EPILOGUE
DRAKE
Cha Cha dances about the stage like it’s her personal boudoir shoot—only in front of a hundred thousand fans all screaming her name.
It took a year for her voice to return to normal under strict coaching and exercises, and in that time, I coached her too.
She’s now proficient in self-defense, several martial arts styles and carries a mean punch as well as knife throwing.
That last ended up as a feature in her latest music video that landed her an award that she thanked me for both publicly and in private.
The latter part was fun.
I don’t break into her stage work, unless necessary, and that’s rare.
I watch her from the wings, a small set of screens showing me the arena from her point of view, as well as who is nearest the stage.
But I keep a personal eye on my girl, and she often looks across at where I stand, knowing I never take my eyes off her.
“Fifty seconds,” the new stage manager says in my ear.
Her last crew all moved along—voluntarily—along with her sasaeng, though one of those ended up with silver bracelets when I tracked through each personality profile and cross referenced those with activity logs from the stadium of the night I took her away with me.
I wasn’t convinced that Major Barret was the only active stalker hunting Cha Cha the night he broke into my house.
That she knew him and that he knew me bothered me for days after we figured the connection out.
Afterwards, the twisted romance and the letters started to add up.
I understood how easily someone so close to her could become obsessed.
Hell, I was halfway there myself. But our love developed in other ways.
Major, after they broke up, bragged about the celebrity he fucked and left to his friends.
That use and abuse her mentality devolved into something else entirely.
He could claim he walked away with no feelings hurt just like Cha Cha, but at the end of the day, he wanted her back, and so down the rabbit hole, his emotions dived.
Cha Cha is worth every twisted heart, every obsession, after all. But while she might be the celebrity clause in several relationships, she’s also the sort of obsession that, globally, leaves hearts broken and tears on cheeks whenever she releases a new song.
Like tonight’s.
Sometimes, her obsessed fans go a little too far.
But the shattered mirror and the message written there that I pieced back together before she turned up in her dressing room that first night never suited Major’s M.O. not when I looked back on his profile.
But that profile did suit the sasaeng. And when I interviewed them, one at a time, I found some discrepancies that matched up with the blacked out portion of the security footage for her dressing room that night.
The pink and white haired pastel fanboy was carted away without either fanfare or objection.
Actually, he appeared kind of thrilled with his adventure, which sickened me somewhat.
After that, Cha Cha’s team underwent voluntary cleanse.
The only remaining staff member is Shayne who is now Master of the Wardrobe—his official title—a choice by both himself and Cha Cha.
That seems both pompous and overdone to me but they love it and who am I to complain? My girl is happy, and so am I.
“Twenty seconds.” The voice in my ear is far too chipper.
I nod, concentrating as Cha Cha sings through the final chords of her new song that she closes her most recent tour with every night.
Once I thought you were beautiful.
Once I wished you were mine.
Now I know you’re broken inside,
Nothing but show and shine.
The lights black out on the stage. I step back as the team we handpicked and interviewed together flood the area. Everyone has a designated spot and I’m anal as hell about people staying in their lane.
Cha Cha waves to the crowd and belts out her planned encore after making the audience beg for it.
I smile at that; she’s growing stronger in asking for what she wants.
The rest of the close off runs as planned.
I follow her back to the dressing room, opening the door and checking first, then stepping aside for her to enter.
No sasaeng or wannabes sit in the quiet, empty waiting room.
It’s just me and her new manager who hangs about, tablet in hand with tonight’s remaining schedule.
Which had better involve a shower and sleep.
Cha Cha doesn’t so much as glance at me as she enters, already talking to Shayne about what worked for her costuming and what didn’t.
We keep everything public and professional about our relationship.
A handful of people know, and so far, we’ve managed to keep it out of the media, mostly so Cha Cha isn’t barraged with questions she doesn't want to answer yet. If that shitstorm blows up, then it does, and we’ll face the media together too.
