Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
My heart launches into my mouth and I turn, just outside the spotlight, to find Deke’s hand hesitating on the body of the guitar, his body riddled with tension. It’s clear that he’s not sure about continuing, but his conflicted gaze ticks up to mine and I nod.
When he strums the next series of chords, he keeps going.
He keeps going.
Then, into the microphone, he drawls, “Darling, dance a little closer, tell me what it takes to be worth your wild…”
I can barely hear his voice, everyone is singing along so loudly.
A brief sweep of the audience reveals faces covered in tears or smiles. Both.
But Deke looks at me while he sings the song that made him a household name. Every backstage hand and roadie flanks me in the wing, in awe of what they’re witnessing. For the first time in almost a decade, Deke Decker is singing his most beloved song. It’s about halfway through the second verse when his posture relaxes and he winks at me.
That’s when I realize I’m in love with him.
I’ve always been in love with him. But I loved a one-dimensional hero on a poster.
Somehow, almost overnight, I’ve fallen for the real man.
The stubborn one who makes mistakes and drinks too much. I love him.
I love every version of him.
I don’t bother to hide my feelings while he sings “Worth Your Wild”, blowing him a kiss when the song ends and the standing ovation carries on for several minutes. He watches me recede backstage while he continues the show, but not before he makes me a sensual promise with his eyes. “Don’t go far, June Bug,” he says into the microphone, his voice deeper and darker than a pitch-black country sky.
And I listen.
I stay right at the edge of the stage, waiting for my man.
When he comes for me, he moves like a charging bull.
TEN
Deke
It’s almost scary to feel this awake. This alive.
June has done this to me. Reminded me what it’s like to feel amused and confused and happy and excited. Reminded me that there are good parts to life that don’t involve the bottom of a whiskey bottle. She’s made me want to go out and seek those good things again—with her. I don’t want to do anything without her. How did she resuscitate me so fast? Was she sent here by God? Is she an angel?
That’s exactly what she looks like glowing in the shadows as I finish the encore.
I hand the tech my guitar on my way off stage and scoop June up, grunting my satisfaction when her bare legs wrap around my hips, like she’s been waiting to climb me the entire show. And I waste zero time going to work on that sweet little mouth, laying into her with my tongue right there in front of everyone. Loving the way her neck loosens, her head falling back with a sound of surrender, no problem with me claiming her so publicly.
Trusting me. Trusting Daddy.
Fuck, that single thought, along with her acquiescence, makes me hungry as hell. I’ve got a fat, horny cockstand and she needs to take it now. She wants to take it. The way she’s opening her mouth so wide to receive my tongue, her pussy restless against my belt buckle, leaves no room for doubt of that fact.
It takes an iron will to break the kiss, but I need to get her somewhere alone.
The closest place is the dressing room about twenty yards away and I stride in that direction now, frankly, in heaven thanks to the kisses June plants all over my face. “You did it. You played it.” She beams up at me. “You made so many people happy.”
“I only care about making you happy,” I say, thickly, because apparently, I’m just showing my whole ass now. Holding nothing back from this twenty-year-old redheaded whirlwind who makes me feel like my old self again, but a million times better.
I kick open the door of the dressing room, scaring the shit out of a seamstress. “We need the room,” I bark. “Don’t let anyone in here.”
“N-no, sir.” She scurries past me. “I won’t.”
“Oh God, if I don’t get myself inside that hot little pussy, I’m going to fucking die,” I growl through my teeth, propping June against the closest wall and fumbling with my zipper. “It better be good and wet.”
“I’m so wet, Daddy,” she moans in my ear. “I’m ready to be fucked.”
“Tell me what’s got you so wet, baby,” I demand, dipping my knees slightly so I can get my dick and balls out of my jeans, every part of me so swollen and heavy, it’s a miracle I don’t bust into a big puddle on the floor. Fisting my cock, I press the dripping tip to the lacy strip of her panties and jerk off furiously, panting like I haven’t fucked in a year.