“Still feels so good,” I whisper.
I can’t even begrudge the cocky smile that returns to his face. The man deserves all the praise.
“Shelby,” he whispers urgently. “I want to come on your tits.”
I reach behind me and somehow wiggle my bra clasp loose, strip it off and toss it toward the sink. “Please don’t shoot in my hair.”
“I’m aiming for those pretty pink nipples baby, trust me.”
He pulls out and sets me on my feet. I lean against the wall, arching my back to give him an easy target.
He lets out a long primal groan. Warmth hits my stomach and between my breasts.
A few seconds later, he braces himself with an arm against the wall and touches my cheek, tipping my head back. Our lips meet. A soft, sliding kiss. “Don’t move,” he whispers.
I stay like that, eyes closed, lips pursed, until he returns. He swipes something damp over my chest and belly. “Mmm, I feel so claimed,” I murmur, opening my eyes.
He kisses my lips again. “You are.” A dirty gleam flashes in his eyes. “Also, I didn’t think you’d want my cum running down your leg during your show.”
“Aren’t you a gentleman,” I drawl in a light, teasing tone.
“Did I deliver?” he asks.
“You need to ask? I can barely stand up.”
He chuckles as he leans over the sink to wash up. He soaps his hands and cleans my face brush under the running water.
“You might as well toss that, I’m not using it on my face again.”
“Nah, let’s keep it for emergencies. I’ll buy you another one for your face.”
Now that the sex-high is fading, I’m worried about my hair and makeup. Also, the time.
“Shoot. How long were we in here?” I hurry over to the mirror and breathe a sigh of relief. “Not too bad. I can fix the lipstick.”
“I tried to be careful,” he says, rearranging a few stray bits of my hair.
I pull a lipstick that’s close to the color Cindy used out of my bag. Thankfully, since we went with bold eyes, she used a mild color on my lips and I’m able to touch it up easily.
Rooster keeps his hands on me the whole time I’m in front of the mirror, running his fingers down my spine, spanning my waist with his hands, skimming his palms over my butt and thighs.
I wiggle my hips. “Wishing you’d chosen a different target?”
“No,” he scoffs. “I just like touching you.”
Swoon. How does he always say the sweetest things? “I like touching you too.”
He leans in and kisses my shoulder. “Good.”
I hurry into my underwear and bra, then take my dress off its hanger. “Will you help me?”
“Of course.”
We get the dress in place and I check myself in the mirror one last time. “My shoes are out there.”
Someone’s knocking at the door in the other room. “Come in!” I yell.
“It’s locked,” Rooster says, striding out of the bathroom with his shirt in his hands. He flings the door open and a red-faced Greg’s waiting on the other side.
“The walls are thin here,” Gregg huffs. “Just thought I’d mention that.”
My cheeks heat up but I toss off the embarrassment quickly. Someone’s always having sex backstage somewhere. It’s not like I’m the first.
“Your flamingo tanks are sold out,” Greg says. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“Oh, wow!” I grab my phone to text Trinity and give her the news.
Greg’s phone beeps. Groaning, he flicks the screen on. “What now?”
His already red face slides toward an even deeper scarlet. “Oh, this is bad,” he mutters.
“What?”
He bites his lip and hesitates.
“What?” I ask again, marching toward him and reaching for his phone.
He shoots a glare at Rooster. “What else went on in the strip club the other night?”
I stop and frown at his hostile tone. “Nothing, why?”
“Because this is bad.”
Greg turns the screen toward me. My heart stops as I read the headline.
‘White Knight? Or Cheating Bastard? We Have the Inside Scoop!’
Chapter Fifty-Two
Shelby
“Shelby, nothing happened.” Rooster stares at the phone, slowly scanning the article. “Greg, give us a minute,” he says without looking away from the screen.
“We really need to—”
“Get out, Greg!” I snap, not in the mood for more of his crap.
While I’m waiting for him to leave, I find my own phone and pull up the article.
White Knight—the super-sappy with a side of corniness and cheese love song by sassy country singer Shelby Morgan has been burning up the streaming charts for weeks. In an interview with Glow magazine, she claimed it was written about her current boyfriend. But is it all a lie?
After breaking the story about Shelby’s wild night out at the Royal Dolls Gentlemen’s Club, Sippin’ on Secrets has obtained more exclusive photos of the wild shenanigans that transpired.
A hawk-eyed reader spotted Shelby’s main squeeze in a compromising situation with a stripper. Talk about a downgrade!
Was her boyfriend’s cheating what prompted Shelby Morgan’s wild meltdown?
Can we expect a new angst-ridden cheese-fest of a song to commemorate the breakup?
Only time will tell. But we’ll have the scoop, so check back often for more updates on this continuing drama! Tell us in the comments, is Shelby’s knight in shining armor really a cheater in tin foil?
I don’t have time for this nonsense. I have to be on stage soon.
The happy buzz from our little romantic interlude fades, and irritation moves into its place.
I scroll through the pictures, which show nothing more than Rooster standing in a parking lot with a woman. In one of the photos, she’s touching him and standing within kissing distance. From Logan’s stiff posture and the snarly expression on his face, it doesn’t look like he’s enjoying the attention.
The final picture is of Logan staring off into the distance with the caption, “Worried about getting caught?”
“This is so stupid,” I mutter.
Logan’s quiet. I glance up from my phone and find him standing closer than I expected.
“Nothing happened, Shelby. I walked her out. That’s it. I talked to her about the club.”
“She’s touching you here.” I show him the photo.
“Yeah, and I wish they’d published the next photo which was me removing her hand.”
I squint at him. “From her body or yours?”
He blinks in confusion. “What?”
“You said you removed her hand. Did ya like, chop it off or something?”
“Are you making a joke?” He taps the phone. “About this?”
“What else am I gonna do?” I scroll through the pictures. “You honestly think I’d believe these nitwits over you?”
“Thank you.” The tension in his shoulders relaxes. He gestures to my phone. “Whatever they write means nothing. I don’t care what strangers think of me. It’s what you think that matters.”