Her fingers brush my thigh in the lightest touch. That’s all I get in acknowledgement, but it’s enough. I pull the door shut behind her, Cha Cha talking animatedly as she unzips the side of her costume, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to remember that this is her space, and that we’ll have time together later tonight if she has the energy, or tomorrow, when she’s not performing or on the road. Maybe I can cook for her, seeing as she barely eats when she’s on tour and stressing about every detail.
I’m halfway through a menu for tomorrow when the door opens beside me and Shayne steps out, followed by a stuffed capybara that sails over his head.
My eyebrows hike. “Tantrum?”
It’s been a while since I saw one of those in action. Cha Cha had a few when her voice didn’t work the way she wanted early on. It was a toss up on whether she’d go for the plush toys or throwing knives, but that was back home where we could duke it out together in a safe environment.
He runs his hands over his curly pink tinged hair. “She wants spangles for the next tour. Fucking spangles! We’re not in honkey tonk land.” He bares his teeth, looking like a deranged ram.
I shrug. “So, let her have them.”
He glares at me. “This is your fault. You indulge her.”
That’s probably true. I shrug. “She works hard.” It's the cover we put in place early in. Shayne has always suspected, but never called us on it outright.
“Yeah? Then you can deal with her hard work. It’s you she wants, anyway." He pouts like a spoiled child.
I snort. “She doesn’t always get what she wants with me,” I mutter.
“Okay. Fine. You convince her to put the damn latex into the next act she performs, then. She’s all yours.” Shayne storms away, taking Lola, the new stage manager, with him, cussing not so softly under his breath.
Crouching down, I collect the upside down capybara, and turn for Cha Cha’s door. Latex, huh? The memory of the night I showed her what a goodnight kiss could be like leaves my blood hot in an instant.
I knock on her door. “Cha Cha?” The handle gives, and I push it open.
A stuffed tiger zooms past me. I duck by reflex as a plush potted daisy follows it. The next airborne item is a fluffy pink pig. I catch that and kick the door shut, flicking the lock.
“No mor—” Something white and gray slaps my pec. A squeaky shark bounces off my chest. I don’t bend to pick that up. “Ow, princess."
Cha Cha turns to me, her wide eyes framed with thick black lashes from her stage make up. “I. Wanted. You.” She stamps her foot in her long white boots that encase her legs to her thighs in leather.
I know, because I zipped the fucking things up earlier.
“And I’m here.”
“You are.” She holds a stuffie in front of her as though she’s unsure if she’s about to throw it or cuddle the damn thing.
I take a step closer, tossing the two plush toys I’m holding behind me. “Tonight was too much?”
She shakes her head.
“You hated the idea of latex?” I try again.
She glares at me. “I don’t give a fuck about the latex.”
I stop and stretch my hands out at my sides. “Alright, princess. I’m outta ideas. But if you throw that at me at point blank range, it’s probably gonna sting—”
The stuffie bounces off my chest and falls to the floor between us.
Cha Cha looks at me expectantly.
I sigh. “Come here.”
She steps forward, sliding her feet beneath the offending toy in a carpet of the damn things. “I missed you.”
My knuckle slides beneath her chin, but I let her tip her head back herself, unwilling to hurt her accidentally. I know she’s recovered but I can’t not see the necklace of bruises left on her flesh because I didn’t see the threat when I should have.
“What do you need from me tonight, princess?” I ask, reaching across with one hand to flick off the light, but keeping contact with her so she knows where I am.
The room lunges into darkness, and suddenly, she’s gone.
“Cha Cha?”
Warmth blooms across the front of my suit pants. I groan as she mouths my cock though the material, her tongue teasing the shape of me. “Fuck, princess. You could have said.”
Her giggle undoes me. I sink my hands into her hair as she works my belt free, then the zip on my pants. When my cock touches her lips, I tip my head back, digging my toes into the soles of my shoes.
“Christ, princess. Keep teasing me and I’ll paint your face with my seed. Then everyone will know,” I murmur.
Her soft sigh before she envelops my cock with her hot, wet mouth is the sweetest kind of torture.
I massage her scalp, forcing myself to treat her gentle as she sucks me, putting her pretty little mouth to the best use.
