Keeley
eleven
There was a knock at my door, and before I could even turn around, Miller asked, “Hey, darlin’, you busy?”
I grinned over my shoulder at him. “I am, but I can make time.” I gestured for him to enter. “Come on in. What’s happening?”
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, enclosing us in the privacy of my office. It had floor-to-ceiling windows down one side of the room with mirror tinting on them to give me privacy, and once the door was closed, it was like a bubble.
He casually made his way around my desk, walking his fingertips over every piece of furniture he sashayed past. He leaned that gorgeous butt up against my desk, right next to my keyboard, and said, “I wanted to thank you for last week. The adoption drive,” he clarified when I furrowed my brow.
I smiled and said, “You took home that black kitten, didn’t you.”
“We did, and Spencer’s completely smitten.” He pulled up the sleeves of his Henley and showed me his forearms. “I’ve got scratches and bite marks all over me, but Midnight loves Spencer. That’s all that matters.”
“You’re a big softie.”
“Shh, don’t tell anyone.” He chuckled and rubbed his smooth jaw. He had something on his mind that he wasn’t telling me.
“What’s going on, Miller? Do you need help with something?” I asked.
“Yeah, but I don’t think you’re the person to speak to. I think I need a referral.”
“Try me,” I replied and sat back in my chair, crossing my legs at the knee and resting my hands in my lap.
“We need to find a new place to live. The hotel apartment is great. It’s easy and central, but people know where Spencer is now.”
Oh, hell. I’d been worried about that exact thing happening when HR told me where they’d set them up.
“The more songs he releases and the bigger he gets, the more people are starting to hang around there. He doesn’t drive here—he’s always saying we’re on the wrong side of the road—so he’s relying on rideshares to get around.
He has to walk out the front door for that, so he’s barely going out.
I don’t want him to feel cooped up and hate it here. ”
“I can speak with HR or the hotel to beef up security—”
“Nah, it’s okay. But do y’all know a good real estate agent? I think it’s time we get something more permanent.”
“Permanent is good. I’ll ask around for some recommendations and let you know later today.”
His shoulders dropped, the stress he’d been carrying visibly falling away. He pulled his ball cap off, ran his fingers through his hair and slid it back on, then shot me a soft smile.
“Woah, wait. You cut your hair.” I stood, my chair rolling back against the wall with a soft thud as I reached for his hat and tugged it off again. I was standing closer to him than a casual acquaintance, but when I went to step back, he touched my hip, freezing me in place.
“I like it,” I whispered and brushed back a piece that had fallen over his forehead. He’d lost all his curls, which was devastating, but he was so beautiful, it didn’t matter. He took my breath away.
“Of course you do.” He shot me a wicked grin, then pursed his lips and scrunched up his nose adorably. “I’m still not sure.”
I took my time running my gaze over every inch of his body.
From those dark blond strands of silky-smooth hair, his bright blue eyes and kissable lips, his square jaw, and those bulging biceps and pecs, all the way down to his compression leggings stretched over his thick thighs and calves and then his feet encased in a pair of bright white sneakers, he was a masterpiece.
“You’re very handsome,” I whispered. “You clean up very nice.” The smile that spread across his lips made my heart skip a beat. A little shiver passed through him like my praise lit him up. Then I realized it did.
“Oh, but I love being dirty, darlin’.”
I huffed out a laugh and couldn’t help but reach for him. I touched his chest tentatively, my fingers barely brushing his pec. He sucked in a breath and held it, and I pressed my fingers against his muscle just hard enough that he would feel my touch through his shirt.
He held still while I explored. He was a big Labrador puppy. I wanted to pet his head and scratch his belly. I actually wanted to strip him naked and lick him, but I knew I shouldn’t. Still, he was so darn pretty.
He hummed appreciatively, and the sound was pure sex.
It stirred something low in my belly.
Desire.
Want.
Need.
I moved my fingers and brushed his nipple, and he choked out a groan.
I needed to stop, and I needed him to shut up.
Not in a bad way, of course. More like… he was dangerous to my sanity, and my self-restraint was already in tatters as I stood between his spread legs.
