Backstage, I’m met with compliments about the choreography, a few asking if I’m available to hire.
I am, of course. Maddox was right all those years ago. I did need to find my passion again. But after a couple of tours with Lily, I realized what I always knew. It wasn’t in performing. It was in creating, so I traded center stage for the rehearsal stage, courtesy of Sin Records after they hired me to be the label’s choreographer. I didn’t initially believe they’d have much work for me, but Maddox is elaborate with his video ideas and the label eventually branched out into pop-rock for a few select artists that Jagger discovered. Tonight’s performance was a one-off. A request from Lily to be part of the act, not just the designer of the movements.
Fortunately, I am not confined to Sin Records if I don’t want to be—FYI, it’s still surreal to be able to choose who I work with and not feel the constant stress of performing or surviving—and I tell them to call me. I’m almost to the dancers’ dressing room when a hand covers my mouth, and I’m pulled to a dark room.
My heart hammers behind my ribs. Blood pulses in my ears. But not out of fear. Pure adrenaline and excitement buzzes beneath my skin, sending electricity down my spine.
“I almost forgot how insane I get when I see you dress…movelike that in front of other men,” his rough voice growls in my ear before nipping at my lobe, then skimming his lips down my neck.
“I didn’t,” I whisper, breathless and already ridiculously turned on. “But for the record, I have on plenty of clothes. Everything is covered.”
“Doesn’t count when it’s so goddamn tight, I can see your pussy lips in the dark.” His hand slides down my bare stomach to my core, sliding beneath the tight spandex pants, as if proving a point, and I involuntarily grind against his palm, seeking thefriction.
“You could not,” I rasp. “Besides, it’s better than the pasties they wanted us to wear. Lily told them no. She wanted us sexy, but not an exploited sex show.”
He spins us so my back is to the door, palm wrapped around my throat as he uses his thumb to tip my chin. “If you’d been dressed like that, I—”
“Would’ve sat there like a good boy, then do exactly what you did because you’d never embarrass me in front of everyone or cause a scene over mywork.”
He squeezes my throat tighter, eyes narrowed as they dart between mine. “You’re fucking lucky I love you.” His lips slam into mine, tongue sliding into my mouth, possessive and unhinged. A reminder who I belong to, but it’s not for me. It’s for him. The reassurance that no matter what I’m here. I’m his. Something, even after all this time, he still needs. I’m not sure if it’s because of what happened with my dad, or his own issues with not being enough, but I never deny him that comfort just as he never denies meanything.
His fingers slide into my leggings again, finding my center, greedy, desperate for him. In less than a minute, stars explode behind my eyes. Before my vision returns, I feel his mouth latching onto my clit, and I have no idea how he got these tight as hell pants off so fast or so easily.
I’m erupting again in no time, my limbs tired and exhausted from the dance and his worship. And just when I think we’re done because time isn’t on our side—I’m pretty sure he goes on any moment now—he has me in the air, my legs wrapped around him as he thrusts inside me.
“You’re mine, Halfpint.” He grunts as he powers into my body. “I may have to let others look once in a while, but you.” Thrust. “Are.” Thrust. “Mine.”
“Yours, baby. Always yours. Til death and beyond.” He swells inside me, exploding with a muffled roar as he bites down on my shoulder.
He leans back, reaching up to brush my hair out of my face. “You were great out there, by the way.”
“Just so you know, the entire time I only saw you.”
“I know.” He kisses me, long and slow this time, then sets me on my feet and helps me fix my clothes. “Guess I better get out there before they come looking.”
“Probably,” I giggle. “Any hints about what song you’re singing.” I’ve been bugging him for weeks to tell me, but he has been tight lipped, which of course only made me more curious.
“Nope.” He tucks himself back into his jeans, then drags his hand through his messy locks. He opens the door of what I realize now is a closet. “You’ll find out when everyone else does. And when the show is over, you’re going to explain why you haven’t told me you’re pregnant.”
I grab his arm before he walks out with wide eyes. “You know?”
He chuckles, shaking his head as he drags me to him. “Baby, you can’t spend as much time as I do with my head between your legs and not notice. Not to mention…” He makes a pointed look at my breasts. “Did you think, after five years, I wouldn’t notice those were bigger.”
My cheeks flame. “I was waiting until I confirmed with a doctor. It could’ve been another false alarm.” I’d had a few of those since we decided Noah needed a little brother or sister a year ago.
“Nah. Those other times, I knew you weren’t pregnant.” He kisses me one last time, and I tell him to break a leg as he walks away.
After I’m changed, I go to our table, making it just in time for Jagger’s introduction. I look around the table, noticing Noah is nowhere to be seen. My brows dip in concern. “Where’s Noah?” I ask as I lean over to Casey. She doesn’t look at me or even acknowledge I spoke, making my stomach clench. I look around at a few other tables, knowing Noah’s outgoing personality means he won’t hesitate tomake new friends, but still see no sight of him.
Panic rises in my chest, squeezing my throat. I grab Casey’s arm, hard enough to make her squeak. “Casey, where is mybaby?”
Graham reaches over, unwrapping my fingers from his wife’s flesh. “He’s fine, Poppy. Now sit back and watch the show.” He jerks his head just as the lights lower.
The sounds of an acoustic guitar echo through the venue, making my brows dip. Jagger’s music is never acoustic. The spotlight hits the stage, and my heart stalls as I stare at my two boys side by side on stools, each with a microphone.
Noah couldn’t look more like Jagger if they were twins. Same dimples, same curly locks flopping over his pale green eyes. And that grin as he sits on his stool, feet dangling, strumming away at the same rhythm as his dad, singing a song, totally unlike anything Jagger’s ever done about being your best self.
How they got the producers to go along with this, I don’t know. But I can guess.
