Page 10 of Oops Baby for the Rockstar (Oops Baby #2)

This is a dream. The moonlight filtering through the canopy; the faint hoot of nearby owls; the distant ruckus near the trucks.

The warm breeze and the scent of dry earth.

It all feels so real , but I’ve had Tamsin pressed up against so many surfaces in my lonely mind over the last few months, and how can I tell reality from my own desperate imagination? How can I be sure?

“Jett,” Tamsin gasps, pushing her bare ass back toward me as I knead her cheeks and spread them apart.

Her jeans and panties are tangled around her thighs, blocking her legs from spreading too far apart, and her pussy is slick and glossy in the starlight.

Surrounded by trimmed dark hair, just like I remember.

Fucking mouthwatering.

“I’m here, baby.” My knees crack as I kneel down on the parched earth, crunching dried leaves and tiny twigs beneath me.

I don’t voice the doubts I’m having; the fact that I’m wondering now if this is real or too sweet to be true.

If it is a dream, I’m not gonna be the asshole that ruins it. “Christ, you look good.”

She really does.

Tamsin has always been pin-up perfect, with wide hips and a peachy ass that flow up to a slender waist. Her skin is pale, practically glowing in the moonlight, and that makes every bite mark, every bruise I’ve sucked onto her body in the last few minutes, stand out extra vivid.

She looks like she’s been ravaged by a wild animal. And more than that—with the way Tamsin is whimpering and pressing her ass back toward my face, with the way she’s clutching the tree trunk for balance and panting with need—she looks like she’s desperate for more.

That makes two of us.

“You’re mine,” I say, declaring it to the quiet night. Tamsin’s fraught breaths are the loudest sound in our little wood. My teeth sink into her peachy ass cheek quickly, just enough to underline my point.

Tamsin gasps and scrabbles at the tree trunk, trying to hook her fingertips into gaps in the bark.

“This is mine,” I take both ass cheeks in my hands and squeeze them roughly, “and this is mine,” my thumbs slide together to her center, skating easily over the glossy sheen of her arousal and making her wail, “and this is mine.”

One hand reaches around Tamsin’s waist to cup her belly in a firm grip. To cradle the tiny life growing there. It’s still early days, so early that there’s barely anything to feel, only the smallest bump curving her stomach.

Even so, triumph sears through my insides, warm and golden as sunshine.

My baby. Our baby.

Surely a dream…

“This is yours too,” Tamsin says, her husky voice just the same as in my tortured memories of our night together. She grips my wrist and tugs it higher, drawing my hand up the front of her body until it’s splayed over her chest.

Badum. Badum. Badum.

Her heartbeat thuds against my palm, steady and insistent. Could I really dream something that specific? It feels so real.

With my arm reaching high up Tamsin’s body, I’m pulled forward, her bare ass pressed against my chest. Humming, I let my free hand roam, smoothing up and down her quivering thigh muscles until finally zeroing in on her soaked slit.

Tamsin moans as I thumb her clit, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her spine. Her shoulder blades shift as she wriggles, every part of her body so delicate and pretty.

Can’t believe she’s been hauling heavy cases of equipment around right under my nose. Irritation squeezes my temples, and my teeth scrape harder against her back. Not enough to hurt—never enough to hurt—but enough to remind us both that I’m here now.

There’ll be no more manual labor for my girl. Not while she’s pregnant, and ideally not ever, unless she misses it for some bizarre reason.

“Mine,” I mutter against her back, mostly for my own benefit. My thumbs slips and slides over her clit, moving rhythmically now, and Tamsin cuts off a cry before it can truly escape. My grin feels feral, and my thumb quickens. “You’re mine , Tams. And trust me, you’re gonna feel it in the morning.”

She laughs, breathless.

Sitting back on my heels, I grip her cheeks and spread them again.

One long breath in—enough to savor her sweet-salty tang, enough to feel the humidity of her pussy wash over my face—and then I’m diving forward, running my tongue up her seam in one deep stroke.

Tasting the most sensitive, most intimate parts of her, and feeling her soft flesh brush against me from both sides.

Jamming my goddamn face into her pussy and eating my girl alive.

“Oh, shit !”