If he kept making noises like that in front of me, I’d fall down the rabbit hole and never find my way out of Wonderland.
It was bad enough at the team barbecue when I didn’t know a thing about him.
It’d been getting worse ever since. But now that I did know him, now that I’d seen the effort he was putting in to doing everything asked of him, it was so much worse.
He was way more than a pretty package with a cocky mouth now.
He was someone I was drawn to like a moth to a flame.
My mind wandered, and I couldn’t help but imagine him making those noises with his husband.
That was such a hot picture. I could just picture Spencer feeding him his dick to quiet Miller and Miller choking on it, then moaning.
I wanted to watch them together. I wanted to be between them.
I stared at his lips, imagining them stretched wide.
I licked my top lip and swallowed hard. My God, he was potent.
So was his husband.
I’d been listening nonstop to Spencer's album, picking up on subtle lines where the pronouns he sang reflected his yearning and desire for Miller. I knew every line of every song; I should, given they’d been on repeat in my car since I’d met him.
His voice was like warm honey, velvety, potent, and full of sex.
I wanted to watch him move, to see him up close and personal.
I was reaching level five obsessive stalker with him.
I’d watched every interview I could find.
My reels were now either ads, because of course, Spencer Clay, or Brayden Miller.
They were all the same—Spencer singing, the two of them walking into a shop or the hotel they were living in, fans shouting at them, and interviewers asking Spencer questions.
His clipped answers were all one or two words unless he tossed out a “Suck my dick,” or “Fuck off, mate.” But when they were about music, he’d relax and talk.
He still had that delicious scowl, but it only made him more appealing.
The interviews with Miller were the complete opposite—playful, teasing, and charming. Always charming.
Miller moved, and it snapped me out of my daydream.
It was a good thing too. The other guys on the team liked their sweats for training, but Miller preferred compression leggings and shorts.
He shifted, spreading his legs more and giving me room to step forward an inch.
He tugged at his grey T-shirt, but it was a ruse. He was subtly adjusting his cock.
Miller was long and thick, not hard yet, but nowhere near soft either. My core clenched, and my clit throbbed as I fantasized about having him inside me. I thought I’d imagined his girth when he’d pressed my hand against his cock the last time he’d been in this position.
I hadn’t.
Holy shit, he was packing. Desire pulsed through me, and I sucked in a breath.
Those leggings literally left nothing to the imagination. I saw the outline of his cockhead, and my mouth watered.
“Keeley,” he rasped. I blinked up at him, and he surged forward, cupping my face with his hands, his lips hovering a hair’s breadth away from mine. We breathed the same air, my heart hammering in my chest as the line I said I wouldn’t cross blurred.
“Brayden,” I whispered, needing him to make the first move, to break the restraint I’d ordered myself to exercise.
He eliminated the distance between us, capturing my lips in a slow kiss. Electricity shot through me, his lips so soft to the touch, and I moaned, needing more. He pulled back, and our labored breaths filled the quiet in my office.
“Brayden,” I whispered again. This time I breached the gap between us, pressing my mouth to his once more.
He swiped his tongue across my lip, seeking entry, and I opened to him.
With his hands still on my face and my fingers fisting his soft T-shirt, I dove in and moaned.
He tasted of coconut-flavored lip balm and the iced cherry Gatorade I’d watched him drink.
I pulled him closer, needing more. I was desperate to feel every inch of him pressed to me. Brayden didn’t hesitate, tugging me tight against his body. He rolled his hips against mine, grinding his hard cock against my soft belly.
I sucked in a breath. He was hard. He was kissing me, and he was hard.
I had to touch him. I ran my hands up his back, then under his T-shirt, seeking out all that warm, hard muscle, and back down to his ass.
It was chunky, thick and meaty and oh so grabbable.
I choked out a cry when he ground against me as I squeezed, kneading those generous cheeks.
Everything outside the walls of my office vanished. It was just the two of us, consumed with need. I hooked my thumbs under the waistband of his leggings and dragged them down, exposing his ass.
“Please,” he panted against my lips before he kissed me again.