18. Upstaging the Performance
Isettle my gaze on her breasts, just the right size to fit into my palms perfectly. My dick is straining hard against my pants, and I swear I’m going to burst a blood vessel soon.
But even with how much her body drives me insane, I feel the strangest sense of peace envelope me. I don’t know what she has done to me, but I’m only going to be alright if I get access to her a few times a week.
Make that every day, I correct myself, as her nipples bead under my watch.
I step forward, pushing a finger between her thighs. Faye lets out a trembling moan when I brush past her clitoris and into her.
“Not even wearing panties,” I mutter, already getting harder at the thought of her performing wearing nothing else but that sequined mess. “Looks like you were waiting for me.”
Her cheeks turn brick red with embarrassment. Still, Faye rests her gaze on me as she mutters, “Kevin mentioned that he might see if you could come for the show. So, I thought . . . during intermission . . .”
She doesn’t complete her statement, but she doesn’t need to.
She was hoping I’d come and bang her halfway during her show. And she prepared for it.
That admission feels better than a thousand orgasms.
I reach for the band of my sweatpants, desperate to lose myself in her, but Faye gets there first. She strips me expertly, and I’m standing with my briefs and pants bunched around my knees. Her slender fingers wrap around my dick as she starts to stroke me.
“Faye,” I choke out, somehow managing not to double over from the pleasure. “As much as I enjoy the idea of you giving me a blowjob while your staff waits for you, I’m going to explode if I’m not inside you in the next second.”
She gives a sly little grin. An image of the first time we had sex comes to me, how she sucked me off and swam across the lake. The little tease. I didn’t just miss fucking her. I missed everything about her. Hell, I even kind of missed those nights of slow torture where I lay in bed next to her and hoped she would accidentally brush against me. And I definitely miss seeing her smile, even in response to making me uncomfortable.
Pulling her by her hips toward me, I plunge myself into her and swallow her scream as sweet, blessed relief washes over me. I’ve had sex with Faye dozens of times, but all of those times combined don’t feel as good as what I feel now, having her back in my arms. I pull her even closer and plunge into her again, over and over. My body is trembling with the need to finish quickly, but I want to enjoy this as much as I can. So, I settle into a slow rhythm that threatens to split my brain in two. Faye’s holding on to me for dear life, biting her lips so her moans come out as silent as possible.
“How bad did you want this?” I whisper, hating the near silence. I think back again to our first time together, how good it felt hearing her scream.
“Bad,” she whispers, and the sincerity in her eyes tells me she’s not lying.
“I want to hear you,” I mutter in her ear. Holding one of her nipples between my thumb and middle finger, I squeeze it. “Let me hear you.”
“Blake,” she whimpers, her voice quivering with pleasure. “There are people outside.”
“Good,” I say, driving myself inside her with even more force. “They get to hear what you sound like when I fuck you.”
“Blake, please,” she pleads. “No.”
I love it when she begs. Love that she knows I’m able to fuck her so well, she’ll lose control and start screaming in spite of what she wants.
Because that’s what I’m about to do.
Leaning over her, I say, “What’s the worst thing that’ll happen if a couple of your employees know you’re having a good time? They already know, anyway.”
Faye lets out a slightly higher moan as I thrust into her again. I let myself ponder my own question:what is the worst thing that could happen if people knew I had sex with Faye right here in her dressing room?
I picture a scandalous headline. Doesn’t mean a thing, though. The whole world already thinks I’m her boyfriend. Her fans would probably find the news pleasing and make it into some kind of statement about how Faye is finally in a great relationship.
It stuns me that I don’t care about being paraded as Faye’s man in the news. Not now, maybe not as long as she’s with me.
I thrust into her again even harder, at the same time increasing the pressure on her nipples.
Faye lets out another moan.
“Good, baby.” Just hearing her threatens to make me come, but I can’t help wanting her to do it again. So, I keep thrusting, letting the sounds settle deep in my soul so I can treasure them later.
“When you’re up there,” I murmur against her ear, “think of me. Only of me.”
“Yes,” she whispers. No arguments whatsoever.
Her willingness to obey drives me over the edge. I ram into in her, desperate to give her as much pleasure as she can take.
It works, and Faye lets out a soul-splitting scream as she orgasms. I come in her, my body shaking as the pleasure overcomes me. Burying my face in her hair, I let my climax recede, along with whatever thoughts that have started to spring up about taking her again. She’s got to do her show now, and later tonight, I’ll have her to myself.
