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 have a front row seat to a private concert with my favorite singer, twenty-four hours a day. A singer who has gone from fading legend to industry powerhouse again in the last five years. His latest album—One Night in June—went triple platinum and his upcoming tour is sold out. Although, getting Deke to agree to the tour wasn’t easy.
My presence is required full-time on the road.
I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else, which is one reason I’ve decided to put my communications degree to good use and become Deke’s public relations manager. My job would have been a lot harder when Deke was on the road raising hell, but he’s been sober for five years and doesn’t want to be anywhere but in bed with his wife. Or traveling with his wife. Or plotting out the future with his wife.
I’m very happy to be the common denominator of his interests.
Speaking of the future, though…
I have some news to share with him today and I’m getting restless for him to finish this song, though I’m trying not to show my impatience. Can’t rush perfection.
Still, there’s no harm in incentivizing him, is there?
Deke is watching me through the recording booth glass, half of his face hidden behind the microphone, his guitar cradled in his arms. When I let the blanket drop from my shoulders, there’s a barely noticeable hitch in his voice, but his gaze deepens with intensity to see my shoulders and the slopes of my breasts revealed. I was feeling daring and excited this morning when I wore this silk corseted top that lifts and plumps my boobs in a very noticeable way—and Deke is more than noticing.
He raises an eyebrow, angling himself to get a better view.
Leaning back in the plush leather couch, I push the blanket off my lap and show him my tight and tiny micro skirt. I angle my knees inward, as if shy, tugging the hem down over my pussy, but it’s too late, he’s already seen that I’m bare.
He cuts the recording off mid-song. “Session’s over,” he barks into the microphone, drawing the guitar strap over his head and setting the instrument down with a jumble of notes. He tosses aside his cowboy hat and strides out of the booth, much to the dismay of the nearby technicians sitting behind the mixing desk. “Out,” Deke shouts. “It’s wife time.”
“It’s always wife time,” complains one of the techs.
“Goddamn right it is,” Deke says with relish, licking his lips as he approaches. “Why do you think I’m such a happy son of a bitch? Get out.”
Three men pile out of the studio, grumbling as they go.
My husband is on top of me before I can blink. I give a surprised squeal, pretending to fight him while he manhandles me onto my back and straddles my hips, pinning me to the leather couch with a confident hand around my throat. With his free hand, he yanks up my skirt roughly and curses, long and low.
“You bring that freshly waxed cunt in here to distract me, June Bug?”
“Sorry.” I shift my hips enticingly. “I know you’re a busy man…”
He’s already shaking his head. “I am never too busy for the love of my life.” He unzips his pants and I catch my breath as that huge rod bobs free of his fly, still wearing the red lipstick kiss I gave it this morning. “Not to mention,” he says, already beginning to pant. “I’m addicted to her pussy. Dream about fucking it all day long.”
I crook a finger at Deke, and he comes down on top of me, wedging his shaft against my entrance while we both groan against each other’s mouths. “It dreams about being fucked by you,” I whisper, holding eye contact while I raise my knees up to my shoulders.
Teeth gritted, he hammers home, stopping and shaking once he’s fully seated and going through what I know is a struggle not to ejaculate right away. “Jesus. Jesus. One pump and I could dump it all, baby. Every time. You’re so fucking tight around my cock.”
I drag my nails down his back and grip his thick ass muscles, drawing him deeper into me. “I know, Daddy. You put so much come inside me.” His groan is deafening. “It’s a wonder I didn’t get pregnant sooner.”
He has just started to thrust when I make my pronouncement. His jaw is slack, his mountainous body moving on top of mine. But his head comes up quickly after a few seconds, sharp eye searching my face. “Sooner? What does that mean?”
A sob breaks from my chest. “I’m pregnant,” I whisper, my voice watery.
“Pregnant,” he whispers back, the outline of his head blurring as my eyes pool with tears. “You’re sure, June Bug?”
“Yes,” I eke out, overcome by the emotion in my chest. “I’m sure.”