Tamsin smacks the tree trunk, her knees wobbling where they’re trapped in place by her jeans. I laugh darkly and keep licking, sucking, nibbling. Wet, smacking noises fill out private wood, and it’s so fucking primal that my hindbrain lights up with pleasure.

Yeah, no, I’m not gonna worry about table manners at a moment like this. I want to be loud. Want Tamsin to hear each hungry groan, each smack and slurp, so she knows all the way down to her bones exactly how much I’ve been starving for her.

That night, in my hotel room, I laid her out on the bed and made her come on my tongue.

Of course I did. But even that treasured memory pales in comparison to this experience, to kneeling in the dirt, panting and shoving my face between Tamsin’s spread ass cheeks, listening to my girl muffle her wails as her arousal coats my cheeks, my chin, my nose.

Our mutual desperation adds a vicious edge to the proceedings, makes everything rough and sloppy and perfect.

I’m saturated in her. Tamsin’s scent is in my pores.

When I pull back and bite the peachiest part of her ass, thumb still working on her clit, Tamsin tilts her head back and lets out a broken cry.

The force of her orgasm rattles through her like an earthquake, shaking her knees, her thighs, her ponytail.

Moisture gushes between her legs, slicking my thumb, and I keep rubbing, keep working her through it all.

Then she collapses forward, pressing her forehead to the tree and breathing hard, but this isn’t a night for mercy. There’ll be no intermission. Already I’m pushing to my feet, head spinning at the sudden rush of blood, stepping close, and tugging my scratchy zipper down.

See, I wear leather on stage because that’s the rocker look. It’s expected, and according to my agent, it’s ‘a solid fifty percent of my sex appeal’, the cheeky prick. Besides, by now it’s familiar, comforting, worn in and cleaving to my body like a second skin.

But right now, burning up with arousal for Tamsin in this moonlit wood, I’m sweating like a sinner in church inside all this leather. The backs of my knees are damp. I’m cooking inside my clothes.

“After this,” I say, notching the head of my cock against Tamsin’s slick entrance, “we’re going back to my hotel room, and we’re getting in the shower.

Both of us, because I need to douse myself in soap and water, and because I can’t let you out of my sight ever again. I want you close to me, always.”

Tamsin laughs weakly and pushes upright again, her hands braced against the tree trunk. Her ass nudges back, urging me on, and I grit my teeth against a moan. I’ve barely lined up with her entrance, and already she feels so damn good. Hot and slick and tight.

“Who knew that Jett Santana is the clingy type?” she teases.

“For you,” I correct, gripping her hips and starting to press forward. “Only for you.”

And the tight grip of her channel, the way her body sucks me deeper and strangles my thick cock, reminds me of the other revelation in Tamsin’s letter. The extra confession, tossed in there so casually that it would be easy to miss it altogether.

“Virgin,” I breathe, pressing deeper with my teeth clenched. “You were a virgin that night. Christ, you’re still so tight, baby. Am I hurting you?”

Tamsin shakes her head, her long, dark ponytail dancing against her pale back. And listen: I’m just a man. If I’m fucking my girl, and she taunts me with a ponytail like that, you’d better believe I’m gonna reach out and wrap it around my fist. I mean, she’s practically waving a red flag at a bull.

“Oh, god,” Tamsin says as I tug on her hair, arching her back like a bow.

I’m deep in her now, grinding my hips in little circles so she can get used to my girth.

So we can get used to each other, really, because all the nerve endings in my shaft are sending constant little zaps of pleasure to my brain, and I don’t want this over too soon. “Oh, god .”

“Yeah. Tell me about it.”

“You feel so—”

“I know. So do you.”

Tamsin scrabbles against the bark, blindly seeking purchase with her fingers. “Is it always like this?”

Heat scorches through my insides, making my pulse race and my skull squeeze my brain. It’s an innocent question, I know it is, but the thought of Tamsin with another man—the thought of either of us with anyone else—makes acid gnaw at my belly.

“No,” I grate out, because she deserves a real answer, even if I’m melting down like a jealous prick back here. “No, it’s not usually like this, baby. This is special. This is once-in-a-lifetime shit.”