It’s just as I slip my briefs back on that I realize something.
It’s not only that I don’t care about being paraded as Faye’s boyfriend.
I actually like it.
Because as long as the whole world knows she’s mine, no one else can have her.
And Lord help me, that’s exactly what I want: to claim her all for myself, for as long as possible.
“Tell me you’re joking.I need to know you’re joking.”
I run my hand through my hair. Should have known this was a bad idea, but then I didn’t have anyone else to share this with.
“I’m not,” I say to my sister. It’s only three hours since I’d had mind blowing sex with Faye, and I’ve spent the whole time watching her give a performance of a lifetime while standing backstage with Brit.
I texted her the moment Faye got on stage. She was in the crowd somewhere, and I got one of Kevin’s staff to get her back here. All of his assistants and Faye’s stylists have been shooting me looks from incredulity to loathing for making Faye late for her show, but I barely notice.
Because I am facing a conundrum in my head.
“You really . . . had . . . sex . . . with her back there?” my sister asks, her eyes popping out of her skull. She seems too shocked to even express disgust about talking about my sex life.
“Say it louder, will you?” I say, as another assistant bustles past us, shooting me an evil eye.
“Sorry,” she whispers, clamping her hand over her mouth. She looks like she’s about to burst out laughing. “It’s just . . . wow. And she’s over there singing her lungs out like she’s got no care in the world. That’s amazing.”
I glance at the stage, where Faye is singing a new song—one that, thankfully, has nothing to do with romance. I try not to look too hard, though, because she’s switched the jumpsuit for a miniskirt, and I’m damn sure it’s going to be a lot easier to fuck her with that on than it was with the?—
“Can you hear me, Blake?”
I blink, returning back to the present where my little sister is looking at me with her brows knotted.
“Yeah,” I say, almost snapping. Britney is being as helpful as she possibly can, but I’m still upset with myself. Somehow, I walked into this venue knowing that I had to break things off with Faye, and I’m going to walk out after having waited until the end of the show for an opportunity to screw her . . . again.
“I understand this is hard,” she says. “Alex and Ken are not going to be happy when they hear you didn’t break up with her.”
“Thanks for telling your husband about my personal life, by the way,” I say, recalling that unfortunate little detail.
Brit pulls a face of contrition. “He was worried about you.”
“You mean they were amused by me.”
“No,” she insists. “Worried. I mean, all of them know how much you dislike popstars. The next thing we knew, you’re in a relationship with Faye Strummer. It made no sense. Alex was relieved when he found out it was fake.”
“I don’t believe you, but we’re going to file that discussion for later.” I’m not going to say it out loud, but all I want is for Brit to help me figure out why it’s so hard to let Faye go.
“You ever think of Dad?” Britney asks, startling me.
“Since he’s still alive, no, not too much.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m serious. Do you ever think of him? Of how his weird relationship with women might have influenced your outlook on life?”
I stare at her. “I cannot believe you just said that.” But I remember thinking along those lines for a moment there at the cabin, wondering if our father’s perception of women had affected me. But even then, I pulled up blank.
“I’m just saying . . .”
“I know your husband might have gotten you confused, but there still are a lot of people who don’t believe in romance. And it’s not because of some traumatic experience or?—”
“I’m not saying you have hidden trauma,” Brit cuts in. “Just . . . Dad’s belief system messed me up, a whole lot. You might want to consider his impact on you, too.”
I let out an exhale, reminding myself that Brit means well. “Thanks, but that’s not why I asked you to come up here.” The real reason is much more embarrassing.
The crowd goes up in a mighty cheer, and I watch as Faye beams at them. There’s a distinct burning in my chest as I watch her smile. I want to tell myself that all I’m longing for is to have her back in my arms so I can fuck her silly.
But damnit, that’s not all. And I know it.
“You know what?” Brit says now. “Screw your friends.”
I raise a brow. “You’re talking about your husband.”
“Yeah, even him,” she says. “Screw what they think, and what they believe you should do. This whole thing is confusing. I can’t imagine what this feels like for you. So don’t focus on what anyone is saying. Just do what feels right.”
I open my mouth to argue, but then I realize her advice is the best I’ve heard in a while. Perhaps I spent too long overthinking what I feel for Faye and what it means.
Maybe I just need to live.
Faye starts her next song, a slow number about flowers blooming, just as Kevin hurries up beside us, holding a huge bouquet.
“Things are going so well,” he says to no one in particular. “Well, the show is going to go on a little later than we planned, but we started a few minutes late, so . . .”
