“If you need to safe out, spit out the gag or use your hand to take it out.”
Safe out? What exactly was Colby planning? It wasn’t like he had a flogger lying around. But Keats should’ve known not to doubt him. Because when Colby stepped back, Keats could see him holding a towel in one of his hands.
Keats might’ve mustered up the energy to be worried, but right at that moment, Georgia ran her tongue around the tip of his cock, and Keats suddenly didn’t care about anything at all.
Colby flicked the towel with sound-barrier-breaking speed, and the wet corner of the terry cloth snapped against Keats’s ass with a surprisingly potent sting. He bit into the gag, muffling the oomph sound that tried to escape, and a fiery burn bloomed over the spot that had taken the brunt of the impact. Holy shit.
Keats had been snapped with towels in locker rooms before. It had never been a pleasant experience. But when Colby flicked again, the loud crack reverberating in the small room, and hit the back of Keats’s thigh, Keats had to grip the edge of the counter to keep his knees from sagging. Colby continued to pepper Keats’s ass and thighs with lightning-fast pops from the towel, and Georgia continued her slow, sensual assault one lick at a time. The combination was deadly good.
Keats broke the rules, reaching for Georgia with one hand and threading his fingers in her hair as she moved. Up until this point in his life, he’d never believed girls really liked giving head. They did it to be nice or to impress a guy. But with Georgia, he believed that she really did take pleasure in giving pleasure. She never rushed things and seemed to relish the experience. He could relate. He went into the same headspace when he went down on her or Colby. Maybe it was the submissive thing. He wasn’t sure. But he’d never had any woman make him feel so comfortable, so free to enjoy the moment.
And the combination of that mind-bending pleasure mixing with the relentless blows of Colby’s evil towel had Keats on the verge in mere minutes. His entire backside was on fire in the best way possible, and he’d no doubt feel that burning all through his performance. The thought turned him on even more. No one in the audience would know that as he stood there he was wearing Colby’s marks on his ass and Georgia’s lipstick on his dick.
“Open your eyes, Adam,” Colby said, close to Keats’s ear.
Keats hadn’t even realized Colby had stopped the beating, his brain buzzing too much. But his eyes popped open immediately at the command. Colby pressed against Keats’s back and met his eyes in the mirror.
“Watch what we do to you,” Colby said quietly. “What you do to us.”
Colby slid his hand over Keats’s ass, rubbing the marks and tracking lower. He cupped Keats’s balls and ran his fingers along the base of his dick. Georgia’s mouth enveloped both Keats’s cock and Colby’s fingers, getting everything slick. Then Colby traced backward with wet fingers. He found Keats’s rim and put pressure there with his fingertips.
Keats groaned behind the gag. Spit didn’t work quite as well as lube so Colby was careful with him, but when a fingertip breached the ring of muscle, Keats rocked forward on his toes.
Georgia made an mmm sound and increased her pace and pressure. Keats tried to hold on to the image in the mirror—Georgia’s curly-haired head bobbing at his waist and Colby watching every moment, his attention bouncing between Georgia and Keats’s face as he slowly pumped one finger inside Keats—but there was no hope for Keats to keep his eyes open.
The need to come was blasting through him, pounding against his resistance. He put everything he had into holding on. But when Georgia took him to the back of her throat and Colby found Keats’s sweet spot, everything fell apart. Keats’s teeth ground into the bandanna and his release jetted out with so much force, his thighs shook. Georgia held on to him, taking everything he had to give, and Colby didn’t ease his finger out until Keats was gasping for air.
Georgia ducked out from her position, and Keats collapsed onto his elbows, panting hard. He spit out the gag. “Jesus Christ.”
Colby tugged Keats’s underwear and pants back up and patted him on the ass none too gently, right over a spot where Keats knew welts were probably rising. Fucker.
“Five minutes until you’re on, kid,” Colby said cheerfully as he went over to the sink and washed his hands.
Keats shook his head and smiled. “Well, I don’t want to throw up anymore. But now I’m not sure I can remember my name much less any songs.”
Georgia laughed. “Just know that your number one fan is out there in the audience. And I don’t care if you forget the words.”
Keats turned to her and cradled her face in his hands as he gave her a good, long kiss. He could taste himself on her tongue, and suddenly he was regretting that he had to leave her behind and not return the favor. “You are the best girlfriend ever. In case I haven’t told you today.”
She smiled. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll take one for the team and flirt with this record guy to make sure he gives you a second chance. Or with Pike since he can pull strings for you.”
“Oh, hell, no. No flirting, George. I’d rather not get the shot than have to compete with some rock-star drummer.”
She smirked and gave him another quick kiss. “There’s no competition. I don’t need some rich guy or a rock star. I make my own money. And I already have my two badass country singers. That’s all I need.”
The way she said it made warmth bloom deep in Keats’s chest because he knew she truly meant it. Like some dude who women literally fell over themselves to get to had no chance at turning her attention away from Colby and Keats. “I love you, George.”
She gave him another quick kiss. “I love you, too. Now go out there and show them how amazing you are.”
—
Georgia was buzzing with the energy from the night as the three of them made their way up the driveway. The neighborhood was quiet and still around them, making it feel like they were the only ones in the universe right now. Just them and the stars.
Keats came up behind her, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around. “I feel like I could run a marathon right now.”
She laughed, trying to keep her voice down and failing. “I know what you mean.”
Keats had killed it up there onstage. The guy who’d been nervous and stiff during practice had disappeared and the performer had emerged. He’d had the club in the palm of his hand—especially the female segment of the audience. And the record executive had been enthusiastic after the performance, wanting to talk to Keats more and even interested in some duet material from the songs Colby and Keats had performed together. Nothing was inked yet, but it was a great start.