looks like a sexy nerd, and I’m reminded of my earlier thoughts that Clark Kent could learn a lot from this guy. Then again, maybe Keith is from Krypton . . . he certainly is the cock of steel, at least.
“So, what do you think?”
“I think if you throw on a fake Boston accent, you could pull that off in the middle of Kentucky and nobody’d bat an eye,” I say, impressed that the glasses actually do a decent job of disguising him. I should know since I’ve had some pretty stellar disguises in my investigations. “So does that mean I get to hold my boyfriend’s hand and not have to worry?”
“Damn right,” Keith says, and he’s true to his word as we go inside. Also true to his word, the hostess doesn’t even give Keith a second look before leading us to a table by the window. The waitress gives us an appraising double-take as she takes our orders of orange juice, coffee, and pancakes, and worry starts to twist in my stomach. Despite what’s growing between us. We absolutely can’t be public.
As she walks off, I lean over, trying to keep my voice low. “She knows.”
He grins as he wiggles the glasses at me, totally assured. “You don’t know that. Maybe she just thinks I’m hot.”
My fears are confirmed, though, when she returns a moment later with the steaming cups of caffeine nectar. She leans forward, her voice careful. “Uhm, excuse me, but are you Keith Perkins?”
I freeze, curious how he’s going to handle this, and admittedly, my journalist gene kicks in a bit. He gives her a confused look and tweaks his voice a little to make it sound totally un-Keith-like as he replies. “Who? My name’s Adam. You must have me confused with someone else. Sorry.”
He flashes her an innocent smile and shrugs his shoulder. She looks at him for a second longer before sighing wistfully. “Sorry, sir. You just kinda look like him. You’ve never been mistaken for him before? He’s a country singer.”
Keith smiles wider. “Not that I recall. And I’m more of a rock guy myself. Ever heard of Highly Suspect?”