Within moments I’m aching, and wishing I hadn’t turned out the lights.
Her mouth opens wider and the tip of my cock hits the back of her throat.
She chokes softly and I pull her back. This isn’t something we’ve practiced, but she shakes herself free of my hands, and swallows me whole again.
“Jesus,” I whisper, stroking her hair back from her face. “Little queen, I won’t be able to hold back if you keep swallowing me like that. Are you sure—”
Cha Cha buries her nose in the front of my pants, and chokes.
My balls tighten, tingles racing along my spine. I swear not seeing her is worse, or maybe better. The image of her choking on me embeds in my mind. I grip her shoulders, pulling her up to me roughly.
“Too much, princess,” I grate, lifting her in my arms. She’s tiny, so easy to toss around. Her legs fit perfectly over my hips as I back her up until she hits the wall. I notch against her heat, and push all the way, slow, in one thrust.
Cha Cha buries her face into my shoulder, her scream lost in my shirt.
“Don’t you ruin that voice, or you’ll be explaining to Shayne,” I withdraw to slam back into her again, “why you have red stripes across your pretty ass from my belt. Do you want to talk that through with him, princess?” I give up trying to fuck her nicely and rail her, praying the wall is sturdy.
Cha Cha meets me, relaxing her body so she slides along my cock without resistance, letting me delve deeper into her slicked pussy each time. The cries lodged in her throat are muffled, but her hold on me tells its own story.
Pleasure rips through me as her little pussy milks my cock. I growl my need against her mouth, kissing her gently even as I fuck her fast and hard. She kisses me back and then we lose all sense of control, tongues tangling as she gushes hot and liquid on my cock.
It’s too much, the extra slicked sensation. I slam deep, searing my name on her walls. Cha Cha whimpers in my arms, panting and the sort of mess that will be damn hard to explain walking out of here later.
“Tell me there’s a shower,” I murmur, once my breath settles. “Or you’ll be explaining a new factor in your show life to the media come tomorrow, princess.”
“I don’t care.”
Those three words come from the tangle of arms and legs and sweat between me and the wall.
“What?”
Cha Cha tightens around me, leaving me groaning. “I. Don’t. Care.” She locks her legs around my waist, wiggling closer. “I don’t care if they see us together. I don’t care if they know, Drake. It’s us. I’m sick of hiding.”
My blood heats fresh. “You’re ready to tell them?”
And by them, I mean the whole fucking world.
Because there isn’t a soul out there who doesn’t know who Cha Cha Min is, or that’s how it seems most days.
If she announces this, or someone photographs us holding hands getting in the car tonight, or—fuck my life—us kissing, it’ll be everywhere before the morning editions hit the shelves.
“Yes, Drake. I mean I’m ready. I’ve been ready for a while.” Cha Cha’s hips wriggle.
Hell, this girl knows me so well. I’m already hard with the thought of her telling the world about us.
Not having to hide who we are together any more.
I did it because that’s what she wanted and I got it.
I supported her in every way. But being able to be us wherever we are?
That’s what I want. Sure, it comes with threats of its own but that’s nothing we don’t face on a daily basis.
This simply changes the face of that landscape.
I catch her chin in a firm grip. "Cha Cha. Tell me you’re sure.”
She leans forward and presses a kiss to my lips, already rocking on my cock. “I’m sure, Drake. It’s why I—”
“The tantrum.” I grin and tweak her nose, pinning her hips to the wall and burying myself deep until she moans, holding her there. “Better?”
“So much,” she whimpers as I move slowly, eking every inch of pleasure from her that I can.
“Show me how much, princess.”
Her body undulates with mine. I catch her mouth in a kiss that matches our movements, driving deep. Her slick coats us both as we find an edge and stay there, drawing out the pleasure before we tip over it together.
And because I’m a selfish bastard with a celebrity crush, I steal her sounds for myself, kissing her until my own need tears through me. Her name is on my lips as I seat myself inside her, staring into the eyes of the woman I love, with a side serve of obsession that she doesn’t seem to mind.