Tamsin nods weakly, my grip still firm on her hair, and presses back against me, encouraging me to start thrusting.

I do. Slowly at first, then building pace and strength until my teeth clack.

I’m careful with angling my thrusts, gentle with the life growing inside her belly, even though I know there’s no way I can hurt it really.

“I figured as much.” Tamsin grunts, forcing out the words between panting breaths. “Otherwise, it’s like, how would anyone ever get anything done?”

My shocked laugh echoes through the trees. “Too true.”

“They’d be too busy screwing in every empty closet, every office, every alley.”

It’s good to hear Tamsin is as blown away by this as I am. Because I, also, am wondering how I’m ever gonna get anything done again in my life, now that I’ve found what heaven feels like. Wet, tight, warm heaven, that squeals when I spank it on the ass.

I fuck her against the tree. I fuck my girl until wet noises drift from where our bodies meet, and her voice is raw from moaning, and pink handprints glow on her ass in the moonlight.

I fuck her until I’m a sweaty, trembling wreck inside all this leather, keyed up and desperate and so over-stimulated with pleasure that my ears ring.

I fuck her until I’m finally, blissfully convinced that it’s real. My cock never chafes in my dreams. This is it.

Thank god.

And when I draw Tamsin back by the ponytail and reach around to rub at her clit, when I angle my thrusts to hit the spot inside her that makes her groan, I’m already desperate to win our game.

To hear my name in that husky voice once more, cried out to the trees with all their little voyeur owls. To hear my girl claim me right back.

“ Jett!”

It settles something jagged deep inside my chest—like a jigsaw piece slipping into place. A key turning in a lock.

“I’m here, baby.”

Arms around her, I keep thrusting. Keep going until Tamsin dissolves into shaky breaths and trembling muscles once again, her channel squeezing me in a vise grip, and then I press my face against her hair and follow, emptying my whole goddamn soul inside her body. Again.

We stand together, breathing hard. Clinging to each other beneath the canopy. And eventually, when we peel apart, we both wince and laugh at how sensitive everything is.

“You must be hot in all that leather,” Tamsin notes as she pulls up her jeans and buttons them. Somehow, there’s a twig in her hair.

I bark a laugh and shake my head. “You have no idea.”

* * *

Four years later

Another stage; more dazzling lights. The speakers throb loud enough to vibrate our bones, and the crowd roars back at us, hungry for more.

Over by his drums, Rocco opens a bottle of water and empties it over his head, opening his mouth to catch a stray mouthful.

The liquid cascades over his bare chest and arms, and he shakes his head like a dog.

The crowd screams like a stadium full of banshees. Grinning, I glance over at Zeke and Danny, but they both shrug and keep re-tuning their guitars. It is hot under all these lights, and Rocco has always been a showman. He knows how to give the crowd what they want.

“Ready,” Danny calls, his voice almost lost beneath the ruckus.

“Ready,” Zeke agrees, even quieter.

Rocco smacks his drum sticks together four times, and we launch into our newest track. It’s fast, energetic, the beat making me bounce on my heels as I grip the microphone and start singing, belting out the lyrics to the sky through the open roof.

Over on one side of the stage, a camera flashes.

I glance over, grinning, expecting to see my wife’s best friend Patty—but instead, when the camera lowers, it’s Tamsin.

My heart soars. She laughs at my expression, the sound completely lost beneath our song, and blows me a kiss.

I grin wider, then angle my body to give her a better shot as I keep singing.

Over Tamsin’s shoulder, there’s a sight that—for a split second—almost makes me stutter.

I just about keep time, still belting out lyrics, but it’s a close call, because just over Tamsin’s shoulder, someone else is watching me.

Balanced on Patty’s hip, wearing little protective earmuffs, is our three year old daughter, Pearl.

She’s reaching out with a chubby fist, set on playing with her mom’s ponytail, completely oblivious to her rock star dad on stage. I know the feeling. Whenever Tamsin wears a ponytail around me, I can’t think straight either. Too wound tight, suddenly distracted.

Turning back to the crowd, I sing my whole fucking heart out.

So good it’s almost a dream.

* * *

Thanks for reading Oops Baby for the Rockstar! I hope you liked it. :)