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)
I’m inspired to write new music. Because of her.
Half of the songs are duets, with June singing opposite me, because I selfishly want her on stage with me as much as possible. Just want her near me, period.
Canceling my tour meant rescheduling ten shows and I’ve organized them all around June Bug’s classes next semester. I’m not going on the road without her. I’m not going anywhere without her, ever again. But I had to make damn sure she was getting the best version of me before I asked her to commit the rest of her life to me. She deserves that and more. She deserves the world.
I’m starting to panic as my stride eats up the walkway leading to the parking lot, because I don’t see her. Fuck. Fuck. She didn’t come. She changed her mind.
Right as I’m about to spiral, a car door opens in the closest row and out steps my stunning redhead in an old Deke Decker tour T-shirt and high heels. The shirt reaches the tops of her thighs and…yeah, I’m pretty sure she’s not wearing pants. Or shorts. Not unless they’re extra short.
Good God. My dick is already the size of a bowling pin.
“I couldn’t figure out how to open the door of this new car you sent me,” she laughs, her cheeks flushing at my approach. “By the way, you must stop sending me gifts. I live in an apartment, Deke. I can’t fit—”
“You live with me,” I rasp, hoisting her off the ground, her sexy legs winding around my waist. Her back hits the side of the brand new Lamborghini, she’s pinned between the vehicle and my body—and oh sweet Christ, I get my hips between her thighs for the first time in a week and I’m already on the verge of coming in my fucking pants. Nothing in this world can keep me from humping her so roughly, the Lamborghini rocks on its wheels behind her. “Son of a bitch, I’m going to bust,” I say, my voice guttural, my hips pumping my stiff cock against her cunt. Just ramming myself up against her, my balls hardening ominously with every thrust. “Are you even wearing panties under that T-shirt?”
“Why d-don’t you feel for yourself, Daddy?” she hiccups, biting her lip and squealing over my next aggressive drive, her tight ass mashed up against the passenger side window, squeaking up, down, up, down.
Somehow, I manage to gather the motor skills to yank up the T-shirt and feel along her hip for a panty strap, but there’s nothing. She came to pick me up bare-assed and beautiful. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m going to explode,” I grunt, slipping a hand around to her ass and digging my fingers into that succulent flesh, holding her steady for my quickening pace. Rutting her through my jeans like a dog in heat, my cock throbbing like the beat of a drum. “I’ll never go a fucking day without you ever again, baby.”
She lifts her face to the sunlight, and the smooth, gorgeous texture of her skin makes me frantic. Frantic. Obsession with June has sewn its way into every part of me. Changed the man I am for the better. Ballads about June write themselves in my head while she looks me in the eye and squirms on my dick, helping me come in my pants right there in the parking lot, because she knows what I need. And I intend to spend the rest of my life giving her the same. Everything she desires.
I stiffen, warmth geysering from my cock into the denim trap of my fly, and I watch in disbelief as she moans and shudders, her pleasure seeping through my jeans.
“You came,” I breathe, still straining and shaking through my climax, the force of it weakening my knees.
“Of course I did.” She leans in and twines her tongue around mine, her body still convulsing with little jerks of pleasure, her gasps bathing my lips. “I’ve been coming just looking at you for a long time, Deke Decker. Now? I can taste and smell and feel you.” She throws her head back, still in the throes of ecstasy. “My body doesn’t know what to do with itself. It loves you the way I love you.”
“God, June Bug. I love you back so much it scares me. And don’t worry, your body might not know what to do with itself, but I know exactly what to do with it.” I yank open the car door and settle her tight ass down on the passenger seat. Then I get down on my knees, prop her ankles on my shoulders and show her exactly what I mean.
EPILOGUE
June
Five Years Later
I know my husband’s behavior is borderline ridiculous.
But having me in the studio while he records his new album makes him happy. It makes him happy to wrap me in a cashmere blanket, light my favorite magnolia-scented candles around the studio and croon into the microphone while staring at me from the other side of the glass. He claims there’s no magic in the recordings unless his eyes are on his wife while he sings. And who am I to argue?