Brit shoots me an amused look. I turn to Kevin, suddenly feeling contrite. “Sorry about the delay,” I mutter. I made his work difficult because I was dead set on appeasing my ego.
“No worries.” He waves a hand. “You needed to talk to your girlfriend.” His undue emphasis on the last word reminds me that he’s also aware that our relationship is fake.
Like he needed me to remember that, too.
“What are the flowers for?” Brit interrupts.
“Oh.” He looks down at his arms as if he just became aware of their existence. “Faye arranged to have them delivered after this last song. It’s supposed to be symbolic, you know, representative of her blooming after all she’s gone through. I wish I knew how to get them on stage, though. We thought we’d dim the lights for a second and she’d reappear holding them, but it kind of seems whack now, doesn’t it? And?—”
“I’ll deliver them.”
Brit’s eyes pop out of their sockets. Surely my proposal isn’t that shocking?
“You?” Brit asks.
“Yeah.” I shrug. “I’ll give her the flowers and kiss her. Her fans will definitely go crazy over that.”
Brit swallows. “Yeah, I can see that. The media and everyone else will too. But you are . . . Aren’t you . . .?”
“Aren’t you too underdressed?” Kevin sputters, obviously thinking in another direction already. “I’ve got a tux that might be your size back there. Come with me.”
He turns and walks further backstage, Brit and me following him.
“Blake,” Brit says. “Are you . . . um . . . sure? I don’t know if you’re ready for that kind of public attention. This is going to be your coming out, and . . .”
I turn to her. “You told me to do what feels right. This is it.” It’s literally the opposite sentiment to what I had when I walked into the building, but now it makes the most sense.
Brit swallows again. “Yeah . . . well . . . I suppose.” She pulls out her phone. “I better text Alex and let him know. I don’t want him to have a heart attack over this.”
But as I slip out of my sweatpants and into the stiffly starched suit Kevin provided with a moment’s notice, I feel uncertainty prick me like a million needles.
What the hell am I doing? Why on Earth did I offer to do this?
And why can’t I seem to stop myself from following through?
The answer is obvious: because it feels like the right move. The same reason I’ve done anything since I met Faye. Helping her out of the wedding, taking her to my cabin, making love to her for days on end. Hell, even coming here and banging her just before her show.
With Faye, illogical things always feel right. And I’m kind of done fighting it.
A ground-shattering applause comes floating up to me as I step out of the tiny dressing room. Kevin and Brit are waiting, along with two stylists. One of them runs a comb quickly through my hair, and the other takes a powder brush to my face.
“Right,” Kevin says, handing over the bouquet. “Just go down that hall,” he points at a dark corridor, “and you’ll appear on stage.”
“Have you told her he’ll be coming?” Brit says, glancing at the earpiece Kevin’s wearing.
“Well, no,” he says. “She might be a little startled, but that’s good. I want the cameras to get her natural reaction.”
This seems like even more of a bad idea than it already is.
I accept the bouquet and start toward the dark corridor, but not before I catch a glimpse of the anxiety on Brit’s face.
Brit being worried about this should make me reconsider.
But it doesn’t. Because I actually want this.
Two burly security guards are right in front of another velvety curtain. They step aside to let me pass. I push past them, and a thousand bright lights instantly blind me.
I take an uncertain step. And then another. I’m aware of the crowd still cheering, but I can’t see a damn thing. How the hell does Faye manage to perform with lights like these?
“Blake?”
I blink. The stage comes into focus, as does everything else. The audience has finally spotted me. Hearing their screams, seeing a thousand phones pointed in my direction, is almost enough to convince me to turn back.
But Faye is only a few feet away. She’s staring at me, her jaw slack with shock. Her expression forces a ray of amusement through the dark clouds of uncertainty, and my lips tease into a smile.
I walk up to her. “Here. These are for you,” I say, handing her the flowers.
“Thanks,” she mutters, regaining control of her mouth. Up close, I can see tears of happiness in her eyes.
I have no idea why what I did makes her this happy. Maybe it’s not even me, but the fact that the show went well. Still, it’s in that moment I know I made the right decision. I would let my whole team mercilessly tease me for months rather than miss out on seeing how much joy this brings her.
It’s the most natural thing in the world to hook my arm around her and bring my lips to hers. Faye gasps, but in the next moment, I’m kissing her, forgetting and recalling the presence of a million cameras around us at the same time.
Do whatever feels right, Brit said.
Claiming her in front of the entire world is the rightest feeling ever.